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ramblingsofuncertainty · 11 months

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Old Entries

Ramblings

Sunday

3:15. The silence is nice. I can talk to Allah swt and I feel safe at this moment. The stillness of the night isn't stifling. I don't turn on the fan even though it's hot. I like the silence. My thoughts are quite too

7:10. I don't want to get up but I've already jumped off the bed. Need to get breakfast ready. Need to take medicine. Need to hurry hurry hurry.

9:15. Panic and dread.

11:50. Relief. Exhaustion.

2:42. I had this really intense need to be talking about it with Saadia. Can't call her cos she's probably sleeping. And this urge might become less and then I'll make excuses to myself to not call her. But I wish we were exhausted and lying in her room ranting. Or maybe not even that. Just being quiet. She'd be watching something stupid like NCIS or suits or something and I’d be squished in her giant beanbag (territory Id claimed long ago) I remember the neck ache I got when Id been squished in it too long. Her mom would poke her head in and shake her head at us and bring us pasta. Or chicken bread! Man, I miss that chicken bread. The squishy peices of corn that would pop in your mouth and the hot buttery peppery chicken.

She knows me inside out. I don't want to burden her right now. She can't do anything about it being so far away.

I'm happy, reminiscing while writing about her, and it hasn't made me sad, in a surprising turn of events. I think my circuitry is messed up. But happy accidental serotonin is still serotonin and I'm grateful.

Monday

Didn't write the whole day. Brain feels like a fog. No emotions. I just need sleep.

Tuesday

9.:40. Stopped to have a conversation with a squirrel. It seemed interested, but then decided it didn't have the time. Squirrel business called. And I was late for class

9:43. Needed to make a call and that was it for the day. Cue the mind haze. All the emotions all at once. And none at the same time.

Music to shut out the thoughts. Helped a bit.

P realized something was up. As much as I felt cheery and awake at the end of the day, but she knew something was off. I couldn't put a finger on it til she said it. Despite trying trying to distract myself, I still felt like there is a pulling, scratching inside. I'm craving something and I don't know what it is. Bit it's like a dull sort of scratch, like the echo of a thing

Thursday

4:57. Missed fajr. Feel like shit. Had nightmares, woke up feeling more exhausted than when I slept. I haven't been able to dream for like five or six years. But nightmares are becoming a thing now.

8.25. Tried to wake up but the day already feels exhausting and I don't want to deal with it

9:20. Fell asleep and woke up in a panic. There's so much that needs to be done. I have so much work. How can anything feel exciting when there is always anxiety and panic that's flooding my brain.

9:55. My joy in realizing they've made eggs for breakfast today is fleeting. The eggs are burnt at the edges and dry. I still eat them, my mouth feels like what I imagine it must feel like to wake up from surgery, desperate for water. I'm being ungrateful and I dont like it. It's food. Why am I being like this?

Cant feel much today.

4:50. Decided to take a nap. Woke up in a panic again because I thought I'd slept for three hours instead of one. Body hurts and I don't want to get up. I'll procrastinate more and then the day is over and I've done nothing.

8:05. Feeling good. Found myself humming something. Surprised enough to want to write it down. I feel like I can get something done. Making tea, then getting down to work. I feel like I'm in flow. Hope this stays!

P.S. it didn't stay. Something happened and all sense of time and work and sanity was gone. (Writing this on Thursday)

Friday

I broke the streak today. I didn't want to write down anything the whole day so now I'm writing it at the end of the day. I woke up with a numbness in my body. Had nightmares again. It's getting both more difficult and easier to get up. I can't explain it.

There's this short stretch of trees lining the football field that blooms with these hanging yellow flowers that always snaps me back to the present and gives a couple of seconds of relief everyday. Today it just made me annoyed (there aren't any blooms but the walk usually is still pleasant) because I realized the absence of that relief and that is what jolted me out of my thoughts. Not the relief but the lack of it.

Everything felt off today. It's exhausting living with myself.

I came back and slept. I just want to sleep. Forced myself to eat. I can't work. I can't work. I can't work. I'm trying. I have class at 6am. I don't want to be. There's too much noise. Writing all these things down is making everything more concrete. It's the fig tree again. From Sylvia Plaths Bell Jar. But the roots shriveled up and wilted and the trunk is hollow too. No possibilities lying blackened at my feet. They are a distant memory, haunting the air with a rotten smell.

(P.S. (writing this on Saturday: I feel disconnected reading what I wrote last night. I don't want to linger on it. That person was there. So was one who was not in that state. I feel like a conduit, in this moment, reading the previous entries, they feel like versions of me that exist and existed, a product of the things happening to me at the time)

Saturday

Today I felt disconnected, outside of my body. Woke up tired again but almost mechanically, went through the motions of getting up and getting through the day.

I'm relieved though. Beats yesterday in any case.

Saturday/Sunday:

(A summary): I did not open this up to write anything for the past two days because I was in a good place after a very long time. I passively tried to understand what triggered it but couldn't. Coming back to why I didn't write. Writing things down forces me to confront what's going on in my head and usually that untangles whatevers up there and when the thoughts become clear, they are usually not very pleasant. And so I wanted to live in denial for a little bit longer.

Sunday

9.09: Panic again. but dull. I have to work. There might be eggs.

11.06: Mediocrity scares me. I don't want to be a blob of nothingness. I have worlds inside of me, I have been so many me-s, they were all people with thoughts and emotions and intelligence. I feel like I have lost grip of so many of those versions of myself, and of the potential that they all had. Now everything I do feels like I am dragging myself through a thick sludge of effort, pushing pushing pushing. My head feels dull and more empty than it used to be.

The air feels thick. Dead, no crispness in it, just a lingering heat and smell of dead grass

Monday

4:40. Unraveling. The air is nice today, feels fresh and crisp. I can smell the freshly mowed grass of the football ground as a linger on my way back

5.:15. A summary of today: Flow state. I found myself quite unexpectedly in a state of flow, like everything was aligned and I was getting things done. Things seemed to be rolling off of me, I just kept working like nothing mattered and I actually felt happy with the work I made, and when I made something not so good, it didn't stop me. It felt like I side stepped a ditch that would have pulled me in, and I was just able to brush it off so easily and move on. I felt like a person. I felt complete. Like otherwise there's always echoes of me slightly lagging or moving ahead and I'm just trying to keep track of the pieces to move together and making the effort of carrying all the scrambling, falling, scattered pieces keeps me occupied

6:20. A word out of place. And it started this echo that kept reverberating and bouncing back and forth off the walls of my mind. And it shook everything out of place. Like a tiny tremor that upsets the precarious balance that had been a happy accident.

The crows and their noise just before maghrib remind me of Karachi and the breezy evening air, that smells like dust and sticks to your face on the sheen of oil covering your sticky skin at the end of a long day. The smell of gasoline and petrol heavy and clinging to your clothes, coming home with you

Tuesday

My thoughts are not my own. Not writing today.

Wednesday

I like this moment. Its the end of the day and I linger going back. My walk is deliberately slow and I focus and at the same time watch without seeing, the details of the accumulated dust on the sidewalk. The cars passing by seem slow and fast at the same time, their noise amplified for some reason. The sound is grating but I cant hear it even though everything feels heightened.

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woodruff · 3 years

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#I'm about to go insane i feel like tv static #I'm seeing a specialist for chronic pain tomorrow my head is about to explode I'm so nervous #i am simultaneously worried that he can't help me and that i will just stay like this forever #AND that I'm actually fine and just wasting his time and that i dont need help anyway #i am desperately trying to distract myself my brain is about to pop out of my skull #how can i be worried that i am fine and irredeemably bad at the same time 😭 @ my brain: bro pick one #icke #painblogging as per usual #/ medical #i feel the nervousness in every cell in my body

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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

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MariJon Week

Day3: Soulmate/Glasses

Masterlist

Day1 Day2 Day4 Day5 Day6 Day7

...........................................................

“Lucky Charm” Ladybug called out and a pair of glasses fell into her hand. Quickly glancing around and looking at the glasses. They looked eerily like Max’s new ones, she figured out that it meant that Pegasus would be required. Either she was getting better at interpreting her lucky charms or Tikki was going easy on her today. Catching Chat Noir’s eye, Ladybug discretely showed him the lucky charm. “Cover me, I’ll be back soon” she called out.

Ladybug dashed towards where she had stored the miraculous box and dug out the glasses and popped them into her yo-yo not giving Kaalki as chance to appear. She dashed out to find Max trying to recall where he had planned to be this afternoon. Lost in thought she didn’t notice the Akuma sneaking up on her. ‘Soul Finder’ had Chat Noir within her grasp but needed Ladybug closer to get. Soul Finder aimed at Ladybug to zap expecting her to materialise next to Chat Noir.

“Look Out!” Chat Noir called just as the zap hit Ladybug.

Unexpectedly, Ladybug did not appear next to Chat Noir, giving him time to escape as Soul Finder ranted over the fact that Ladybug and Chat Noir were not soulmates.

___________________________________

Jon was with Damian as they walked Titus around Wayne Manor grounds for an early morning walk. He loved visiting his friend as the grounds were secluded, he could practice his flying and throwing a ball super far for Titus to chase. The pair were discussing the latest Avengers comic book and discussing the realistic-ness of it all.

That is until out of no-where a girl in red materialises mid-air and falls straight into Jon’s arms with some force. As Jon caught her a bright golden light encompassed the pair. Damian had to shield his eyes rather than reach for a hidden knife that he so desperately wanted too.

Within the light Jon and Ladybug found they were unaffected. The pair gazed into each other’s blue eyes. They could have been there for a second. They could have been there for eternity. Ladybug in Jons arms. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Eyes never breaking contact. The feeling of their souls singing to each other. Humming an intricate entwined tune only they could hear and feel. The warmth that bathed them as they had found an unknown missing piece. Someone who would accept them. The whole them. All the jagged rough edges. The flaws and imperfections. The perfect person who would celebrate their strengths and balance out their weaknesses.

Soulmates their hearts sang.

MY soulmate.

my SOULMATE.

It was with this understanding passing between the pair that the light receded.

Damian grabbed his hidden blade at the first opportunity and moved into a defensive stance he barked at the intruder. “Who are you?! How did you get here?!” As much as he wanted to attack, he was reluctant to with his friend still in his attack path holding on to the girl. He knew that he was unlikely to hurt Jon, but he was reluctant to risk this invader know that it was Superboy who had caught her.

It was with Damian’s harsh tone and Ladybug's yo-yo ringing that the soulmate pair were able to begrudgingly broke eye contact. Ladybug picked up her yo-yo to answer the call.

“Oui? Chat Noir, non... Errr... je ne sais pas... Oui, mon ame soeur... d’accord, je serai rapide!”

“Who are you?! How did you get here?!” gritted out Damian again.

Closing the yo-yo Ladybug looked at the pair, still in Jon’s arms though he no longer was floating (not that she seemed to notice the fact).

“I’m sorry. Je suis desole. I’m Ladybug, an ‘soulmate’ Akuma sent me,” she looked around and finally took in that she was in Jon’s arms. Blushing she continued, “to wherever here is.” She gave Jon a small smile as she made her way out his arms and started to fiddle with her yo-yo again. “I truly am sorry, this was an unintentional drop in, but I need to go and deal with this Akuma.” She pulled at a pair of sunglasses and put them.

“Kaalki merge” she cried out as a different light washed over her leaving her standing in a new look. “Thank you for the catch,” looking bashfully at Jon she smiled, “When this is all over, is it ok if I come back and we can talk soulmate? If that’s ok with you?”

Ladybug mumbled something and a portal open.

“JOn!” She turned to Jon with a curious look. “My name is Jon. Yes! Please come back. Are you going to be ok? What is happening?”

“Check out the Ladyblog – it’s a Parisian blog which will keep you updated and give you info. I do really need to go. See you later Jon.”

With that she disappeared leaving Jon pulling out his phone and a frustrated Damian.

“Kent! Explain!”

“That was my soulmate! Ladybug is my soulmate. Oh my Gosh! My soul mate is a hero!!”

Damian and Jon watched the battle via the blog Jon had pulled up on his phone. They could see that the heroes were having issues. Ladybug’s partners seemed out of sort as they tried to comprehend that she had a soulmate out of their team. The final straw was when Ladybug took a hit due to her partner being distracted.

Jon grabbed his phone, “Watch on the bat comp if you want. I can’t watch anymore she needs my help!” and in a blur he rushed off.

“Just remember to change Kent!” Damian shouted after him rolling his eyes at his friends' antics.

___________________________________

“Pegasus!” Ladybug cried as jumped off the roof which Soul Finder crashed their giant weaponised rose upon. He went to open a portal for her to fall into when a red and blue blur caught her and flew her up into the air.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Superboy grinned down at Ladybug in his arms yet again for the day. Looking up at him, Ladybugs eyes opened wider in surprise. Blinking in shock allowed her brain to catch up with what was happening. “Jon?” she whispered. With a subtle nod, “Superboy in this outfit though” Superboy grinned down at her.

Ladybug scrunched up in a quick thought and suddenly all the elements aligned. The glasses weren’t Max’s though very similar; they were Jon’s. Grabbing Kaalki meant she could get back here quickly was a bonus. Her plan wasn’t working as it was missing a key element. Jon. Superboy. Her soulmate. With a devious grin forming on her face. She quickly explained her plan to Superboy.

With Superboy now in the fray with Chat Noir and Pegasus with her, they took the Akuma down no problem.

“Bye bye, little butterfly. No more evil doing for you! Miraculous Ladybug!”

Ladybirds flew around repairing the damage as Ladybug went to comfort the Akuma victim.

Chat Noir and Pegasus went to join Superboy while they waited.

“So, you’re her soulmate. Hmmmm. I’m Chat Noir. Her PARTNER. You best treat her right or you’ll be a pile of dust after I’ve done with you. Let her know I’ll catch up with her on patrol. I need to dash.”

Chat Noir gave Superboy one more once over before vaulting away. Pegasus looked him over analytically.

“Pegasus. Thank you for your help. Surprisingly it was needed. I may not be Ladybugs permanent partner, but I have no qualms helping Chat Noir even if it’s only to erase footage of your downfall if you hurt her. She means a lot to all of Paris. More than you will ever comprehend.”

“Errr Hi? I’m Superboy, but I think that you know that. I think. Yeah, ummm I met her today due to that thing. Are they common? And I don’t intend to hurt her intentionally. You don’t need to worry about the shovel talk, but I truly believe you when you say you’ll destory me...”

Ladybug walked up to the pair halting the conversation between them smiling at them both.

“Hi,” she started almost shyly, “I’m going to take Pegasus back, but ummm, if you’d like Superboy we could maybe meet up on the roof over there and talk about what just happened?”

“Sounds good,”

Superboy watched as the pair zipped away before flying to the roof Ladybug indicated.

___________________________________

As Ladybug landed on the roof, yet again a flash engulfed up and Superboy had to look away. In her place was a petite girl and a floating blob. Thing.

“mmmm, Hi Jon, Superboy. I guess I should introduce myself properly. I’m Ladybug, hero of Paris, Guardian of the miraculous or currently I’m Marinette. This is Tikki who helps me transform into Ladybug.”

Jon got a dopey look on his face. She was cute. Very cute. Especially as she seemed to be a contradiction of nerves and stubbon determinism. Quickly checking his phone to see Damian blowing it up with messages, he turned it off and directed all his attention to Marinette.

“Hi Marinette, you kinda know who I am. Its nice ta meet ya officially though. Did ya fancy grabbing a coffee or something before I have ta go? Would be nice to meet my soulmate properly.”

Grinning broadly back at Jon, Marinette nodded.

“I know the perfect place for coffee and pastries. I’ll show you! Oh umm do you mind flying us off the roof?”

Jon beamed and took her up in his arms again. He loved holding her. To him this was a perfect way to be with Marinette.

#maribat #maribat au #marijon week 2021 #jon x marinette #marijon #marinette x jon #ml x dc #dc x ml

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levmada · 2 years

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I AM HERE FOR UR EVENT

may i have a letter from canonverse levi? (gee whiz, who saw that coming)

you can address me as cece in it, i prefer not to reveal my irl name.

perhaps in the letter... hmm, he sends it whilst dealing with beaurocrats in the inner walls w/ erwin, and the other commanders, and he's bored SHITLESS and he just misses me, while i (his second-in-command of sorts watches Eren and the rest of the squad.) maybe he can ask if i'm doing okay w/o him (you know how much i struggle with.... everything by myself 🥲) and any physical/mental traits he might miss about me hehehe. and saucy you say??? i will NOT say no that.

so yeah, checking in, saying what he misses and what we can do together when he's home ✨✨✨

HELLO MY FRIEND -- your wish is my command. i'm happy to😇 there's a photo version beneath the cut too so u have one that has handwriting 🙏

To my dearest,

If I didn’t sit down and write to you, I’d lose my mind from the shit spewing out of all these idiots in Mitras. I only have another day of politics left to deal with, but only you can make me impatient. Seeing how you’ve put up with the brats for me the past three days, I know you must be as sick of this distance as me.

If Erwin had half a brain, he would’ve let Hange drool over their research and allowed you to come along instead. They desperately wanted to, and the only reason I know that is because I’ve been forced in the same rooms as them since we left; most of it goes over my head, anyway.

You don’t realize it, but you have a better head on your shoulders than half of the idiots here. You’re a good listener. The bureaucrats would be spellbound and I wouldn’t have to be so distracted. Then again, at these fancy cocktail events, it’d be impossible for me not to be. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you in a dress; specifically, the one you wore when you dragged me all over Utopia District a month ago, trying different shortcakes.

Do you remember making it up to me? I need a repeat of that evening when things are back to normal again. This time, I can have you for longer than just one evening.

In case you couldn’t tell, I miss you. I only ramble on like this when we’ve spent too long apart. Try not to forget about me—else I’d look ridiculous sitting here, thinking of the sound of your voice and growing even more antsy. Imagination is never as good as the real thing.

It isn’t easy to sleep, either. It’s worse at night because you aren’t attached to me like you usually are—the lack of routine is getting to me. Make sure you’re getting enough rest. I can’t be there right now to point out how silly you are to overthink everything either, so write back and tell me how you are. It’s important to me.

Take care, Cece.

Yours, Levi

For my V-Day event: Pop a love letter to your favorite aot character into my inbox, and receive one back!

#Valentines Day 2022 #aot event #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot fanfic #captain levi

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Yooo I’ve been reading your fic Intertwined and it is super good and giving me major moceit brain rot! Since you’re thinking about taking prompts, mayhaps moceit with something enemies-to-lovers and/or secret relationship?

Ah yay my first ever request! I wrote this as a series of vignettes because I knew if I gave myself half a chance I would go waaay overboard with it. Thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺❤❤❤

Length: 3.5k

Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag

Oh also I did try to make it obvious, but just in case it isn't, I is post Can Lying Be Good, II is post SvS, III is post DWIT, IV is immediately post PoF, and V is later after PoF

Some nights, Patton's head felt like a pressure cooker with no vent valve. The weight of his covers seemed to crush his chest, forcing him to hyperventilate as he desperately tried to pull in a full breath. Emotions swirled in his head like hot steam, a sickening mix of betrayal and shame, anger and guilt and fear. The knowledge of what Deceit had done, had tried to get Thomas to do, sat heavy in his stomach and brought the temperature up, up, up, until Patton was forced to move. He had to do something, dispel some of the steam before it boiled over into-- Well, something. Sometimes he felt on the verge of something scary and wholly out of his control, some kind of terrible explosion that would liquefy the support joints in Thomas' psyche and send all of them crashing down.

But not tonight. Tonight, Patton would scream into his pillows or pace the halls or talk to the mirror, anything to slow the roaring boil in his mind. He threw himself out of bed, bare feet touching down on the carpet, and was out the door before he could even think of grabbing something to cover up with. Not that the others had never seen him in boxers and a T-shirt, but Roman preferred to sleep in the cold and dropped the temperature accordingly.

Patton had smiled when Virgil had pulled him aside to explain what had happened. That Deceit had impersonated him and, like the Pied Piper, paraded the others behind him with a beautiful song. Thinking about it made the world tilt a little, but Patton had smiled and would have ruffled Virgil's hair if he'd thought Virgil would let him. Because it had turned out okay, hadn't it? And Patton was stupid for still feeling the way he felt. It was stupid to feel hurt that the others hadn't noticed right away. Deceit was a good actor and they had eventually noticed anyway. It was stupid to be scared. Thomas had rejected Deceit's temptation.

And then all Patton's thoughts vanished like a bursting soap bubble, because Deceit was in the hall. His look of wide-eyed astonishment was already morphing into a much more familiar expression of contempt.

"Oh," said Patton, once he'd recovered his own wits.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Deceit, who, Patton noticed with a jolt, was also in his pajamas. It was hard to be scared of someone wearing sweatpants decorated with little cartoon snakes, but it didn't entirely ease Patton's trepidation. It certainly didn't slow his pounding heart.

"What are you doing up?" Patton asked.

Deceit rolled his eyes like Patton's question was unprecedentedly stupid. "I was on my way to kill you in your sleep so I could take your place permanently." He shifted awkwardly as he talked, and Patton realized he was trying to gesticulate with his hands jammed deep in his pockets.

Patton didn't know what to say to that, so he did what he did best and smiled. He needed a way out. Forget feeling like a pressure cooker, he wanted to run back to bed and hide under the covers. He wanted Deceit to go away.

"Anyway," said Deceit, glaring, "I could ask you the same question."

Evil. He was evil. And here was Patton making small talk with him. Abiding him. "Are you sorry?"

Deceit's snake eye caught the light and almost seemed to glow under it. "Am I sorry?"

"For doing wrong." Patton scrambled to find confidence, find righteousness, conviction, faith. Anything he could use to keep Deceit at bay. "For encouraging Thomas to do wrong."

Deceit smiled, but not the way Patton had. This was cruel and mocking. He shook his head slightly as though in disbelief and almost seemed to laugh, his hands drawing the fabric of his sweats tight as he clenched them into fists. "Oh, yes, Patton, I'm so very sorry for trying to help. Yes, I repent! Shall I get down on my knees for you so you can forgive me for looking after Thomas? Hm?"

"I…" Patton took in a shaky breath. "I don't think we have anything more to say to each other. And I don't think I want to see you again."

"Don't worry," said Deceit as Patton turned his back on him, "you definitely won't."

II.

"I'm not angry," Janus said for what felt like the billionth time. He adjusted his arms where he had them crossed over his chest, huffing out a breath through his nose.

"You," said Remus, pointing at him, "have been throwing a tantrum ever since you got back. 'They're too stupid to manipulate, Remus! They didn't even listen, Remus! You're so sexy and well-hung, Remus!'"

"The are too stupid to manipulate! Is that my fault?"

"I'm just saying, you're kind of harshing my mellow."

"You've never been mellow in your life and you know it."

Remus only grinned and shook out the contents of another matchbox to add to his pile. He was planning on building a life-sized Roman out of matches and burning it in effigy. Janus remembered with a twist of guilt that Remus had seemed remarkably at ease in the two seconds before Janus had popped up and started ranting.

"Alright, since you're such a zen master," Janus huffed, "what do you suggest I do? Burn Patton in effigy?"

"I mean…" Remus held out a matchbox. "We can take turns with the Krazy Glue."

"Oh, forget it." Janus took the matchbox more by instinct than anything. "I'm going for a walk."

"You could burn down Virgil's door," Remus suggested.

Janus just shook his head and continued to stalk away. A few hours had passed since the courtroom disaster. It was now early evening and the matchstick of rage still burned quietly in Janus' chest. They were all so stupid! So naive. And it was all Patton's fault.

Janus turned the matchbox over in his hand, careful not to drop it. Scorched earth had never been his preferred modus operandi, but if Patton kept pushing back at him like this, Janus was going to shove, consequences be damned.

Oh, and speak of the angel. Janus didn't much feel like playing it coy, but he forced himself to. He leaned because against the wall, the matches still in his palm, and looked Patton slowly up and down. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Deceit!" Patton stopped dead, the smile sliding from his face. "What are you doing here?"

Janus brandished the matches, barely controlling the furious hiss building in the back of his throat. He'd already slipped once today, lost control of his temper. He couldn't allow that to happen again. "I've come to burn it all down."

Patton's eyes went wide, his gaze hot on the matches. "You should know better than to play with fire."

The knowledge of Patton's fear burned hot and triumphant in Janus' veins, filling him with the idea that he could still win something. He got closer to Patton with measured steps, slipping behind him when Patton tried to back away. "No, Patton," he purred, silky and cool in Patton's ear. "You're the one who's playing with fire."

"What…" Patton's voice shook and he cleared his throat, turning his head to try to look Janus in the eye. Janus was momentarily distracted by the freckles' on Patton's neck, the soft pulsing of his jugular vein. "What do you mean?"

Annoyed at himself, Janus backed up. The paper matchbox felt feeble in his grasp now, as feeble as his pathetic little display of power. He could bully Patton all he wanted and it wouldn't change a thing. "The Duke and I, we're the one thing you can't control," he boasted. Might as well see this through, since he started it.

"I have to try," Patton said. "My friends trust me, Thomas trusts me to keep him safe from the likes of you. I won't let you make Thomas into a liar. I won't let you lead Roman astray. But Deceit?"

"What?" Janus growled. His frustration was directed inward now, that he had thought any of this might make him feel better. Right. He should just go read Hobbes in the bath with his fire extinguisher handy.

"If you ever decide you want to… Well, be good. There's room for you at my table."

Janus crushed the matchbox in his clenched fist. If Patton applied his arbitrary standards fairly, he would see that Janus was good. But no, he was quite content to wear the blindfold of his own hypocrisy and leave Janus out to rot. "You're impossible," Janus said through clenched teeth. Before he could change his mind, he palmed the ruined matchbox into Patton's hand and turned to go.

"What's this for?" Patton asked.

Janus paused and gave his well-practiced supervillain smirk. "A promise."

Time to unleash the beast.

III.

Now more than ever, Patton was certain he was in over his head. He sat on the kitchen floor, hot chocolate untouched beside him, and stared at the crumpled matchbox in his palm. 'A promise,' Deceit had said. Patton hadn't been sure what to make of that, but he had an idea now.

Deceit was right. Patton couldn't control Remus. But that just meant he had to try harder. So now what was he supposed to do? Thomas was looking at him for guidance, but… He was supposed to ease up on judging Thomas for having evil thoughts, while simultaneously not letting Thomas be evil. Was he being too harsh or too lenient? And why did it feel like both?

"Well, well, well." Deceit's voice grated on Patton's ears. He made no effort to bolster himself, no effort to look anything other than despondent. Deceit must have been feeling truly bold to venture so far into enemy territory.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Patton asked, still staring at the matchbox. He didn't want to see that smirking face.

"Obviously not," said Deceit. "Chaos for chaos' sake was never the endgame."

"Then why are you here?" Patton asked, finally looking up. The angle and the brim of Deceit's hat kept his eyes in shadow, so all Patton could see was the mouth housing that forked serpent tongue.

"I'm here to offer you one last chance, Patton. Get out of my way."

"You can't put this on me," Patton said, looking again at the matchbox. "You said you were going to burn it down. If you're willing to hurt Thomas to get your way, then you shouldn't get your way."

Deceit twitched slightly and Patton could tell he was rolling his eyes even if he couldn't see it. "Have you heard of prescribed burns?" He didn't wait for Patton to answer. "It's when humans deliberately set fires to destroy some of the forest underbrush. Now, it seems counterintuitive, but regularly burning parts of the forest actually prevents wildfires from raging out of control. Does it hurt the underbrush? Yes. But sometimes things that seem harmless or even good are actually quite deadly if left unchecked. So a little bit of destruction actually serves the greater good. Do you understand?"

Patton furrowed his brow, trying to navigate this. "So you are willing to hurt Thomas to get your way."

"Why," said Janus, flexing his hands, "do I even bother?"

"Why do you bother?" Patton asked. He had never thought to wonder before. Evil was just evil and there was understanding it. But something in him had broken a little today; he could feel the edges of it poking at his chest.

Deceit sighed and shifted his weight. For a moment, Patton thought he might sit or kneel so they could talk at eye level but no, of course not, Deceit would never give up an advantage like that. "Because!" he said, agitated. "Because I know I'm right. I know Thomas needs me. I can help."

"If you truly loved him, you wouldn't be willing to hurt him," Patton said with conviction. That, he could be sure of.

"This is precisely why I've had to take such drastic measures!" Deceit actually stamped his foot, and Patton watched as he balled his hands into fists, the knit of his gloves straining at the knuckles. "None of you ever listen to me! You decided what I am long before I made my entrance and you only hear what supports that illusion." He took a slow, deep breath, and his voice was back to its usual silken glide when he spoke again. "I am asking you, one last time, to get out of my way."

"And I'm telling you" --Patton got to his feet so he could look Deceit in the eye-- "no."

IV.

They found each other in the aftermath, both their worlds shattered and still on fire. Janus, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. The walls around them flickered from the force of their combined imagination, showing crumbling drywall and collapsed framing, the smoldering ruin of everything they could have sworn was truth.

Janus had known that Patton was wrong about him, but he had never suspected that he might be wrong about Patton. The realization buzzed through his veins like electricity, along with a fatal determination that he and Patton were inexorably linked now.

Janus never thought he would say the words now coming out of his mouth and mean them, but Patton's magnetic draw seemed to pull them out as it pulled Janus closer and closer. "I was wrong, Patton. Maybe not about everything, but I was wrong about you."

"I did this," Patton said, gesturing at the broken-down walls. He seemed to feel the pull, too, if his gentle shuffle toward Janus was anything to go by.

Sarcasm seemed far beyond Janus' reach tonight, but perhaps not a few well-placed lies. "It's okay, Patton. Everything is okay." The flames moved in closer, consuming some of the wreckage, but Janus knew they were safe. It was all made-up, all of it. He could put the fire out if he could just focus on something other than Patton's tear-streaked face and oh, they were still getting closer and closer together. They'd be chest-to-chest soon. "I think…" said Patton. He wasn't crying now, thank God, because Janus didn't know what he would do. "Is it bad to find something beautiful in all of this?"

And there it was. The contact. Their foreheads touching, their hands intertwined. The two survivors of the wreck, drawn toward each other like magnets. "Very bad," Janus murmured, and he knew that Patton knew he was trying to talk himself out of what he did next.

He kissed Patton.

It was a terrible thing to do, probably his most selfish act to date. Here was Patton, devastated and willing to take whatever comfort he could find, and Janus was taking advantage. Even he had morals, but, oh, this was nice. He hadn't realized just how tense they had been with each other until it all suddenly snapped. And Patton was kissing back and had released his grip on Janus' hands so he could wrap his arms around him. Janus pulled away. "I shouldn't have done that," he said. "You don't need that. "

"Am I that bad at kissing?" Patton asked innocently.

"You didn't want that," Janus explained. "You're upset and you're not thinking straight." Patton was still holding him and despite the tear tracks still gleaming on his cheeks, he looked amused. Something ached at the back of Janus' tongue. "You don't want me."

Patton kissed him again, sweet and chaste this time. "Tell more about how I feel, Janus."

"I--" Couldn't think, couldn't think. "You--" Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Short-circuit. "But I-- You don't--"

"I didn't learn anything today," Patton said, "but I think I realized something that I've always known. Does that make sense?"

"This doesn't solve all our problems," Janus said. This couldn't be real. He couldn't allow himself to delight in this, not when it was going to go away. "You still don't approve of my methods and I don't agree with yours. We're going to disagree."

"You think I don't disagree with the others?" Patton asked and was that hope in his eyes. Here in the fire and ruins, here at the end of the world, Patton had hope. "I want to make this work."

Janus kissed him. This felt like less of a decision and more of a necessity, like breathing.

"So you believe me?" Patton asked when they parted. "You trust me?"

The answer was already yes despite the fear eating away at Janus' insides. It was more like a thrill than existential terror, and on some level he knew he must have been high on endorphins and adrenaline. "I trust you. But Patton?"

"Yeah?"

"What do we do now?"

"We make it work."

There was something undeniably thrilling about seeing Janus in secret. But mostly, Patton just felt awful about it. Sneaking out of his room at night like a teenager was fun, tip-toeing down the hall to hide away in Janus' room definitely had a sort of teen movie appeal to it. It was the pretending that made Patton feel all sick and guilty.

"You look tired," Roman said. He still wasn't back to his vibrant self, but Patton had vowed to be gentle with him until he found his footing again.

Patton was tired. He and Janus had spent most of the night just talking, innocent as could be, both tucked beneath the covers of Janus' bed. He tried and failed to think of a good pun, something that might distract Roman. "I was up kinda late, I guess."

Roman nodded. It was just the two of them that morning, Virgil being a late sleeper and Logan having been increasingly reclusive as of late, despite his reconciliation with Patton and the others. "I'll make you a coffee. Something fancy. Dare I say, the best coffee you've ever had."

"Oh," said Patton, cheeks heating up. "You don't have to!" Guilt flooded his chest at the idea of taking advantage of Roman.

"I'm offering," said Roman. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll make one for myself, too."

That did make Patton feel better, if only a little. He sighed as Roman got up from the table and started bustling around in the kitchen. These days, Janus was always on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to risk ruining Roman's good mood by bringing up such a painful subject, but… Patton couldn't keep going like this.

Hiding the relationship had of course been Janus' idea, but Patton couldn't deny the safety of it. For the first time, he realized how Deceit and Self-Preservation could share an identity. And while Patton knew his reasons were noble, he also understood that lying hurt. His friends would be devastated regardless of how they found out, but the destruction would be much worse if they found out accidentally.

"Something's bothering you," Roman said when he got back, holding two mugs piled high with whipped cream covered in chocolate shavings.

"I don't want to talk about it," Patton said.

"C'mon, Padre, we've talked about this. Sharing your feelings doesn't make you a burden. Especially if I'm asking."

Oh, Patton really didn't deserve Roman. "I know, kiddo, I just-- I'm not ready yet."

"Is this about J-- Him? Because I swear, if he hurt you, if he did something--" Roman cut himself off, and Patton appreciated that he looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"I promise I'll tell you when I'm ready," Patton said.

"I suppose that's all I can really ask," Roman said with a nod. "Well, I'll be here when you're ready. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks, Roman." He was still having issues with negative self-talk, but Patton didn't feel like nagging him about it today. So he smiled and picked up a spoon to scoop up some whipped cream. "You're a good friend."

When Roman wandered off to go work on a new creative vision for Thomas, Patton booked it to the Other living room (he was no longer comfortable thinking of it as the Dark Side). While he wasn't exactly on friendly terms with Remus yet, he might be able to navigate a conversation with him if required.

But thankfully, Janus was sprawled out on the couch reading a book of blank verse poetry and Remus was nowhere in sight. “Everything okay, angel?” he asked, tilting the book down so Patton could see his eyes. He sat up so Patton could sit next to him, cuddling closer when Patton put an arm around his shoulders.

Patton fidgeted with the hem of Janus’ capelet. “I’m thinking I want to, um…” He paused, looking for the right words. “Bring you up? See what the others think about you coming around every once in a while. Or all the time.”

Janus stiffened. Patton rubbed his arm. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled at the idea of having me around.”

“I wouldn’t leave you alone with them!” Patton said. He had learned, more through hints and inference than anything Janus had outright said, that Janus was deeply afraid of rejection and guarded his heart closely. “I just want… I want to stop lying to them and I want to stop sneaking around.”

“It’s safer this way,” Janus said, nudging Patton.

“But it’s not fair to them or to us to keep going like this,” Patton said. “I promise I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Janus asked archly, one hand inching up Patton’s thigh. “You’ll be my hero?”

“You don’t need a hero,” Patton said, putting his free hand down on top of Janus’. “If you decide to go off on them, what you’ll need is a referee.”

“That is true,” Janus said, and Patton noticed with a rush of affection that he was trying not to smile.

“So can I?”

Janus turned and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Yes, angel. But only because you’re cute.”

#moceit #spicyanswer #spicywrites #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #i wrote most of this on my phone so let me know if you catch any typos or formatting errors!

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localswordlesbian · 3 years

Text

rose-coloured boy

The Lonely left it's mark on Martin, with his formerly dark brown hair going a stark white the moment the fog touched him. Whenever he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees the man who became the victim of a fear that nearly swallowed him whole. So he decides that a bottle of pink hair dye is the way to go.

(or: a bunch of friends were sending art of pink haired martin on discord and I was inspired, thank you to @bagginshield and @m-e-w-666 for encouraging me to write this <3)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Martin was beginning to wonder whether he’d fucked up.

He watched as the water vanished down the drain before his eyes, tinged ever so slightly pink as it ran freely from his head and into the sink. Hunched over the cold ceramic, Martin listened to the music he’d set to play from the speakers to occupy his mind while he waited for the water to run clear, a process which was taking an almost infuriatingly long time. Despite the music, his mind was spinning – he couldn’t remember what, exactly, had spurred him to dye his hair. His walk to the convenience store down the road had almost disappeared from his memory, as though he’d done it in a daze, and he hadn’t hesitated before pulling the plastic gloves onto his hands and squeezing the light pink goop from the bottle onto his head.

Half an hour of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, paired with being hunched over the sink which was too short for someone of Martin’s height, was beginning to cause his muscles to tighten and his bones to ache. Eventually, the water spilling over his head finally ran clear and Martin straightened, his spine popping as his unruly curls flung water all over the bathroom. Sighing as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his hair, Martin stretched. He kept his eyes away from the mirror – he knew this had been his decision, but a deep-seated fear squirmed through his gut at the thought of seeing his own reflection; what if he hated it? What if he regretted it immediately and had no way of getting the dye out?

He shook his head. Spiralling into a panic over nothing wasn’t going to help, he tried to tell himself. Towel still wrapped around his hair, he left the bathroom and stepped onto the cold tile of his kitchen.

Tea would calm him down, he reasoned. Tea usually calmed him down. Martin got the kettle, two teabags, and two mugs, and got to work – it was a calming process, and that combined with the music still spilling from the living room was enough to distract him from his panic about his hair.

As he was seeping the tea in the boiling water, he heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking and someone coming inside. A smile pulled at Martin’s cheeks as he saw a familiar figure enter the kitchen.

“Welcome back,”

Jon smiled at him, his tired expression lifted as his eyes met Martin’s. “Thank you. Perfect timing,” he noted, gesturing to the tea.

Martin laughed, and the sound seemed to make Jon smile wider. “Yeah, it is.”

The two stood in amicable silence while Martin finished making and pouring the tea, handing Jon his mug. His scarred hand wrapped around Martin’s as he accepted the tea, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. They stood in the kitchen as they sipped their drinks, music continuing to pour in a continuous stream of company as they enjoyed each others’.

“Is that a new fashion accessory or something?”

Martin looked up suddenly. “What?”

Jon gestured to his head. “The towel. I wouldn’t normally point it out, but you never wear a towel on your head when you shower, so…”

Martin smiled softly – the fact that Jon knew that about him was still a little pleasant surprise sometimes. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Well..” Jon tilted his head sideways, waiting for Martin to continue. Sighing, Martin grabbed the towel with one hand and yanked it off his head. “It was sort of an… impulsive decision,” he explained.

Jon seemed to study him for a moment before setting his mug down and walking over to stand in front of Martin. Reaching up, he hesitated before making content, and at Martin’s nod he took a strand between his fingers. Martin could see that the colour was very pale, an almost pastel pink, just dark enough to be noticeable but not so much so that it would call attention. Jon gave a soft smile. “I think it looks lovely,” he murmured. “Why the sudden impulse, though?”

Martin finally let himself consider that question, the question he hadn’t let himself think about since he made the decision to venture out to the store to buy the dye in the first place. He thought about all he and Jon had been through the past few years, the horrendous traumas they’d both faced – the degradation of both of their psyches at the hands of their power hungry immortal boss. Jon’s scars were a constant reminder of the avatars who had wanted them dead simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and after the Lonely–

“I suppose I didn’t want to be reminded of it anymore.” Jon tipped his head sideways, urging Martin to continue. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I could see it – the fog, the blurry horizon hardly even there, the vague silhouettes of people who were just as alone as I was. And it’s not like I could justify it with “going grey young;” it was white, Jon. There was no– no compartmentalizing it anymore. And I just couldn’t bear it.”

A beat passed, then Jon reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across Martin’s cheek – Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He wordlessly took Martin’s hands and led him over to the couch – Martin sank gratefully into the cushions, suddenly exhausted. He felt weary down to his bones, as though a film of grey had settled over his vision and made his brain all fuzzy and spaced out. Jon said nothing, simply held Martin’s hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckles in a soothing back and forth motion.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait until I– until I forget,” he confessed in a broken whisper.

Jon let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Love, I don’t think either of us will ever forget what we went through.” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “Though, that’s not to say we’ll never move past it.”

Martin nodded. “I feel like I’m giving in.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know, the fear? Peter Lukas and the Lonely? Heroes are always supposed to rock their scars, hell even you live with constant reminders of what you went through painted on your body, but I can’t even look at myself without feeling… cold. Cold and lonely and abandoned.”

Jon lifted one of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Martin shook his head. “Jon. It’s not your fault. None of it was, or is.”

Jon nodded. “I know, I–” he broke off, squeezing Martin’s hands again. “I can’t promise that it will get better. The nightmares, the memories, the… the habits. But I can promise I’ll never abandon you ever again. I never want you to feel like you’re alone, not as long as I’m with you.”

“You didn’t abandon me the first time. I chose to work for Lukas, I chose to sacrifice myself. That wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you!”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right. My point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what. No matter the colour of your hair,” he added fondly, lifting one hand to thread it through Martin’s curls. Martin leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the simplicity of this moment – sat on the couch, with tea that had gone cold, two broken people desperately trying to figure out how to simply be in a world that had taken so much from them.

Jon leaned closer, tilting his head in a silent invitation, one which Martin accepted by pressing their lips together – it was a soft kiss, a gentle one, a reminder that not all was lost, that despite it all they still had each other. Jon’s hand threaded through Martin’s hair, and Martin savoured every sensation as he cupped Jon’s cheek and felt the stubble scrape his palm. This was what had been missing in the Lonely – the feeling of touch, of direct contact with another person without feeling as though there was a layer of something between him and anyone or anything around him. But here, in this tiny flat, he was present in this very moment, present for the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his, a reminder that right now he wasn’t alone. No matter the colour of his hair or the nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat after a dream where he’d been drowning in fog, his lungs full of cold, wet smoke and his eyes unseeing, Jon would be there.

Jon hummed against his lips, and Martin pulled away. “What?”

His boyfriend has a small smile on his face. “I just realized something,” he said. “You’re a real rose-coloured boy.”

Martin barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your great realization?”

Jon pouted. “I thought it was cute.”

Martin chuckled, brushing his lips over Jon’s again and pulling away before he could press closer. Jon let out a petulant growl, and Martin grinned. “You’re cute.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

“If I agree, can I kiss you again?” Martin nodded. “Fine, then I’m adorable.”

Still grinning, Martin brought his lips to Jon’s again, and they stayed on that couch for a good long while.

After this, they’d go about their regular days. Martin still didn’t know whether he’d be able to bear his own reflection, now that his hair was no longer the stark white it had turned after the Lonely. He knew that this wouldn’t keep the nightmares at bay, the terrifying dreams of losing Jon to a fog so thick he could hardly move through it, of losing himself piece by piece as everyone walked by, of being forgotten and discarded as though he’d never mattered. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything long term.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the first step.

That night, Martin looked up from the sink and beheld the pink curls on top of his head for the first time. He held his reflection’s stare, as if challenging it to go after him. The memories weren’t gone, but the telltale twist of a corkscrew of panic driving its way into his chest was, for once, absent. He simply felt… normal.

What normal was, Martin could only hope it wouldn’t remain that way forever. Jon was right – he’d never forget, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t heal, piece by piece, bit by bit, never alone again.

Perhaps that was enough.

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #tma fic #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #alternate ending #nobody dies #fix-it #fics have become serotonin let me live #angst with a happy ending #this is getting me through the semester #eboy martin #pink haired martin #i'd like to give him one hug #jonny sims do not interact

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 18

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: We stan ✨women in science✨. Bruce uwu. Twitter social media AU nobody asked for. Stephen and Tony are dicks and I'm not talking about their anatomy. Setting up mood for Bruce smut, ngl. PTSD makes things spicy. I'm depressed so please be kind ✌🏻💀🙃

"I really do wonder how can you two fit those egos of yours in your pants," I kept my tone forcefully casual, cheerful even. "Why don't you just fuck already?"

I was met with stunned silence. Suddenly, the room seemed far too large and the people in much too quiet, staring at me with various expressions of horror obvious in their faces. As the strange friendship began developing between me and the team, my "outbursts" - how Steve liked to call them - lessened considerably. I had no need to provoke them into giving me attention, just striking up a casual chat was enough. The Avengers were great conversationalists, to my surprise.

Tony and Stephen, when paired, were the exception. I could count on one hand the amount of times they successfully came to a conclusion without fighting like cats and dogs. It was like each man had made it a personal mission to verbally top the other, more often than not resulting in a thirty-minute shitshow ending with one storming off in a dramatic flourish. It was mind-boggling how two supremely intelligent men could not find a way to communicate efficiently without infuriating the rest of the team.

Plus me. One way or another, I was almost always around. In the beginning, it was hilarious to see the free circus but it got old really quickly when they couldn't decide on dinner or a movie, leaving the rest of us starving and bored. Or the great Cloak debate - that one lasted days and the fussy thing was so upset, it point blank refused to part from Peter for a substantial amount of time. It's pretty fucking creepy that a semi-sentient, ancient piece of outerwear watches you when you sleep - just sayin'. I personally interjected with my own snark and sass whenever Tony and Stephen got too heated, successfully drawing the attention to myself. The fight broke up and I had amazing sex with Tony later, it was a win-win scenario.

Yet, Tony and Stephen didn't stop. To me, their way of "talking" (and I use that term loosely) looked a lot like unresolved sexual tension. Stephen frequently used his greater height to tower over Tony in a childish attempt to establish dominance; the engineer was no rookie and responded with extravagant peacocking such as "subtly" tapping the bracelet that hosted his nanotech suit or parading at dinner in a $30,000 custom made designer outfit. Because Tony could.

I was pleasantly surprised when Natasha started laughing at my remark. Full-blown, belly laugh. Those were rare, coming from the Widow, her usual mirth was quiet, sophisticated, just like her. Deadly (adorable). Bucky followed suit, snorting together with Clint and Loki.

Steve looked none too pleased with me. But then again, was he ever? "Doll, don't be rude."

"Brat," Bruce said at the same time, palming his face.

"People always call me a brat. And guess what, Steve?" I popped my hip, twirling a cotton candy pink coloured Dum-Dum between my fingers. "What can you do about it? Nothing," I shrugged, leaning my head against Bruce's shoulder affectionately.

Steve just shook his head in disappointment. "Can we get back on topic? Please?"

"Captain, I think that Stark..." Strange began talking with Tony dramatically groaning in the background and I instantly tuned out the useless babble. Steve should've been smarter and revoked speaking rights from Tony and Stephen. Or asked Loki to magically render them both mute for ten minutes.

"You're not wrong," Bruce quietly whispered next to my ear. "Ten bucks says Wanda meddles and those two finally work out their frustrations," The scientist hid a grin against my head. I felt the amused, giddy energy radiating off him like a plasma beam.

"I don't even have to bet," I rolled my eyes. "If she doesn't do it, I will."

Both Tony and Stephen were throwing me equally infuriated glances. One promised me a good, hard fucking and the other saw me a short, poisonous lecture on appropriate behaviour in the nearest future - you can guess which is which. If I had it my way, I'd skip the lecture and go straight to a hot, filthy threesome with two men twice my age. I wasn't blind, Strange was hot as hell and could be decent and even nice once in a blue moon.

He could, but he wouldn't be. I wanted that raw, unadulterated lust, tension so concentrated it walked the razor's edge between violent craving and repulsion. Ever since the incident with Clint, I had this ugly mess inside of me, like a live wire about to snap. My brain was constantly racing, darting between how utterly useless I am in a group of supers and embracing my normal-ness, amplifying it by hosting game nights and spending time trying to convince people to start a dungeons and dragons campaign. Or something.

My sleep was like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where I stayed awake for one or two hours at a time in the middle of the night after waking up sweaty, with my heart hammering out of my chest. Sometimes I dreamt of Clint's lifeless, sickly white body, sometimes the whole room flooded with blood and I couldn't stop it no matter what, there was so much of it, I drowned in it, I startled up with the taste of it in my mouth. Rarely, the worst of it came - the one where Clint was alive as millions of millions of little fluorescent, poisonous jellyfish burst out of him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

I had PTSD. Yay, me. As if my uselessness wasn't enough of a burden, my brain decided for me that it wasn't good enough that I saved Clint and now it was punishing me for being close to a group of people who routinely saved the WORLD.

I contemplated my usual habits - going to a party, getting trashed and dancing until my legs were numb. I just wanted to shut my brain off for a moment, give it a hard reset so-to-say, but with Tony on my back like a jet-pack, I didn't doubt he'd show up to the place and drag me out of there even if I was kicking and screaming. And he was a Stark, a billionaire, so visiting my dad in Cali wouldn't be possible on my own. Tony would gas up the jet and the rest of the team would find and excuse to tag along, too. As much as I loved being the baby menace who could get away with anything, I hated the way they all herded me, like I was an actual child. I couldn't get away from myself, not even for a moment.

I had the backup-backup plan and I was going to have to execute it. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I don't doubt y'all enjoy listening to Tony and Steph flirt," The nickname escaped unmoderated from my lips before I could catch myself. "But what are we doing for Halloween? I need to know if I gotta get a costume," Bruce chuckled next to me and wrapped an arm around me, happy for the distraction. Unlike me, the scientist was obligated to listen and participate in the avengers-themed discussion. Which was difficult because the engineer and the sorcerer constantly bickered, inadvertently taking over the talk.

"Halloween?" Steve groaned.

"We should do something," Bucky side-eyed his boyfriend. "For the children." Something told me he wasn't thinking of the children, at all. The man was positively leering, probably thinking about what kind of a tight suit he could convince Steve to squeeze into.

"A party!" Tony immediately exclaimed, interrupting Stephen mid-setence.

"Tony, no," Steve stated firmly.

"Tony, YES!" Clint perked up. "A snack bar. A bar-bar."

"I will not be helping you all if you get alcohol poisoning," Stephen crossed his arms.

"So it's a party," I stated firmly, throwing a contemplating look at Wanda and Pietro. The twins looked unsure but excited. I knew I could count on fellow young people to support my decision to have fun, dance a little, drink a little. Let loose. To nail my point, I turned to Bruce with a mischievous smirk. "Fifty bucks says Stephen is too stuck up to show up in costume."

"Beg pardon?!" The sorcerer exclaimed. His eyebrows threatened to meet his hairline.

"I think you give him too little credit, Princess," Bruce winked at me and we solemnly shook hands. It was great having a fellow partner in mischief. Loki's approving smirk just sealed the deal for me.

"It's not my fault you sometimes act like you have a stick up your butt," I gave in the way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders innocently in Stephen's direction. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"I don't dare to imagine what's been up yours," The sorcerer retorted dryly, in an uncharacteristically childish fashion, arms still crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"Tony," I simply said, leering salaciously at the man.

"Ooh, kinky," Clint reached over and we promptly high-fived each other in the wake of multiple embarrassed groans emanating around the room. "Strange, you're a boring old man, get over it."

"And you regularly end up in dumpsters, Barton," Strange retorted quickly. "Not my idea of fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it hit you in the face!" Tony grinned triumphantly, confident in his superiority over Strange. Look at that, the team was doing the work for me and I didn't even have to try.

"I'll show you fun," Stephen retorted darkly. It was obvious the man was planning something.

"Ok, boomer," I raised my eyebrows in muted satisfaction before turning around and grabbing Bruce to drag along with me. "I'm confiscating your best scientist to amuse myself. I am bored. We will go and do actual science whilst y'all argue. Bye."

My patience had run out. We were examining the parasites we found in the murder-anthropods-from-space, codename MAFS, courtesy of yours truly, and their amazing properties to penetrate cell membranes and feed on metals in organic life forms. Without Bruce's help I understood maybe half of it but he had the patience of a saint and dutifully and understandably explained to me the finer points of studying aliens. Signing half a dozen NDAs was never more worth it.

Steve's sigh consisted of 99% suffering and 2% disappointment. Natasha face-palmed silently in the corner, clutching a mug of coffee, a poster child for existential dread.

"Wait for me," Tony whined, going for the door and promptly being stopped by Steve pointing out the team needing his input on one mission or another. The engineer sighed. "Baby girl, don't let the green mean to start any experiments without me." Tony instructed, pointing an accusatory finger in our direction.

I clutched at Bruce dramatically, feigning hurt feelings and was rewarded with a swift motion of his arms. I shrieked delightfully at being thrown over the scientist's shoulder as he hastened his pace towards the elevator, hightailing it out of there. "I'd never snitch on science daddy," I wiggled my eyebrows in Tony's direction, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Bruce's pants, dangling over his shoulder like a happy sack of potatoes.

The lab smelled strongly of alcohol and bitter chemicals, the solution that Bruce developed to ensure the optimal state of the alien pathogens. The man's genius never ceased to amaze me: Bruce came up with the needed formula in the span of a few hours while running low on sleep, post a Hulk-out session.

We put on our protective gear - "science onesies" I called them - along with a respirator and goggles and set to the segregated part of the lab where the specimens were kept under a blue light. The glass wall between Bruce's and Tony's lab was dimmed; I reflected in it, looking positively futuristic in my double-stacked white platformed boots and white hazmat suit.

"Wait," I motioned to Bruce to come over.

"Oh, right, our music," He was already half-way to being in total Science Mode. "Friday, please put on the "Get Schwifty" playlist, 60% volume."

The playlist that me and Bruce came up with for our lab sessions. The man was such an adorable dork. Thirty percent my music, thirty percent of his indie rock shit and forty percent 00's bops. In other words, utter perfection.

I finally managed to fish out my phone from my pants. "No, let's take a selfie," I struck an impressive pose and pointed the camera as Avril Lavigne sung the first verse to Sk8r Boi.

Bruce laughed but abided by the request, giving me bunny ears in the photo, tapping the fingers of his other hand on my waist to the rhythm of the song.

"He was a skater boy, she said see ya later boy!" I sang along, switching my Instagram to stories and posting the short clip of us just vibing with the caption #sciencetime, Bruce laughing openly behind his respirator. I looked cute and silly in my outfit.

"Send the video to me, I'll post it on my Twitter," Bruce requested. I indulged him then put my phone away, ready to conquer the world of microbiology. Or die trying. Science was calling...

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn't stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: vii, viii

"What? They can't just break up like that!" you gaped, shaking Renjun's shoulder lightly to exaggerate your point. Renjun rolled his eyes before clicking his tongue, "oh come on, you didn't see that coming? Their relationship was bound to end at some point, y/n."

You were both binge watching the ninth season of The Big Bang Theory at your house, originally planning to study and do chemistry homework together, but being the procrastinator you were, you ended up getting distracted. Hence, why the two of you are sitting on your bed watching one of the most heartbreaking episodes on The Big Bang Theory while munching on some pizza,

“But they were so cute together! My Shelamy heart can’t take this, Injun!” you shook your best friend aggressively as you continue to whine, ignoring the sighing boy who was contemplating on why he was even friends with you in the first place. “He even got a ring for her, if that isn’t the cutest thing ever then I don’t know what is,” you groaned, collapsing on your bed as the thought of someone giving you a wedding ring made your heart flutter.

“Always the hopeless romantic,” Renjun sighs, running a hand down his face as if to say ‘I’m so done right now’. “Disgusting,” he teased, letting out a soft grunt once he felt you throw a pillow at the back of his head. “Shut up, nerd. You still have to find your soulmate, why not let your magnificent best friend mourn over the fact that she’s gonna be single for the rest of her life and let a girl dream?” you joked, earning a dark glare from Renjun.

Ouch, why did that hurt? It was your own joke after all.

“Don’t say that you sadist. You need to stop making jokes bout the bad things in life, that’s not very healthy.” Renjun lectured, his hand coming up to pinch your cheek hard. You frowned, pulling his hand away from you as you chuckled nervously. “You know me, Jun. Humor is a coping mechanism for everything. I’m mad at you when you mock me for simping over Timothée Chalamet when he starred on Little Women? I use sarcastic humor as a revenge.”

“I feel frustrated for failing that test because the damn substitute teacher wouldn’t believe me that I didn’t skip school instead of spending the whole day in the infirmary with a twisted ankle, watching Goblin with the nurse? I use sardonic humor to snap back at said teacher.”

“I get sad for accepting the fact that I am going to be single for the rest of my life? I use dark humor to cope with it instead of curling up in a ball and eat ice cream for the rest of my life and get Type 2 Diabetes.” you shrugged shamelessly as Renjun gaped at you, rubbing his temples to slowly process on your words. “Okay, firstly,” he started.

“One, Timothée Chalamet in that movie was desperately simping over a girl who clearly didn’t deserve him. Come on, tell me you didn’t get annoyed when he keep saying the l word at Jo despite her spilling her feelings out and rejecting him countless of times.” Renjun inhaled, his eyes boring widely into yours, his words speaking nothing but facts. “I get that but-” you started before the older boy cut you off, “I’m not done yet.”

“Secondly, that substitute teacher wasn’t even a teacher. She was an ear raping machine, no one liked her. Also, I gotta admit spending a whole school day watching the Goblin arguing with The Grim Reaper instead of spending excruciating hours writing your wrist off and trying not to snooze in the middle of Mr. Lee’s math lecture would’ve been the most luxurious thing a student could ever ask for”. And I am pissed off you got injured and left me there in class, suffering all by myself.” he laughed, flicking you on the forehead teasingly.

“Lastly, if you want to say something bout Jaemin, you know you could’ve just say so instead of sugar coating it.” Renjun sucked in his lips, smacking you with the pillow you threw at him previously, mentally preparing himself to comfort you knowing that you’re bout to go on another rant of how much you missed Jaemin. But if it helps you feel better and take another small step to moving on, then he’ll listen to you rant til his brain implodes.

You frowned, letting out a soft chuckle. “You know me too well, Jun.” you felt tears lining up your eyes, you leaned your head up, trying to blink the tears away. “It’s not helping when he’s literally next door. Or in the same school as I am, or in the same planet.” you leaned back to lay on your back on the mattress, your pillow hugged tightly to your chest as you let out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

Renjun patted your knee, silently urging you to continue to let out your thoughts. You couldn’t advert your gaze away from your ceiling, “He used to be so sweet before this whole soulmate ordeal,” you began with a sniffle. “Honestly, middle school was one of the best eras of my life. When me and Jaemin were just clowns on crack playing Five Nights At Freddy’s and goofing off, it still makes my heart flutter when I think bout the memorable moments we shared in middle school.” you closed your eyes as a flood of memories clouded your mind.

7th grade, an iconic year for your friendship. “Y/N!” Jaemin called out from the other side of the classroom, causing you to turn to him in the middle of your little gossip session with your friends. “You wanna play truth or dare with us?” he asked with a sweet smile, a few of your classmates gathering to the back of the class to sit down in a circle. You nodded in excitement, ditching your friends in hopes you get a spicy dare.

You sat in between Lia and Jeno, rubbing your hands together as you waited your turn to either give or receive a truth or dare. “Jaemin! Truth or dare?” a boy whose name you can’t recall asked with a mischievous smile. Jaemin rolled his eyes before answering “dare” with a bold, cocky smirk, eyes practically challenging his classmate to give him an extreme dare. The boy stopped to contemplate before turning to him with a cheeky chesire grin.

“Since you’re so close to Y/n, why don’t you sit on her lap?” the boy snarled, causing your classmates to let out whistles and soft “ooo”s around you. You raised a brow, “wait a second, that’s not fair. This is his dare not mine, why am I the one being sat on.” you whined as Jaemin tried to hide his flustered expression of sitting on his best friend’s lap. “Well, it’s a dare either way, he’s gotta do it whether he wants to or not.” he stuck his tongue out at you as you hissed back.

“Fine.” you mumbled as Jaemin laughed and tried to conceal his flustered expression and sat on your lap idly, his hands in between his legs as you try to restrain yourself from wrapping your arms around his waist and making things even more awkward than it already is. “What’s the big deal? You wanted me to sit on her lap, why are you so shocked?” Jaemin laughed as a few of your classmates just stared at the two of you in disbelief.

“How are you not uncomfortable with a guy sitting on top of your lap?” your friend asked from across the group circle. You shrugged, raising your brow as Jaemin lets out a laugh, shrugging in response as well. “Is it wrong for a person to sit on their best friend’s lap?” Jaemin asked with a raise of his brow, a teasing smile evident on his face as your friend struggled to find the words to say next.

“I must admit, you are quite heavy. I don’t think my legs are going to last long with your heavy, tall giraffe-like body.” you laughed, causing Jaemin to turn his head back at you with a glare, letting out a small sinister smile. ”That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, y/n. Suffer.” he spoke in a bittersweet tone.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you had Mr. Na Jaemin sitting on your lap? For how long? All because of a dare?” Renjun paused, rubbing his temples to process this whole information. He knew Jaemin was a shameless and rather affectionately touchy boy, but he didn’t know that he was willing to accept such a gutsy dare. Yet again, this is you, he’s talking bout. The person who kept going for two years despite being rejected and gossiped left and right.

You shrugged, sitting up on the bed. “I was like, 11 years old. What do you want me to do, Huang? Born to be the family disgrace.” you grinned proudly, wiggling your brows as you placed a hand under your chin to pose dramatically. “You shouldn’t be proud of that. Weird flex but okay,” Renjun sighed heavily, raising a bottle of coke to his lips.

You inhaled as you began to spill another memorable moment from your childhood.

If there was one thing you and Jaemin had in common, it was that you both have absolutely no shame when flaring your dramatics.

It was 5th grade, you assume, when you and Jaemin had your first indirect kiss. It was a disturbingly iconic moment for the two of you, considering years after the incident you two kept doing it as if it were a part of your daily routine. You were at that age where kids around you were starting to take notice bout the soulmate concept. Teachers began explaining how the soulmate system worked during science class, causing you to involuntarily look at Jaemin from time to time to catch his disgusted expressions.

Often, snickering at the boy sitting in front of you who was gagging and mimicking the teacher as she explains. Sticking his tongue out in disgust when they started explaining the left tattoo concept. Jaemin sighed heavily, his hand stretching out to grab the water bottle on his table. His finger raised to push the lid off with a small pop, drinking without hesitation.

Jaemin looked down as he closed the lid and his brows furrowed at the oh-so-familiar name label on the lid of said water bottle. Written on the pink label with a sailor moon picture on the side was Y/N L/N. Jaemin almost threw up when he turned to you slowly, making you look up from your notes to give him a questioning nod at his horrified expression.

The little boy raised the water bottle to show you your little sailor moon label, making you raise your brow questioningly, as if to say, ‘what’s wrong with my sailor moon label?’

Crud, he forgot you were using the same water bottles your parents got you when you were both shopping at the thrift store.

Your eyes widened in realization when Jaemin pointed at himself and your bottle, trying not to scream in terror and get a scolding from your strict science teacher. ‘Did you,’ you mouthed, pointing an accusitory finger at the boy sitting in distress in front of you. ‘Drink from my,’ you continued, using your other hand to point dramatically at yourself then to your bottle that was still in his hands. ’My bottle?’ you asked with wide terrified eyes.

Jaemin practically gulped nervously, nodding in response. You both took a moment just staring into each other’s terrified expression, before mouthing ‘what the heck?!’ or ‘oh crud’ repeatedly, as to not gain your teacher’s attention.’You drank from my water bottle, Jaemin?!’ you mouthed, rubbing your hands against your face in distress. ‘How am i suppose to drink now?’ you whined, facepalming now that Jaemin had placed your water bottle back on your desk.

‘How am I suppose to live now knowing your spit is basically in my body? ‘ Jaemin shudders in response, grabbing his throat with disgust laced across his face. ‘Gross, I have your germs in my mouth.’ he stuck his tongue out in disgust, fake gagging as you rolled your eyes.

Renjun just gave you an incredulous look, his mouth gaping open, trying to decide whether to laugh or shake his head profusely. “Gosh, you two were born to be so dramatic. Seriously, while other people are having a mental breakdown over doing algebra, you two were in the back of the class making lovey-dovey faces because you two had your first indirect kiss.” Renjun laughed, clapping his hands as he howled back in laughter.

You sat up and whined, smacking your best friend with the pillow you were hugging earlier, causing him to laugh even more.”Oh god, I wish I came here sooner to witness that.” he wheezed, dodging your hits with his forearms as you continued to smack him on the face, chanting “shut up, Huang!” repeatedly in shame.

“I couldn’t drink from that bottle for months! It was my favorite bottle, too! The fact that Jaemin brings that bottle to school everyday was just traumatizing for the both of us! Instant trauma,” you groaned, leaning back dramatically against the mattress. Renjun laughed, smacking you with a pillow. “How did that even happen?” he asked incredulously.

“Some kid decided it would be funny to switch our bottles.” you pouted, stretching your arms across the bed like a starfish. “Did you two do anything bout it?” Renjun asked, his brows raising in amusement, practically eating your hilarious story up like it was a tub of candy. You sighed, looking away for a moment before mumbling under your breath.

“Jaemin said we should’ve replace the water in his water bottle with tap water from the bathroom, but I didn’t want to risk the guy getting a tummy ache so I spat in his drink instead.“

Renjun howled with laughter, a hand coming to hold his stomach as he leaned his head back laughing. “Why would you- Oh my god, this is gold. I can’t-” he wheezed, tears lining his vision as his tummy started to ache from laughing so hard. “Shut up! I was like, nine years old at the time. At that exact moment I felt no remorse for my actions whatsoever but now that I said it, it makes me feel even worse!” you whine, your feet kicking Renjun off the bed.

He landed on your carpet floor with a loud thud, his laughter subsiding into giggles. “That’s the chaotic energy everyone in this generation wants to have, holy shit, why wasn’t this documented ? This could’ve gone down as one of the most iconic moments in history. Honestly, whoever that kid who switched your bottle was, he’s that hero that doesn’t even need a cape.” he jokes, sitting up to earn a death glare from you.

Oh, if looks could kill, right now.

“Whatever, you sadist. Enjoying your time as you watch me suffer in despair.” you swung your arm over your eyes dramatically, feeling the mattress sink, assuming that Renjun had climbed onto the bed once again. “Come on, tell me another one. I promise I won’t laugh,” Renjun raised his pinkie finger with a soft smile. You raised your brow at him with your lips in a frown, causing Renjun to shrug innocently, “too much.”

You inhaled, your mind delving deep into the loving memories you had with Jaemin throughout your life. Your heart clenched at the next story you were bout to tell, the memory making your heart wanting to reach out for his even more. “Well, there was this one time-”

Ninth grade. Senior year of middle school. The previous day, you danced under the rain as Jaemin watched you from under the bus stop, hiding for shelter as you jumped around the empty cold streets. The fresh smell of rain hitting your nostrils as water made your clothes clung to your skin. Unfortunately for you, the next day you immediately got sick with a fever.

Receiving countless of text messages saying either ‘I told you so’ or ‘lucky bitch, you get to miss our physics test’ from Jaemin. You were shivering under the layers of blankets and hoodies you were wearing, stirring awake every hour due to how cold or thirsty you felt, tossing and turning every now and then. You turned when you heard your bedroom door opening, wondering who it was considering both your parents were busy at work at this hour.

Your eyes widened to see Jaemin, a coat hanging over his arm as he closed the door, and a plastic bag filled with delicious warm soup that you could smell from a mile away. “I can’t believe you left me to suffer all alone in school, I swear you purposely didn’t listen to me because you didn’t want to do that boring test.” Jaemin whined, a pout evident on his lips.

“Nana!” you exclaimed in a giddish tone, making grabby hands at him. Jaemin chuckled as he walked closer to your bed, sitting on the corner of your bed beside you, leaning his back against the headboard. He lays his coat on the chair behind your study desk, putting the plastic bag of food on your lap when you sat up. “Eat up. The sooner you get better, the sooner I can hug you to death for leaving me today.” He jokes.

You smiled, opening the plastic container inside to smell the scrumptious soup inside. “Chicken noodle soup, your favourite.” he spoke in a soft tone, smiling lightly at you. You grinned, grabbing the plastic spoon that came with it. “What? No soda on the side?” you grinned cheekily, earning a soft pinch to your cheek by your best friend. “Don’t you dare make song references in front of me as if you didn’t listen to me bout dancing under the rain yesterday, look where it got you now.” he tuts, shaking his head in a motherly manner.

“Geez, sorry, mom.” you teased, beginning to consuming your soup. “You’re sweating a lot, that’s a good sign.” Jaemin pushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear, the sudden action causing you to pause from your eating for a brief moment, before shrugging it off. “I’ll probably feel be back to normal in a day or two.” you shrugged, gulping down a spoon full of soup.

“You’re gonna need to change, take your hoodie off.” Jaemin exclaimed, pulling your almost finished soup away from you. You let out a loud, “huh?” in response, your eyes widening at his sudden statement, trying to see if he was joking but no, Jaemin was dead ass serious.

“Take your hoodie off.” Jaemin ordered. “Jaemin!” you exclaimed, pulling your blankets up to your chin, protecting yourself from him. “You’re not gona get any better with wet stinky clothes on you, Y/N.” Jaemin rolled his eyes, walking over to your closet to grab a really baggy shirt of yours, tossing the big fabric over your face. You sat up and pulled the shirt off of your face to see Jaemin strip the white hoodie he was wearing over his body.

Your eyes caught the black shirt he was wearing underneathe had tugged up along with his hoodie, exposing his toned stomach to prove the results of how much time he spent working out at the gym with Jeno recently.

You squeaked at the action, looking away with a small blush tinting your cheeks. “Jaemin, what are you-” you flushed, taking the risk of looking at Jaemin again with a flustered expression to see your best friend standing in front of you with his white hoodie clutched in his hands. “Change your clothes, you’re gonna get even more sick if you lay there with wet clothes. You ran out of hoodies, use mine, instead.” he spoke sternly.

“Jaemin, I don’t think that that’s really necessary-” you let out a small squeak when Jaemin’s face came close to yours, his hand laying on your forehead and the other laying on his own. “You’re fever’s getting even worse. Change clothes and finish your soup while I get a warm towel ready, Y/n” He spoke, turning to leave your room, shutting the door behind him, unaware of how red your face must’ve been at the sudden contact.

You felt your heart beat increase at the actions that had happen before you, Jaemin’s hoodie resting on your lap, his strong cologne filling your senses, causing you to flush red even more as you tugged your wet sweaty clothes off and changed into the shirt and hoodie Jaemin picked out for you. You bit your lip when you could practically feel his scent engulf your whole being, your face becoming more red.

Did he always smell this nice?

The fresh smell of cinnamon and comfort was the only thing you could say to describe the indescribable scent of your best friend. You felt your heart flutter at the thought of constantly wearing his hoodie, but your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Jaemin came into your room with a bucket filled with warm water and a towel in hand.

“Lay down, y/n” he ordered, sitting on the bed beside you as you sunk down on the bed, pulling your bed sheets up to your nose so he wouldn’t see how red your face is. Jaemin didn’t think much of it when he dipped the water in the warm water, squeezing the water out to leave the towel warm and soaked, laying the warm towel on your forehead.

“You really didn’t have to do this, you know.” you bit your lip, sighing at the contact of his fingertips grazing against your skin as he layed the towel gently on your forehead. “I know, but you’ll probably die here if I don’t,” he chuckles. dipping the towel again once it got cold, squeezing the water out before placing it back on your forehead. “Does that mean you care bout me, Na Jaemin?” you smirked. “That’s quite embarrassing.” you teased.

Jaemin rolled his eyes softly at you, pinching your cheeks before cooping your nose. “There’s nothing embarrassing for a guy to care for his girl.” he commented simply. It felt like an arrow of pure adoration had struck through your heart. Well, that comment backfired. Wait, what does he mean by ‘his girl’?

“I’m your girl?” you spoke after a moment of hesitation, feeling your heart race against your ribcage once again. Jaemin chuckled, flicking your forehead teasingly, “not like that, you cheeseball.” he grinned, booping your nose once again before removing the towel from your forehead.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be right here when you need me. That is, unless your parents kick me out for staying too long.” he giggles, carressing your hair with his calloused fingers. “They’ll never kick you out, you live literally next door, Nana.” you giggled, nuzzling against his touch. Jaemin chuckled, putting the towel into the bucket before leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes widened at the sudden act of affection, causing Jaemin to grin shyly. “You just look adorable, right now.” he mumbles under his breath before standing up and walking towards the door. “Go to sleep! I’ll be watching TV if you need me!” Jaemin exclaimed before closing the door with a soft click.

I don’t know bout you, but you knew you couldn’t sleep after his sudden display of affection.

You didn’t even realize tears were slowly streaming down your face until you let out a soft sob, Renjun’s figure coming close to comfort you. You felt Renjun’s arm wrap around your back, his hand coming up to your head to lean it against his shoulder. You sniffled, trying to swallow the sob that’s waiting to erupt from your mouth.

It was like day one all over again, with you crying your eyes out and Renjun comforting you by your side with food and movies. You shut your eyes tight once you felt that familiar burning sensation on your wrist, your heart aching and stinging against your chest. Renjun noticed your pained expression, his hand quickly yet gently coming up to see your left wrist, his eyes widening at the sight. “I’ll get you an ice pack, okay?” Renjun asked worriedly, carressing your soulmate mark as if it would soothe the burning sensation.

You nodded, crying even more as Renjun quickly bolted out your room, his footsteps echoing down the halls. You sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away with your palms, but like an endless waterfall, it never stopped. Nor did the pain in your heart.

Renjun came back with a sympathetic expression plastered on his face, coming up to you and gently placing the frozen packet of peas he found in your freezer on your glowing red tattoo. Renjun softly shushing you and caressing the back of your hair, his own heart aching to see his best friend like this. He couldn’t count the many times you had cried to him bout Jaemin since the dinner with your parents.

The countless amount of times he would press a cold surface onto your left burning wrist.

The countless times you would rant how your heart was begging for Jaemin’s stupid presence.

The countless times he wanted to punch Jaemin for not showing a single ounce of guilt and for how oblivious the younger boy is to how much he had been inflicting your pain.

You fell asleep in Renjun’s hold, the pain on your wrist subsiding into a dull ache, your heart beat in your ears.

Jaemin practically dragged his bag on the floor as he entered the room. His mood decreasing as the seconds go by, his eyes dark with exhaustion and pain. Lately, he hasn’t been focusing properly on the tasks in front of him, his mind was always somewhere else when Coach was discussing strategies for next week’s game.

He was always spacing out to the sound of his own heart beating in his ears, his eyes setting on a certain object in the corner of the room he was in, his body freezing in place as his whole head was in a haze. He’s gotten a countless amount of scolding for spacing out in the middle of practice, the endless amount of times Coach would get a student to hold a volley ball from the storage closet, ready to hit him with whenever he spaces out during practice matches.

Today, he was on his breaking point, he recently failed his History test, then got another scolding from Coach. Hell, he was called to the office in the middle of class, the Coach’s heavy frown never bringing ease to his now tense figure.

Jaemin collapsed on his bed with a soft thud, trying to keep his breath under control as his Coach’s words echoed in his head, his head buried into the soft fabric of his pillow. He tried to keep his mind from overthinking Coach Kim’s words adding into his stress.

“Na Jaemin, recently, I’ve become aware of how much you’ve been a little... distracted, lately. I’m sorry to say but as Captain of the whole team, you need to be on full focus for the game. If you can’t do that then I’m afraid someone else will.”

Jaemin gripped his pillow tightly, his breathing deepen as he tries to calm himself, his heart beat increasing. He squeezed his eyes tight, the look of disappointment in his team’s expression was all he could think bout for the rest of the day. His heart feeling heavy in his chest.

“I know, I know, this seems too far but, we can’t afford to lose the school winning streak all because of our captain spacing out because of who knows what! I know I sound delirious for saying this, but we can’t risk this.”

Jaemin remembered the heavy feeling of promising his Coach that he will get his problems sorted out right away so it wouldn’t interfere in the way of winning the game. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if the endless hard work he puts into playing football the past two years went to waste when the position he trained so hard to earn was taken away just like that.

Jaemin sniffled, sitting up as he tries to shake those thoughts away. His eyes blurring slightly at his Coach’s words repeating themselves inside of his head. He stood up, stretching his arms out to release the tension in his muscles, as he tries to delve into a more positive state of mind. His eyes closing in concentration.

‘Don’t think so negatively, Jaemin. You can do this, just stay focused at the task at hand and worry bout this weird pain after the game.’

Jaemin unconsciously walked towards his window, an exhausted groan eliciting from his mouth. ‘You’ve got this !’ he thought with determination, calming his thoughts as a content smile stretched across his face. Jaemin opened his eyes slowly, his bunny smile immediately dissipated into a deep frown, his eyes widen slightly at the sight from the window across his.

You were with Renjun on your bed, doing what looks like cuddling in each other’s warm embrace. You were sitting in between Renjun’s legs, your back facing Jaemin, making him unable to see your expression. Your head was leaning against Renjun’s shoulder, his hand coming up to caress the back of your head. Jaemin’s eyes never left your figure being in such an intimate position with Renjun.

Jaemin felt his own blood boiling, his previously sour mood returning in an instant, his heart beating in his ears as his eyes stared daggers into Renjun’s head. He watched as Renjun’s eyes gaze contently to your figure laying comfortably on his, his fists clenching even more at the sight. That is, until Jaemin snapped out of it with a shake of his head.

What was wrong with him?

Why was he feeling so angry bout seeing you cuddling with someone like that?

Yet again, when was the last time you cuddled him like that. Jaemin pulled his curtains to cover the sight across him, walking to the bed, running a hand through his hair. before leaning back to lay down on his mattress with his back facing his white sheets.

Jaemin sighed as he got lost in his own thoughts once again. When was the last time he cuddled you? Or held your hand? His head turned to the side, eyes scanning the picture frames he hung up on the walls of his room, stopping at the picture you took on your trip to Busan during winter back in 7th grade.

In the picture, you had Jaemin wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. Your smile wide and your expression filled with laughter as Jaemin's happy one focused on the camera. Your eyes weren't on the camera, though, they were on him.

Cheeks and noses warm and red from the cold snow, clothes stained with the snow you played with to make snow angels and snowmen, your smile so wide, Jaemin could almost hear your bright laughter from the picture itself. As if he was reliving in that exact moment.

When did you stop smiling like that?

Jaemin realised he never noticed how forced your smiles became, how you use humor to mask every single emotion, how no matter how tired you are, you always manage to joke bout the littlest things to make him crack a smile.

"Why are you sad?" Jaemin asked as he drove you home one day, you glanced up at him with exhaustion glossing over your pupils, showing how pained you were for a split second, before you crack into a loving eye smile.

"I'm not sad, silly. I'm just tired of Mrs. Lee getting up in my ass yelling at my ear as if she was begging for my head to explode and have blood erupting out of my neck like a distorted volcano pms-ing." you joked, causing Jaemin to let out a soft laugh.

"You have the weirdest thoughts, I swear." he shook his head, his eyes glancing at you for a split second before returning to the road. "You're not normal yourself, Nana. We're all clowns in this generation, don't act like its a weird thing." you laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly.

Jaemin raised his brow at you, "me? A clown? You're practically born in a circus." he chuckled. "Says the person who says 'wow' every five seconds for the simplest of things. Post Malone basically wrote that song off of you, you should sue." you giggled, causing him to giggle.

"I am praying to God so that he could add at least add more braincells into that silly head of yours." Jaemin laughed. "God made me to be a clown, I must live on with my purpose, Nana." you added with a wink. "And a simp, too." you giggled.

Jaemin rolled his eyes at the memory, smiling at your terrible attempt at flirting. But his smile turned into a concerned expression once he remembers how pained your eyes looked at the time. As if you were holding pent up frustration, pain and emotion behind the humor.

Since when did you try to hide everything with humor? And when did he start to be one of those people who believed that you were okay behind that bright exterior? He was your soulmate for-

Wait, a second. Your soulmate? Why was he addressing himself like this? So what if he's your soulmate? It doesn't give him the right to barge into your personal problems. You didn't want to do anything with him after that dinner party, so why would he bother to think bout you when you were probably moving on with Renjun?

Jaemin licked his lips bitterly, his brows furrowed in frustration. A hand coming up to rub his face in distress, what was wrong with him these days?

Jaemin's thoughts went to how your body slumped weakly in Renjun's embrace, his eyes glancing down at your figure in a protective manner, his hand caressing your soft hair to soothe and comfort you. Jaemin knew how this would lull you to sleep in an instant, send you in a cuddly haze in people's arms.

Why did he know this?

Because he was the first one to experience it first hand, why should Renjun experience such an endearing moment? Why should Renjun see how vulnerable you are when it comes to-

Jaemin winced as the familiar pain in his chest resurfaced, his wrist aching again. He closed his eyes, 'not this again,' he thought to himself. Jaemin leaned over his drawer, his heart aching heavily against his chest as he opened the drawer to pull out a couple of pain killers

Tags: @lixseu @morks-watermelon @cherrystay @candiednickles @12am-musings @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @d-nghyck @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta

Couldn't tag: @/uncovermenow666 @/cakelyn

#nct x reader #nct angst #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #na jaemin #nct #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin x reader #nct jaemin x reader #nct x you #nct x y/n #nct x oc

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pkducklett · 3 years

Text

“The Friend Of My Enemy...Is My Friend” - A DST Fanzine Fanfic

Now Available on Ao3!

Fandom: Don’t Starve Description: Wurt unlearns some prejudice regarding the tribe of scale-less living in the Constant, and makes some new friends along the way. Rating: Gen. Characters: Wurt (Don’t Starve), Webber (Don’t Starve), Wendy (Don’t Starve), Abigail (Don’t Starve), Wickerbottom (Don’t Starve) Pairings: n/a Author’s Notes: This was my part of the Don’t Starve Together fanzine, this effort was a labor of love for the Don’t Starve community and its creators. I thoroughly enjoyed doing this piece on a character which, until recently, I had overlooked. Wurt is now probably among my favorites in the cast, and it was really through writing this that I came to love and appreciate her as a character. I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Wurt was small, but she would grow. She was young, but would age. She was different, and…

She clutched the object in her claws. A series of papyrus pages with words and illustrations on them bound together with pigskin and string. The object was her fascination, something she had never seen in her marsh village. The scale-less left the object behind when they were chased out of merm territory.

At first she told herself she was on a mission to return it. Drop the object outside their village and sneak home; she’d never have to face them. The scale-less couldn’t be trusted. That’s what she was told since she could remember. Afterall, scale-less allied themselves with pigfolk. By trading with the pig “king”, they had placed their kind in direct opposition with mermfolk. Wurt knew this, the scale-less just destroyed when they came into the swamp. It was for this reason, she set out to have as little contact as she completed her mission.

The object slipped in her claws and she was snapped from her daydream to catch it. The midafternoon sun above barely touched the evergreen forest floor where she was standing. She looked around to catch her bearings, all traces of swamp had been left behind hours ago. How far was the scale-less village? At least there was some semblance of a path; she could only hope it led closer to them.

Walking allows for time to let the mind wander - which is why she felt another idea pushing through her brain. Perhaps scale-less had more paged objects, and maybe she could trade to get more. If she established a trade with the scale-less, maybe more merms could as well. Then the scale-less wouldn’t need to rely on pigs ever again. Wurt could be the first merm to reach out to the scale-less and usher in a new era for mermkind. It was ambitious, but she felt the responsibility of all her young years on her shoulders.

Shaken again from her daydreams, she heard movement come from the bushes. She stiffened, placing the object safely on the ground next to her and adopting a defensive stance. “Stay back, florp!” she was woefully aware of how defenceless she really was all alone in the forest.

The movement stalled slightly before some… thing popped up to face Wurt. They floated above the forest floor, completely transparent and unblinking. The apparition bore no difference to the specters that occasionally wandered into merm territory - except the flower atop its left side.

Wurt felt the green drain from her face. An angry ghost was likely to rampage and destroy anything in its path. On the other hand, a neutral ghost was like a stalker, following just close enough waiting for a chance to strike. It was an ultimate darned if you do situation. She shook her head, no she couldn’t back down now. She was going to save mermkind; she had to be brave. “You...nice?” her voice faltered, but she managed to stay standing.

The apparition blinked and twisted around to get a closer look, brushing their ghostly tail against her side. Shivers rose from the spot and she had to push herself to keep standing. “Hey! Stop that.”

They stopped, surprised and cocked a ghostly head in confusion.

“You understand me?”

A nod.

“You know where scale-less is, glort?”

They cocked their head again. Looking Wurt up and down before focusing on the object at her feet. She noticed and rushed to grab the object tightly against her chest.

“No, this not yours!” She growled “This belongs to scale-less. Me going to return it myself!”

Once again the ghost looked confused. They maintained eye contact with Wurt for a brief moment before turning back toward the bush.

“What is it, Abigail?” a voice called before pushing out from the bush. A scale-less girl brushed leaves from her shirt. She was pale with round expressionless eyes and long yellow hair tied in symmetrical pigtails. The flower pinned on the right side of her head matched the spector’s. She regarded the ghost briefly before turning attention to Wurt. “Oh. A merm.”

Wurt could feel her heart pounding against the object and tried to readjust her posture to appear confident once again. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by-

“-Wendy! Don’t run too far ahead!” from the bushes came another figure, covered in a thin layer of fur and eight blinking eyes. They were a spiderfolk but apparently someone forgot to tell them that they had to walk on eight legs, not two. Like the first scale-less, they almost immediately noticed Wurt, who was beginning to think meeting scale-less was a bad idea.

“Oh you’re a merm!” They spoke in an excitable manner and waved one of their spider arms in greeting. “Are you friendly? My name’s Webber, and this is Wendy,” they pointed to the other scale-less “and this is Abigail” they pointed to the ghost.

“What are you doing away from your swamp?” the other scale-less, Wendy, questioned.

“Wendy!” Webber reprimanded. “Be nice, she could be lost.”

“Am...not lost flurt.” Wurt’s voice shook more than she cared to admit. She breathed, here goes nothing. “Me looking for scale-less village. Wanted to know-” she paused and held out the object for the scale-less to see. “-Wanted to know if they had more of these.”

Wendy and Webber shared a look before Webber broke into a big, fangy, grin. “Oh that’s one of Miss Wickerbottom’s books.”

“Book?”

“She writes them herself.” they further explained.

“How did you find it?” Wendy asked.

“Was in swamp. Scale-less left it when village chased them away.”

Wendy and Webber exchanged a glance and Wurt’s heart dropped. Had she said something to provoke them? If so, it was all too clear who would win this fight. Merms fight best in groups, and Wurt was far from home.

Webber was the first to make a move, pulling Wurt’s arm further into the evergreens. “Come with us.” Their voice sounded almost too cheery if killing her was the objective.

Despite the growing feeling of dread, Wurt obediently followed at the spider kid’s insistence. Wendy took a spot behind, with the ghost following alongside. Wurt kept pace between the scale-less, but kept her eyes elsewhere. At the first sign of trouble, she had to try and escape. They had her boxed in. The path wound further into the forest, bushes and underbrush lined the sides of the path.

“So,” Webber’s excitable voice broke the silence that had hushed over the group. “I don’t think we actually caught your name. What is it?” The spider was walking backwards now to face Wurt.

Wurt looked away, keeping her gaze off their multiple eyes. Her nerves were fraying by the second, and with it her bravery ebbed away. She wasn’t sure if she was visibly shaking, though she felt like she might be.

“Hey, are you okay?” Webber lowered his voice.

“Fear is an unnecessary reaction.” Wendy’s tone was flat.

Wurt continued to stay silent. The piney forest floor was soon ending into a grassy path. The world was cast in an orange glow as dark was soon approaching. Away from the trees, Wurt felt less claustrophobic, but not completely safe.

“Hey,” Webber pulled Wurt’s arm, the concerned look on their face was top acting. “Are you okay?”

Wurt didn’t respond, she couldn’t. Her chest was tight and it locked up her voice. She was positive she was visibly shaking now, and close to tears.

“Children, is that you?” a separate voice called. “Get back to camp before it gets dark!”

The voice provided just enough distraction that Wurt took no time sprinting away from her kidnappers. She charged back into the evergreens. Her thoughts raced as she desperately tried to remember the way back to the swamp. Dusk was giving way to night and the forest floor looked darker than ever. The shadows expanded and through her petrified mind Wurt remembered what the elders had said about going out at night. She remembered the stories of a shadowy night lady that had scared her so much she still occasionally had nightmares. Looking up, she could see the last of the sun’s light wane into the night sky.

Now she could feel something; she was no longer alone. Tears blurred her vision, she continued running; her swamp was still so far away. She heard whispers from the shadows, and now she felt something grab her. It pulled her foot, and Wurt collapsed onto the pine needles, the book sliding into the bushes. She whipped around and caught the creature’s eyes. Pale white against the blackest black. The eyes illuminated some of its face. Sharp teeth aligned into a malicious grin opened and Wurt could feel the creature’s claws against her stomach. She let out a shriek; the creature’s mouth opened wider and its claws dug harder. She closed her eyes; she didn’t want to die.

Then the creature’s weight was gone. Its claws lifted from her belly and she could no longer see its evil smile. There was light, a torch.

“That’s her Miss Wickerbottom!” Webber’s loud voice proclaimed.

Wurt could see the two scale-less that held her captive earlier had come back with a third, older woman. Her gray hair was tied tightly in a bun on top of her head. She had sharp features, wrinkled some with age and dark beady eyes. The torch in her grasp was extended towards Wurt and she was intently watching her. “Oh dear.” She breathed.

“Stay back.” Wurt warned hoarsely. The older woman had bent down to her level. Webber and Wendy following suit. Every muscle in her small body ached and her throat felt like she had been eating spikes, yet she still tried to look somewhat threatening. “Keep away from… me, florp.” It hurt to speak.

“I’m just going to make a fire, dear.” the woman responded calmly. She set down the torch in her hand and pushed the kids away with the other. She worked quickly and soon the forest was illuminated by a small campfire.

Wurt pushed herself to sit up. The spots where the creature's claws dug into stung. She tried to not look at it. Instead she kept her eyes on the three scale-less (and one ghost) who were keeping their eyes on her. The suspense was eating at her, no one was saying anything to her, just watching.

“What you...waiting for?” she hissed. “Scale-less want to hurt, just do it, glorp.”

“We don’t want to-” Webber started but was shushed by the elder scale-less.

“You are a long away from home, little one.” she said softly.

Wurt fought back more tears. Her muscles tensed. She was cornered, hurt, and not in any shape to fight back.

The older scale-less moved a little closer. “What brought you out of the swamp?”

“She found one of your books.” Wendy said flatly.

A smile. “Did you now? I wonder which one it was.” She continued moving closer to Wurt.

“No...no closer.” Wurt struggled to get the words out.

She complied. “Are you scared, little merm? I promise we aren’t going to hurt you.”

Wurt stayed silent, still very aware of her trembling. She curled in on herself and shut her eyes. It would be useless trying to run now, she was once again outnumbered, except this time she wasn’t even sure she could stand on her own. Something brushed up on her toes, and she flinched. Looking down, she saw there was another book at her feet. It looked similar to the first book, bound in pigskin, but the print etched into the cover made different shapes. She hesitated, but slowly picked it up flipping through the papyrus pages and revealed several pictures of little birds. A small smile crept up her face.

“I had a feeling you might like that one.” The elder scale-less was smiling with satisfaction.

She blinked. “Me called Wurt.” she said softly; her voice still hurt.

“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Wurt.” She moved a bit closer to Wurt. “You can call me Wickerbottom.”

“Wick...Wicker-lady?” Wurt struggled on the syllables. “That a...funny name, florp.”

A smile. “I suppose it is.” She situated herself next to the merm child. “Now, are you quite alright Wurt? That was quite a scare you gave us.”

Wurt blinked confused. “Me...scared you?”

“You ran into the forest by yourself.” Wendy interjected.

“We were afraid you were going to be eaten by Charlie!” Webber cried.

“Alone in the woods at night is no place for a little one like yourself. Especially without a light.” Wickerbottom spoke with a calm, concerned voice.

“So, you really not going to hurt me?” Wurt asked.

“Goodness no.” She spoke as though the mere suggestion were outlandish.

“But...scale-less and merms?” Her thoughts spun.

Wickerbottom placed a hand on Wurt’s knee. “I know we’ve had our differences, but we really are here to help you Wurt.”

She trembled, tears pooling in her eyes and she flung herself onto the elder scale-less. Wickerbottom pulled her into a hug and she didn’t even fight; just sobbed harder into her chest. Then she felt someone else embrace her. Soft fuzzy arms held tight grasp on the merm child. Then another embrace joined the pile. Wurt opened her eyes, all three scale-less (and one ghost) were clinging tightly to her comfortingly.

She smiled and let herself sink back into the hug. It felt right. She was Wurt, she was going to bring about peace between mermkind and the scale-less village. Though the beginnings were rocky, she felt assured that she had the ability to make the friend of her enemy… her friend too.

#ducklett speaks #don't starve #Don't Starve Together Zine #DST Zine #DSTZ #ds wurt #ds abigail #ds wendy #ds webber #ds wickerbottom #ducklett writes

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thequeenb · 4 years

Text

Enemies With Benefits

Poppy x MC

This fic is inspired by @nerdy-twin post.

Warning: Smut

My, my did i heard right? My sources have been telling me all day about the hilarious fights between Queen Bee and our new starlet

Newbee proved to us since day one that she isn't one to be messed with but don't let her charms blind you. Yesterday Chlo-- i mean Poppy's dog got humiliated Infront of our eyes loves so grab your snacks because this is going to be a long semester isn't that right Bea?

Kisses, The T

Oh that's great. Another post from The T and everyone is looking at me again. Why do people care about this stupid blog anyways? Its so irrelevant and so--

"Oh my god Bea!!" Zoe runs up to me basically jumping from excitement

"Wow slow down what happened?" Seriously she can't even catch her breath

"Girl you are top 15 material now!!" she shoves her phone on my face and i gasp. Alright now i love this blog. Everyone around me whisper and after a moment i can hear cheers from every direction of the pathway

"Woooo B-E-A, B-E-A" they all chant my name and i bow laughing at my sweet victory, i cant wait to wipe Poppy's smirk off her face

Everything stops as i hear clapping behind my back, Aaaaand there she is. "Congratulations you managed to get pass the emo wannabes and the bimbos"

"Big words coming from a bitch like you" it feels like i am in a movie because everyone gasps not knowing how to react to that. Poppy stare at me long enough to kind of worry

"Listen here you ugly pathetic idiot--"

"That's not what you told me last night" i say kinda proud of myself and that's when basically everyone looks shocked. Zoe covers her giggles because she knows alllll about it and Miss Regina George over here have gone completely pink

"I would never not even in a million years touch someone as cheap as you, Chloe go fetch me a latte, ta ta garbage" and she walks away just like that

"Wow you really have an effect on her" Zoe comes behind me laughing and i roll my eyes brushing off another stupid fight

"Do you want to watch a movie and eat our feelings?"

"Girl you know me so well"

___

"Okay but do you want to watch Mean Girls, or the finale of Gossip girl?" I ask shuffling through Netflix

"Bea this school is the definition of Gossip girl and dont get me started on Mean girls, Poppy is--" And that's when we hear a knock on the door

"It must be Penelope i invited her" Zoe yells from the kitchen pouring us both a glass of wine

I walk to the door opening it wide and thats when i see my dear enemy

"What can i do for you?" I say smirking

"For starters buy better clothes, this shirt is hideous" she gestures at my Deadpool shirt, excuse me? How dare she?

"If i wanted to deal with your attitude i would have..oh wait yes you stalk me so you are always on my way"

"Agh can you just stop talking"

I roll my eyes so hard my brain hurts. What the school doesn't know is that we have our secret fights in the bedroom. Of course i was shocked as well but here i am kinda liking Poppy, gosh i probably hit rock bottom

"Goodnight boo" i smile slamming the door shut continuing my night drinking wine and gossiping with Zoe.

___

"I will see you after class, those new burritos are to die for" Zoe says as she kisses my cheek goodbye, i love this woman

I walk freely around the empty campus. One thing that i love about Mondays is that on third period i can just have five minutes to myself and collect my thoughts, that until i find my self pinned against a wall

"Never do that again" Poppy says pointing her finger to my chest

I gasp at the surprise and she looks amused, her and her little games "Do what exactly? Exist?"

She rolls her eyes but i can see how hard she is trying to hide her smile "No one slams the door at me Newbee" and she poke her finger once

"Oh please you are always being an asshole"

"Listen here, just because i let you kiss me once doesn't mean anything, you are still garbage to me and you will always be" and another poke

She tries to do it again but i grab her finger looking at her deep into her eyes

"No you listen Poppy, i am tired of your manipulative games, you are the most awful person i have ever met!" I am glad the campus is empty, if people were here they would probably record or take pictures for The T

"Oh please Hughes you play tough but you really aren't, maybe you were important back in pig town, but here? You are just another pawn" her glare is dangerous, her eyes on fire, our tension so thick you can feel it through your bones

So i did what every logical person would do, i lean in and i capture her lips before she can say anything else that will ruin the mood. At first she tries to deny and make a surprised sound but soon her tongue is dancing against mine.

I pin her against the wall taking a quick glance around to make sure we are alone. I should be in Miss Kingsley class right now but oh god am i distracted

She places her hands around my neck pulling me closer to her, didn't i tell you? She really likes me deep inside this cold heart of hers

"Am i tough now?" i ask, our lips so close, our breaths ghosting on eachother's faces. She swallows hard "Not enough"

And as these words escape her mouth i pin her hands above her head with my one hand effortlessly as my other travel from her waist down her thighs. Poppy always wears a mini skirt enough to ignite my fire

I dig my nails slightly into her flesh and ask once again "I said, am i tough now?"

Poppy moans against my mouth and i start kissing her neck, something that drives her crazy. She wont admit it, she never does but she knows well how much i turn her on and it annoys her

"Let me hear it" i say sucking at the sensitive spot underneath her ear

"Yes you are!" she says holding onto me tight like her life depends on it

My hand now goes beneath her skirt and my oh my do i make her excited. My fingers brush slightly against her underwear and thats when the bell rings, ugh cockblocker

We both immediately separate adjusting our clothes watching the campus slowly getting crowded. Poppy's cheeks are red and i can already imagine what she is thinking of. I smile to myself watching her walk away

And that's when my phone buzz, of course a notification from The T

Hello loves,

Another day another drama. My rising star is now top 10 material, i am proud of you girl but i wouldn't count on it because we all know Miss perfect always gets what she wants. I love drama and Hughes is providing me with the best one yet. Good luck, you will need it

Kisses, The T

I still cant believe what i am reading. Top 10?!! I am here almost two months and i have outsmarted most of Poppy's moves. I smile as Zoe approach me screaming

"I knew you had it in you!!" she hugs me tight spinning me around

"Suck it Poppy" i yell as students around us are cheering. It feels good knowing that people are on my side finally seeing who they are bowing to years now

Someone tugs my hand and as i turn around i see Chloe crossing her arms

"So you managed to reach top 10 i see"

"Oh do you want an autograph? Thats so sweet" i say smirking

"Poppy is waiting for you behind the field"

"And who says that i am going?" I practically laugh but her face remains the same

"Listen i dont have all day Channel is having--"

"Alright dog, good girl! You earned a treat" and like that i give her head a pat walking towards hell basically.

I am sure Pops is mad at me, maybe she likes me but she is serious when it comes to her reputation. I approach her enjoying how nervous she looks

"If you wanted a date we could have arranged it" i say sitting next to her

Her expression is cold and distant and i sigh defeated "okay what is it? Is it the fact that i am top-"

"That list isn't that important Hughes, i can drag you down to the bottom within seconds" Wow okay i get it thats not the reason you are grumpy

"Why did you asked your dog to fetch me?"

Poppy rolls her eyes clearly annoyed by every word i say. Again i sigh not knowing what to do exactly. Sometimes i like to take her in. The way her foot is jiggling, the way she flips her hair when she is awkward. Everything about her is so perfect when all the eyes are laid on her but when we are alone i see another version of her

"I hate how entitled you feel" she finally says standing up "since you got here the only thing that you want is to ruin me!"

I feel my blood boiling as i stand up to get on her level "Excuse me? You attacked me the first moment i laid my foot in here!"

"That's because you love to shove your nose where it doesn't belong!" she now takes a step closer, anger written all over her features

"Oh give me a break, you were always cruel, people just now start to realise it" i take a step closer as well trying to intimidate her

"I run this school Newbee, you like it or not so go back to your little town where you were important because here? You are nothing" she spats out coldly and all i can do is stare at her. Her mask now falls completely

I can see the worry in her eyes,regret. Her posture isn't radiating power, instead i can see how uncomfortable she is. Aw are emotions a new thing for her? How charming.

Without missing a beat i kiss her letting all this anger turn into passion. "I hate you" i say kissing her neck desperately trying to find an inch of bare skin to touch

"I hate you more" she tries to say but her voice trails off when my hand goes underneath her skirt. I smile between our kiss when i feel how wet she is

"Did our fight made you excited?" I ask teasingly

"More kissing less talking" she says capturing my lips into a passionate kiss. I push her against a wall as my hand connects with her center

"Oh Bea.." she whispers against my lips and thats when i increase the pace just to hear her moan. Only i can watch her like this, so vulnerable so real

With each stroke i can hear her shouting my name digging her nails onto my back. Finally her body shakes as she has a violent release and i hold her tight against me

I bring my fingers to my lips and i lick them clean locking eyes with her. For a moment all we can do is stare at eachother and i think we are both questioning what did we just do? I smile trying to reach for her hand but she pulls away

Great she turned on her bitchy mode. "I will see you tomorrow?"

"I will ruin your entire life Hughes!!" She yells while walking away. Well that wasn't what she was saying seconds ago, oh wait yes she was busy screaming my name

"And yes you will, now go fuck yourself!" She yells again and i flip her off smiling

Thats how the rest of the semester went down. Infront of the eyes of the school we hated eachother's guts but behind closed doors we did the craziest things in the bedroom. Overall i do hate Poppy Min-Sinclair but i have to admit, this woman knows her stuff, enough to wonder how many layers does she really has?

Tag list: @lolimugly @origmansello @greatestflirt-hero @mvalentine @otakufangirl-12 @sugarplumpnhoneybun @coldbatfriendroad @coldbatfriendroad @indecisive-choices @i-loveeveryone @kiara-36 @ognenniyvolk @somewillwin @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor

@ghalind @jayrnada @sergeant-pepper-loves-choices @dibberdipper @justastranger-passing

#queen b #queen bee #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #queen b poppy #choices fic #choices fanfiction #my fics #play choices #playchoices #pb choices #choices

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agentark88 · 3 years

Text

First Kisses and Romantic Quotes

If you haven’t read Think yet, and you want to experience some MHA/BNHA romance, here’s the link to get you started! Happy Valentine’s Day!

**Think: MHA/BNHA Fan Fiction Spoilers!**

First Kiss Chapters:

Hitoshi Shinso- Chapter Eleven: Carnival of Chaos

Shoto Todoroki- Chapter Sixteen: Study Session Turned Toxic

Bakugo Katsuki- Chapter Twenty-One: BioVirus

Eijiro Kirishima- Chapter Thirty-Three: Movie Night with the Bakusquad

Memorable Romantic Quotes from Think that Made my Heart Skip a Beat (Within the First Fifteen Chapters):

Kirishima to Bakugo after being dared to flirt with him: “I saw you looking at me from the across the room, and I couldn’t help but notice how your eyes glisten against your fiery personality.” Kirishima paused, as if to draw out the moment. “With your explosions and my rock hard quirk, we can make some sweet candy together. Maybe you can try a taste some time.”-Chapter Four: Truth or Dare

Bakugo to Think after she was locked out of her room because of her habit of sleepwalking: “You tell anyone about this, and I’ll kill you,” he said, leaning over you with his intense gaze. Bakugo grabbed your hand and pulled your arm out forcefully, before you had enough time to protest, he slid a spiral bracelet onto outstretched wrist. “Use that when you get your key,” he commanded. He then draped a blanket over you. “If you freeze to death, I’m never going to hear the end of it from that damn Kirishima. Give me back the blanket and jacket tomorrow.” -Chapter Five: Sleepwalking

Think to Midoriya when she was half awake: “You are so cute with your tomato face,” you murmured. You couldn’t help but start to giggle at your own words. “Broccoli tomato,” you said. - Chapter Five: Sleepwalking

Think calling out to Bakugo when being held hostage by Dabi:

Bakugo? you called out. You bit your trembling lip. Bakugo? you reached out again desperately.

If you don’t know where you are, then tell me where I am! Bakugo shouted in his head. An explosion went off to your left, shadowing the outdoor training equipment and sending a shockwave that whipped through you and Dabi. The loud boom echoed over the alarm and made the ground you stood on quake.

Dabi jolted backwards, letting your throat go just enough for you to get a breath of air.

You’re on my left. Near the balance bars. I’m in the shadows of the building.

I see you. -Chapter Seven: Waking to Fire

Bakugo expressing his feelings to Think about her situation with her parents:

“I’m not giving up,” you said, sniffling.

“Really?” he asked seriously. “Because it looks to me like you’re going to let your parents decide what’s best for you. And, it also looks to me like I went out of my way to save someone who’s about to throw away their dreams because their dumbass parents are going to make them transfer schools. You like wasting my time, Big Brain? You like getting me in trouble?”

“N-no,” you said.

Bakugo leaned back, and his intense gaze shifted to Todoroki. “If you even think about letting your parents transfer you because you got attacked by one villain, I’m coming to personally kick your ass.”-Chapter Eight: Parental Guidance

Bakugo to Think while they are recovering from injuries: “As if that would keep someone like you from making friends,” Bakugo said.

“What do you mean someone like me?” you asked.

“Someone who’s bright and nice…” Bakugo suddenly trailed off. His face flushed all the way to his ears. “I mean someone who’s obnoxious and…” He clicked his tongue, turning his head further to the side.-Chapter Nine: Healing Sweets

Bakugo bringing Think flowers while she’s recovering: Bakugo extended his arm out, dropping the weeds on the bedsheet covering your legs. The stark yellow of the tops of the flowers popped against the dull white background.

“I picked these for you,” he said, scratching his cheek and keeping his gaze on the far wall. “They looked like something that might make you feel better or whatever. You seem like the kind of person that likes this kind of crap.” He shoved his hands in his pocket, and you could see the shade of pink dusting the edges of his cheeks.-Chapter Ten: Mind Split Versus Purple Death Explosion

Shinso to Think after he’d been avoiding her: “I can’t afford any distractions…that’s why I’ve been distancing myself from you,” he said.

Your heart pounded loudly in your chest, and you tried desperately to steady your breathing. This close to him you could see every taught muscle in his arms, in his chest. His skin glistened. He smelled of lavender and sandalwood.

“Distractions?” you squeaked and cleared your throat.

Shinso leaned a bit closer to your face, tipping your chin up with his index finger. “You are what I call a distraction, Kitten,” he purred.-Chapter Eleven: Carnival of Chaos

Bakugo and Kirishima cheering up Think after she was attacked by members of The League of Villains: “You don’t have to cry. We would have never let them kill you. We would have been there in seconds if you called for us! Stop thinking you have to do everything by yourself!” You saw Bakugo shaking, but it didn’t seem like it was rage. “You’re part of our class now! You’re one of us! If you think that we’re just going to stand by and watch you die, that’s bullshit!”

“We would have kicked their asses!” Kirishima said with a warming smile, finally letting Bakugo move again. He hit his fists together.-Chapter Twelve: Player One Versus Fear

Midoriya to Think after she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder while studying together: “It’s okay,” Midoriya said, cutting your frantic ramblings short. He gave you a little more room so you could get your bearings again. “I’m actually glad you were able to rest.” He fidgeted nervously with his hands, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve noticed that you’ve looked really exhausted the past couple of days in class. I hope you’re sleeping. Todoroki mentioned he was worried about you too.” Midoriya started pressing his index fingers together. “After you’d asked for my help studying, I thought that you might not have been resting because you were stressed out about your subjects. I’m glad I was able to relieve some of that tension.” -Chapter Thirteen: Studying with Broccoli

Shoto and Think after Think experienced Shoto’s rough childhood through his memories: Shoto gently slid his fingers around your head, and he pulled you to his chest. He released your damp hair from its tight bun by pulling the hair tie from it. He slid his fingers through the loosening strands, placing his chin on the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters to me.” Shoto’s voice came out in a low rumble. While leaning against his chest, the vibrations seemed to calm your aching body.-Chapter Fourteen: Fighting Toward Finals

There are so many chapters and so many more quotes that I would have liked to add. I might do another post with more of my favorite quotes in the future. Let me know what your favorite quote is from Think (Romantic or Not)! I’d love to see which chapter quotes resonated with you the most. Again, Happy Valentine’s Day!

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calamityk8 · 3 years

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"My name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain. I am admitting this to you with the full understanding and acknowledgement that what I am doing is absolutely not going to be fully understood; but perhaps in pieces it can reconcile the most fragmented and deranged parts of my psyche, or at least arrange them in a way that will relieve this incessant pressure that always haunts me. Whatever happens, well, at least I have tried to do something to explain this innate and incessant madness, which is more than most get a chance to do.

Okay, here goes.

Belatedly, I suppose, there were neurons misfiring to account for, some chemical mishap that perforce disengaged my social abilities to adapt and be of use to others. Panic and hysteria have ruled the contours of my experience for longer than this busted-up brain can recall. Looking back, well, I can gauge the horrific aspects of it, in the present. Of course hindsight’s a malignancy at this point. I have become this disease; it as all that I am: a sporadically hebetude-induced corollary on the razor’s edge of sanity’s rusty hook. Saying things like this doesn’t help. I know. It’s just hard to judge oneself from the outer limits of perspective’s gush and flow. Trapped in this insidious circle of discontent and maladjustment, I am oozing the sap of life’s lost lust.

I might have a way to put it, so let me.

Having severe systemic and constant depression and simply “being bummed” are two very distinct and different things. One is a disease; the other is just one of the myriad consequences of being alive. If someone has cancer you don’t tell them to, “buck up and get over it.” We don’t admonish a stroke victim to, “stop lying around, and get up and do something with yourself.” Even our advice for sufferers of the common cold is sympathetic, as cough-and-congestion victims aren’t told they are being “weak” or “soft” and should just “be happy because things could be a lot worse.” But, for some inane reason that is preconditioned into us by years of inhumane pseudoscience, diseases of the mind are linked to some weakness or lassitude of the individual, as if that person who is suffering from a disease such as depression or severe anxiety is somehow inept and is to be blamed for their troubles. As if it is within their control to get better by “just trying a bit harder at it.” It’s really a nonsensical viewpoint to take; but, alas, it is one of many such idiotic theories held by the masses.

Here — there is this too: you’ve got to fight this one alone. Other people can help you, but in the end it comes down to you fighting for your life all by your lonesome. This is a difficult thing to internalize, but once you do, in some wary way, a strand of hope will spring from this, as finagled and shoddy with trepidation as it may be. There will be a surge of selfhood guiding you, a reliance on the one person you can always count on: yourself. It is a scary thing, but like most scary things one finds as obstacles on the wayward path of one’s existence, extremely worthwhile to conquer. Just like any other terminal disease, depression kills; suicide is merely its mechanism.

This shouting in my head, it never seems to cease.

I am nervous and concise around others. I only laugh when it’s expected. Being alone has become my only comfort, though it too is getting to be unendurable. To guide me I take some small salvation in the long history of human endeavor to fight through the gnashing teeth of internal strife. According to Lecky’s History of European Morals, “A melancholy leading to desperation, and known to theologians under the name of ‘acedia,’ was not uncommon in monasteries, and most of the recorded instances of medieval suicides in Catholicism were by monks.” I dream through these trials and tribulations of ancients, attempting to stem the tide of my own demise with less troubling thoughts than the ones I’ve come to own: I am the angular distance of a star below the horizon; the dusty truth of eons of suffering through a terrible weight’s pressing down; sunken and lost; in old, forgotten times what they once called grevoushede. Grevoushede. Acedia. I breathe the words and balance the syllables on my tongue, unable to savor their taste or texture. I am a weightless pin pricked in the skein of an upside-down world I’ll never get close enough to know.

Who could ever fall in love with this raggedy bag of afflictions?

I trek through the ruins of my obsession, draped in sorrow’s mask, leaning on tiny tics and safe places to guide me. The cracking of my toes, one by one. Snapping all of my fingers back and forth. Clicking my tongue on the roof my mouth. Blinking an even number of times with one eye and then an odd number with the other. Popping my ears with my jaw. Smoothing my eyebrows down with my fingertips. An innumerable array of distractions that ease the arrhythmic pulse of thoughts that come but never go, blurring out my sight, and leaving me trembling, all filled-up with static but as empty inside as an ice cream shop in the freezing rain.

Woe is my middle name.

All of these little vacancies in my head surface and fill into the most chronic of all conditions. Possibilities go awry with suspicious and judgmental looks. Maybe I’ll put on some Dolly Parton and fall in love with a bookmark. These are thoughts that calm the deliriousness at it swarms. Exceptional circumstances to bow down to in this glut of terrors, this amassing of torturous routines: the bath mat must be lined up perfectly with the tiles, the showerhead at just the right angle, the curtain stretched just so, and the shower water, the god-damn shower water…always and forever just a touch too hot or too cold. The chores of being me, they never end.

The human senses can somehow even detect whether a television set is off or just on mute without looking. And everyone can tell the difference between boiling and room-temperature water being poured in much the same manner. But it is when these senses go astray, when they slip and frazzle and get pinched, that’s when one comes to know the real intensity of those senses’ powers. A daily trauma that haunts me wherever I go, my brain stuffed with the lint of leftover churning, dizzy and lopsided and playing alive, I ignore the impossibilities of being able to maintain a normal existence for as long as this sapped torpidity allows. The courage I need to muster just to leave my place and walk to get groceries is at most times an insurmountable obstacle, and so I stay in and worry and worry and worry about everything. Every object grows too precious to disturb as I put it on the pedestal of the postponed quenching of my desires. There is nothing I can do or think that will snap this spell of disenchantment that grips me tighter as it deepens this hole I am eternally residing in. Just making it home from the grocery store with a few shopping bags of food sometimes feels like the greatest accomplishment in the world. I should be doing other things with my time, I know: concentrating my efforts on more grand pleasures and goals. But these things of consequence, they are not for me. I lose so much more than I gain in these battles. Small, inconsequential, pyrrhic victories are the only ones I’ve known.

Hope is a bestial thing with daggers and fangs; I make up a thousand reasons to not have any of it bombard me as this disease attacks relentlessly. There are honestly times when I cannot even bring myself to lift a finger to scratch an itch. I’ve been prescribed a list of medications too long to register properly in the catacombs of my lingering doubt about the chemical cohesion of my wherewithal: Abilify, clomipramine, Lexapro, bupropion, Celexa, Cymbalta, Lithium, Xanax, Paxil, amitriptyline, Lamictal, and that grand old sturdy classic Prozac. Etcetetra. It seems that I am only etceteras: more and more of less and less. It’s all a wash. It was a messy chorus of boos from the cheap seats as I struggled through side effects and listened to the growing drone of a singularly horrible voice that wasn’t quite my own resounding in my skull: “You’re no good. You’re a lost cause. Stop whining; start winning. You’re no good. You are just no good,” over and over; nauseated at all times; woozy, delirious, insomnia-plagued and diarrhea-bound; garbling my words when forced to speak, fumbling through life like a doped-up zombie with no appetites, every little thing so impossibly far away.

The window washers will not sing for me. The faucets around here all look like dead swans. I sweep. I litter. I am unable to know for sure if anyone else ever feels the way I always do. I am ill with this ravenous beast that pesters and claws at and drapes itself over me, leaving me with the gumption of soon-to-be-roadkill sluggishly slouching across a busy highway. I yawn instead of moan. I burst into tears in the dark of crowded movie theaters just before the feature starts. I am normal. Really. I am sane — maybe even too much so. I do wish I could just go insane, but, sadly, I cannot quite contemplate how to accurately achieve this feat. My brain will not assuage nor relent with its ceaseless cracked and mangled disturbances.

The boring by-rote recitation of symptoms rattled off to every doctor who’d listen. They don’t know who I am, what I’ve suffered through, how I came to be this way that I am; and there’s no device by which I can properly explain it to them. It’s not like they can run a test, take some blood, or do a biopsy, and then figure out what’s wrong with me. It’s a hidden thing, deep within the walls of my pain, not on or off any scale they’ve ever invented. I am my own example. There are no answers to any of this. They used to take out parts of people’s brains, thinking it would relieve their suffering. But it just left folks lobotomized to a dull, vegetable state, unable to form words or dress themselves. Perhaps they were happy, though. Perhaps they were thankful for the big, empty space that now occupied what they’d formerly called living. Perhaps there was no person behind those dead eyes left to care. The disease wins yet again, as it always does.

Clinical diagnoses follow me with heavy clomps. “Heavy dysthymia with a robust anxiety level. Somatic cross-cutting, serious signs of high Altman-scale mania, repetitive and troubling thoughts bordering on multiple phobias and generalized panic. Personality Trait Facet Scores high on rigid perfectionism/grandiosity/anhedonia type, though scores lower across board than patient believes. Unusual and abnormal, but not psychotic at all.” As you can see, the weather inside my head is rather frightful, to say the least. I trudge through the murky terrain of my past with great regularity. I am muddy with it, soaked through from the storm of my memories, which are remembering themselves over and over and over again and again and again, until I do not rightly know what has happened or what is happening now. Who am I but this box of disturbing thoughts?

Madness in the family. A quirk in the genes being passed down just like Huntington’s or any other inherited affliction. This one’s just as deep in the bones, though not as noticeable, not as prominent in the makeup of one’s persona. My father was a brazen raver whose depression put the business end of a rifle under his chin to finally wreck its one final havoc on him as pulled the trigger in defeat; his father before him too came to an early funeral, though his disease’s weapons of choice were gasoline and matches, as he lay in immolation by the pumps of an empty gas station in the wee hours of his final night on earth. This dreary thing, it just goes and goes right on down the line. Shelter from it is inconstant at best. It is as if I am in hiding from my inheritance, from my own true self — a hibernation of sorts: falling in and out of a troubled sleep, groggy and drooling through another afternoon, I become obsessed with trifles. I organize the cups and plates on my shelves until they all perfectly line up. I become tempestuous at a single hair being out of place. I talk to myself constantly, mostly demeaning phrases and freshly coined derogatory slurs aimed at myself. I have been parked too long in my heart’s handicap spot. There is very little “me” left here to notice.

So, do not look at me lightly, with deferential judgement or pity’s hidden ire. My sorrows are so much smaller than you’d suppose. My shoes come untied just as much as yours do. I can be as brave and also as craven as most. I eat blackberries and put salted butter on my toast. There are no cures, only temporary stopgaps for relief of symptoms. I am not in control of the way that I feel. I will try. I do try. None of this is less than extremely difficult. I do not need nor crave your sympathy; I just want understanding. Perhaps, even after all this exegesis and other inexplicable explanatory notions are through, this is still too much to ask. In the end, casting aside whatever ideas anyone might get to having about me and my plight, I only return right back to where I began: my name is Barney Rolfe, and there is something wrong with my brain."

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tracynotabi · 3 years

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Riptide Day 2 / Undertow

September 11, 2021

D-Day.

Kevin, Ivan, Joey, and I were getting a ride from Spencer, who was also taking Narq to the venue, while Robert and Parker got a ride from someone else. Well, at least we didn’t have to walk to the venue. I didn’t pack sunscreen.

At 9am, about half an hour we were supposed to leave, Kevin gets a stomachache.

Me: He just needs to poop. Spencer: The classic.

We end up going to the lobby to wait for Spencer in Narq, which was fine considering we actually didn’t want Spencer, our ride, waiting for us.

Spencer: Okay, Narq’s just using the bathroom rq lol Me: Is he also having tummy problems Spencer: Nah just bein stoner and forgetting to do stuff lol Me: The classic

We go get Chick-fil-A and I’m sitting underneath the dashboard again by Kevin’s feet. I think the employees were very bewildered, as the woman on the other side of the window did a double take. I would, too, if I saw a smaller-than-average person just hiding underneath the dashboard sipping on a cup of Coke.

Some time after I get to the venue during doubles, I end up talking to Jimmy (j u m), when Kevin comes rushing over to me, a panicked look on his face.

Forgot to mention, but Kevin actually couldn’t get all of his poop out before coming to the venue and now it is back with a vengeance.

He tells me that he’s unable to go to any restroom because there were three stalls in the men’s restroom: two were occupied and one was clogged with poop.

He had tried flushing the poop one but it only made it worse. It just clogged more and the water level rose. If he had sat down and insisted on finishing, his balls would be touching the water and that’s a no-no.

He tried asking the front desk for other restrooms, but he was informed it was the only one. He was desperate and you could just see it in his eyes that he was about to break.

Me, using the big, wrinkly brain that I had, told him to use the women’s restroom. He froze, not even realizing that that was an option.

Now before anyone complains, hear me out.

I would rather be in a restroom with a male in the stall next to me, than exit the restroom and see someone standing outside the men’s restroom trying to wait for a stall with a shit stain in his pants. Excuse the vulgarity, but it’s true.

If you’re ever at one of my tournaments and you need to go and no male restroom is unoccupied, for the love of god, please fucking use the women’s restroom. I do not need this mess on my hands and you best believe I’m shoving myself in the men’s restroom if I gotta fucking go expel unicorns and rainbows.

I go to the restroom with Kevin and stand awkardly on my phone to keep watch, because he didn’t want any of the staff members actually seeing him and risk himself getting kicked out of the venue.

That would’ve been extremely unfortunate.

Luckily, nobody else needed to go use the restroom while Kevin was in there and he was able to safely compete his duty (lol).

If anyone is upset at my suggestion, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t about to not provide such a simple solution for Kevin’s emergency.

Anyway, the tournament start shortly after that.

First match I pay attention to is Kevin vs. Wombat. In my head, I think it’s pools so I shouldn’t worry too much. I try to watch Kevin’s sets, but it makes me physically ill sometimes because my anxiety is wracked up like crazy and I just want to throw up. Many have witnessed me walking away and trying to distract myself multiple times at multiple different tournaments.

It’s like that gory horror movie that you can’t keep looking away from.

Besides knowing that I get sick, I figured it would be fine since I actually enjoy trying to support my boyfriend and watch him come out of pools winners’ side. Not meaning any disrespect by Wombat, by the way. He’s great. Just realistic. It’s like how I expect Kevin to lose to Bob.

Kevin loses Game 1.

Ooh my tummy’s doing barrel rolls like the way Twisty did with that pullout bed. I look away but I’m just so distracted by the crowd noises.

I totally get it, though. Obviously, it’s sick that Wombat’s holding his own against Kevin, who is seed 3 of the tournament. I’d be excited, too, if my friend was making an upset on someone else. But Kevin’s my boyfriend, so obviously, I want him to win.

Kevin barely wins Game 2 and I’m like ooooh boy. My tummy’s going to town and I think I gag a little by how sick I feel. Gotta focus on getting Joey his next match. *deep breaths*

When heartswaptv airs the whole tournament, definitely check out the set. It was really good (as far as I can hear, I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest of it).

Kevin comes over to me after he’s out of pools and I scold him for making me worried.

AND YOU NOW WHAT HE SAYS?

Kevin: Babe, it’s fine - I almost lost to Zeddy at Redacted City and I got 2nd. I’ll be fine. Me: T____T *incoherent whining noises*

Does Kevin thinks he’s fucking cute for saying that or something? I was not amused.

Since I didn’t have to volunteer TO the entirety of the tournament, I bounced around mingling with other people.

At one point, I get a message from Suvir in our group chat about how he, Sosa, and Narq were planning on coming to visit NorCal. Of course, since Narq was already here, I decided to just go up to him and ask.

Me: So I heard you’re coming to NorCal? Narq: I am? Me: That’s what Suvir said. *shows phone* Narq: I guess I’m going to NorCal!

Suvir: Narq doesn’t actually know. Sosa just said he’d take him with him and said Narq would agree to go because he’s Narq. Me: Oh that makes sense why he had no idea what I was talking about.

It wasn’t until around top bracket did things start to pick up. Not too many spoilers, because (1) no spoilers before they upload the vod and (2) I have a terrible memory when it comes to the matches.

I remember holding up Kevin’s phone to stream to our Discord because we had some non-PM player friends who wanted to see and I think Kevin wanted Thomas (ThundeRzReiGN) to give him some advice throughout the tournament. Not actually coach, but to critique his play.

As more and more top players fell, Kevin made it a goal to do his best not to fall into the landmine that was Losers’. So many heavy hitters were large threats to him: Techboy, Malachi, Akimi, Cloudburst...

Not to say that Winners’ side didn’t have their fair share of monsters: Peter, Parker, Kumatora, Twisty, Nogh, Lunchables...

Kevin’s first match in Top 32 was against Bongo, who people sleep on quite a lot. For those of you that don’t know him, he’s a Captain Falcon from NY who actually beat Kevin at Flex Zone 3 in 2018. Kevin had beaten him at Encore, but it wasn’t easy.

Not to mention Falcon is a pain the butt for Mario. Unfortunately, the match was not recorded (as far as I know), and it was a very exciting match from what I heard. I avoided watching it because based on how long it took, I knew it had to have been a Game 5. During that time, two matches have been finished on “stream.”

Kevin had said his match against Bongo was the toughest one he had - not to discredit his other opponents, of course - but according to him, it was the scariest and closest. Also the threat of being put into Losers so early would’ve made the climb to Top 8 a lot harder.

His overall goal was actually to make Top 8. Despite being a third seed and rank 5, what I’ve noticed about Kevin is that he does have doubts about himself quite often. He’s never complacent in his opponents and worries all the time about being upset and I don’t think anyone puts more pressure on him more than himself.

As I watched my friends progress through bracket, all I can think is there’s not much I can do. I don’t understand the game very much, despite my heavy involvement in the scene. In fact, more often than not, I believe I understand the game the least compared to everyone else.

A tangent from the actual tournament itself is coming, but I think I should address why I’m even in this community:

While everyone loves the game, I love the community behind it. I find it worth it to sit/stand in one location for hours at a time because it allows my friends to enjoy the game they love comfortably without worrying how the tournament is progressing. They can focus on their own growth and passion.

I think what I see is completely different. Like I said, I don’t really understand this game - I can’t differentiate uairs, bairs, d-smashes, etc. I compute it in my head, but can’t visualize it. I don’t recognize most combos - in fact, more often than not, I’m sitting there just staring at the screen kind of blankly. Sometimes, it does make me wonder if I really am part of this community because I don’t really understand the game.

I can’t say I particularly care too much about the game, but I understand how much of an impact it’s made on me and for that, I’m very thankful for this game because it’s led me to some great people.

Back to the actual event and less sap. lol. Is anybody still even reading?

For something put together in a mere two weeks, Trin and their team did an amazing job. Three recording set ups, graphics, a pot, a venue... props to them for gathering the scraps and making a whole out of it. And to think we almost didn’t go.

Madeline (Swanner) ended up coming and it was honestly so good to see her. We aren’t particularly close, but she’s someone I’ve come to care for and just want happiness for her.

Major spoiler, but I don’t think anybody who cares about PM/P+ doesn’t know Kevin won the tournament.

Everyone expected a pop-off, but Kevin just sat there, crying.

I don’t think there’s ever been anything that Kevin has been more passionate about. He loves this game; he loves this community. Never did it ever occur to him that he would win.

I wish I could say more, but honestly, him winning stunned me speechless. And if you didn’t know, the first thing he said after was that he had to call his mother.

His mom is one of his biggest supporters and I love her to death. She has such a huge heart and has never, ever frowned upon Kevin’s love for the game, whole-heartedly supporting it.

I hugged Maddy, because I can’t even imagine how heart-breaking it must be for her to see what could have been on the mainstage. I imagined how much it must’ve hurt her because she just loves the game and the community, but to see it constantly be torn down by Nintendo and her unable to do anything... Give Maddy a hug and thank her if you see her. She deserves the world.

We ended up walking home with PNW, Bob, Mar, Bongo, Cameron (LoyaL), Ivan, and a few others, honestly too dark to completely see and name. It was a very nice night.

We did, however, pass by the rundown house that definitely looked like if we were to talk in there, we’d be killed by the axe murderer that lived there.

Kevin also lagged behind a lot because his phone notifications were going off like crazy and I was worried he was going to just get lost in the darkness or get hit by a car. Stop looking at your phone when you cross the street, dammit.

We got back to our hotel room and ordered pizza - it was bad. God-fucking-dammit, Ohio, why do you suck so much? Kind of a shitty dinner to end the day on, but nothing else was open at 2am. FeelsBadMan.

#Super Smash Bros.#Project M #Project Plus #Nintendo #Riptide #Undertow #Fuck Nintendo

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

Text

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8

WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Unless you're some sort of fairy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rich- I c-can't-"

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

"R-Richie! I-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you okay?"

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

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

"Woah woah Eds what-"

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

"Of course Eddie he can't just-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #stan uris #stanley uris #the losers club #it #it movie #it chapter 1 #it chapter one #it 2017 #it chapter 2 #it chapter two #it 2019

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