#I cannot EXPRESS how much I FUCKING hate the management here

[yuribalisms]

I hope rats chew away at the electrical wires in all the management’s houses and cause electrical fires and they all explode

#first we have homophobe Mctransphobe who has been walking around threatening to write up anyone out/visibly queer for random shit that no #one else gets written up for #not to mention we are severely understaffed and are getting in WAY more product in then we are supposed to so we can’t keep up #and we have no SPACE for new product because a couple weeks ago the management made us put out???? all our backstock???? #(and we TOLD them that would result in us not having space for new products when we got them but they didn’t FUCKING listen) #and when we told them we needed more space they said they would give us more space and then :)))))) #they FUCKING TOOK AWAY SPACE INSTEAD #and tonight FUCKING TONIGHT #we finally had enough staff to MAYBE start getting caught up #(at least to get to the point where there were not random carts and pallets filled with product all over the place) #and management came up to us and told us we ‘were working too close together and needed to separate’ #and when we attempted to explain we were working on putting out product that management demanded we put up #they said that didn’t matter we couldn’t work that close to each other because we would ‘waste time talking’ #except because of that half our staff is WASTING WHOLE HOURS OF A SHIFT ON SHIT THAT DOESNT NEED DONE BECAUSE THEY GOT MOVED SOMEWHERE ELSE #and I KNOW tomorrow when I come in they’re gonna yell at me for leaving product out in carts and on pallets 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃 #I hope you die I hope you explode I hope you never know happiness #I hope you stupid fucking homophobic transphobic racist ASSHOLES with CONTROL ISSUES and IQS IN THE NEGATIVES goddamn DIE #I cannot EXPRESS how much I FUCKING hate the management here #(they also ONLY put the visibly queer folks in my department and then mismanage us like this and threaten to write us up/fire us) #(it has officially become a pattern and I am going to LOSE my mind) #I hate this fucking job I hate this fucking company #(the general manager also told me during a meeting recently that staff wouldn’t be allowed to evacuate if there was a CO2 leak because the #building was big enough it should be ‘safe’) #I literally feel like I am going fucking insane #there is so much shit here that could honestly probably win lawsuits but no one who works here has the energy to genuinely fight back #because they overwork us to hell and back #I want to quit so bad but I know no where else is gonna pay me this much #(and that insane pay divide between here and anywhere else in town is the only way they ARE keeping staff) #UGH #kaz rambles

[disneyprincemuke]

you called * cl16

you called, so he came.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: none.

notes: well, now i'm in the mood to write this bc i just found out my ex-boyfriend now has a girlfriend so i aM PULLING THIS OUT FROM THE DEEPEST PART OF MY SADNESS AND GUT

(i quit drinking) // (to forget you) // (you called)

charles wasn't actually going to come. when you called him, you were slurring and stumbling over your words about how you wanted to see him. he told you it wasn't a great idea until you started full-out sobbing on the phone about how much you missed him.

it was then shortly cut to max scolding you in the background. something about how he already told you not to call charles, but you still did. then max took the phone from you and told him off sternly that he better not show up.

yet, here you are in the passenger seat of his car, buckling your seatbelt on.

carmen was more than shocked to see him at max's front door, but max blew his head off when he walked by and caught a glimpse of him.

but you managed to convince him to let you go, promising the man that you would send him a text message when you got back to your hotel.

"thank you for coming," you say barely above a whisper. your eyes are set on straight the car parked in front of his.

he sees your thumbs fumbling with one another. "of course," he answers, "you called."

you turn your head to the window, completely away from him. being in this car only brought back so many memories. you're a lot more sober than you were about 20 minutes ago, after you'd puked in the toilet after a quick sob.

being in this car gave you flashbacks to when you'd be driving around on the way to parties or the bar with the grid boys. it was in this car that he'd driven you around monte-carlo for your first date, ending up by the bay into a private yacht for dinner.

“but why?” you turn back to him, your doe eyes piercing into his. they’re slightly red from the crying, your makeup has been taken off (courtesy of max after you cried and puked), and your lips swollen. “why did you come?”

charles can’t find it in himself to start driving. he turns his head, avoiding your gaze. “i wanted to come see you.” and very softly, he adds, “i missed you.”

you freeze. you were expecting numerous types of responses but him admitting that he missed you was not one of them.

“what?” there's an expression on your face that he cannot fathom at all.

"i said i missed you," he says slower. though, with most of your relationship spent in the presence of alcohol, he knows pretty well that you're not even drunk anymore. you're just using it as an excuse,.

you stare at him, mouth gaping wordlessly at him. you scoff audibly and click your tongue. "you miss me?" you shriek, eyebrows furrowing at his confession. “you miss me? are you fucking serious right now, charles?”

“yeah?” he raises an eyebrow, genuinely not knowing how to respond to you.

"charles, we broke up." there's a sadness in your eye that made his chest ache. he knows very well that you did, in fact, break up.

"why are you saying that like it was a one-sided thing? you also agreed it's better off we just part ways." charles' growing frustration is very evident on his face, and it's still clear to you. "i didn't break up with you."

you still know when he's slowly getting irritated, or which expressions told you what's on his mind.

"because i saw you!" you throw your head back, running your hands through your hair as you tug on them roughly. "i watched you distance yourself from me, charles! the way you withdrew in the last couple of days we spent together, and apart. you called lesser, you stopped inviting me to your parties with friends, and you couldn't even look me in the eye anymore."

charles had no idea that this was what went through your mind. to him, he stopped inviting you to parties because he valued the fact that you hated waking up in the morning with a hangover. you had mentioned that it made getting up so much harder.

he started calling you lesser when you were apart because he was just simply busy. but, he did send you messages that he thought were enough to reassure you of the state of your fresh relationship.

not being able to look you in the eye had a simple explanation - he's fallen in love with you and has been afraid to admit it. after you spent a week apart busy with different projects and workload, he had picked you up from the airport for a race weekend and he felt it in his chest. he was just afraid to say it out loud for the fear that you would be too overwhelmed.

"that's not true." charles shakes his head. he turns his body away from you, looking ahead.

"then what's the truth?" you probe, lifting your shoulders to edge him for an answer. there is no way that you spent your days sulking over a man who missed you but never reached out.

but who are you to speak? you didn't either.

charles opens his mouth but quickly closes it. he shakes his head again. he contemplates the risk of saying it to you. you'd called him drunk, not expecting him to even pick up; it should be his turn to risk his feelings and possible embarrassment.

"i got scared," he says slowly, turning his head to look at you, "because i realised i love you. but i was just so scared to tell you. don't ask me why. i wanted to have you without the alcohol, that's why i didn't ask you out anymore."

"you can't just lie your way out of this, charles!" you scold with the roll of your eyes.

he rolls his eyes, finally starting up the car for a drive. "i'm going to drive you home now."

"yeah, maybe you should." you fold your arms over your chest and turn your head towards the window. your hotel isn't far, but it's quite a drive.

charles didn't even have the time to turn some music on, so you had sat in his car together in silence. the sound of the engine is the only thing that occupies the deafening stillness in the air.

you'd spent days locking yourself away, the thoughts of charles hopping on to someone else eating hours of your day away, taking up most of your breath as you'd sit on the floor crying with your cat in your arms.

to the point your mother had to remind you that charles is just a boy.

"do you mean it?" you break the silence as he turns into the lobby of the hotel. your eyes are glued to the window still with tears filling it to the brim.

you hear him sigh then shift in his seat. "of course, i do. i spent every waking moment of the past 6 weeks thinking of you and missing you. i hated every second i spent without you," he rambles. he takes a deep breath as the car comes to a slow stop. "i should have called you. i'm sorry."

you press your lips together. you turn to face him, but his stare is right ahead as he chews on the inside of his cheek. "i didn't think you liked me without the alcohol. i'm not as fun without it."

charles turns quickly to face you, instinctively grabbing your hands into his. "don't even say that," he pouts his lips out, "you are an even better person without it. please don't say that."

you close your eyes, knowing you might regret the decision in the morning. you open them and meet his blue eyes, a small smile stretching your lips.

what's the worst that could happen? if he meant his words, everything should be alright.

"do you want to have some coffee upstairs?"

you see relief wash over his face. with a deep breath, he exhales, his body melts into his car seat. he leans his head on his headrest. "as long as you promise me there's no alcohol."

#ooooh i quite liked this #the ending is meh tho! #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #charles leclerc x you

[aajjks]

The Conqueror (XX)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader.

warnings. yändërê bëhäv*öür, töxīc!jk, öbsëssïön, mänhändlïng, mëntïöns öf cryïng, mürdêr, mïnd gämës, ässh*lë jungkook. D-RK THËMËS ÂHÊÂD.

series masterlist.

note. plz hi, forgive me for the delay xx send asks for tc characters, send feedback n ENJOY!

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

Jungkook hides his face into your neck and clutches your body tightly, not giving you any time to think about what’s happening, all you can hear and feel is his panicked breath and his tight hold on your body.

You’re freaking out as your brain slowly starts to process what’s happening, his body feels too hot so close to yours, he’s burning.

“W-What’s wrong, what a-are you doing here?” You try to move away from him but the large man doesn’t let you, you tilt your head back to look at him, and you can’t help but gasp.

He’s crying.

A monster like him is crying.

“Y-YN!” He cries out your name, looking at you with his red tear filled eyes, you cannot understand how can someone so cruel like him look so vulnerable like this, the expression on his face almost pulls at your heartstrings.

“I-I need you!” Jungkook can barely manage to speak coherent words, his voice is thick with emotion, you don’t want to look at him. He disgusts you.

But his eyes are begging you, you find it hard to keep your composure from becoming weak, you try to get his hands away from you, but he only pulls you closer to him.

“Let me go.” You demand, “I can’t help you.” You turn your gaze away from him, fate is too cruel, how can you even feel bad for the man who’s responsible for your ruin, for your family’s death?

You should be happy to see him like this, because the only thing he deserves is pain.

But yet, a small part of you is urging you to listen to him,

“NO! You need t-to comfort me YN!” You turn again to glare at him as the small glimmer of sympathy dies down within you, his tone is demanding and he’s looking at you like you’re some heartless monster.

The audacity of him.

How can he even demand your care, your comfort when he doesn’t deserve it, you want to strangle him, you wish you could but you’re not too brave.

You can’t kill him, even if you want to. Because you’re not like him, you’re not a killer. “No, get away from me, your majesty.” You whisper, trying your best to conceal your anger.

His gaze turns angry soon at that, oh oh looks like you’ve pissed him off. Good for you.

He deserves it.

“What d-did you say? HUH?” Jungkook glares daggers into your face, he gets up and pins you to your bed, putting your hands above your head, you immediately start struggling against him, he doesn’t deserve anything! Jungkook pushes his knee between your struggling legs and growls.

“Get away from you huh? NEVER!” He knows you’re not strong enough to stand up for yourself against him, “fucking heartless bitch!”

You hate him so much.

He’s crazy, selfish and incredibly self entitled. How could he expect you to ever love him or accept him as your future husband.

“LET ME GO YOU PSYCHO!” You spit at him, “I fucking hate you so much, you ruined my life!” You hate how he treats you, you’re not an object that he can play with however he wants to.

He needs a reality check.

“You hate me because of HIM! Don’t you? That fucking bastard better be burning in hell!” You bite the inside of your cheek, “I HATE YOU BECAUSE OF YOU!”

Jungkook starts to laugh, your heartbeat is rapid, your throat feels so scarify and dry, and this maniac on top of you is busy laughing.

“O-Oh wow…” he breathes, you can see his teeth clearly, his mouth is so wide with the way he’s laughing, you start to feel concerned.

Jungkooks laughter is uncontrollable, and he’s trapped you. You wish that he would let you go, forget about you, but when you look at him? You know well he’s never going to leave you.

Only if you die, but he wouldn’t leave you even in death.

There is no escaping him.

“I wonder how much you’ll hate your precious father if I told you the truth about him, eh baby?” He taunts you, the tears in his eyes are still there, glossing over his eyes but he’s smirking at you.

His words surprise you, is this one of his mind games? What does he mean by that? “W-What do you mean?!” You feel hot tears gather, he’s so cruel, “answer m-me!” Your voice breaks pathetically.

You know he’s enjoying this, Jungkook frees on his hands to touch your cheek, caressing the skin tenderly, he swipes his thumb across the liquid that falls from your eyes, not responding to you.

Asshole!

“Not now baby. Maybe another day, or..” he looks at you intensely, inhaling a deep breath, he’s got you holding your breath, you feel so sick.

“I’ll tell you about it on our wedding night. yes. So I hope you’re looking forward to us getting married, because I am.” He presses a kiss on your cheek.

“Now I’ve got to leave.”

A tear escapes your eye as he climbs off you, relief doesn’t come. All you feel is pain as you hear the king’s footsteps become distant.

Attending the royal court was the most boring part of Jungkooks life, all he wanted to do was spend time with you, talk to you, and lay in your embrace.

But he knew today was really important, so he decided to attend, it was exciting. Even if he was exhausted.

Jungkook walked in with authority as the court’s doors opened, he cringed as the voice of the head guard graced his ears,

He was being too loud and Jungkook was sleep deprived.

But everyone needed to know that their King was here.

“Stand attentive, 주상 전하 [Jusang jeonha] of Jeon Dynasty is entering the 왕실 [wangsil]”

Jungkook walked into the huge hallway, looking around to notice all the governors and political figures standing up, bowing their heads to him.

He smirked.

“I am here to announce a very important matter, but before I go ahead. I do not want anyone’s opinions or opposition.” He sits down on his throne, and makes sure to assert his authority.

The voices of the people agreeing echo and he nods, “I intend on marrying.”

The gasps of surprise don’t bother Jungkook in the slightest, “Yes. And my bride is going to be chief consort L/N Y/N.”

Governor Lim stands up abruptly and Jungkook is quick to notice that, he clenched his fist as he watches the old man’s expressions.

He is in the mood to kill someone today. Maybe it’ll be governor Lim.

“Yes, Governor Lim?”

“Pyeha!” (폐하) the old man bows his head down, “L/N isn’t of Nobel blood, I would like to apologise for my words but you as a king can’t possibly marry a- “YES I CAN GOVERNOR, are you just mad that it’s not Lim Moon I wish to marry?”

Jungkook traces his finger on the thrones patterns, “sit down, old man. Or… I’ll make sure you and your whore of a daughter lose your head if you object to my marriage.”

He gives the cowering man a cruel smile, “like I said, no objections.”

#jungkook smut #jjk smut #bts smut #yandere bts #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fic #jungkook fic #yandere jjk #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jungkook angst #jungkook au #yandere au #yandere x darling #yandere smut #jeongguk smut #jeongguk #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #yandere kpop

[piscesvenus12h]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS: SUN THROUGH THE HOUSES - 7th-12th

7th house sun: relationship oriented. Doesn’t like to be alone. Probably a people pleaser. “If not it’s ok” - text message sender. Would rather do it themselves. Caretaker and homemaker. Maternal. Excellent fashion sense. Interior design. This is the friend you go to when you want to throw a party or have a big extravagant plan that you need help with. You’ll end up with a party or event planned with excellence. They strive to make you smile. To the natal owner: don’t ever forget that just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. People may walk all over you if you let them. Place boundaries where you need them and don’t feel responsible for other peoples emotions.

8th house sun:  magnetic. Alluring as FUCK. People either love you or they hate you and there’s no grey matter here. Mystic at heart. Sensitive. Connected with the occult. Manifests easily. Should definitely major in psychology or philosophy. Good with money. This is the friend you find when you need to express your power and need help establishing how to do that best. This friend will help you find who you truly are and help you express your fullest potential. To the natal owner: being a hermit is OKAY & NEEDED desperately by you. You cannot survive out in the open world forever, you NEED to retreat and care for yourself first and foremost.

9th house sun: SMART. Book and street smart. Creative in the arts. Idea giver. Divinely inspiration. Book nerd. Low key adrenaline junky. Excellent at languages. Probably doesn’t need a GPS much/remembers locations and directions really fucking good. This is the friend you study all night with for midterms and then hit spring break travels with! They know how to bust out an A+ then party their asses off. To the natal owner: pick one or two passion projects and pursue them with all you have! Anything you set your mind to will take effort and your undivided attention. Don’t get discouraged if you don’t succeed right away, persistence is key!!

10th house sun: girl boss/boy boss. Class president. Probably gets upset with themselves when they don’t get an A on a test they prepared for. random fact giver. natural born leader. Management. Color coding. Probably irons their clothes before work or school. This is the friend you want to seek if you have a new business or club or anything in that area. They will help you set everything up and even serve as a leader if you need one. To the natal owner: it’s ok to take a nap. Productivity does not make you a better person than anyone else. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.

11th house sun:  miss/Mr. popular. committed as fuck. Most people love you and if they don’t, it’s because of a projection. Chatty. Should be a podcast owner. Makes a new friend every week. Really good at social media. open minded. Wants to save all of the animals. “if we don’t have earth, we have nothing.” This is the friend you seek to help take your mission statement up a level. To the natal owner: you can’t save everyone!! Not everyone is worth your genuine love and support. Learn boundaries.

12th house sun: WWJD? Loner. Spiritual or religious. Sees in between the lines. You can’t get anything past these people. They intuitively know all. Fertile. Creative. Powerful when they put their mind to it. Day dreamer. This is the friend that you want if you to transcend and take some magical mushies. They will take you on an adventure of a lifetime. To the natal owner: be careful of escaping your reality too much. I know earth sucks, but you’re stuck here. Ground yourself and find your tribe. 

(Houses 1-6 also posted!)

#astro notes #astrology #astrology observations #astro observations #zodiac #zodiac signs #astrology notes #sun sign #sun signs #7th house sun #8th house sun #9th house sun #10th house sun #11th house sun #12th house sun #Aries #Taurus #Gemini #cancer #Leo #Virgo #Libra #scorpio #sagittarius #Capricorn #Aquarius #Pisces

[roosterbox]

Heyyyyyyy Steddie thinky thought time again! And I’m putting it under a cut because, YET AGAIN, my hand slipped and I accidentally almost 2,000 words.

Tags: ANGST, miscommunication, HOH!Steve, Mean-and-Overly-Defensive!Eddie

So picture this, if you will…

High school AU. Probably no Upside-Down. Steve is deaf/HOH. He signs, but he knows that not everyone else does, and so few take the time to learn, especially not for him, so he usually carries around a notepad too. Just in case. Someone (probably Dustin, lbr) asks him to sit in on a Hellfire meeting. Heck, maybe even asks him to join. Steve is unsure, but he’s open to new experiences and Dustin always makes his favorite club sound really awesome (also the guy who runs the club is super cool and hot too, but shhhhhh). So sure - he’ll check it out.

The day comes and Steve gets there early. Like really early. In fact, he’s there before anyone else. Which is fine; he can use the extra free time to do a little homework, right? Thing is though, he’s so focused on his notebook that he doesn’t notice somebody else come in - Eddie. And there are four important things to note about Eddie.

He doesn’t know Steve is deaf.

He doesn’t know that Steve has been explicitly invited here by Dustin.

He knows Steve only by his reputation. So, not good.

He’s as protective of his club and the kids in it as a mama bear.

Needless to say, these four factors combine into a perfect storm, and Eddie is immediately on the offensive.

“Hey!” He says. “Hey, Harrington!” He continues when he gets no acknowledgement. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

No answer. Steve doesn’t even look at him. Just keeps writing in his notebook.

“Hey asshole! I’m talking to you!” Eddie’s volume is rising, as is his temper. Despite his uncle’s best efforts, Eddie’s never been the best at keeping cool. But, man, the disrespect. It tends to eat at him. And coming from King Steve of all people? Oooooooh doesn’t that just make his blood boil. Eddie stalks over to where Steve is sitting. If he thinks he’s gonna waltz in there and tease or humiliate any of Eddie’s little sheepies, he’s got another thing coming.

Steve, meanwhile, is just happily doing his homework. Maybe doodling a little in the margins. Wondering if Eddie looks as cool running the club as he does around school. Especially when he’s up on the lunch tables ranting about conformity. He’s so lost in thought that a sudden hand on his arm shocks him out of his chair, up to his feet. And just like that, he’s face to face with his secret crush, the one and only Eddie Munson. He smiles, but only for a moment as he sees Eddie’s furious expression. The other boy’s lips are moving. A little fast, but Steve does his best to read them.

“-hell are you doing here, Harrington? This isn’t one of your stupid jock sports teams. If you’re here to hurt these kids-“

Steve’s eyes widen. He tries to sign something. No, no.

Eddie sees Steve looking scared, waving his hands. It only serves to make him angrier. Steve sees he’s getting nowhere with sign, so he grabs his notepad and starts writing. He can still see Eddie saying something in his periphery, and he tries to write fast. To clear up any misunderstanding.

But then. Eddie goes too far. He manages to hit on one of Steve’s biggest insecurities mid-rant. And then he keeps digging at it. Steve stops writing and just… stares. Like a dog, Eddie cannot let go of the bone he’s found, so he keeps going. Insert any list of your favorite Steve insecurities here. His upbringing. His (bad) relationship with his parents. His reputation (which Steve hates so much). His intelligence. His fighting skills or lack thereof (poor Steve: getting beat up in every universe). And the worst part is how mean Eddie is about it. The kids tease Steve too, and yeah sometimes it hurts, but it’s never felt as outright cruel as it does when Eddie says it.

Steve’s eyes fill with tears, despite his best efforts, and while Eddie is mid sentence, Steve decides he’s had enough. He shoves his notepad at Eddie, into his chest, eliciting a surprised huffed exhale, before grabbing his bag and just running. He runs out the door, out of the building, to his car, and drives himself home. He doesn’t stop crying for hours.

Eddie, after the surprise of Steve shoving him and running out, just rolls his eyes. “Typical,” he mutters under his breath. “Fucking prick.”

He looks down at the notepad in his hands, still mad but also curious as to what Steve had thought was so important that he just had to start scribbling it down while Eddie yelled at him. And…

Not here to hurt, I swear. Dustin invited me. He’s like my little brother. I’m deaf - sorry couldn’t hear you talking. I’ve seen you around, and I think you’re pretty cool. I’ve never played DND before, but Dustin really loves it. Maybe I could-

That’s as far as it went. And man. Imagine the feeling of your heart sinking, dropping down past your stomach, through the ground itself before finally coming to a stop in the molten core of the earth. Imagine that, and you may experience a fraction of the almost instantaneous levels of guilt Eddie feels at that moment. All at once he thinks of how Steve had looked at him after he first got his attention. He had smiled. Fucking grinned. He was happy to see him. Happy to be there. Eager to see what Hellfire was all about. Eager to learn.

And Eddie had just taken that happiness, that earnest interest, and stomped on it. Crushed it utterly beneath his sneakers as if it were a cigarette butt.

The other guys start filing in. Including Dustin. But before he can say anything (maybe to ask where Steve is, and why the hell does Eddie have his notepad), Eddie shoves past them out the door.

“Eddie, what-“ Jeff starts.

“I’ll be right back,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he quickly makes his way outside. Just in time to see Steve’s car speeding out of the parking lot. He curses, loud enough that a few students still milling about jump at the unexpected noise. Eddie doesn’t care. He messed up. He really fucking messed up, didn’t he?

He makes it up to Steve eventually. It takes time, of course; Steve’s trust is a hard thing to earn even on a good day, but after that first encounter? They’re not just starting at zero; they’re practically starting at -1000. He starts small. Little exchanges here and there. Usually with Dustin (or, occasionally, Steve’s best friend Robin, who looks at Eddie like she would flay him alive if Steve gave her the word) acting as a sort of buffer. It takes almost half a dozen of these group encounters before Steve says (writes) a single word to him, and even then it’s perfunctory. Cold. Simple. And it definitely hurts, just a little, especially since Eddie’s crush that he’s had on Steve since freshman year has been steadily growing with every exchange they have. As monosyllabic (if even syllabic at all) as they tend to be on Steve’s part. But every time he feels that hurt, Eddie thinks of how Steve had looked at him when he left the club that day. How sad and angry and frustrated. And he pushes his own (tiny, inconsequential by comparison) hurt aside. I can do more, he thinks.

One day, he manages to corner Steve on his own, without Dustin or Robin. Steve is annoyed - he still gets that sinking feeling of hurt whenever he’s with Eddie (which is enhanced (terribly so) by the stupid crush he has), and immediately pulls out his notepad. Starts writing on it. Something simple and to the point. Leave Me Alone. Or maybe Go Away. He gets as far as the first word before he realizes that Eddie isn’t talking. Not aloud, anyway. No, he’s signing. A bit clumsily, and a few of the words are wrong but close enough to understand. One sign is chief among them, though.

I’m sorry.

And in that moment, maybe, it hits home for Steve that Eddie really means it. Means it enough to try and learn an entirely new language to meet Steve where he is. He looks in Eddie’s eyes and he can see the guilt and shame swimming there. The hurt is still in him, that’s not going away with one apology (though this isn’t the first one Eddie has given him, of course), but still. Steve scratches out what he had been writing in favor of something else. After a second, he hands Eddie the paper.

I can’t forgive you. Not yet. You really hurt me. But thank you. When did you start learning to sign?

He sees Eddie’s eyes get a little watery as he reads, but then he’s handed back the notepad. He had thought that Eddie might take the easier route and just write it down, but no. Instead, with his hands free, Eddie continues signing.

A couple days ago. Stayed up all night. His cheeks were darkening. Blushing in shame at his rudimentary skills. Bad at it. Sorry.

And maybe it’s just because Eddie is one of only a handful of people Steve has met that have taken it upon themselves to learn sign, or maybe it’s that damn crush he can’t seem to lose, but Steve shakes his head. No, he signs, trying to keep it simple. Good.

Eddie looks away, signing Bad again. Steve touches his hand, the first point of actual physical contact they’ve had since that day at the Hellfire Club. Their eyes meet, and Steve signs, with as much emphasis as he can, GOOD. And then, Thank You.

Eddie looks down, suddenly feeling oddly shy. He’s still blushing but he also can’t help but smile. There’s the ghost of a dimple on his cheek, making Steve’s heart give a weak little flutter.

You’re welcome, Eddie signs.

After a long moment, Steve writes something down. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Eddie with signs yet. Not to mention that he doesn’t know how deep his (apparently only days-old) knowledge base goes. Best to go easy on him.

Maybe we could… start over?

He holds it up for Eddie to read, face a picture of inquisitive hope. The other boy nods, starts trying to sign, but gets frustrated rather quickly before holding out his hand for the notepad. Steve chuckles and hands it over, not missing the way Eddie’s blush deepens even further at the sound he probably made. Maybe his crush isn’t as one-sided as he’d been thinking.

Yes! Absolutely! If we are, then consider this your “first” official invitation to the Hellfire Club. Today, after school. (There’s a “I” here but it’s scribbled out) We would love to have you there.

I’ll be there, Steve writes. And, after Eddie reads it, he makes sure to get the other boy’s attention before he slowly signs the same thing. I’ll be there.

#stranger things #Steddie #my stuff #writing is hard #rooster’s thinky thoughts #deaf steve harrington #mean eddie munson #miscommunication #angst #and then they fell in love? #yup #they definitely did #lol

[factorialsotherfandoms]

The eggs are asleep, and finally Philza and Missa can catch a moment to themselves. Unfortunately, catching that moment means admitting to the injuries they have been hiding from their children - fussing over scratches while having arrowheads lodged next to your spine is the duty of a parent on Quesadilla Island, but an exhausting one.

Missa's quick fingers manage to pull said arrowhead from Philza's back, the momentary flash of pain causing him to nearly drop the iodine solution. He doesn't, though, just a little stain on the floorboards, and so he continues applying it to the wound in Missa's leg.

He barely notices the scratch of a needle against his back, but Missa cannot help but whine as the gauze is pressed against his wound.

"I hate it here," Missa manages, thankfully in English as Philza is in no position to twist and see his translator. "Why is everything trying to kill us?"

"The island fucking hates us, is why," Philza grouches, reaching over for a bandage. He's managed to get Missa's leg to stop bleeding, but it should still be covered. "Enjoy the island my ass."

Missa giggles a bit, even as he tapes a dressing in place over the arrow wound. He says something in Spanish which is definitely too fast for Philza to parse; he tries to turn and look, only to be gently pressed back into position.

"It's nothing," Missa assures him. "But the skeletons! Why are they so bad?"

"The skeletons aren't even the worst of it," Philza groans back. "If you ever see glowing eyes and nothing else? Run."

There's a long pause, and Philza hopes that Missa understands the severity of his warning - a Nightmare Stalker is exactly that, and Philza knows Missa is not nearly equipped to handle one. If he struggles as he does, he doesn't want to think about how his partner would suffer in his stead.

"It's okay," Missa pats his shoulder a few times, leaning around his wings to do so. "I'm good at running. It's my special talent!"

"You're good at a lot of things," Philza promises.

Missa doesn't reply; this time when Philza turns, he is allowed to. His entire body aching he sits himself up and twists himself around, taking Missa's face him his hands.

"You are so good," he promises. "So, so good. There's nobody else I would want to raise my eggs with."

There's more on the tip of his tongue; Philza quashes it as Missa closes his eyes, rest of his expression hidden by his mask.

Philza can see Missa struggle with his words for a bit - he's always amazed how someone can make themselves understood in two languages - before eventually receiving, "you are the best egg father."

"We have the best egg child," he retorts.

"We do!" Missa's entire body language perks up. "Chayanne is the best egg child, and he is ours. We are so lucky."

"We really are."

Philza isn't sure when it happens, but eventually he realises that he has leant forward, his forehead resting against Missa's mask. He closes his eyes and savours it, feeling as Missa loosely places his arms across his bare back - Philza needs his for support, one either side of Missa's hips and taking his weight, but otherwise he would do much the same.

The two of them stay in silence for a while, savouring each other's presence. The pain is still there, from protecting their children, and yet... In a simple house of oak and glass, for a moment it is all peace.

"Run away with me."

This is not how Philza had ever meant to bring it up, but the words slip out of their own accord.

Missa startles, eyes wide and spine straight as he blinks himself out of the peaceful haze, "qué?!"

"Run away with me," he shifts so he can see all of Missa's face, taking both of his partner's hands in his own. "Take the children, and run away. Find a way off this island, and to another world - one where the skeletons are the /only/ thing to worry about. I'll build you another house and we'll make it a home. Any colour you like, with a fence and walls and real bedrooms and a kitchen for Chayanne and gardens for Tallulah... You can have your own music room and kick Wilbur out for trying to steal your guitar, and we can sit on the roof in the moonlight and you can sing and I'll dance with the children asleep beneath us and no risk of zombie horsemen on our tail."

"But how-" a small whine catches in Missa's throat. "How do we get away? They said we cannot leave."

"There's always a way to leave," Philza says. "We just have to find it."

There's hands in his wings, and Philza startles.

"Your wings are so big... If they healed, you could fly away," Missa says, something wishful in his tone. "Up and up and far, far away, so far they could never catch you."

"And leave you behind?" he asks.

"You'd come back for Chayanne. And I... I could follow you then?"

"Even if something happens to Chayanne, I'd come back for you," Philza promises. "I won't leave you here, not in this hell."

"You wouldn't leave anyone here, if you could help it."

"Probably," Philza admits. "But I wouldn't come back for them, not if I didn't know I could escape again - I'd come back for you."

"I'll wait for you," Missa seems almost to melt in Philza's touch, whimpering as he curls in on him. Philza isn't even sure what he said wrong, just that his egg partner is clinging to him, whimpering.

"We might not always be together," he tries to reassure. "But I will always come back for you - I'll always find you. There's no point in running away if we don't run away together; if some day I /can/ fly away, I'd only do it to come back with help."

The whimpering turns to sobbing, and Philza adjusts his position to hold Missa properly. The hands in his feathers dig deep - one finger catches on some tape holding one of the litany of dressings in place - but Philza just holds Missa and worries.

Why this reaction? Was it something he said?

He stops talking just in case; Missa clearly wants a hug, so he just holds him, understanding only odd words of the broken fragments of Spanish between the sobs.

Eventually the tears slow; Missa pulls away, still sniffling.

"And... Spreen can come?"

"He can live next door, if he wants," Philza promises; it'll be a little hard to negotiate with Fit, but interpersonal drama is just a part of life. "A whole new town for /everyone/ - all of the islanders, and all of our friends. Maybe if we let his ex in Forever will even stop hitting on me."

That earns a laugh, if a bit of a wet one.

"I want to dance with you," Missa says.

"With no zombie riders," Philza promises. "Maybe tomorrow we could dance a bit at the Favela? But, one day, we'll do it somewhere safe."

"On the roof, under the moon?"

"I'll make a roof specially designed for it."

The tears slow some more, and Missa drops to actually lie on the bed.

"Do you really think we'll escape?" Missa turns to Philza and asks. "We broke the Wall, and the Federation-"

Philza moves to lie beside him - on his front while Missa is on his back - and takes a hand. "We will. I promise."

"But-"

"Someone cleverer than us will work it out," he smiles to Missa. "We've just got to survive while they do."

"And if they don't?"

"Then I'll burn the Federation to the ground."

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #genuinely can't tell if shippy or not #happy end au #little bit of character injury #they're both a bit tired so its less 'I have a plan' and more 'I have a dream' #still comes after the one with Fit tho #Missa doesn't need details he needs hope #they went out with chayanne and tallulah and archer skeletons happened #hence ows #the early spanish philza doesn't catch is missa going 'yes i do enjoy your ass its one of the best things on the island' #or words to that effect #just silly but too flirty for him to be comfy with it being understood #“run away with me” = I love you #“I won't leave you here” = I love you #I'd come back for you = I love you I love you I love you #“I'll wait for you” = I trust you I love you I want you #Philza's just not very good at saying feelings and Missa says them very fast in Spanish so Philza doesn't understand #(I love you can take many forms and still be love) #something something the irony of philza being the one who says I'll come back and Missa the one saying I'll wait #but genuinely the promise works both ways in this specific context

[klausinamarink]

Prompt: “new beginnings” (discord drabble from STWG) | ao3 link

a day late since I’ve been working on other stuff but also a gift to the amazing @pearynice! hope your birthday was awesome

-

Despite being a Tuesday, the tavern’s gotten busier as the hours inches towards the evening. Eddie feels the headache coming as more patrons demand beers their way. The strong stuff, they always request, even though Eddie’s been serving in this place for nearly five years and he still has no fucking clue what that’s supposed to mean.

There’s some prep shuffling onstage but Eddie doesn’t turn around to check. Very few so-called musicians in this place make him peek over his shoulder. The ones that do turn out to be disappointing.

Turns out that playing Master of Puppets to distract a horde of interdimensional demobats that would later chew out half of your body can set up high standards in music. 

“Hey, Quinn,” Jessie, one of the other servers, calls him, “clean up the tables, would ya?” 

Eddie nods, grabs an empty container, and goes over to collect the abandoned drinks. When he rounds to the third table, Eddir hears the mic being tapped before the mediocre singer of the night speaks.

“Hello, folks, my name’s Joey and I’m happy to share some of my original songs with you.” 

Eddie pauses. His brain is rattling with recognition. But for some reason, he cannot place where or why that voice sounds so familiar.

“Hopefully, someone I’m searching for is here today.”

They clear their throat. Starts playing on the keyboard. It’s slow and melancholic like a lullaby. Then-

“I can’t stand the storms when it flashes red. It just shows how much they hate the sun.”

Eddie slowly turns around, hands gripping the container’s edges so tight that it probably cuts his fingers. 

But none of it matters more than the sight of Steve Harrington onstage.

It doesn’t look like him. But it sure as hell sounds like him. But Eddie can’t be sure of that either because he had heard Steve talk, not sing like an angel. 

“I grab my bat and run to your side. Like an avenging angel, but all I earned was the loss of my wings. And maybe my tears too because I sure can’t cry anymore.”

For once, the tavern has fallen silent. Everyone is captivated by the long-haired stranger exposing his broken heart so casually. All the while, Eddie is stunned.

The longer he listens to Steve’s song, the more difficult it becomes to hold back the tears in his eyes. It brings him back to the day when the government suits told Eddie and the entire Upside Down crew that not only Hawkins will be scrubbed off the Indiana map, but they would be given new identities and homes somewhere in the country. On any other day, Eddie would’ve been avid. But instead, he stared at nothing and nobody as everyone’s cries of protest and outrage faded into static in his brain. 

Eddie had looked up once. His gaze had landed on Steve, who looked like he was either seconds away from snapping the closest suit’s neck or seconds away from bursting into tears. Eddie had wanted to follow the internal plea to walk over to Steve and hug him. Maybe whisper some comfort in his ear that the Party would still find contact. But he hadn’t - he was still too shocked and tired from his healing injuries to even get up.

That was the last time anyone had seen or spoken to each other.

“The storm continues. I keep walking, the bat in my hands. Hoping to-” Steve brings his gaze up, eyes flickering through the crowd. 

And, like a magnet, they land directly on Eddie.

Eddie is half a room away from the stage but he sees the exact second of Steve’s expression changing from painful reminiscence to disbelieved shock. Eddie himself feels his heart stopping mid-beat, unable to move or even try a silly wave back. 

The crowd applauds, mistaking Steve’s silence as the end of his song. It’s by then that Eddie hurries outside. 

-

Eddie’s on his second cigarette when the side doors swing open. He expects the manager Ripley to give him shit again, but it’s only Steve with his keyboard slung over his back. 

Steve stares at him again. When the door closes with a click, he says hoarsely, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Eddie greets back.

They both stare at each other, taking in the sights. Eddie had long cut his hair short and kept his curls trimmed behind the ears. Steve’s hair had grown (as if it wasn’t already long when Eddie last saw him) and appears to be sun-bleached. Even their clothes got reversed; with Eddie wearing polos (as per tavern guidelines) while Steve’s clearly taking denim vests and a darker palette. 

Eddie expects the change. But it still hurts him somewhere that yeah, it’s been six years. 

“Sorry, it’s weird to see you without long hair.” Steve breaks the silence, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Eddie laughs, “Well, when you got a name like Joseph Quinn, you gotta try and look like the guy.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, “That’s what they renamed you?”

“Yep,” Eddie nods solemnly, “But I’m still Eddie Munson at heart. What’s yours?”

Steve looks away, a blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s terrible.”

“Dude, you literally introduced yourself as Joey just now.”

“That’s how terrible my government-mandated name is!”

“Tell meeee!” Eddie starts poking at Steve’s ribs, making the other man burst into laughter. Steve grabs onto Eddie’s wrists, stopping him just inches from his face. Eddie catches his breath, unable to stop himself from briefly glancing down at Steve’s lips. He sees Steve doing the same, even licking his lips.

“I got a trailer parked in one of the lots nearby.” Steve says softly. “If you want-”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice catches in his throat. He swallows and says again, “Yeah. Of course.”

They walk together, forcing themselves to keep their hands at their respective sides. Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest as they arrive at Steve’s trailer, a Winnebago that’s smaller than the one Eddie had hotwired for him years ago. The moment they step inside, Eddie lurches forward and pulls Steve into a sheering kiss. Steve moans and grips his hands on Eddie’s hips while Eddie tangles his fingers into Steve’s hair.

Eddie lets Steve take him apart first, squeezing his hand tight as Steve whispers sweet nothings to his skin. Then Eddie flips them over and does the same to Steve, telling himself to go slow even though Steve is urging him the opposite. After they’re both spent, they stay in each other’s arms, gulping down air and tears. 

“I never thought I would see you again.” Eddie confesses quietly, tracing nonsense patterns between the tiny moles and rough scars on Steve’s arms. 

“I couldn’t just live this new staleass life without seeing everyone again. Even if it would take me decades to find them again.” Steve’s eyes are soft and sad as he stares into Eddie. He has a finger circling around the puckered scar on Eddie’s cheek. 

“So you go around the fifty states singing on the keys hoping to see one of them at a bar?” Eddie asks.

Steve huffs, “This is my side gig. But yeah, I guess you can call that wishful thinking.”

“Where did they send you?”

“Oregon. Too wet there.”

“That’s what he said.” Eddie can’t resist saying, earning a playful flick on the cheek. He hears himself turn somber when he asks, “Did you find anyone from the Party?”

“Robin in ‘88. She was in New York.” Steve smiles, undoubtedly proud to reunite with his platonic soulmate. “She refused to let me leave for a whole year.”

“Good for her. Who else?”

Steve falls silent and shifts his gaze up to the ceiling. “I haven’t found anyone since. Probably because I’m too dumb-”

“Don’t even say that.” Eddie cradles a hand on Steve’s cheek, tilting him to face him again. “You’re not an idiot, Steve. You should give yourself credit for actually finding Robin and me, even if it was dumb luck with me.” He wipes a thumb underneath Steve’s eye as a tear trails out. “Besides, it’s the government’s fault for thinking they can separate us all forever.” 

Steve gives a wet laugh. “So much for new beginnings, right?”

Eddie presses another kiss on him. One on his lips, then two more where the twin moles lay on Steve’s cheek. “Not if we keep searching together.”

Steve stares at him. His eyes go wide before they soften. “Together?” 

“And ever.” Eddie confirms. Steve makes a small disbelieving voice before leaning in to kiss Eddie, holding them together as long as they can.

It tastes like a vow.

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things

[nhasablogg]

The White House Letters

Fandom: Red White and Royal Blue

Characters: Alex/Henry

Summary: Henry starts sending Alex discreet tickle notes and it's driving him insane.

Warnings: Tickle kinks, bondage, nsfw undertones

Words: 4k

(Read it on AO3)

The first note comes when Alex is in a meeting, irate and exhausted and wishing he was on a plane going to see Henry already. Cash hands him the envelope once he steps outside the office, grinning at the delirious way he blinks at the name of the sender - something so posh he knows it to be Henry’s pseudonym - before falling in stride with him to the elevator. Alex is impatient. Alex is tired and a little horny and missing Henry and is therefore impatient, and so he tears the letter open as soon as the doors close and nearly has a fucking heart attack right there, in front of Cash who pointedly does not look at him out of pure politeness.

A,

Wishing you were here right now. I need to kiss down your waist, your thighs, stop just where I know it’s sensitive and then focus just there, making you scream for mercy or release, depending on the day.

See you Tuesday,

H

Alex cannot wait until fucking Tuesday, if only because he needs to kill Henry as soon as he can for daring to send something like this to him where anyone could get a hold of it.

“I thought I was the reckless one,” he says into the phone minutes later. “What are you doing.”

He can practically hear Henry’s smirk when he says, “Since emails are too risky I decided to send you a little something.” He laughs at whatever sound manages to escape from Alex’s lips. “Did you see how expertly I avoided calling it ticklishness? I figured if someone did find it and did figure out it was us then you’d probably be more embarrassed about that leaking out than anything else.”

Alex, for the first time in his life, nearly hangs up on him, but Henry is laughing, Henry is pleased, and he can’t be mad about that even though he is somewhat embarrassed.

“I’ll get you back,” he says, picturing Henry beneath him, Henry giggling as he goes for his sides. “I’ll get you back so good.”

“Mmm, only after I’ve wrecked you in more than one way, right?”

“Sleep with one eye open, your majesty.”

*

The second note comes before Alex has even had time to draft his first, neatly stacked with his usual post as if it was any other letter. He’s almost scared to open it, but at least he’s alone this time. Cash practically laughed at him as he rushed out of the elevator two days prior (“Unprofessional!” he called back). He won’t make the same mistake twice.

He fingers the envelope, wondering if he should finish his own note first, before ripping it open, scanning it quickly as if it would personally offend him before reading it again, taking in each word.

A,

I lay awake thinking of how wonderful your expression probably was while reading my last letter. I can imagine you gasping, as dramatic as you are, while that blush that I adore so much spread over your face. It’s nothing like the sounds you make when I touch your body, my fingers trailing over your hips. Nothing like the blush when I ask you about the sounds.

My hands long for you.

Yours,

H

That fucking bastard. From someone else’s point of view the note sounds sexual, sensual, all exploring hands and passionate kisses. And while that is the case there’s something else, something hidden and only theirs beneath it all, behind the way Henry describes it.

Alex hates how he’s blushing from fucking written words, although he knows that Henry’s done this to him before, in other ways. He hates how he can feel Henry’s hands on him, fingers digging into his hip bones ever so slightly, just enough to make him squirm. He refuses to acknowledge the sounds Henry talks of, even though he knows exactly what those are. He hates how he knows Henry was smiling fondly while writing both letters, but maybe especially this second one, knowing Alex would already be on edge.

That is to say, he doesn’t hate it at all. He simply hates the distance and that he can’t do anything about it.

“How does one send letters to the Prince of Wales?” he asks Zahra half an hour later, his own letter with his own pseudonym steady in his hands.

*

“Alex.” Henry’s voice is somewhat high pitched when Alex answers the call.

“Yes, baby?”

“I had Bea in the room with me!”

“I said I was gonna get revenge, didn’t I?”

“You’re a menace.” But behind the words Alex can hear that he’s smiling, flustered, pleased. “Maybe we have to make use of those handcuffs you wrote of. On you, of course.”

“Nuh uh. You brought that on yourself, mister.”

“You’re the one who owns them.”

Alex hates that he blushes at that and that Henry probably knows it.

The next day, when Henry is literally in the air on his way to him, he receives a third letter, opening it immediately and doing his best not to show a single emotion even though he’s alone. It doesn’t work.

A,

I’m bringing an extra pair of ‘cuffs for your lower half too.

Love,

H

Alex is still blushing when Henry arrives at his door.

*

The thing is, even when they’ve been shut in Alex’s room for half a day, touching and kissing and laughing and talking without mentioning the handcuffs (which Alex swears is purely to put him on edge), Henry still slips him a note at the end of the day. Alex had watched him write it, too curious to stop him when Henry had asked for pen and paper and had been perched on his desk for much longer than Alex had expected he would. The note is folded and envelopeless, given to him in between kisses and an episode of Bake Off. He watches Henry, who looks so innocent Alex knows he’s doomed, before opening it.

Alex,

I can call you that now, in the privacy of this room that’s seen so much of both you and I that it nearly makes me blush if I think of it too much. But then again it was a random hotel in Berlin which saw how we put my necktie to good use. It was my room in Kensington which saw me destroy you with raspberries to your belly of all things. You’re so ticklish and it’s driving me crazy.

It’s a strange thing to be so fixated on, isn’t it? But the world doesn’t see how you get shy when I tease your ribs. How you giggle if I go for your knees, or how you never beg me to stop until you have to. The world doesn’t see what I see when you laugh, unguarded, ticklish and happy. It’s too lovely not to obsess over. It’s too beautiful not to love.

Don’t get me wrong. I know you adore getting revenge and I’m expecting it any moment now, but just to see your face flush while reading this will be worth it.

Yours forever, in giddy laughter,

Henry

“Did I finally render you speechless?” Henry asks when Alex stares at the note for too long, eyes unmoving.

Alex rounds up on him. “You’re a piece of shit,” he says and Henry laughs when he tackles him onto the bed, getting that aforementioned revenge in by prodding at his sides. Truth is, Henry is probably more ticklish than Alex and enjoys it much more, but his enjoyment seems to also span into tormenting Alex, and Alex is always too flustered to tease him back in the moment for some inexplicable reason he might figure out one day.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says when he’s finished tickling him and tries to sit up, only for Henry to grab a hold of his wrist.

“Wait,” he says, smirking even though he was breathless a second ago. “How ‘bout we make some of the things in my letters come true, hmm?”

And Alex laughs and squirms and doesn’t protest when he finally goes for his hips.

*

He leaves the handcuffs in the White House, which stresses Alex out because now he feels as if he should bring a pair with him when he flies over in a few weeks, unwilling to admit why he would bring them in the first place. “You forgot these,” he could say, and Henry would grin in a way that would have his knees buckling.

The fifth letter is left on his pillow. He pretends not to see when Henry puts it there and doesn’t open it until much later, when he knows Henry’s landed and that he can call him if he needs to yell at him.

Sweetheart,

Keep them safe until we meet again. I will keep my promise this time.

Yours,

H

And Alex nearly wants to scream because he wishes he’d kept his promise the first time and this is not something he’s willing to suddenly have to figure out on his own.

“How did you know?” he asks, voice low, frantic, his feet pacing a hole in his carpet.

“That you want me to tie you up and tickle you like you did to me?” comes the reply and Alex does scream now.

“My god, Henry, why didn’t you force this upon me yesterday?”

“I’d missed you too much. And you didn’t seem ready yet.”

Alex thinks of the ways he’s tied Henry up before, usually using anything but handcuffs until he decided to invest in them. How he kissed vulnerable skin and made sure it tickled just because he likes hearing him giggle. How Henry asked him not to stop and how Alex got curious. How Alex keeps provoking him but being too scared to let him restrain him fully, opting instead for being pinned.

Of fucking course Henry figured it out. They’re not very different, after all. Alex is just more obtuse about it.

“I’m bringing them both,” he’s saying now, used to blushing whenever Henry laughs now, although this time it’s sweet, fond, soft, as if he’s telling Alex it’s okay to be curious and it’s okay to have it affect him.

“Please do hurry.”

*

Alex opens the sixth letter on the plane, a stupid mistake he’s well aware of before he even pulls it out of his pocket, but he does it anyway and Cash doesn’t ask any questions but Zahra does send him a glare which Alex interprets as rare curiosity.

A,

While my mouth and hands are anticipating you I hope you do realize I’m simply teasing and you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do. I can make you squirm anyway.

Love,

H

It’s the first note to not make him sputter in embarrassment, which is highly convenient since both Cash and Zahra are watching him. He knows Henry won’t do anything he’s not ready for, that he will stop if Alex decides he’s changed his mind. It’s not what’s making the knot in his stomach tighten, but the idea of trying it and realizing it’s not as great as it seems when he does it to Henry. That Henry won’t get to return the favor even though he so obviously wants to according to all the notes. That Alex will disappoint him by simply being too ticklish, or maybe not ticklish enough, not laughing as much as Henry wishes he would, thrashing so wildly he accidentally dislocates something. They’re all stupid things to worry about, he knows, but they keep his mind occupied throughout the whole flight.

The White House Letters. It’s what he calls the notes in his head, a play on the whole Waterloo Letters. Because of it, it somehow feels wrong to not be at the White House while doing this, but Alex simply cannot wait a moment longer. When he practically runs toward the door, Henry manages to open it just in time, accompanied by Shaan, and pulls him into his arms.

*

They talk about it almost immediately this time, as Alex pulls both handcuffs out of his bag the moment they enter Henry’s room. “I figured we could tie you up too,” he says, because the idea of it only being him is slightly too much for him to handle.

Henry’s ears pinken. As much as he teases him, he’s just as receptive to this topic as he is. “Okay.”

“If you want.”

“Of course I do, but- If you’ve changed your mind-”

“I haven’t.”

“Okay.” Henry nods, smiling now. “Good, because I’ve not been able to think of anything else.”

Alex laughs, something hysterical. “That makes two of us.”

“Do you want a note before we start?” Henry asks, pulling the seventh letter out of his pocket. “I wrote it with care.”

“You and your notes are gonna be the end of me,” he says and takes it, finding it blissfully short.

Alex,

Feel free to let go. It’s very freeing to laugh uncontrollably.

Love,

Henry

Alex looks at him from over the paper. “No other piece of advice?”

“No, I think that’s it.”

“All right then. It was very live, laugh, love of you.”

When Henry laughs Alex realizes he’s not the only one who’s nervous.

When Alex tied Henry up in a drunken stupor many weeks ago only to realize the way he ran his hands over his vulnerable body made him giggle, he’d been swaying between two choices. Apologize and kiss him and turn his hands rougher, or keep his touch light just to see when Henry would ask him to stop. Just to see him squirm and giggle and blush. But when he didn’t do either of those things but simply hovered over him with that playful smile from the realization that he was ticklish still lingering, Henry asked him not to stop. Henry, who was tied but not necessarily secured, held onto the bedpost in that hotel in Berlin and let Alex curl his fingers over his underarms. Let him press ticklish kisses to his neck and stomach and inner thighs, and something had awoken in him which he’d never been familiar with before.

“Have you done that before?” he asked Henry who shook his head. He didn’t ask if he’d dreamt of doing it. Somehow it felt too intimate at that point in their relationship.

Now is different. Now Henry is teasing him over something Alex has rarely thought of before, and he finds he doesn’t mind it, despite how embarrassed he can get. Finds he wants to know what it is that Henry finds so comforting about this.

When Alex is lying on the bed and finds he can’t move his arms at all, Henry pulls out the eighth note.

“You and your notes,” Alex says for the hundredth time, but he’s been Pavloved into blushing at the mere sight of them and he can’t hide his face now.

Henry grins at him about it, or maybe due to his exasperated tone. “I was thinking I’d read it to you, since you’re a little preoccupied.” He clears his throat, all soft smugness. “Alex. I can’t wait to tickle you to pieces. Yes, I’m saying it plainly now because what’s the point in pretending? I’m going to tickle you and you’re going to squirm and laugh and not be able to do anything about it- This isn’t in the note, but of course that’s hyperbole and we’ll have a safe word.”

“Right.” Alex’s voice is high pitched.

“Right. Continuing. I’m going to ever so gently tickle your hips and belly and neck, relishing in how you try and fail to pull your hands down to stop me.”

“When did you even have time to write this.”

“Do be quiet, sweetheart, I’m not done.”

Alex huffs and shifts, the padded handcuffs soft against his wrists.

“I’ll destroy you in such a gentle way you won’t know what to do with yourself, and when I’m done you’ll still be giggling, because despite what you say you do giggle.” He emphasizes his words with a tilt of his head. “Just make sure to do one thing for me, okay?” He folds the note up. “Have fun.”

“What, no ‘love, Henry’?”

“It’s so cute how you think that mouth of yours can hide the way you’re blushing right now.” Henry runs his fingertips over Alex’s cheek, most likely burning them because, yes, Alex is totally blushing his fucking head off. “Are you ready, love?”

“I don’t know.” He feels his heartbeat quicken, his palms suddenly sweating. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Then we’ll stop and never do it again.”

“Okay.” He tries for a smile. “I’ll at the very least get to wreck you back.”

Henry laughs. “We’ll see if you have enough energy for that, granted that we’re at it for a while.”

Alex huffs. “I’ll get you eventually. I mean, you’re practically doing this to get me to get you back, right?”

Henry nods mock-solemnly. “Of course, of course.”

“Such an elaborate ruse for some tickles.”

“Alex, are you stalling on purpose? We don’t have to do it.”

“No, no, I want to.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, go for it.”

Henry’s smile is gentle. “What’s your safe word?”

“Uh. Cornbread?” When Henry bursts into laughter Alex feels himself finally relaxing. “I panicked, okay?”

“Cornbread will do fine,” Henry says and leans in, kissing the corner of Alex’s mouth. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

When Henry smiles and moves his lips downward Alex finds himself surprised, not having realized Henry would be using his mouth immediately and loving him for it. He starts giggling the moment Henry finds his neck, even though he’s not really doing anything but softly graze the skin under his ear. Alex tries to scrunch up his shoulder, and while it’s probably the one and only movement that grants him any sort of mercy he finds it’s not really enough to fully shut the sensation out.

“So sensitive,” Henry mumbles into his skin and Alex has an insult at the tip of his tongue but then Henry’s hand joins in before he has a chance to say it, quick fingers on his armpit.

He screams, which surprises them both, pulling at his hands in desperation without being able to stop Henry at all. It’s not even necessarily unbearable yet, simply different, a sensation he’s never felt in this way before. Ticklish shocks of some kind are shooting through his nervous system and his body is struggling without his consent. When his screaming turns into hysterical laughter Henry stops, although he doesn’t remove his hand.

“Remember your safe word?”

“Y-yes, don’t worry.” Alex is grateful for the opportunity to breathe though. “This is- so much so suddenly. You’re barely doing anything.”

Henry breathes out a laugh into his neck which makes him flinch involuntarily. “It’s weird, right?”

“Very.”

“Do you like it?”

“I can’t tell yet. I mean, I don’t dislike it.”

“That’s a start.”

Henry’s fingers are slowly circling his pit again, making him arch his back as he tries to scoot away from them. “Fuck.” He’s toying with his armpit hair and Alex briefly wonders if it’s making it tickle less. If it will be torture once Henry properly goes for a spot which is hairless. He presses a kiss to the shell of Alex’s ear and moves his mouth downward, skipping his neck and stopping where his ribs start just below his other armpit. His other hand is still swirling around, and Alex is giggling again, but not yet hysterical.

“You smell so good,” Henry says into his skin and Alex laughs because each word tickles but also because he gets so easily flustered nowadays whenever Henry pays him a compliment. “I bet you’d taste even better.”

His tongue is on Alex’s ribs before he can protest and what the fuck, how can a fucking tongue tickle this much? He finds his own screaming ridiculous, but he can’t stop, his system on overload as he pulls and pulls and tries to twist away without being able to make it stop, heels digging into the mattress since they realized it would be better to use the second pair of cuffs to tie his arms far apart for less movement. Henry’s straddling his hips to keep him in place, knees squeezing him once as if to tell him it’s okay.

“W-wait,” he manages to choke out, hands gripping the bedpost so tightly he’s afraid he might actually damage it. “C-cornbread!”

Henry stops immediately, this time removing his hands and mouth entirely. “You’re doing so good, love. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just- fuck, your tongue is gonna kill me.”

“Oh?”

“Could you- just use your hands for a bit?”

“Of course.” He touches Alex’s cheek again, and this time Alex leans into the touch. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.”

“Oh my god, don’t apologize, it was great. Fucking unbearable and freaky, but great.”

Henry laughs. “Freaky?”

“It’s wet and slimy and ticklish.”

“Noted- slimy? Now you’re just being rude.” He pokes Alex’s ribs once, visibly wondering if he would cross a line if he tickled him after Alex safe worded, but Alex rolls his eyes and indicates that it’s fine, and so Henry’s vibrating both his hands over his ribs and making his hips buck in surprise before laughter fills the room again, bouncing off the royal walls.

In the midst of it all he makes a list:

1. Henry knows exactly how to tickle each different part of him, from digging into his hips to featherlight touches to his thighs (as opposed to the stereotypical squeezes).

2. Henry has a thing for using his mouth to tickle him and Alex really doesn’t mind as long as his tongue isn’t involved too much.

3. If he’s tickled for long enough Alex surpasses his need to yell and laughs silently.

Henry stops once the room goes silent, afraid Alex is trying to say the safe word without being able to, and Alex has to swallow his pride and ask him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

When they switch places, after Alex has had more than one moment to collect himself again, he spends some time simply watching Henry squirm under his gaze, under him, unable to move away.

“I don’t have a note for this,” Henry admits and Alex laughs. “But I just want you to thank you for doing this. For not judging.”

Alex’s hand finds his hair. “Baby,” he coos. “You don’t have to thank me at all.”

Henry turns his head to kiss Alex’s wrist. “You know my safe word.”

“That I do.”

And Alex does exactly what Henry did to him, relishing in how he falls apart.

*

“Can I ask you something?” he says much later, when they’ve been curled up in bed for hours and their bodies have stopped being hypersensitive. “Have you… have you been teasing me about it because you wished I would tease you back?”

Henry’s ears pinken, but he doesn’t look away. “At first maybe. I found I didn’t know how to ask for it, but I saw that it affected you too and figured you’d want to get revenge either way.” He is stroking up and down Alex’s arm, his touch just firm enough to not be ticklish. “But then I noticed how you responded to it. How you tried to act indignant, but wouldn’t look me in the eye each time we saw each other after the notes started. How you would squirm when we facetimed. And it was too intriguing and lovely to not want to keep seeing it.”

Alex’s face is on fire, but he’s trying to be brave about it too. “It’s weird. I never even knew I was into this.”

“Sometimes a kink gets formed because someone you love enjoys it so much that you start associating it with pleasure and love and fun.”

“A kink, huh.” Alex doesn’t mind the thought of it. “I can understand if I would be into tickling you, but- well, me?”

Henry’s hand cups his face. “I’m sure you find it fun and safe and that’s why you’re willing to be on the receiving end too.”

“Maybe.”

Henry strokes his cheek. “We don’t always have to fully understand it. Sometimes just exploring is enough.”

And Alex, who is already wishing Henry would curl his fingers under his chin already, nods.

#tickling #ticklish!alex #ticklish!henry #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue fic #n writes #the white house letters #tickle fic

[vaguely-yandere]

I am in love with the concept of a Rich and Powerful Yandere (A CEO of a Company for example) who always acts all Stoic, Dignified and Proud with everyone, except when they are with their Darling, with they Darling they act like a little puppy, always sticking to their Darling and being willing to do anything that they darling says, no matter how immoral or humiliating it is.

YES YES YES YES YES!!!!!! YOU GET IT!!!! WE???? SHARING AN ENTIRE BRAIN RN!!!!! ive thought this SO MANY TIMES and honestly, the "always stoic and quite frankly mean" stereotype of yandere is kinda overdone (but i love it when ppl manage to pull it off!! and no hate to ppl who like that kinda character!) and just. give me an uber rich stereotypical ceo yandere who, instead of buying ur house and forcing you to work for them, is just like "yes darling??? do you need something??? no?? here, take 100$ in cash just in case!!! love you!!! <333"

and i think their darling can do two ways! either a subordinate who has no fucking clue why the ceo of the fucking company is clinging to them or a high up person on the corporate ladder who is so fuckin annoyed with their yandere but can't say anything cause they're the fuckin CEO

with the subordinate darling, i think they'd be kinda stereotypical in a "office romance manga" sense. a shy, well mannered, very polite and kinda clumsy but very hardworking person with a shockingly lively sex life! and gosh, the CEO just eats it right up. you're just so cute and sweet and for the first time, someone is treating them like.. well, not like a monster! or royalty! you stand up to them sometimes and you put them in their place and *god they love it when you put them in their place!*

at first, people thought maybe they were just the doting type but no, they actually are completely submissive towards you and is unashamed of it. telling you to call them by their first name is public, giving you gifts and money, having their secretary bring you flowers and such (right before firing them and making you their secretary so they can look at you all day) (and then hiring a secret second secretary when they realize you have zero experience in that field)

and goodness, the day you get mad at them... the entire building can feel it. to you, they just look like they're moping but to everyone else they're having a complete rage fit. they snap at everyone, they yell at any tiny mistake, they'll take any opportunity to make one of their subordinates cry but the second they see you, they go back to looking like a kicked puppy, begging you to tell them what they can do to fix this and when you sarcastically tell them to punch themselves in the face... you turn around and find them with a broken nose and blood getting all over their expensive suit but with the happiest expression because you're *looking* at them.

with the second one, it's 100% more kinky but also comedic, I just know it.

you're fairly dominating and you have to be! you're in the cut throat business world and you are always fighting for your place at the table so it's only natural you're a bit suspicious when the CEO suddenly moves to your office building and follows you around all day and it's. well, it's fucking annoying. the yan isn't stupid (stupid in love, yes) so they notice how apprehensive you are about yelling at or scolding them in public areas so they bring you aside and are like "here's a contract that says i legally cannot fire you if you insult me in private" so. you let loose! and god, they fucking love it. they love it so so much, it makes them fall more and more in love with you every time they see that hateful look in your eyes, i just KNOW the ceo is a masochist with a HEAVY DOSE of servitude!!!! and if anyone is rude to you? you're venting about your day, you talk about all the people that called you a bitch, whatever? fired the next day. left to rot on the street. some you were grateful for but others, well, they were probably just having a bad day that day! so you ask the yan to rehire them and they do (albeit with a lot of complaints and whining and pouting)

and what happens if you lose your temper and slap them? at first, you're relieved because you finally let your anger out and then *mortified* because you just fucking slapped your boss and then next thing you know, they're on their knees in front of you, begging for forgiveness (while saying you can hit them again if you want to and trying to seem like they don't want it to happen but they really really want you to hit them again)

and i can already imagine, with either darling, the CEO gently reminding them to call them by their first name in a meeting while they have the classic "head on hand, heart eyes, dopey smile" look at you and you blush a bit and then another worker from a different company that's trying to form some sort of ally ship with yours calls them by their first name. immediately, the yanderes look just drops and they glare at them. to make it worse, the worker digs their hole deeper by telling you to "fetch them some water" or something rude like that and the entire room shakes from the yan slamming their hands down on the table

"get out."

"h-huh?"

"i said get out before i make you." and afterwards when you scold them for being rude, they lay whimpering at your feet and begging for forgiveness.

waaaahhh and imagine asking them to do something embarrassing in public! PDA, stepping in a dirty water fountain to fetch something you dropped, maybe you waved your hand at them dismissively and jokingly said "go make me a sandwich/go fix my car" and they just *fucking do it without a second thought*

"GET OUT OF THERE, YOUR SOCKS AND SHOES ARE OVER 500$!!!"

"but you asked me to do it? :("

and sometimes you use this power for evil, like pretending to be the CEO when someone is being rude to you but you also enjoy just messing around with them. your feet hurt? they'll give you a foot massage in the middle of the office. want a kiss in front of an important client? sure darling!!!! you call them dumb for the way they did something? "im so sorry my love, ill fix it right now!!" doesn't even fuckin matter what they're doing or who they're talking to, they'll do it. anyone else joke or even *act* friendly with them will get a stern glare and a disgusted look, meanwhile you call for their name and they bright up like they're seeing the sky for the first time in decades.

they could spend hours yelling at a secretary or worker for not representing their company image properly and when you smack their finger out of your coworkers face and tell them to chill out? on their knees, begging you for forgiveness. hell, if they had things their way, they'd work from home and spend all day attached at your hip. (on the darker side, they've looked into permanent handcuffs multiple times and you bet your ASS they have one of those "infinity collar"s that they gave you the key to)

#yandere #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere x reader #asks

[milesworld96]

Expressing my opinions about matches at All In despite my words simply being irrelevant no matter what I say💁‍♂️

I know for a fact that Adamjf is not gonna win, but a man can dream😢😢.

Listen I may sing to Judas when he comes out, but you will NEVER catch me being an actual fan of his. I HOPE his ass gets beat so hard that he’s gone for MONTHS, Will you better BEAT his old ass up. Like put his ass in the RETIREMENT HOME🗣🗣🗣‼️

Listen….I am a Darby fan by heart forever. But…..Yalls….let’s be real😭 I AM HERE FOR SWERVE AND AR FOX‼️‼️‼️‼️ I LOVE THEM, ESPECIALLY SWERVE🙌🙌 I’m sorry Darby, but fuck yo spooky ass for this match💀💀💀💀

I will ALWAYS love the Bestfriends, OC, and Eddie, but…. BCC?!?!? AND A (HOPEFULLY POTENTIAL) RETURN OF BRYAN?!?!? YES FUCKING PLEASE😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 I am so sorry but I will forever be at the BCC’s side🙌🙌 (unless the elite is involved💀💀💀💀💀💀💀)

Also I know Bryan is injured and probs isn’t returning but LET ME BE DELUSIONAL!!!

TK WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU GRRAHXGSHDDH HOW CAN YOU MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN MY GIRLY POP GAYS AND MY BULLET CLUB GAYS!!!!!! (+Takeshita, love you bbg😚). LIKE YOU CANT MAKE ME CHOOSE BETWEEN THEM, I LOVE THEM BOTH TOO MUCH😭😭😭😭 (Buuuuuuuuut If I reeeeeeaaally had to, I’m goin for Hangman’s team🥺 He’s been one of my more recent obsessions as of recent now😔)

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE LETS GO LGBT COMMUNITY!!! I AM DYING FOR THE BUCKS TO WIN PLEASE TKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I’m begging let me have one win after the pain wwe has been putting me through I BEG of you tk)

I don’t care for Saraya, I don’t care for Toni (💔), I like Britt but NO. If Shida does not retain I’m gonna break down sobbing. Do not do this to me. And I swear IF I DONT SEE THUNDER ROSA BACK ON TV I AM GOING TO BE SO MAD!!!! I CANNOT GO ANOTHER DAY THINKING ABOUT HER ABSENCE WITHOUT GOING INSANE

😈😈😈

YAAALLLL I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS, I REALLY DO HOPE THAT THEY DONT BETRAY ONE ANOTHER AND THAT THEY MIRACULOUSLY END UP AS FRIENDS IN THE END (On my knees begging for this yalls)

BUUUUUUUUT IF I WERE TO PICK WHOD BETRAY WHO ID PICK ADAM, BC I KINDA WANNA SEE HOW MJF WOULD TURN OUT IN THE AFTERMATH😈😈 But this is not me praying on their downfall, I hope they stay 2gether and continue their silly little dates🫶🙌

(Also I swear if Adam manages to win I will become someone I will hate, I will become his #1 hater and I LOVE Adam. But my love for MJF is stronger. Sorry xx 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️)

#aew all in #aussie open #maxwell jacob friedman #adam cole #adamjf #chris jericho #will ospreay #darby allin #sting #swerve strickland #ar fox #blackpool combat club #lucha bros #eddie kingston #orange cassidy #the best friends #bryan danielson please??? #adam page #kenny omega #kota ibushi #golden lovers #hangkenny #bullet club gold #konosuke takeshita #ftr #young bucks #the outcasts #hikaru shida #dr britt baker dmd #I AM BEGGING FOR THUNDER ROSE

[atamascolily]

princess tutu re-watch, episode 12

wow, the opening monologue is getting hardcore

love how the rose from last episode has withered, as if we've stumbled into "Beauty and the Beast"

oh my god Tutu had to help Fakir back to his dorm room and he HATES EVERY SECOND OF IT hahhahahaha

cut to Tutu passed out on Mytho's (empty) bed next to him

Fakir: why the fuck are you dressed like this?

Ahiru: Because Tutu isn't technically a student, and if I get caught in here, I can magically ballet myself out of trouble.

Fakir: That is… surprisingly sensible, actually. But don't go around thinking we're friends or anything! I told you I work best alone!

Ahiru: Okay, well, what if we found Mytho together? Just this once?

Fakir: .... No comment.

Rue made a nest in the chapel out of feathers. Mytho is back to being a puppet again.

Rue breaking the fourth wall to address Drosselmeyer directly is HILARIOUS and freaks him the hell out! But she gets him right where it hurts: she offers to tell him the best story, and he is all ears.

(this is where the "Scheherazade" of the title comes from, heh)

are there any official/fan-made maps of Gold Crown Town anywhere?? I'd love to know where all the places are in relation to each other. They seem to visit the pizza place a lot.

I SAW THAT FOND SMILE FLICKER ACROSS YOUR FACE FOR A MOMENT, FAKIR, YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE

oh no, Mytho is evil now. He makes fun of the knight for getting torn to pieces by the raven in the original story.

Fakir: HEY THAT'S THE THING I'M SENSITIVE ABOUT.

oh, that's why Mytho was acting so much like Rue, because it was a crow-puppet Rue was using instead.

Tutu was originally a bit character in the original story, but Ahiru takes the news better than Fakir because she had always seen herself on the sidelines.

Edel: I'm here to be a plot device!

Ahiru: But I love you anyway!

Edel: ... No comment.

Drosselmeyer: I hate it when my puppets develop feelings!

(can you imagine his reaction if all the puppets unionized?)

we hear a random horse neighing and for a moment I thought it was Fakir's as-yet-unnamed horse, but nothing comes of it

Drosselmeyer confirms that he's only using puppets because he can't go directly into the narrative without major consequences.

Bonding time in the catacombs!!

I didn't know ducks could grin so smugly, but Ahiru manages it when she transforms in front of Fakir.

Fakir: OH NOOOOOO SHE KNOWS MY SECRET IDENTITY!!! *barf*

Fakir: "Wait, can ducks drown? No, knowing her, it's possible". (actual quote)

Fakir: Wait, I don't speak duck, please transform--OH SHIT, A NAKED GIRL, I TAKE THAT BACK.

Fakir: Why do you have TWO secret identities, that's so unfair!

Fakir reading the original story to Mytho and him being interested in Tutu's disappearance (and wanting to save her) is so cute!

Rue challenges Tutu to speak her feelings, knowing that's the one thing she cannot do. It's clever and dramatic, I'll give her that. Good thing ballet is all about expressing emotions without words!

Drosselmeyer: Dance, my pretties! Dance for your miserable LIVES!

truly, this episode has everything, by which I mean it's mostly Ahiru and Fakir bouncing off each other for twenty minutes, which is all I really want out of life.

#princess tutu #lily liveblogs

[artsyunderstudy]

15 Questions | 15 People

Rules: Answer these 15 Questions, then Tag 15 People 

Thanks for tagging me @aristocratic-otter!

1. Are you named after anyone? My mom was working in a daycare and met a little girl named Ashton and thought "that's a pretty name" and here I am. I agree, I like my name. It's unisex and people call me sir a lot over email, which I don't mind. People also call me Ashley over the phone which I ... do mind. Don't call me Ashley.

2. When was the last time you cried? I can't remember exactly, though I know it was recent. It was a little cry, I was just lost in a thought spiral.

3. Do you have kids? Not yet :(

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yes, but mostly just when I'm in a good mood. For laughs. I don't generally use it in arguments or when expressing anything negative. I'm very very straightforward in those situations.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?  I really don't know. Probably just their expressions, and clothes because I like clothes and I like to see how people choose to present themselves. Not in a judgey way, just a curious way.

6. What’s your eye color? Brown. Dark, dark brown.

7. Scary movies or happy ending? Happy endings, I don't love being scared.

8. Any special talents? I have been told I'm pretty good at art and writing. I can also sing but I hate getting ANY attention for it so usually I just sing at home, about things I'm cooking or if my husband says something weird.

9. Where were you born? Fort Worth, Texas

10. What are your hobbies? Outside of fandom?? I love travel planning. Like, travel too, but I'm particularly into the planning. I have trellos. They are magnificent.

11. Do you have any pets?  Yes! 2 cats and one dog.

Pumpkin (orange tabby, grumpy, chonky, great pillow, made of trouble, loves being squished so much we call him squash, likes it rough the little weirdo, has been with me since the beginning and we are very attached to each other),

Kira (a skinny grey patchy kitty with big paws and frog eyes, very sweet and polite, will tap you on the shoulder for attention, gets right up in your face when you're eating to beg for food she's not actually interested in, will not be put off, will not give up, and likes to sleep under the covers, weirdly obsessed with my husband)

Ember (cute as fuck cattle dog mutt, probably hates us because we're low energy and she is HIGH HIGH HIGH energy, loves head and chin scratches, dangerous because she cannot contain her excitement for any humans, doesn't understand personal boundaries AT ALL and has paid the price for it a few times, she will paw and lick and jump and bork and snurf, very afraid of loud noises and locks herself in the downstairs bathroom when there are fireworks, dabs a lot, sleeps a lot, loves going to grandma's house (grandma's house!!!!), my husban and i are completely fucking obsessed with her and she's tired of hugs)

12. What sports do you play/have you played? I am very bad at sports. Very uncoordinated and asthmatic and also bored by them. I did play soccer when I was little, and danced. Terrible at both. I like putting the basketball in the hoop, could do without the running and dribbling. Ugh, running.

13. How tall are you? 5'4"

14. Favorite subject at school? English, out of the core courses. But I wasn't a good student. Way too ADD. Art was my favorite class. Art and Chorus, but those are electives so I dunno if they count.

15. Dream job? I genuinely don't want to do the stuff I love for a job. I went to school for Art, I got a DEGREE, but I work in Ed Tech as a Success Manager meaning I just make people successful and happy all day, and I love it and I'm really good at it (im a good problem solver, let me solve your problems). I guess I would have liked to be a teacher, since that's my favorite part of my job currently, but teachers get the shit end of the stick and I couldn't do it. All my love to the teachers out there.

Anyway, I don't want to get paid for art or writing, even if they are the only things I want to do with my time, because the minute I'm doing it for money and not just because I'm excited about it, I hate it.

This was the opposite of an answer to that question, wasn't it?

Tags under the cut along with pictures of my pets.

@cutestkilla @bookish-bogwitch @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @captain-aralias @shrekgogurt @erzbethluna @stitchyqueer @fatalfangirl @thehoneyedhufflepuff @messofthejess @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @moodandmist @palimpsessed @larkral

#tag game #about me

[clay-cuttlefish]

Forging ahead with 52. #19 to #38. It's so much.

#19

The Evil Skeets plot is great. According to the omnibus it was a very late change away from a generic broken-time story, and I can kinda see that with how some of the earlier evil Skeets behavior doesn't seem super purposeful, but it all works for me.

#20

Mostly spaceguy plot that I don't care much about. The fight's cool at least.

I have no idea what fan speculation was like at the time but the idea of Supernova Jason Todd conspiracy theories is extremely funny so I support the intentional red herrings here.

#21

I keep changing my mind on which storylines I like more as I go. How could I not love Natasha?

#22

Dr. Magnus is back! I wish him being bipolar was handled more sensitively, the whole "oh the medicine keeps me from going ~crazy~" thing is :/, but I'm willing to read it charitably as his own perspective because I like him. He's a psychotic DC character who's heroic and not spooky or magical, just a guy who really doesn't want to have another depersonalization episode and has some internalized sanism about it, it could be so much worse.

#23

I like that Vic's more jaded to the horrors he can't stop than Renee is. He's had a lot of time to get used to the idea he can't save everyone - back in his own book he would've thrown himself in harm's way just like she wants to, but he's gotten better at not starting fights he can't win.

Hate to give Geoff Johns credit for anything but "What the hell are you doing?" "Seeing if it's contagious." is really good.

#24

"We were both guilty of ignoring Ted" Pretty sure Booster nearly died because he dropped everything to help but okay.

Osiris is just a kid...

Introducing a First Nations hero just to kill him off and give his stuff to a white dude sucks.

#25

Alan's out of the spaceguy zone and doing his own thing.

Almost halfway and the threads are still only starting to link up.

#26

I cannot get enough of Vic and Renee being friends with the Black Marvels. It's very sweet!

Tot my friend Tot :)

This is just a nice moment for them.

#27

I'm very into how Evil Skeets is drawn. He manages to be expressive despite having no moving features, it's a good trick.

Ohhh no it's now. I thought I had another issue, but no, this is the turning point.

#28

THE QUESTIONS!!! Love how they're heckling Kate together.

Kate is so cool.

Oh right, the spaceguys are still here.

#29

The way the mad science island handles mental illness generally sucks, but it's almost hitting at something interesting with Will being forced off his medication for the sake of "creativity".

#30

Get out of here Bruce.

I am going to cry!

#31

I don't even dislike the spaceguys really, but cmon, more of Ralph or Nat would've been better.

Ralph's still a detective even at his lowest! Strong foreshadowing.

#32

Uh oh, Ralph.

#33

Ohhh Charlie.

Him hallucinating Myra? Only able to admit he loved her at the very end?? It takes me out!

Almost all of his dialogue is straight from the O'Neil run. Rucka describes rereading the entire run just to write this issue because he had to get this right, and it shows.

There's a reason I consider O'Neil and Rucka the essential Question writers, and all the other takes to be interesting sidenotes.

#34

The kids aren't doing so well.

aaaaaaaa

#35

Hands you a picture of Nat. Hands you a picture of Nat. Hands you a picture of Nat.

Lex is the best villain in 52 and it isn't even close to a competition.

#36

AAAAAAA

Fuck dude! Nothing coherent to say here! Look at them!

#37

Wild emotional roller coaster for me as I go from Renee agony to cheering about Booster. My first read of this was a Time.

It's such a fun mystery. I can confirm it works if you know nothing about comics and are just along for the ride, and it comes together so well on the reread.

Mayor Ollie!

#38

AAAAAAA

"I'm afraid of who I'll become without you..." How am I meant to be normal about this!

I had to read this in two pieces because it made me need to get up and pace. It has done this every time I have read it. I am physically incapable of being normal about this.

Head in my hands. Comics are good and worth reading actually.

#clayposts #clayreads #the question #vic sage #renee montoya

[heartofspells]

Masterpost

@wolfstarmicrofic

Prompt: cards

"How did you do that?" demands Remus, sounding angry, though Sirius can't hear most of it through the pounding of his head. He squints at the other man as he pushes himself up to a sitting position. "You were on the other side of the door! I closed it in your face! How are you back there?"

"I dunno, do I?" cries Sirius, clutching at his head. "Can you please stop shouting? That's not helping."

"Helping!" says Remus forcefully, a small amount of exasperation and hysteria behind the word. "I'm not trying to help. I'm trying to get you out, but you've done something. Some sort of spell that keeps you locked here or – or something!"

Sirius glowers at him as he levers himself up to his feet, the expression more than a little weak as he wobbles on unstable legs. He squeezes his eyes closed as his surroundings spin around him, stomach lurching sickeningly. Sirius scrubs over his face with rough hands before resting his gaze on the other man again.

"I don't even have my wand," he argues. "How could I have possibly done anything? I still think it's September for fuck's sake! What could you possibly think my reasoning is behind any of this?"

"I don't know, and once again, I do not care," spits Remus, his every word biting and enunciated. "I just want you gone, and eventually you'll stay that way."

Remus strides across the floor then, and before Sirius can recover enough from his disorientation, he's once more being hauled to the door by a firm hand. He tugs against the grip uselessly, stomach still turning violently like it's being attacked by churning seawater. Remus pushes him out into the hall beyond the flat, but as soon as the door latches closed, he's finding himself sprawled haphazardly around the base of the sofa again.

"You must be joking," grumbles Remus as Sirius groans. He winces as his head throbs traitorously, but he's got no time to right himself before the other man is pulling him to his feet and tossing him through the door.

He does it again and again until Remus is panting from exertion and Sirius feels as though small pieces of himself are being forcibly ripped away. His head is threatening to fall away from his neck from the pressure building inside it, his eyes ready to burst with every terrible throb, his very skull aching. Sirius' entire body feels like one raw nerve exposed to devastating heat, and he thinks he might be ill over his rug at any second except there's nothing in his stomach to come up.

He groans again, a pitiful sound that he doesn't have the strength to hate himself for releasing. "Please stop," he begs. "Please. I can't anymore. I can't leave. I haven't done anything, but I cannot leave. You have to stop."

Remus stares at him, chest heaving, gauging him warily, eyes observant like Sirius is a tower of cards that he can topple with the slightest of movements if he can only find the correct one. Sirius thinks that's maybe an accurate comparison. He stays where he is on the floor this time, not moving, gazing blearily into the empty grate of the fireplace, gasping for breath.

"This cannot be happening," mumbles the other man, sounding as though he's speaking mostly to himself. "What are you?"

"I'm a bloody person!" shouts Sirius with as much vehemence and strength as he can manage, his voice harsh and ragged as it tears from his throat. "I'm a human being that you're treating like a dog you can kick when it's down. What are you that you're able to do that and feel no remorse?"

Remus' eyes shift over him, something flickering within them briefly before it's gone. His shoulders sag a little as he pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a large, heavy sigh.

"I'm going to bed," he announces, sounding exhausted. "I don't have the energy for more of…of this. I'll figure it out in the morning. You can just…just stay there on the floor. Seems to be a favored spot of yours."

And with that, he turns on his heel and disappears from sight to the bedroom, Sirius scowling after his retreating form. He lays there for a while before he attempts to move, ignoring the bile that floods his throat, swallowing against it, but it's no use. Whatever had jerked him back within the flat to this place each time he'd been thrown out has left him too weak to do much of anything, so Sirius remains where he is, feeling helpless and angry. He needs to talk to James and Lily, needs his friends to help him make sense of what's become of his life so suddenly, but he can't. Without the ability to leave, with no wand that he can find, no Floo connection, and having never purchased his own owl, Sirius is stuck with no one except a strange man who doesn't know what to make of him anymore than Sirius knows what to make of himself.

#these days of dying #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #sirius/remus #wolfstarmicrofic #we've established he's not a ghost in case anyone missed that #my writing #my microfics #holli writes

[truly-morgan]

[Kinktober 2021: Size Difference (18+)]

QiuRong | Heaven Official’s Blessing cw: dubcon 12-10-2021

Day 12: E̷m̷e̷t̷o̷ / [Size Difference] / I̷m̷p̷a̷c̷t̷ ̷P̷l̷a̷y̷

Lang QianQiu and Guzi manage to bring back Qi Rong. Only problem: His body is much smaller than he was before. And he hates it.

====

Qi Rong was rather impressed in the way that his son managed to bring him back (he won’t thank Lang QinaQiu for showing him how), not missing praising him for his effort. Yet there was one problem: 

Why was he so small!!

He was taller than Guzi, but maybe by a head or so, nothing like his original form!! And it wasn’t like he was looking like a child either, he still looked very much his adult self, simply smaller than usual. 

And weaker.

He hated it, yet there was not much he could do about it, it was already really good that his son managed to bring him back. But now he had to glare up at lqq when he was angry at him, making his life harder.

Sure, he should be thankful that the god took care of his son, but really was it all genuine? All he waited for was probably for him to be brought back so he could destroy qr with his own hands! He couldn’t let his guard down.

But lqq was pretty annoying too, what was his problem exactly? To always be on his back and not letting him do anything? He already had Guzi asking him not to eat people anymore, now he couldn't even go out and have fun because lqq wouldn't leave his side.

But after a while, he got tired of not being to do anything fun. Sure teaching Guzi how to write and read was entertaining to some degree (although he didn't necessarily have the patience that should come with teaching). He could even help in his cultivation, proud to see him progress (even if the teacher was mostly lqq). 

Only once he managed to run from lqq sight did qr manage to have some fun, going out to drink and eat as he pleases (of course nothing paid with his money but lqq one).

He did want to go to a brothel, he was feeling pent up and it was not with either Guzi and lqq around all the time he could do much. But unfortunately, they wouldn't allow him in because he look like a kid.

It went on for a while until he felt someone grab him. Out of reflex, he threw a punch which didn't land, only to realise it was lqq. He did relax when he saw it was lqq, but got mad again, cursing at him to let him down as he was being taken away.

He trashed around all the way back to the lqq temple they were staying at. Being shushed down since Guzi was sleeping in the room on the other side of the temple. He was thrown on the bed, hissing at lqq for being such a brute.

“What were you doing?” 

“Wasn’t it clear? Trying to fuck with someone since I cannot do anything with you always on my back” replied qr frustrated. 

“And you need to go to such places?” lqq asked with a funny face, especially since qr was basically stealing from him to go there.

“Well sorry if you decided to be a fucking virgin all your life until you find the love of your life, but I don’t intend on courting anyone if I fucking want it now, also hard to bring anyone when you keep following me around” he added.

Still, they argued, lqq not agreeing with his choice clearly. “Then why don’t you fuck me?” qr sneered, then laughed, “As if goody two shoes over here could be good anyway” he started laughing louder now, “Poor majesty, stepping so low as to lay with a dirty ghost and not even being good at it”.

He was about to continue when he instead yelp, feeling himself being pinned down harshly on the bed, lqq looming over him with an angry expression on his face.

It was easy for lqq large hand to lock his wrist above his head, making qr panic a bit. “Hey, hey! What are you fucking doing you stupid?!”. 

“Fucking you” he simply replied, clearly ready to prove him wrong.

Qr started to curse at him as his robes were being opened since there wasn’t much, he could do when lqq was nearly two times his size right now. Soon he was stripped naked, and left to try and hide.

When lqq started stroking his cock he quieted down a bit, looking down at what he was doing, soon instead biting down sounds that wanted to come out.

It felt good finally having some pleasure after so long stuck as a green flame and then having someone over his shoulder all the time.

“Who’s an unskilled virgin now when you get excited so easily” lqq snorted, keeping his teasing without giving quite enough either. “Fuck you” qr growled, only for going back to try and not to let his mouth betray him.

He was confused when his hands were fully tied up to the bed frame, keeping him from moving away as lqq went elsewhere in the room, leaving him hard and already leaking precum. “Hey dipshit what are you doing? You can’t fucking stop in the middle!”.

He stopped trashing when he saw him come back with a small bottle, making him frown a bit. “what's that for?”. Lqq simply arched a brow, his gaze travelling lower on qr's body.

Realisation settled in as lqq came back to kneel between his legs, forcing them open with his large frame. “wait, wait! You don't plan on putting anything in me are you?!” but again lqq didn't reply.

Instead, he unceremoniously dumps the slick substance over his ass, although it ended up smearing everywhere. He grabbed qr hips, lifting him, nearly folding his small body. “You wanted me to fuck you, do you think I can go like this unless you want the pain”.

Qr was about to argue he was being sarcastic, when he felt a finger enter with no warning, moving around. It felt rather weird, wondering how his cousin could enjoy something like this.

“you can see it's not working, can you just touch my dick instead? Maybe you pretty mout-ah!” he was startled when lqq brushed past something inside him that sent a spark in him. He shivered a bit at the eyes that suddenly snapped back up at him, before lqq started to torture that exact same spot over and over, adding more fingers in as he was slowly getting stretched up.

If it were anyone else moaning and whimpering the way he did, qr would say they were a whore. It occurred to him to try and keep it down, as Guzi was not that far away either. His short legs were not strong enough to try and kick lqq away, the god looking rather unbothered by his action.

Lqq smirked when he managed to make him come, not really stopping in his fingering, keeping on abusing his sweet spot to the point of overstimulation. “F-Fuck stop it!!” qr whined, trying to move away even though his hand were tied and at this point, he was nearly folded in half. Lqq only stopped to step back a bit, opening his robe and pant to free his already dripping erection.

Qr was not the only one aroused right now, far from it. 

The ghost gaze managed to focus on what had just settled against him, eyes going a bit wide. This wouldn’t fit, there was no way, he was pretty convinced that even in his usual size there was no way it would fit. But still, lqq started to slowly push in, brow knitting a bit at the sudden tightness around him.

Qr started cursing again, feeling weird about the intrusion that was much more than even four fingers, panting when lqq was fully sheathed in and staying there. “Fuck” he gasped, looking down at the small bugle he could see. This was ridiculous.

They didn’t move for a while, lqq simply panting above, seemingly trying to be nice enough by not just starting to ram into him with no consideration. When he started doing so, he went slowly, trying to grind against qr’s prostate, looking for the best angle. At the same time, qr started feeling something building up in him and he decided that he didn’t care anymore that he was taking a dick up his ass, now he wanted to feel good.

“Are you fucking going to be slow? I thought we were fucking, not fucking sweetly having sex like married couples” he complained while starting to move his hips.

Instead of letting him move, he felt large hands on his tiny waist, keeping him in place. “Tsk, don’t complain if it gets too much”.

Then lqq proceeded to fuck him until he couldn’t even swear anymore. He was merciless, making the ghost come three more times before he was seemingly unable to go anymore. He stopped, just in fear that he would somehow lose all his energy like this.

It was interesting seeing the smaller man under him, now rather docile, calm and quiet, only panting. Lqq was rather satisfied with this, sure the night didn’t go as planned, but it could have been worst.

And he also learned that with his current size, qi rong was rather easy to manhandle (and was seemingly not 100% against it)

====

(size difference is hard to do in writing, but I assume I did alright)

Original - AO3

#tweet archive #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #qiurong #qi rong #lang qianqiu #kinktober 2021 #size difference #hate sex #nsft #cw dubcon

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

I just finished ur werewolf richie fic what the fuck what the fuck it was v good and i love all of them so much but it also spat on me and ripped my heart out and i’m mad at you (i’m not ily for making this masterpiece im sad it’s over but not cause u put my favorite characters through it). you wrote it ages ago but i thought i would lyk anyway🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

AHHHH THANK YOU!! :') this is so nice thank youuuuu and I truly apologize it is truly so brutal hgjklf <3<3<3<3

as both an apology and a thank u here's a like full chapter of the sequel fic I never ended up writing about how each of the Losers find out Richie's a werewolf

(for context Mike DEFINITELY knows something is up with Richie by the end of the original fic, or at least suspects, so she finds out/talks to richie about it first)

(and also also for context this is a big streddie fic in my brain this part is just a Stozier Moment but it's important to me that everyone knows this)

Link to fic for context :)

She doesn’t mean to go to Stan’s. 

Like super does not mean to go to Stan’s. 

Like, the first thought when she woke up, sick on blood, cold and hurting, was ‘I want Stan but I cannot under any circumstances go to Stan’s right now because I can’t drag her into this’ doesn’t-mean-to-go-to-Stan’s.

She meant to go to Mike’s when it became clear going home and being alone was not going to be an option tonight, not if she wants to feel like a person tomorrow. 

It’s not that she really wants to drag Mike into this either, but Mike had quite honestly dragged Richie, teeth and all, to her and she’s working on trying not to feel like it’s selfish to get her involved. 

But she didn’t go to Mike’s house, because she is selfish. 

She knows it’s stupid but tonight was one of the bad nights and she’s hurt and she’s scared and she’s just so tired and all she wants is Stan. Stan just has this practical, mini-adult, weirdo way of making everything feel, even if it’s just for the moments you're with her, like it might be okay.

She considers coming through the window like she does with Eddie’s, but Stan’s parents (fucking surprisingly) don’t hate her guts and her whole body goddamn aches too bad to feel like risking it. 

So she just knocks, as boring as it is and as weird as it feels to be doing it so very early. They’ve got a doorbell but it makes Donald pissy whenever someone uses it, so, normally Richie slams on it as many times as it takes to get a reaction. But not tonight. Tonight she doesn’t want a reaction, she wants a Stan. So she waits.

And waits. 

And knocks again. 

Stan (god, fuck, thank god, it’s Stan) answers the door, finally, and despite her repeated reassurance to herself that Don and Andrea Uris do, in fact, like her, Richie feels her whole body slump in relief.

No reaction, just a Stan.

She’s got her arms crossed tight over the front buttons of a cardigan she’d definitely stolen from her dad, it's way too big on her, hitting well past the thighs of her rolled up jeans and tangling around her fingers. They aren’t pajamas, but they aren’t anything Stan would ever leave her house in either, and something muddled in Richie’s tired brain goes ‘huh’. There's a red calculator-keys indent on her right cheek.

There’s always been a sort of art form to understanding the complicated language that is Samantha Uris’ startlingly expressive eyebrows, one most don’t bother learning and Richie is fluent in. She can easily translate, from the way her cocked eyebrow droops into something furrowed as she takes in the scene that is Richie, that she’s fucking concerned.

She’s sure she’s what one might call.. a sight, bloody and dirty and wearing whatever mismatched, musty clothing she’d managed to keep stored in the clubhouse before the full moon for situations like this. 

(Last night had been one of the blurrier nights, when she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten old barbed wire tangled in complicated knots around her ankle or whether or not she’d killed anything. She hated those nights. Fucking hated them so much. She’d had ample amount of time to adjust, she’d was far better at dealing with the idiosyncrasies of being a monster now than she had when it'd all first happened, but she still hated the not knowing of it all, it made her feel useless and dangerous and often left her in dire need of hugs she was too worried to ask for.)

Stan ushers her in, grabbing her upper arm and then recoiling back in something that could either be horror or hurt when Richie flinches away, hands tucking under her armpits in an awkward crossed-arms self hug.

“What the fuck, Rich?” She hisses, unfolding her arms just long enough to close and lock the front door before she leans against it, shoving her hands back into place. She seems entirely lost on what she’s supposed to do, which is fair enough, Richie hasn't said anything yet. She thinks absently that her silence might be more startling than anything else.

She really doesn’t think she can say anything, she hadn’t thought of an excuse for the injuries Stan hadn’t noticed yet but was sure to once they were out of her dimly lit foyer, she hadn’t thought of an excuse to even be here because she shouldn’t be here. 

There is also the dangerous, ever present possibility that she will do nothing but sob if she opens her mouth. 

She’s already toeing the thin line between holding it together and a complete breakdown, and Stan Uris has a way of making that already fragile line as structurally sound as a strip of cellophane.

They just stand there for a moment in a silence more awkward than they’re used to.

Richie shifts her weight, wincing when she puts too much pressure on her fucked up ankle, if Stan notices she doesn’t give any indication other than a slight raise of her eyebrows (that means she’s noticed, she’s absolutely goddamn notices, but she’s waiting to give Richie a chance to tell her herself).

The door down the hall clicks softly open, breaking through the quiet. Stan’s parent’s room. Her shoulders immediately tense, hands absently fiddling and straightening the buttons down the front of her sweater so suddenly Richie isn’t even sure Stan knows she’s doing it.

“Samantha? Who's there?” Andrea Uris appears, padding halfway down the hall before stopping, pulling her long, silky robe tightly around itself. Stan’s posture slumps to something more comfortable. She always looks more comfortable around her mom.

(Richie had always liked Stan’s mom, for the obvious reason that she didn’t make Stan all rigid and anxious like her dad did, but there was more to it than that: Andrea Uris was almost startlingly like her daughter. It’s a fact Stan would resent if you told her, so Richie keeps quiet about it and appreciates it from a distance.

Except right now she really, desperately wanted her to go away before she noticed something or told Stan’s dad who would most definitely say it was too early and kick her out. Or call her parents. Which is way worse.)

Her eyes catch on Richie’s ankle and one eyebrow raises carefully. Fuck.

“It’s just Richie, Mama, can she stay over?” Something unreadable flicks across Mrs. Uris’ face, hidden by her quickly pursed lips and slow nod.

“Well, I suppose it’s practically morning anyway, as long as you two keep it down.” She gives a final cursory glance to Richie’s ankle, lifts a hand to wipe a smudge of what she desperately hopes is dirt and not blood off her cheek, and spins on her heel, walking back to her bedroom. Before she closes the door all the way, a snippet of conversation, a lie to Stan’s dad about the paperboy coming bright and early, drifts down the hall that Richie knows only she can hear. Stan’s shoulders untense at the same time as hers anyway.

“Come on, let's go upstairs.” Stan holds her hand out, tentative and wavering in the space between them, not quite touching like she's afraid Richie will flinch again. She takes it, lacing their fingers together and trying very hard not to cry not to cry not to cry as Stan guides her up the familiar path to her bedroom.

She falls back into her desk chair, legs extended and arms crossed as she studies Richie up and down. Richie just stands there, shifting nervously under the scrutiny and shaking her head when Stan looks pointedly at her bed. (She’d managed to slice her back up a little, somehow, and can feel the cuts already scabbing over, they weren’t too deep, but the back of her sweatshirt is still damp with blood and her ankle is still somewhat mangled, she doesn’t want to stain any of Stan’s things. Because Stan gets all panicky about stuff like that and she already shouldn’t fucking be here-)

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Whatever do you mean, Staniel?” She asks, going for casual dismissal and stumbling somewhere closer to ‘I am definitely hiding something’.

“You’ve been acting weird. I thought it was… I figured it was everything that happened that summer,” Stan sat up carefully, one hand subconsciously rubbing up the scars that lined her cheek. 

They rarely talked about it, ‘that summer’, nobody quite knew how to go about it and Stan especially could never seem to find it within herself to say Pennywise, not that Richie blamed her.

“But that was two years ago. It’s not that I expected you to be over it obviously, but I don’t think that's what's going on here.”

“What are you talking about?” She laughs, sharp and defensive, and Stan furrows her eyebrows together, rocking out of the chair so she’s standing in front of Richie, one hand firmly on her shoulder like she’s worried she’s a flight risk. Maybe she is.

“Richie, I want to help you but I need to know what's wrong.” She tries for a smile, it’s reassuring in the barest sense of the word but only because it’s Stan. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, she’s worried, Richie is worrying her, that's not what she wanted.

“Nothing is wrong, I’m fine!” 

“I’m sorry, but you can't show up on my doorstep at six in the morning, bleeding and covered in dirt, and just expect me to think you’re fine! Why are you acting so weird?” Stan is getting angry, some of her carefully-crafted-Stan-Uris-patented-composure slipping enough that Richie’s instincts are telling her to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out if she doesn’t want a fight. Coming here was stupid. 

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid Richie who still can’t bring herself to leave because even as Stan squints at her, all unwanted concern and frustration, Richie feels so much safer than she has all night.

“I’m not acting weird!” She is. She knows she is. It’s a literal wonder she hasn’t had a thorough Stan interrogation yet.

“Yes you are! What the fuck is up with you?” Stan shoves her shoulder a little too hard, prodding her in the chest like she’s trying to force her worry to resonate in Richie with her finger tip.

“Nothing!” 

Her and Stan don’t ‘fight’; they bicker and disagree often enough, sure, they playfully argue in a way that makes half their school think they hate each other, but they don’t fight. Not often, at least. It always makes Richie feel constantly overwhelmed and upset and wrong so she tries to avoid it as often as possible, and, despite how easily she gets into arguments, Stan tends to hate confrontation. Especially with Richie.

“Just tell me!”

“I’m a werewolf!” 

(Now, to take a step back, the worst fucking possible thing for one to say to their best friend who they most certainly don’t want to know certain things, such as their incredibly traumatically acquired lycanthropy, is “I’m a werewolf!”

Are we clear on that? Good. Because while it rarely comes up for most people’s day to day lives it’s pretty solid advice that in this moment Richie Tozier desperately wishes she’d been given. 

In her defense she’s exhausted and achy and just wants a hug from the person whisper-shouting at her so her critical thinking isn’t really powered up to full but, still, it’s an inadvisable tactic that, in her opinion, probably will end with said whisper-shouting should be hugger running for the hills.)

Why the fuck did she say that oh god oh god oh god shes going to hate her now, fucking idiot, why did she just say that-

Stan just lets out a low, angry laugh, startling her out of her panic and into a new, limited edition version of panic that was just sort of confused.

“Fucking fine. Don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“I said don’t tell me. God, fucking… whatever, Rich. 

“What?” It comes out all choked and weird the second time. She’s giving her an out and Richie has no clue why she suddenly feels as though she cannot take it under any circumstances.

“Beep fucking beep. I’m not in the mood for a weird, shitty joke, right now.”

“It’s-” (This is where you stop, Richie,) “I wasn’t-” (fucking laugh like your an asshole so she doesn’t know you weren’t lying,) “Stan.”

“What.” She snaps. She’s fucking pissed and Richie is well aware all she’s doing is making it worse.

“I wasn’t kidding.” Well, fuck.

“Sure.”

“Stan.” She’s making it very hard to accidentally expose life changing truths to her tonight. Which is to be expected, she guesses. Stan’s never been into change or mysticism or things that didn’t have concrete scientific evidence backing them up, but she’d figured, with clown shit that at least this would be a little fucking easier.

And then she does something really goddamn stupid.

Stan blinks hard at Richie’s bite-scarred arm, and then down to where she’d yanked off her sweatshirt onto the floor, and then back up to her bite-scarred arm, and Richie just stands there and shivers in her stupid little tank top and thinks that she really goddamned should have taken the out and let Stan be pissed off at her.

She doesn’t look at the scar when she can help it, it’s gross and it’s big and it’s… uncomfortable.  She fucking hates it and there's a reason her wardrobe has shifted exclusively to long sleeved button ups and light jackets regardless of the weather. And now here she is. Just letting Stan stare at it over and over and over like she’s got short term memory loss exclusively for big gross bite scars.

Stan’s mouth drops open, a bit fucking belatedly, before she takes a shuddering breath in through her nose and squeezes her eyes shut, “When- what- no. Okay. No.”

“No?” Richie giggles, feeling a little hysterical. Stan does a weird, garbled approximation of a giggle back.

“You… You’re not kidding? I’d like you to be kidding I think.” She just keeps staring.

Richie considers just cutting her arm right off, “Mmm. I’d love to be kidding.”

She finally looks up, makes frantic, slightly insane eye contact with Richie, and offers a sturdy “Well fuck.”

Stan wraps her ankle. Richie tells her she doesn’t need to, that it’ll be fine in like an hour and maybe she should actually just go- but she just rolls her eyes, pushes her onto the bed, and makes some wry comment about Richie needing to pay her dry cleaning that makes Richie a little dizzy from the sudden awareness of the metallic scent of her blood saturating the baby powder clean fabric softener of Stan’s sheets. 

She bites down hard on her tongue to keep from wincing as Stan cleans the sloppy puncture wounds. She tastes copper and somewhere in the back of her head Eddie Kaspbrak cries out some probably-wrong-warning about human teeth being able to bite through their tongues or fingers with the same amount of force you would use on a carrot, it’s just that your brain doesn’t let you. 

She wonders, if only to distract herself from Stan’s shaky fingers around her leg, where that statistic falls for dogs.

“Am I allowed to ask questions?” Stan asks, eventually, as she messes with the bandages she’s wrapping around Richie’s ankle. Unwrapping and rewrapping and unwrapping and rewrapping the top layer in a way that means she’s probably-definitely a little more nervous about this whole thing then she’s trying to let on.

“I mean it’d kinda be a dick move not to let you, huh?”

“Probably.” She snorts, and god, it’s all so Stan, and so fucking normal, that Richie wants to cry.

“Ask away, Stan-a-rita.” She says instead. Probably a little too choked up for a word like Stan-a-rita.

“Wow. Horrible.”

“Hey, I’m having a day, cut me a break.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile seems supremely forced, which makes Richie nervy. Stan isn’t one to fake smile. If she’s unhappy she’s generally more than fine with making sure you know it.

“When? When did you… y’know?”

“Get bitched?”  

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, come on do you know how long I’ve been holding off on bitch puns?”

“Richie.” She says, instead of ‘come on, asshole, I know what you're trying to do and I’m not letting you off that easy- answer the question’ but Richie got the message all the same.

“It was fuckinnn’ clown shit, near the end of that school year.”

“Fuck, Rich.”

She lets her head flop back onto the mattress, “Yeah.”

To her surprise, Stan pats her ankle firmly and flops on her back next to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, yeah, course, that'd go well: ‘hey Stan, y’know that fuckinnnn’ monster clown that tried to eat your face and killed Georgie fucking Denborugh?’” Stan flinches and Richie tries to ignore it, even if it leaves her feeling like a complete dick, “‘Yeah, he made me a monster too. SURPRISE! Lets have a fucking sleepover.’”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Stan grumbles, softly, reaching for her hand on the top sheet. Richie yanks it away before she can.

“I mean I am.” She laughs, frantically,  “I mean- I mean, god, fuck Stan you shouldn’t even be talking to me anymore, I’m… I’m a fucking monster-”

“Hey! Don’t call yourself that.” Stan snaps, too sharp to leave much room for argument. At any other time Richie may not have even tried, bottled it up and decided later whether to believe what she’d said. But this wasn’t one of those times, this was a matter of Stan’s safety and she didn’t seem to understand.

“No! I’m a fucking- I’m a werewolf and I don’t even know what I’ve killed and I’m… I’m a monster.” She repeats helplessly, shoving herself off the bed. Trying to get Stan away away away but she just scrambles off and sits in front of her. Knees pressing against Richie’s tangled up legs.

“You’re Richie.” Stan says firmly, leaning so close that Richie can feel her breath across her nose, the Stan-specific scent washing over all her senses, eraser rubber and grass and too sweet black English breakfast tea, the kind that costs too much and comes in a fancy little gray-blue can she keeps as storage containers in her desk drawers once she uses the last tea bag-

And then they’re kissing.

Richie Tozier has spent a lot of time picturing her first kiss. She never pictured a face, she had hopes of course, but she wasn’t unrealistic and she didn’t want to let herself down before the kiss had even happened. 

In her head it was something prettier, she was prettier somehow, less gangly limbs and tear soaked cheeks and bloody ankles, she never had a werewolf living inside of her, instead it was all some romantic bullshit that Ben would have dreamed up.

This isn’t what she’d pictured, not at all, their noses squished together and her teeth got in the way and Stan pulled back almost immediately, she was filthy and smelled like wet dog and her stupid fucking scar was still on fucking display and Stan hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep and her hands were shaking.

But she was just kissing Stan Uris. Stan Uris kissed her, and that is so much more incredible than anything Richie’s shitty little daydreams could have ever dreamed up (not that she hadn’t pictured kissing Stan, she fucking had, probably an embarrassing amount, but she’d never thought it’d be something that could have ever ever ever actually happened).

“What?” She manages, scrambling back hard against the bed even though there's nowhere to go, blood pounding in her ears.

“I… you were being stupid. I had to shut you up.” Stan chokes, bringing a hand up and tugging hard on a loose curl unraveling from her bun. The whole thing tilts lopsided.

“I’m always stupid! You’ve never shut me up like that before!”

“I’m sorry! I thought- you just- that was… out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.” No. No, no, no that’s not what Richie means, absolutely not. Her heart is hammering so hard in her chest it hurts.

“I didn’t say that! I just… wasn’t expecting it!”

“I should have asked, I’m sorry-” Richie tumbles over her own knees to get back to her, accidentally yanking the edge of Stan’s comforter with her and knocking one of the pillows to the floor. For just a second she thinks about how much Stan would hate that, but then they’re kissing again and pillows aren’t really the first thing on her mind.

Second kisses are supremely better than first kisses apparently, less awkward, she knows how to tilt her head and she is the one who initiates it this time so her teeth don’t get in the way.

Stan breaks away slower this time, keeping their foreheads pressed together, and whispers “Oh fuck… thats why your teeth-”

“Yeah.” She snorts, weakly, “Your bedside manner needs some fucking work, though.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, come on, that’s why your teeth-”

“You said I could ask questions.” And then, entirely too delighted, “Bitch.”

“I told you! Bitch puns are fun!”

“We’re talking about this some more.” She warns, but she’s grinning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie grumbles, disoriented, a little, by the emotional whiplash of whatever the fuck today is shaping up to be, “Can I take a nap first?”

“If you shower.” She says, flatly, pushing herself up off the floor. 

“Together?” She teases, wiggling her eyebrows and Stan presses a flat palm against her face, pushing her farther down to the floor.

“You wish, Tozier. Shower.”

“Come on, seriously?” She whines, “I already got blood on your sheets!”

“Yeah, and I’d like it if you didn’t biohazard up new ones.” 

She giggles around the facefull of towel Stan launches into her face, “I’m traumatized!”

“Join the club.”

(Fun fact: Third kisses are even better than first and second ones. 

Second fun fact: Richie is really, honestly excited to find out if kissing is just one of those upward trajectory things that never really plateaus out.)

And maybe she’s going to cry a little when she gets into the shower, like Stan’s not gonna be able to hear her right in the en suite. And maybe maybe she’s gonna cry again when she gets out of the shower and sees that Stan’s nicely folded the pair of too-long pajama pants and sweater she always steals for sleepovers.

And maybe maybe maybe she’s going to cry a little when she leaves the bathroom and Stan hands her a neatly-written list of werewolf related questions on a piece of college ruled notebook paper with the ripped-up spiral edges very-precisely torn off so the sides are even.

But Stan just rolls her eyes and calls her a baby in an even, pretending-she’s-not-worried-so-Richie-isn’t-a-repressed-weirdo-about-it way.

She didn’t know it was possible to feel so fucking normal after what the fuck just happened. But she’ll have a subsequent werewolf-and-lesbian related crisis later, maybe tomorrow. Right now she’s bizarrely okay for the first time in maybe two years and it’s time for fucking bed.

(Jesus fuck, going to Stan’s was so the right goddamn call.)

#stozier #fem stozier #fem richie tozier #fem stan uris #werewolf au #fic #im ngl I did not totally proofread this but it think its alright??? #I think stan and richie deserve to kiss just a little bit