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quickspinner · 3 years

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Month of Miracles - Moments of Wonder

Well my plans for this prompt month definitely tanked but that’s okay, I’m still gonna finish this Hallmark AU at least. I’m gonna try not to write a ten paragraph authors note detailing all my struggles with this piece and just say, I hope the intention comes through even with all the life interruptions.

Find the prompt list here!

“Spaghetti?” Rose screeched. “Luka, nobody looks good eating spaghetti. She’ll be uncomfortable. Make something else.”

Luka looked at the ceiling for a moment and prayed for patience. “It’s not like this is a date,” he muttered, going to look through the pantry to see what else he could make. Rose’s pestering was making him nervous, and his hand hovered over several options before he shook himself and picked up a bag of rice. Casserole seemed like such a homely option but—

Not a date , he reminded himself resolutely. He didn’t want to make Marinette uncomfortable. She hadn’t agreed to a date, so it wasn’t one, and he wasn’t going to let Rose’s fantasizing make him treat it like one.

“Casserole?” Rose said doubtfully when he got out the pan.

Luka groaned. “Out, Rose.” He grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the oven rail and snapped it at her, making her squeak and jump back. She folded her arms with a pout. “Nope. Not gonna work on me,” he told her, flapping her out of the kitchen with the towel like a fly. “Get lost.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Rose wailed as she backed away.

“And stay out,” Luka told her shortly, and turned to go back in the kitchen. He leaned on the counter and sighed. He was a patient guy, and he liked Rose, and okay so she was right that he and Marinette would hit it off, but— enough , already. He was nervous enough about whether she would understand what he wanted to show her tonight, and not really sure why it was important to him anyway.

Maybe it was lingering guilt for disappearing without any real explanation or apology to his fans. Maybe if he could make even one fan understand, he’d feel better.

Orrrr maybe it has nothing to do with your fans and you just want Marinette to understand, Rose’s voice sing-songed in his head, because you liiiiiike her. Luka sighed.

He did like her. He liked her, and he wanted to know her, and the only way he knew of to do that was to invite her to know him. He sighed again, and went back to his dinner preparations.

Marinette knocked on the Couffaines’ door with so many butterflies in her stomach that she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to eat. It had been easy to accept the invitation with Luka there in front of her, with his relaxed smile and calm presence, but by the time she got back to her grandmother’s house, her brain had gone into a panicked spiral of overthinking that had her feeling jumpy and on edge. She always put thought into her appearance, but she’d agonized over it tonight, afraid of looking too...date-like. In the end she’d kept her pigtails and kept her makeup light, and worn a slightly oversized cream sweater over red leggings. Easy, seasonally appropriate, not unflattering but not aiming to attract, either.

When the door flew open, Rose’s excited, beaming face did nothing to ease her nerves. As Rose dragged her inside, bouncing a little, Marinette had an unsettling feeling like she had been caught in a trap of some kind, and it didn’t get any better when Rose introduced her to Luka’s sister. Juleka gave her a quick once over and smirked, and Marinette was struck by an urge to flee the premises.

Then Luka was there, taking her elbow gently and somehow getting everyone moving to the table. He wasn’t dressed for a date either, wearing a slightly worn navy pullover with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and jeans that had seen better days. The look he gave her as he escorted her to the dining room said please ignore them, we both know better, and Marinette began to relax a little bit. That’s right. Rose might be scheming but she and Luka had already talked it out, and they knew where they stood. They were friends, and whatever he wanted to show her tonight had nothing to do with...with wooing her, or whatever Rose seemed to think was going on.

Dinner wasn’t fancy, either, and that made her feel better too. She managed to strike up a conversation with Juleka after Luka pointed out that many of the photographs on the walls were Juleka’s work. He turned all of Rose’s attempts to get them started on personal topics into casual conversation, and Marinette honestly could have kissed him just for making everything so... easy.

Not that she would. Not that he wanted her to. Not that she wanted to! Oh no, she was starting again…

Marinette nearly jumped out of her seat when a peppy tune blared out seemingly from nowhere. Luka put a steadying hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile while Rose pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning.

“Excuse me a second,” Rose said apologetically, “It’s work so I better see what they want.”

Marinette had to blink for a moment. She’d forgotten that normal people didn’t take phone calls during dinner.

“Sabrina, what’s up?” Rose chirped, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin as she held the phone to her ear and slipped out of her chair to walk into the other side of the room—not that it really made a difference since they could all still hear her. “Well, finally, what took so long? So, what’s the big deal?” There was a pause, and Rose frowned. “Come down there? Why are you being so dramatic, Sabrina, can’t you just tell me?”

That got Luka’s attention. He shot Rose an alarmed look, and Rose rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine. I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone and came back over to kiss Juleka’s cheek. “I have to go. There’s something up with the costumes for the children’s pageant and Sabrina’s making a big deal about it. I’ll come back after I find out what’s going on.” She grinned at Luka and Marinette. “Have fun without me.” She fluttered her hand and left the table, blowing a kiss to them all as she flounced out of the door.

Luka gaped after her for a moment. No, no, this was no good. Rose’s excited fluttering aside, she and Juleka were supposed to go do their own thing and get so distracted with each other that he could talk to Marinette in peace, but without Rose—Luka glanced at his sister, and saw her smirking at him. Luka tried to convey with nothing but his eyes that if she ruined this for him he’d never forgive her. Juleka just rolled her eyes and went back to eating.

“Children’s pageant?” Marinette was repeating next to him in confusion. “At the library? I thought that was usually a church thing.”

“Oh, it is,” Juleka smirked. “The church has one every year too, and Rose...Rose has a beef with it. Let’s just say they’ve had the same Joseph and Mary for the last three years and Rose doesn’t feel like it represents the proper Christmas spirit.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, blinking. “Huh.”

“Are you finished, Juleka?” Luka asked a little too quickly, standing up. “I can take your plate.”

Juleka gave him a look that said she knew what he was doing, but she got up too. “Yeah. Thanks. It was nice to meet you Marinette.” She went to the stairs, but couldn’t resist a parting “You two have fun,” before she thunked up them.

Luka sighed, and took Juleka’s plate and his own to the kitchen. He nearly bumped into Marinette when he turned around, standing behind him with her own mostly-empty plate. “Oh, sorry,” he said, taking it from her automatically. “I didn’t mean to rush you, if you weren’t done.”

“No, I’m good,” Marinette said, with a nervous little flutter of her hands. “I was done. Can I help you clean up?”

“Nah, Jules can get it later,” he said, opening the cabinet to dump the last of the food in the trash before he put the plate in the sink. “I cooked, so dishes are her job. Let me just put the leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you come on into the great room while I do that?”

He led her out of the kitchen into the two-story great room, with its huge windows and exposed beams and the large crackling fireplace.

“Wow, this is lovely,” Marinette breathed, looking around.

“I like it,” Luka shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “Great acoustics in here, actually. Just have a seat wherever you’re comfortable and I’ll be right back. Watch your step, we’re...not exactly neat freaks, if you know what I mean.”

“It looks lived in,” Marinette agreed diplomatically. The furniture was all mismatched and...unique. Some of it looked so old and rickety that she wasn’t sure it was safe to sit on, and there were...boxes everywhere. Not really boxes, but old army footlockers, heavy-looking chests, and a dozen other things. They were mostly tucked in the corners of the room, leaving the floor clear for the enormous Christmas tree that took up an entire corner of the huge room.

Marinette made her way to one of the couches as Luka went back to the kitchen. It looked like an antique, with an old brocade fabric that was slightly faded but otherwise in good condition, and sturdy enough. Marinette perched on the end of it, feeling a little awkward. She looked around the room. Despite the size, it was cozy, with a rustic air, much like all the other buildings she’d been in around town, and though she’d been being polite, her statement was accurate. It didn’t look so much cluttered as lived-in, as if this room was used a lot by the entire family. As she looked at the Christmas tree, she had to smile. The decorations were a bit...eccentric. Several of the ornaments on the tree were little bats wearing tiny knitted scarves or carrying miniature instruments that looked like they might have come from a doll collection. Music seemed to feature prominently in the tree, she realized. Many of the figures had instruments, not just the bats (there were spiders, too, she saw with amusement). Some of the ornaments were cheap, clearly mass manufactured things, but others were carefully crafted and looked like they’d come from far away places. Guitars weren’t the only instruments featured, but they did outnumber the others by quite a bit. Luka wasn’t the only musical one in the family, she concluded. His father was Jagged Stone, after all, and boy there was probably a story there, but she’d never dare ask.

Her eyes widened slightly when Luka reappeared with an electric guitar in one hand. Marinette blushed, one hand fluttering up to fuss nervously with her hair. Surely he wasn’t going to play now? For her?

Luka smirked a little at the expression on her face, and winked at her as he set the guitar down in a stand she hadn’t noticed. “In a minute,” he told her, and Marinette wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. Could she act more like a starstruck fan? Luka crossed to a funny looking cabinet that turned out to have a CD player inside. “You know Blue Lightning, right?

“Yes, of course,” Marinette said, blinking. It was one of the singles off his most recent album—his last album, she realized with a pang.

Luka nodded as he put the CD he’d been holding in the player. “This was the demo I pitched to the label when I wrote it.”

He pressed play, and turned the volume up. He walked over to one of the windows and stuck his hands in his pockets as the music began to play.

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. It sounded so...different. Of course a demo would sound different, she’d heard demo tracks before and they didn’t necessarily have full instrumentation or backup vocals, but...the whole feel of the song was different. Peppier, more fluid, less...angry. Still a rock song, but not so...gritty, or harsh, as the version she knew.

Luka kept his eyes down as he switched off the CD player and closed the cabinet, and then went to sit next to Marinette on the couch. Only then did he look up at her.

“The execs said they loved it,” he told her softly, “but it didn’t fit my brand. They didn’t think it would sell. Later, they told me. When I was a bigger star, then I could put out something like that, but not yet.”

“That’s—” a shame, Marinette wanted to say, but instead she twined her fingers together and looked down. “Well, I guess they know what sells, right? It makes sense that you would take their advice.”

“That’s what I thought.” Luka nodded. “So I agreed to change it. And then in post production they ‘tweaked it’ some more, and…” He grimaced. “And then I had to go up on stage and perform it like that, and even though it made sense at the time, I just...hated it. When I complained, they told me I wasn’t bringing in enough sales yet to be such a diva and that if I wanted to make the music I wanted to make, then I needed to work harder.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Marinette sighed. “But you have to make your bones, right? It’s the same with fashion. That’s just...part of the industry.” She glanced at him uncertainly.

“So they told me,” Luka gave her a wry smile.

Marinette looked back at her hands. “Well, if it was making you unhappy, then it’s good that you left,” she said, but she said it without conviction, and she knew that he could hear it.

Luka sighed. “Well. There was more to it than just that.” He got to his feet. “You’ve been to one of my shows, right? I think you said you had.” He picked up the guitar from the stand, and slung the strap across his shoulders.

Marinette nodded. “Mmhmm.” She watched as he rummaged behind one of the chairs, pulled out an amp cord, and plugged it into the guitar.

“Good,” Luka said, sitting down across from her in one of the rickety-looking chairs. Marinette’s hands moved involuntarily before fluttering back into her lap. He lived here; surely he knew the hazards of the furniture. She curled her fingers under and tried not to fidget. He grinned without looking at her as he tuned the guitar.

“It’ll hold,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I promise nothing around here is as fragile as it looks.”

“Right,” Marinette said, hunching her shoulders slightly. “Of course.” She didn’t know where to look, and she suddenly felt very stupid. Why was she here again?.

“Just relax,” Luka’s deep voice soothed, and she glanced up, color deepening. He sounded like Luke Stone in that moment, with the smooth, musical tone of his voice. “Just listen. If you don’t understand when I’m done, then...then that’ll be okay. But I’d like to try and show you what I mean. The difference between Luke Stone, and...me.”

He took a breath, blew it out slowly...and played. Marinette’s breath caught. It was just White Christmas, which she’d heard a thousand times over in a hundred different styles. Even so, it was beautiful, embellished with unique touches that face it the same evocative quality that had first drawn her to Luke’s—to Luka’s music.

Apparently he was just warming up, though, because he took another deep breath, and the music segued into a different tune—one she didn’t recognize.

It resonated somewhere deep inside her, touched a well of pain she’d been trying to ignore for months. Not only the music, which by itself was beautiful and seemed to vibrate in her soul—but the artistry. And when she looked at him—

Luka’s eyes were half closed, and his face was serene, with just a slight wrinkle of concentration between his brows. His hands, rough and abused as they were, moved easily and gracefully, with a confidence that Marinette suddenly realized was familiar. She’d had that once, back when she’d been young and inexperienced and thought too highly of herself. Before she’d learned better, and seen how far she still had to go.

She found that she envied Luka in that moment. It must be nice, to be away from all that pressure and just...create for yourself again. Not to be constantly questioning your instincts, because you only had yourself to please anyway.

Her chest suddenly felt tight, and her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from him, looking down at her hands. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart, determined to listen until the end.

It was so beautiful. Poignant.

She recognized now what he’d been trying to show her with the demo track. She had been too distracted at the time by the other differences, but...there had been so much more feeling in the demo version. Because Luka had loved it, she realized. He’d been excited about that song, and by the time the studio was done with it, that enthusiasm was lost. He played the studio version well, with all the technical skill he possessed, but it lacked the passion of the original. If anything, it sounded angry because Luka was angry when he played it.

That’s part of the process, though. It’s just part of the industry. Editing is important, even if it isn’t fun. Of course you’re tired of a project before it’s finished. You’ve still got to see it through. You don’t just quit or give up on a project because you feel pouty that people told you what was wrong.

It was the truth, so...why did watching Luka, and hearing him play, make it feel like such a lie?

The studio was wrong, she admitted to herself. Even if it was an objectively better song when they were done, even if the sales numbers said they were right...what they lost along the way was so much more precious than perfection.

Luka’s song ended softly, but on a questioning note, without really concluding. He looked up at her, and then came over to sit next to her on the couch, his expression concerned.

She wasn’t sure why until Luka reached out, and wiped away the tear trickling down her face with the rough pad of his thumb. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m—” Marinette began, trying to smile, but she couldn’t finish. Her face crumpled and she buried in her hands before she began to cry in earnest.

Luka put the guitar down, and came to sit beside her. His hands curled around her shoulders and tugged her to him. Marinette yielded, letting him pull her close. One arm wrapped around her back and one big hand gently cradled her head, guiding it down to his shoulder, and he held her, swaying gently, while she hid her face in his shirt and wept.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Luka said apologetically, and Marinette shook her head without lifting it. He held her for a long moment, until she finally managed to pull herself together and pull away from him, sitting up and wiping at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I was enjoying it so much, I can’t believe I just...lost it like that, ugh.”

“It’s okay,” Luka soothed, putting his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed and rubbed it lightly. “Do you feel better?”

“I...think I do, actually,” Marinette gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.” She was still embarrassed, but she meant it. It felt like a pressure valve had opened somewhere inside of her, and while nothing had really changed, it all felt just a little bit less oppressive. “I think I understand, at least a little. Why you left. But…” Marinette pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on. Luka squeezed her shoulder again lightly, waiting for her to continue.

“I just...was quitting really the only way? Wasn’t it your dream? Wasn’t it worth fighting for?”

Luka swallowed and drew his hand back. He folded his hands together between his knees, looking at the floor, and hoped he could say what he wanted to without sounding like a pretentious drama queen or a weakling.

“What happened between us just now,” Luka began slowly, “Luke Stone could never do that. I didn’t mind the work, or the hours, or even the touring. It’s just, the more we ‘refined’ Luke Stone’s image, the less it felt like me, and it put up this...wall between me and the rest of the world. It wasn’t just the label interfering with my music, it was the image they wanted me to project. The brand. It was harder and harder to be somebody different off-stage, because after a certain point, there’s really no such thing as off-stage. Jagged, you know, he can turn it on and off like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He tried to help me, he really did, but...I just...wasn’t connecting with people the way I needed to, for the music to really flow. I felt so alone, and unhappy, and I was still making music but it wasn’t mine, anymore. It was just something I did to keep the label happy. Finally I decided that clinging to the dream for the sake of the dream wasn’t very smart if it didn’t actually make me happy, and it was more important to be me than to be a star.” Luka glanced up. Marinette was staring at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He felt himself beginning to blush and dropped his eyes again. “So I told Dad I was done,” he went on quickly. “He was disappointed, but he understood. I finished out my contract and came home to figure out what in the world comes next.”

Marinette was silent for a moment. Luka swallowed nervously, and was trying to think of a graceful way to end the conversation when she finally said, “You’re really brave, Luka.”

He blinked, the words he’d been about to force out dying on his tongue. “What?” he said instead.

“I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that,” Marinette said quietly. “Even to yourself, let alone actually making the break and leaving it all behind. I’m glad you did it. I loved your music, but…” She reached out hesitantly, and slid her hand over Luka’s. He released his clasped hands to turn his fingers up to lace with hers. “I’m glad that you did what was right for you, instead of…”

“Flaming out and becoming an alcoholic drug addict?” he asked with a sardonic grin. Her hand was so small in his, he couldn’t help noticing.

Marinette giggled. “Something like that. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. You really didn’t have to rehash all of that for me.”

Luka shrugged and repeated, “I wanted you to understand.” She had no idea how bad he wanted her to understand. He was grateful and relieved that she did...and at the same time, it was a little frightening. Things might have been simpler if she had scoffed and blown him off. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, holding her hand and looking into her soft, beautiful eyes, feeling like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Marinette bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to it. “I should...if it’s okay with you, I think I should go home now.”

Luka shook himself back to reality. “Of course. Are you sure you’re alright? Will you be okay to get home?”

Marinette nodded and tried a smile. It mostly looked steady, so Luka smiled back. He stood up, still holding her hand, and drew her up after him. “Thanks for taking the time to listen to me, Marinette.” Luka let her hand slide out of his. “It actually feels good to be able to explain it to someone.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Marinette told him, and they didn’t say anything more as Luka got her coat and held it for her.

Once she was gone, he barely made it back to a chair before his knees gave way. He rubbed a hand over his face and then leaned into it, sighing. That had been…intense. All of it, not just Marinette, but...playing like that, when he hadn’t played for anyone but his family in so long, and trying to help her understand...he hadn’t realized how much it would take out of him.

He was still sitting there when Rose burst in. “Marinette!” she cried, looking at Luka with wide eyes. “Where is she?”

“She went home,” Luka mumbled, leaning back in the chair.

“What? No, I need her!” Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Why did she leave? What happened?”

“Nothing happened—” Luka began, but a voice from the doorway interrupted him.

“He made her cry,” Juleka smirked.

Rose whirled to look at her, while Luka glared at her over Rose’s head, but Juleka just grinned wider when Rose turned back and began to hit Luka in the arm over and over with her tiny yet surprisingly hard fist. “You idiot! You did not! You made her cry? What’s the matter with you?”

Luka put up his hands in defense. “Rose,” he whined. “Look, I told you this wasn’t a date, and it’s not going to happen—”

“Who cares about your pathetic excuse for a love life?” Rose roared, hitting him faster. “You can’t run her off, I need her! The pageant’s going to be a disaster!”

“Wait, what?” Juleka frowned, coming into the room.

“That’s what Sabrina was calling about!” Rose exclaimed. “The costumes that were in storage—they’re a disaster! Moths or rats or water or all three, I don’t even know. And here I made friends with someone who designs and sews and then like a bonehead I had to set her up with your stupid socially inept—”

“He played for her,” Juleka broke in, and Rose stopped hitting him long enough to look at her. It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then Rose’s eyes widened. She turned back to Luka and he flinched. “You did not!”

“I did,” Luka admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I really did,” he realized, feeling suddenly weak again. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to pretend like he wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream.

“Tell me everything right now!” Rose demanded, grabbing a fistful of his sweater and dragging him out of his chair and over to the couch. She sat down next to him with a determined expression. Luka looked up at Juleka pleadingly, but she just grinned.

That’s for eating all the cookies, she mouthed, and left before Luka could make a rude gesture.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #hallmark au #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug

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starring-movies · 4 years

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Killing Eve: Episode Analysis

*SPOILERS*

Season 3, Episode 1 - Slowly Slowly Catchy Monkey

The first episode of Season 3 begins about 6 months after the events in Rome, from the end of the last season, and starts with Villanelle getting married to a woman named Maria - now Villanelle doesn’t have a job, she needs a way to support herself financially so she does this via Maria.

During her wedding speech, Villanelle refers to Eve as “my ex”. In S2E1 when she was speaking to Gabriel in the hospital, she also referred to Eve as “my girlfriend”. Both of these instances show us how Villanelle has considered that she and Eve were in a ‘relationship’ of some sort for all this time.

When Villanelle finds that Dasha has turned up to her “special day”, the same shots are repeated from S2E3. Villanelle runs up to Dasha and then tackles her to the ground, which is shot in the same way as when Villanelle runs up to Konstantin and then hugs him in S2E3. The choice to repeat the same shots is implemented to emphasise the difference in Villanelle’s relationship with Konstantin and Dasha (both people who had a big impact on Villanele while she was growing up) - after being separated from Konstantin, Villanelle fondly hugs him; but after being apart from Dasha for so long, Villanelle feels nothing but anger towards her.

When Villanelle is reunited with Dasha, after Dasha crashed Villanelle’s wedding, she keeps calling Villanelle “Oksana” and so Villanelle tells her “you call me, Villanelle”. This is small but clever little detail. Through just this act of Dasha calling Villanelle the wrong name, we are told that Dasha, like Anna, (who also calls her Oksana) is obviously someone who Villanelle knew a long time ago in her past, before she adopted the name ‘Villanelle’.

We are then reintroduced to Eve, who is doing her shopping in a Korean supermarket in New Malden, London. Not only is Eve buying junk food to stress eat, like she did with the sweets in S2E1, but the convenience food also has a deeper significance. When Eve was with Niko he was always the one who cooked, but now that they’ve separated, Eve doesn’t have anyone to cook for her, so she has to buy things like instant noodles because her lifestyle has changed.

While Eve is paying for her groceries, the woman at the checkout of the Korean supermarket is having a conversation with her friend, where she says “nothing says Romance like Rome” and that she wants to eat “spaghetti” the whole time she’s there. “Spaghetti” is what Eve told Villanelle she’d like her to cook for dinner in S2E8, and the comment that “nothing says Romance like Rome” could have been true for Villanelle and Eve, but for them Rome means tragedy and heartbreak instead.

We also find out that Eve has taken a job in a Korean restaurant. She’s decided to recoil back into the comfort of her culture, where people speak her mother language and eat food that she’s familiar with (and probably associates with home and family). In the restaurant her job is making the dumplings, which is a repetitive, mindless task, just like when we saw Eve chopping the vegetables for the roast chicken in S2E1.

Eve copes with her trauma in the same way as she did in S2E1, after she shot Villanelle. Not only does she do the repetitive tasks, but she also watches “It’s Not Just Shopping”, which is a teleshopping programme, just like how she listened to Armando trying (and succeeding) to sell her some “really expensive windows”.

However, although she is coping with the two situations in the same way, there is also a big difference between the Eve we see in the beginning of Season 2, and the Eve we see in the beginning of Season 3. In Season 2 Eve allowed herself, and was eager, to be sucked back into chasing after Villanelle when Carolyn recruited her again; whereas in Season 3, Eve is stronger and has a certain defiance in her actions. In Season 3 Eve tells her boss she doesn’t want to work in the front of the restaurant, but wants to remain in the kitchen, even though that means less money and more work. Eve also tells Carolyn, when she comes to see her at the restaurant, that she has no interest in Villanelle and trying to find her again, and it is only to investigate Kenny’s death that she decides to return to working with her.

In the office of the boss of the Korean restaurant, a Korean programme where a man gets shot in the head by a woman in playing on the TV behind her. When Eve is on the bus, there is also someone reading a book called “Vixen’s Bite”, with a woman with a gun on the front cover - Eve cannot seem to escape being reminded of Villanelle and of being shot by her.

We are then reintroduced to Kenny, at his new job being an investigative journalist at the ‘Bitter Pill’. Kenny has a conversation with Bear, where he says “well, remind me not to rely on you for anything”; which turns out not to be true, as in S3E8 Bear is the one who finds out Konstantin came to visit Kenny on the day he died.

When Eve is at home, she sends a message to Kenny of a picture of a loo roll. This is a call back to S1E2 when Kenny shows Eve to the toilets at the Trafalgar Office and tells her “it’s best that you bring in your own [loo roll] or it just disappears, how many sheets do you need?”.

After receiving Eve’s message, Kenny goes over to Eve’s apartment and during their conversation he asks her “are you still in touch with, er...” (meaning Niko), and Eve immediately thought Kenny was referring to Villanelle. Eve’s trying to convince herself (and everyone else) that she’s over Villanelle, not interested in her and not thinking about her; but the fact that Eve immediately jumps to thinking that Kenny is referring to Villanelle, and not her husband, shows that this is definitely not the case.

In this scene, she is also wearing the grey T-shirt with birds on it that belonged to Niko, he is seen wearing it in S1E1. However, we only see Eve wearing it when she wants comfort; like after Bill’s death in S1E4, and now in this episode when she’s recovering from what happened to her in Rome.

Later on, when Eve goes to visit Niko at the psychiatric facility, she brings him a bag of fruit pastels, but tells him that she already “ate the green ones for you”. Although Eve probably did this as a caring gesture (since Eve ate them, it’s implied Niko doesn’t like the green ones), it emphasises how Niko still can’t manage to gain control over his own life. Niko wasn’t given the opportunity to try the “green ones” (he may have changed his mind and started to like them) or leave them in the bag himself, Eve had already made the executive decision for him and he wasn’t given the choice to eat the bag of sweets how he wanted to eat them.

Eve eating the green fruit pastels for Niko could also be an indication that this was something that she used to do for him when they were first married/more happily married. If you take this view, then it could be that Eve is trying to simulate how things were previously, or she is being presumptuous that Niko wants things to go back to how they were - but he goes to Poland without telling Eve, so we can see he wants a new start.

Whilst working in the Korean restaurant’s kitchen, there are two men working behind Eve, who’s conversation mirrors Eve’s relationship with Villanelle. One of the men initially says to the other man, “first it was infatuation, this is love”. This definitely reflects how Villanelle’s relationship with Eve was portrayed; it began as Villanelle’s obsession with Eve because she had hair like Anna, but by the end of Season 2 she claims that it has gone beyond “infatuation” and that she does truly love Eve. This was probably also true for Eve, also beginning as an “infatuation” in Villanelle because she is an assassin, but then developing into a deeper sense of love; but at the end of Season 2, Eve was not ready to come to terms with her feelings, and Villanelle hadn’t reached the point of realising what loving Eve really is.

The next time the two men are having a conversation, Eve interjects by telling the man “you’re not even crying because of her, you’re crying because... because you feel stupid, because you were stupid”. This is obviously how Eve feels about what happened with her and Villanelle - she’s not upset because of Villanelle necessarily, but more because she feels that she was stupid. The same thing most likely applies to Villanelle as well, she probably feels stupid for loving Eve, and admitting to loving Eve, when she thought that she was someone “special”.

You can read my previous Killing Eve posts here:-

First Introduction to Villanelle

First Introduction to Eve

S1, E1 - Nice Face

S1, E2 - I’ll Deal With Him Later

S1, E3 - Don’t I Know You?

S1, E4 - Sorry Baby

S1, E5 - I Have a Thing about Bathrooms

S1, E6 - Take Me to the Hole!

S1, E7 - I Don’t Want to Be Free

S1, E8 - God, I’m Tired

S2, E1 - Do You Know How to Dispose of a Body?

S2, E2 - Nice and Neat

S2, E3 - The Hungry Caterpillar

S2, E4 - Desperate Times

S2, E5 - Smell Ya Later

S2, E6 - I Hope You Like Missionary!

S2, E7 - Wide Awake

S2, E8 - You’re Mine

S3, E2 - Management Sucks

S3, E3 - Meetings Have Biscuits

S3, E4 - Still Got It

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 1]

S3, E5 - Are You From Pinner? [Part 2]

S3, E6 - End of Game

S3, E7 - Beautiful Monster

S3, E8 - Are You Leading or Am I? [Part 1]

——————————————————————————

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intruality-overlord · 4 years

Text

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

(For these first couple chapters I have tagged people I thought might be interested in reading this. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

Chapter One: Cookie Mix

May 2nd, 2017.

To say Patton was hammered, would be the biggest understatement ever conceived. Twelve bottles of cider had him misplace his share of the brain cell. He didn't have the cognitive ability to think the others seeing him like this would not be ideal, or any residual, instinctual fear in his bloodstream. Did he even have any blood at this point? His veins burned just like his throat while guzzling that bitter, bittersweet liquid conscience tranquilizer.

(Patton's liver fucking hates him.)

Welp, you can blame Patton's legs for listening to Patton. They shouldn't have enabled his poorly timed cookie cravings. And you can also blame the wall that foolishly did the job of keeping him upright, which Patton's spine had boycotted knowing the consequences of their actions.

And at least it was... somewhere around ten at night, Patton thought, so most had gone to bed by now. That was what the clock said last time he checked it, anyway... which was yesterday, by now.

He wandered into the kitchen and made a beeline for the cookie jar. (Beeline in the more accurate, literal sense that you couldn't tell where he was going until he got there—basically, not a straight line. How dare assume Patton could ever do anything straight). It was empty.

Patton would be damned if he didn't get his fucking cookies.

So what was the next best thing? He'd bake himself his own goddamn cookies.

Riffling through the kitchen cabinets, Patton came across a paper bag totally-not-suspiciously labeled "Cookie Mix.tm" and he grabbed it. Pft, duh, what else do you make cookies out of? The bag contained a white powder reminiscent of flour, and in Patton's mind, exactly what he suspected cookie mix looked like. Hmm... some milk and an egg would probably also help. Also, a bowl would be helpful.

Actually, nah, fuck bowls.

Just as Patton was about to put his... globulous creation the relative consistency of wet sand into the oven (or what his drunken mind referred to as "the hot box"), eggshell garnish and all, Remus just so happened to strut into the kitchen. He had been coincidentally drawn to the kitchen by his own cravings in search of his secret stash. Remus believed that the best place to hide your loot is in plain sight where people don't think to question it. Hidden things are only suspicious because of the fact they are hidden, so if they weren't hidden... To his credit, it had worked so far.

Until today.

"Oh, fuck."

Patton spun around at the sound of Remus's voice, losing his balance in the process. Not to worry, he slipped and thudded against Remus's chest, clinging to his sash and smearing white powder all over him. "Reeemuuss!" Patton greeted weirdly excitedly. Patton immediately forgot about the cookies. Out of sight, out of mind. Instead he just stared at Remus for a moment. "You... you rat, ratty Luigi man," he slurred, "nah, ra' sound mean. You more li'e... li'e a mouse. Mousey mouse knock off plumber mouse man."

"Are you okay?" Remus asked, his words coloured by disbelief and it's little brother who's unfortunately going through a midlife crisis, gleeful shock. One does not always come across the beacon of goodness with a higher concentration of alcohol than water making up their body. It was like waking up to a human sized salmon next to you, apparently named Malinda. Which then proceeds to slap you across the face with a slippery fin before splashing away screaming, "We're getting a divorce! You always eat all my spaghetti!" and when you wake for real, you don't even know how to begin phrasing that into a question google would understand. (Remus would know.) This was quality blackmail. Good thing Remus stumbled across Patton and not Deceit.

"Hehe... I've no idea wha' words are righ' now," was all Patton said as he giggled. Green sash clutched tightly, Patton was still staring at him. His weight leaned more and more into Remus. Remus thought it was like staring into the button eyes of a doll behind a thin pane of glass: Innocent until you remember it's Annabelle that you're staring at. He just kept staring, and staring. Remus might've thought Patton was trying to mind read. Maybe he was.

As the heart, Patton encompasses all of Thomas's feelings, including curiosity. Logan also played a big part in Thomas's curiosity, but he didn't have both kinds of curiosity, only the standard. Patton on the other hand, also experienced all of Thomas's morbid curiosity. Morbid curiosity, that feeling that stops you from looking away from a decaying carcass even though you really want to. That urge that keeps your eyes locked on that video of a parasite pulsating in that poor snail's eyestalks, or a zombie ant. (A feeling that the others severely discouraged Patton to entertain— not that he blamed them.)

(Many like to believe they'd never dare be so fascinated by the macabre and the gruesome. This is called denial.)

This always made it very hard for Patton to look away from Remus. It made him cling to every word Remus stringed into a sentence, no matter how obscene— especially actually. His morbid curiosity enticed him to Remus like a lamp to a moth— Wait— water to a duck's back— No—... Patton was very drunk. Don't expect him to be able to come up with similes and sayings.

A loopy, arguably deranged smile smiled stretched Patton's cheeks. "Your sash matches your eyes," he gasped deliriously. Patton booped him on the nose, then mindlessly twirled the curled ends of Remus's mustache (and it was nice in a queer way, as Remus was very willing to admit since his brother took every drop of dignity they had with him when they split). "An' your mustache loo' li'e mouse whis'ers— no! A lil' ca'erpilla'," he giggled. Then promptly passed out.

(Remus sighed, knowing he'd have to clean up Patton's mess for both their sakes. He hoped to whatever entity or entities held power over the universe that Patton hadn't eaten the... "dough" like he normally would have. By the looks of it, Patton could hardly handle one addiction as it was.)

(}ï{)

Patton regretted nothing. Mostly because he didn't remember anything to regret.

Until a few days later when Remus realised he couldn't take the pressing guilt of knowing his secret and told Patton what happened. They became fast friends from then on. Don't ask them exactly how they don't fucking know. This story is as much of an explanation you'll get.

Next Chapter:

#WAW(B)F?#sander sides #thomas sanders #ts sander sides #patton sanders #ts patton #remus sanders #ts remus #intruality #moduke #remus x patton #patton x remus #logan sanders #ts logan

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missameliep · 4 years

Text

Second Chances: Chapter Thirteen - My Kind of Scene

Book: Desire and Decorum – Modern AU

Notes:

* English is not my first language.

* All characters belong to Pixelberry.

* I want to thank @princess-geek for being my beta on this chapter and indulge my obsession with Hamid and this series 💚

Word count: ~5.000

Tagging: @cora-nova @frugalchoicer @fairydustandsarcasm @itsbrindleybinch @dianalend @princess-geek @averysheart-raleighsdick @tinypenguincheesemachine @lou-who-writes @desiree---1986 @mrsbriarmarlcaster @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire @choicesbyjade

If you want to be added or removed of the tag list, just let me know.

Every table at the small cafeteria near the university was occupied. The familiar atmosphere with the clinking of silverware, the buzzing of a multitude of voices and the smell of fried fish hanging in the air. At a table in the back, the group of friends was ready to eat their lunch.

Luke observed the plate in front of him; green eyes filled with suspicion. The fork twirled capturing strings of spaghetti.

“Not to be that guy, but...” His gaze moved from the plate to Briar’s face when he asked, “Can you explain again why you girls come here?”

“It’s cozy and the food is deli–”

“It’s cheap,” Annabelle cut Briar off flatly.

“No! That’s not the reason!” Briar protested and Annabelle insisted that the price was the main reason, while the other still argued that the quality of the food was the most relevant motive. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Luke shared a soundless chuckle watching their brief debate.

“It tastes better than it looks,” Elizabeth said softly and took the sandwich to her mouth and he ate a small piece of a meatball and smiled at her.

Tilting his head, the man’s eyes lingered on her face, alight with something Elizabeth couldn’t figure out and she lowered her gaze. Not knowing what to do, she peeked at her mobile and her lips curled up. Biting at the cuticle of her index finger, she read a few incoming texts from Hamid.

In between bites, the group shared stories and laughter, like they usually do, and this time even Elizabeth shared one story about herself. Soon, lunch hour was coming to an end and Annabelle raised from her seat.

“See you Friday night, darlings! Pretentious art won’t sell itself to pretentious people without my help.”

“Cheer up, you’re living the dream, Ann.”

“Not quite…” Annabelle retorted, taking the sunglasses out of her purse. “But soon I will.” She grinned, blew kisses at her friends and left.

Elizabeth swallowed the last piece of the sandwich while Briar explained the train system to Luke and offered advices on the cheapest ways to go to Paris.

“I’m going to the loo,” Elizabeth whispered to Briar.

“Aw! You just talked like a British. That’s adorable, Lizzy!”

“Stop it!” Hiding a small smile, she walked away taking her bag.

Luke’s eyes followed Elizabeth, until she disappeared in a narrow corridor after the counter. With hands clasped, he rested his elbows on the table leaning forward and watched the remaining woman drinking juice.

“So... who is this Hamid guy you were talking about?”

His question caused Briar's dark brown eyes to move from the glass to him. “Why?”

“Just curiosity... You guys had lunch with him last week, Annabelle mentioned she went to the museum with Elizabeth and he was there too...”

Briar hummed while he spoke and fought the sudden urge to flash a victorious smile, keeping a straight face.

“So, who is he?”

“A guy we know...”

“Does he go to King’s too?”

“No, he’s a diplomat.”

“Cool.”

“Totally.”

The man’s fingers rhythmically drummed at the table and Briar took the glass back to her lips, hiding an amused smile. The man scratched his chin, fingernails raking the three-day stubble, and by the look on his face, the woman was certain more questions would follow.

After a moment of silence, his voice came out low and hesitant, “Is he Elizabeth’s boyfriend?”

“Oooh! I knew it!” Briar cried and pointed a finger at him.

“Someone has a crush!” she chanted, and Luke’s eyes raked their surroundings filled with concern. When the singing ceased, Briar asked in a conspiratorial tone, a victorious grin playing on her lips, “Is that why you come all this way to hang with us?”

“Just forget it,” Luke sighed and picked up his backpack. “Gotta go.”

“No! Stay! You can talk to me!” Briar pressed her palms against the table and leaned forward.

“With one condition. You're never doing that singing again.”

“I can't promise that…”

“Alright,” he said and made a spectacle of putting his headphones on and standing up. “Tell Elizabeth I said bye.”

“You can tell yourself. I know you’re not going anywhere,” she narrowed her eyes and said louder, arms crossed in front of her chest, “I have information. Information you really want.”

Peeking from his phone to her face, he shook his head at the sly smile parting her red lips and dark eyes glistening with mischief.

“Fine,” he scoffed and put his backpack down.

“Information is power, mate!”

“Don’t gloat.”

A loud laugh escaped her mouth and a few heads turned around to face her.

She clasped her hands, and offered, “For a small fee I’ll help you.”

“What kind of fee?”

“Ice-cream. I’m in the mood...”

Headphones hanging around his neck, he slumped on the chair, and her gaze took him in.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is this Hamid guy the boyfriend?”

“It's complicated.”

“It's usually a simple question. Is he or is he not?”

“Not. But I also want to say he is...”

“Are you messing with me?”

“A bit.”

“Briar.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and she fought the urge to laugh again.

“It’s complicated. You have to see them together to understand.”

“Is he meeting us at the pub Friday?” She nodded and he didn’t try to conceal his disappointment. “Are they, you know, going out?”

Briar swivelled on the chair to have a better view of the restaurant.

“Just as friends. Well, at least, that’s what she keeps saying...”

He hummed and stared at his own hands.

“Are you asking her out?”

“I don't know... I thought about it... Sometimes it feels like there’s something that... I was hoping to have a chance to talk to her alone at the pub... Do you think I should, you know, ask her out?”

“Yes!”

“Are you still messing with me?”

“No!”

“Do you think she’ll say yes?”

“What do you think?” she propped her chin on her hands and looked him straight in the eyes.

“If I knew the answer, why would I be asking?”

“Maybe you like talking to me and find me amusing...” She raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“I do. But that’s not the point.” He flashed a large smile rounding his cheeks. “You two are closer. And girls talk about things... What you think? Will it be too awkward if I invited her to the movies or something?”

“Since you are being perfectly nice and will buy me ice-cream...”

“I never agreed to that.”

“Won’t you humour me?” She batted her eyelashes

“Fine,” he scoffed; however, he couldn’t fight the smile that curled the corners of his lips.

“Good. I know a place... They have dozens of flavours. You must taste the butterscotch with – Oh! I digress. We can talk about this later. – Anyway, she never says much, but she thinks you’re attractive, though.”

“Seriously?” His eyes lighted at her words.

“Don’t do that! You know you caused her to blush fifty shades of red when you flirted with her the day you met!” A low chuckled rumbled from his chest and he smiled to himself. “I could ask her about it –”

“Please don’t! We’re not high schoolers! I can invite a girl out on my own... I just want to avoid making things too awkward. I know she’s shy and all that, and there’s this other guy thing...”

“Then just talk to her,” Briar whispered, watching Elizabeth walk back to the table.

He shook his head, and quietly said, “I’ll test the waters first.”

When Elizabeth approached them, Briar got up and said, “Pick up your jacket, Lizzy! We’re having ice-cream. Luke is buying.”

*****

Cheers erupted near the counter, but at least one man’s gaze wasn’t directed at the match on the screen.

Elizabeth took a sip at her soda and covered her mouth with the glass while she spoke to Briar in a conspiratorial fashion. “Don’t look now, but the cute guy you were talking at the bar keeps looking this way.”

Briar peeked over her shoulder. “He really is cute, innit?” She dramatically exhaled. “What a shame!”

“Why? Was he rude to you? Is he pro-Brexit?” Annabelle asked and considered the group of men piling at the bar.

“He was just too obvious. The one question about me was if I came here often and not so subtly, he added how conveniently close his flat is.” Briar rolled her eyes.

“Very straightforward,” Annabelle pointed out and gulped her wine. “No wonder he kept staring at your bottom while you talked.”

“I can’t blame him for that... They do look particularly round and nice in these trousers. However, after the whole fiasco with that yoga instructor, I won’t ignore those signs anymore...”

“You deserve so much better than those losers you insist on dating... I wonder if you'll ever realise that...” Annabelle stated.

“It’s not about self-esteem, Ann…” Briar sighed.

“Then what is it?” the other insisted.

“Besides amusing you lasses with my funny anecdotes about these unfortunate dates?” The humourless laugh didn’t echo amongst her friends, and Elizabeth flashed a sympathetic smile. “How can one know a guy is a rotter before getting to know him?”

Annabelle said, “Sometimes they don’t even have to open their mouths...”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement and ate another crisp, and passed the plate to Briar, who also picked up a few, and stared at one before taking a bite.

“Why is it so hard to find a nice guy?” Briar whined, a crisp moving along with her words.

“I don’t know...” Elizabeth shrugged.

“How about Luke?” Annabelle asked lowering her voice, “He’s not a git, right? And you keep checking him out whenever he’s not looking...”

“I’m not blind, Ann...” Briar rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested either.”

Gulping the beer, she looked at Elizabeth for a moment and down to the glass. “Besides, Luke’s got his eyes on someone else...”

“Really? Who?” Annabelle asked, gaze fixed in Briar’s face.

“I won’t gossip about a friend...”

“When did it ever stop you before?” Annabelle smirked downing the remaining of the wine, and Briar glared at her, before her attention shifted to the other woman. “What you think, Lizzy? Would it be awkward to ask him out?”

“Didn’t you just say he's got his eyes on someone else?”

“He’s still single... Would it be awkward if I asked him out?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to go out with him?”

“Let’s suppose I do.”

Annabelle raised her eyebrows at the exchange between the two and took another olive to her mouth.

“Well, I’ve never asked anyone out...” Elizabeth sipped her drink and pondered for a while, her eyes going from Annabelle back to Briar. “I don’t even know which signs to look for and...” she trailed off.

“Sometimes you just have to take a chance.” Briar said matter-of-factly.

“Aren’t you afraid you could lose the friendship?”

“If I ask him and he’s not interested you think we couldn’t be friends anymore?”

“I don’t know... Maybe... It happens,” she shrugged and picked a crisp from the plate.

“I haven’t considered this possibility. Would you stop talking to someone who were interested and you were not?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, considering the answer, until she mumbled an inconclusive maybe. Elizabeth shifted in her seat, and looked away, avoiding Briar’s stare. “With the little experience I have,” she uttered softly, “I don’t think I’m even qualified to give this kind of advice. You should definitely ask someone else... Ann is here. Why don’t you ask her?”

Her hand grabbed a few crisps and she peeked at the mobile over the table. Another subject replaced Briar’s inquisition, and the trio resumed talking animatedly. Loud cheers, boos and hisses interrupting them from time to time.

With a clear view to the door, Elizabeth’s eyes darted when it opened with a ring, just as they did every other time before. A small smile when she recognized Luke in his white hoodie, however her eyes lowered to the mobile again and she missed the way Briar frowned at the sight.

The tall man walked around a few noisy costumers piling in front of a television and marched to the table at the back. He greeted the trio with air kisses, and took a seat beside Briar, as she indicated.

“Sorry, I’m late. I got distracted writing a paper...”

“It’s alright. We haven’t been here long,” Annabelle assured him.

“Besides, it’s Friday night and no one needs to leave anytime soon. We can stay until the pub closes.”

“I don’t know about that,” Elizabeth said. “I was still planning on getting home and work on Professor Richards' essay.”

“It’s due two Mondays from today,” Briar pointed out. “We have plenty of time, Lizzy.”

The next time the door opened with a ring, Hamid walked inside wearing a dark grey suit and a blue tie. The sight elicited the largest smile possible from Elizabeth’s lips. Getting up, she waved at him, oblivious to the knowing look Briar and Luke shared.

Hamid nodded to the bar keepers and made a beeline to the table at the back, greeting them cheerfully. As usual, he complimented the women’s attires and playfully kissed Briar’s knuckles when she returned the praise.

“You are a flatterer, Ms. Daly.” Her head tipped back with laughter and her red lips curled into an unabashed grin at him. “I’m learning from the master.” She winked and both laughed.

Before standing up to introduce himself, Luke’s green eyes examined the other man with interest, perusing from the coiffed dark hair, to the wide white grin and then inspected the clearly expensive suit he was sporting. His hand was offered for a shake, and Hamid took it and said it was a pleasure meeting him, words reciprocated by the other.

When Luke returned to his seat, Hamid took the one Elizabeth had saved beside her and she couldn’t hide the persistent smile curling her lips.

Leaning, the man's arm snaked to the back of her chair, and he whispered, “Can we sit this close? Aren’t you afraid the MI5¹ might be watching us?”

“Aren’t you tired of this joke, dude?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” whispering, he placed a quick peck on her cheek. Elizabeth turned to face him and knew he could see his lips had tinted her cheeks a hue darker than the makeup. “I apologise in advance about the e-mail your grandmother will receive about this very indecent PDA.”

“Oh! Stop it!” Elizabeth nudged his side, drawing a chuckle from him, and added in a low tone, “Or I’ll have someone changing seat with me.”

“You wouldn’t... you’d miss me too much,” he said beaming, and she sighed, feigning annoyance.

Self-conscious of the warmth on her face, the woman's eyes avoided his, trying to focus on the others. However, her body didn’t move, her shoulder remained resting against the crook of his arm.

Soon, Hamid and Annabelle were in deep conversation, just as they did when visiting the Tate. The woman shared details about her photographic project and the female photographers she was drawing inspiration from and the man posed many questions. Meanwhile, Luke was telling Briar about a series he binge-watched a few days ago. The scene caused Elizabeth to smile to herself, comfortable around them as she hasn’t felt in a group of people in a long time. She gulped the remaining of her diet coke and her eyes inspected the table: the tray with crisps was almost empty as were the other four glasses. Softly, to not interrupt their conversations, Elizabeth said she was getting this round and got up.

“I’ll help you,” Luke offered and immediately jumped to his feet.

Hamid seemed disconcerted by the gesture at first, however, a neutral expression immediately replaced the gobsmacked one, when a smiling Luke checked what everyone was drinking.

Under Briar’s attentive gaze, Hamid’s eyes followed the couple and his mouth parted when Luke’s large hand rested on Elizabeth’s shoulder, guiding her to the bar. Lips close to her ear, he whispered something that caused her to tilt her chin up and smile.

A deep exhale and Hamid’s hand went to the tie’s knot, and his thumb caressed it for an instant. Annabelle’s question about his mother’s work at the Museum drew his attention back to his companions.

Once Luke and Elizabeth reached a clear spot at the bar, the man nodded to the bartender and was about to wave, when Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and motioned for him to approach.

On her tiptoes she whispered, “Never call them or flash the money. Hamid and Briar explained it's considered rude and they will ignore you.”

��Then what do I do? Just stay here?” he frowned.

“You make eye contact and wait your turn,” she explained.

A grin rounded his warm bronze cheeks, and Luke asked, “Then what do we do while we wait?”

“We can eat peanuts or watch the match.”

“You shouldn’t even touch these,” he said pushing the bowl away from her hand with a disgusted face. “They have as many bacteria as the restrooms here.”

“Then we’ll watch the match,” she said giggling.

“I’m not really into soccer. A bunch of guys running after a ball...” he stated shaking his head, “not my thing.”

“Aren’t most sports a bunch of guys running after balls? Basketball, handball, your football with the weird shaped ball...”

“Okay! Got your point,” he chuckled. “I’m not into soccer.”

A trio of men next to them cheered at a goal and Luke’s eyes darted to the screen.

“It’s not even live...” he mumbled.

“The United's fans are very passionate and even I can see that was a great match. Look at that crossing pass!”

“You like soccer?”

“At a reasonable amount.”

“United's fan?”

“Liverpool,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, “but don’t tell my father. He still thinks I’m a Blue’s fan like him.”

Swearing secrecy, Luke winked at her and glanced at the match when the referee called a foul on one of the United’s player.

“I never really got the fuss about soccer...”

“Maybe you’ll get it now that you’re here at the country with the greatest league.”

“Isn’t it Spain? The one with the best soccer?”

“You clearly know nothing about football,” she teased. “Keep your erroneous opinions down, if you don’t wanna get in trouble, mate,” she warned him with a grin, and he let out a wholehearted laughter. Both gazes returned to the television, before she asked, looking back at him, “So, how are you enjoying London?”

“It’s been good. I had this dream to come here for a long time, you know. I saved every dollar at every summer job since I was twelve.”

“I’m glad you got to do it.”

“It’s the ultimate dream. I took a picture at Abbey Road last week and it just hit me: I’m really here!”

“Beatles’ fan?”

“You bet. But Abbey Road is not just about The Beatles. It’s so iconic, you know. The artists that recorded there like Aretha Franklin, The Stones, Pink Floyd, Amy Winehouse... Man, it’s so absolutely relevant to the –”

Staring at him, Elizabeth looked amused with the excitement in his voice and he stopped talking.

“Sorry! I got totally carried away –”

“It’s alright.”

“The truth’s out: I’m a musical geek.”

“I like passionate people,” she said resting her elbows over the counter, and looked up at him. “Don’t you think it’s weird people who are blasé and have no passion for any subject?”

“My thoughts exactly!”

Ignoring their task, they engaged on a conversation about music and soon were discussing the instruments he plays.

“You play the ukulele? Really?” Her voice carried her scepticism.

“You don’t believe me?” She shook her head. “If it has strings, I might try and play it. I like a challenge,” he concluded with a suggestive tone. “What about you?”

“I play the piano, like an accomplished lady must.”

“Obviously,” he beamed.

“I was supposed to learn the basics to impress guests at my grandmother’s gatherings, but I fell in love and even considered making a career in music.”

“Seriously?”

“Just for a second. I’d hate being on stage. That’s also why I stopped my singing lessons...”

“You sing?”

“Not to people who aren’t me,” she said, tucking a few curls behind her ears.

“Maybe you can change your mind and sing to me,” he whispered close to her ear and his warm breath fanned her locks.

“Oh, I don’t think so!” She shook her head, curls bouncing and whipping his cheek.

What was that? Is he flirting with me? Her cheeks blushed with the intensity of his gaze, and she looked away.

Observing her uneasiness, he straightened himself and broke the silence with a different subject. However, while they talked, Luke couldn’t ignore the numerous times Hamid’s gaze searched for them since they left the table. The same neutral expression studying them like a nature photographer patiently observing the subjects, waiting for the perfect moment. His attention going back and forth, discreet enough to not disturb his conversation with Annabelle.

As if feeling being observed, Elizabeth’s face swivelled and when their eyes meet, she smiled at Hamid. A large smile showing her teeth and wrinkling her nose, like none prompted by Luke’s company, as he noticed, and the man returned the gesture. Biting her lower lip, she looked away and Luke sighed. Briar’s words probably resonating in his mind, as he locked eyes with the bartender and finally placed their orders.

*****

“Malta?” Annabelle asked.

“Valetta,” replied Hamid quickly.

“Trivia?”

“Did you know the island was conquered by the Ottoman Empire?”

“Of course!”

“What are they doing?” Luke asked confused while placing the glasses on the table, near the plate with fish and chips that Elizabeth carried.

“Ann is quizzing Hamid,” Briar replied flatly.

“Why?” Elizabeth and Luke asked in unison.

“She doesn’t believe he knows the name of all the countries in the world and their capital cities and its Chief of State and whatever else she’s asking him now... My mind drifted to more relevant things a while ago.” Briar sipped the pint Luke placed in front of her. “Do you think I should keep my bangs?” she asked running her fingers through the black hair and stared at a strand captured by her index finger and thumb.

“I like it,” Luke said with a smile, and gulped the pint of pale ale.

“How long has this being going on?” Elizabeth asked, her attention focused on the next question posed by Annabelle.

“How long were you two gone?”

“About ten minutes?” Luke guessed and Elizabeth confirmed with a nod. “Ten minutes.”

“It feels longer... so much longer. My bones are old now...” Briar sighed.

“What are the rules?” Luke questioned while Hamid shared his knowledge about the languages spoken in Thailand.

“I think there are none. They’ll probably keep on going ‘till they run out of countries...”

“Tuvalu?”

“Funafuti.” He added with amusement, “I should have told you I lived in Australia for a while. None of those countries are unfamiliar to me.”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes and uttered, “Togo.”

One of Hamid’s fingers scratched his chin and the man took his time, a smirk curling the woman’s lips. “Lomé.”

“How does she know he’s not making things up?” asked Elizabeth.

“Because Ann knows this stuff too.”

“You’re kidding!”

Briar shook her head. “They’re both nerds.”

“I concede. You weren’t just boasting...”

Hamid smiled and offered his hand. “You were quite an opponent, Ms. Parsons.”

“Does this mean they’re friends now?” Elizabeth whispered to Briar, while the others shook hands.

“Possibly,” Briar pondered. “Or he’ll hire her to work for him at the UN.”

“I’ve told you I don’t work at the UN,” Hamid corrected her.

“I like imagining you at that giant room filled with people from all over the world... And you having the power to invite other people to join you there... it’s nice. Like a very cool club.”

Hamid grinned and gulped the coke in front of him. He casted a glance at Elizabeth, and his hand casually brushed hers over the table, when he returned the glass. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t thank me. You’re getting next round,” she teased, and her hand rested on his arm.

Hours went by without the group even noticing it. The buzz decreased and the pub was getting quieter by the minute. A few tables became vacant around them and Briar answered a message on her phone.

“My friend Kate just texted me about this DJ playing at The Roxy… How about hitting the club and dancing the night away?”

Hamid and Elizabeth shared a look, a wordless understanding and both said they’d rather go home, since clubbing wasn’t their scene.

“Not my scene either,” Luke told Elizabeth once they were exiting the pub, a hand resting on her shoulder once more. “Can I walk you home?”

The question took the woman by surprise, and she avoided meeting his stare, while words slipped from her brain.

“But you’re so close to your dorm…” she mumbled, “…you just need to cross the bridge here… or take the bus…”

“There are buses where you live, right?”

“…Sure, but... Hamid and I...” Her head swivelled searching for Hamid and confirmation to what she was about to say, and she was met by a distinct glint on his eyes. “We’re going to that same direction... so...”

Hamid acquiesced with an even larger smile, and she couldn’t ignore the disappointment in Luke’s face after hearing their words. Fidgeting with her coats’ buttons, she mumbled without meeting his gaze, “Thanks for offering, though. It was… very sweet.”

“Okay. ‘Night, Liz.” Smiling, the man pulled her to a quick hug.

Encircled by his strong arms, she stiffened and kept her hands curled into fists, that were pressed against her collar bone. Taken aback by his gesture, she only flashed a small smile when he released her. “Goodnight, Luke.”

Trying to conceal her reddened cheeks from their friends, she adjusted her scarf higher and bid farewell to Briar and Annabelle.

Keeping a safe distance, as he says, Hamid and Elizabeth strolled side by side, talking about the fun both had this evening. When they reached the street with the familiar Georgian mansions, Hamid’s eyes reached up to the top of the buildings and then higher.

“No clouds. We’ll have a sunny day tomorrow.”

Folding her arms to get warmer, the woman stole a glance at Hamid. The man contemplated the surprisingly clear sky peppered with the faint glow of a few stars. The only sound on the empty street was the tapping of their shoes on the pavement, and a siren resonating from afar.

“You didn’t have to come all this way…”

Halting, Hamid’s eyes widened with surprise darted to her face, and he considered her for a moment. “Are you still concerned with the paparazzi thing?”

“No,” she assured him. “We've talked about this, since there were no more pictures... we’re obviously boring people...”

“Speak for yourself,” he chuckled and stepped closer, standing a few feet away from her, gaze unwavering from her face. “I’m never boring.”

“You hang with me, dude... so, that makes you boring too. And if they follow us, they’ll tire of our boredom,” she teased.

A chuckle rumbled on his chest, and he looked at her. “Then, I don’t understand... You were the one who suggested we walked together…” he said, and even though not a word about Luke’s offer left his mouth, she recognized the same glint in his eyes and the cocky smile.

“I know… I-I mean…” she stuttered, “...you shouldn’t have to walk all this way and back...”

The tapping of shoes resumed, when he followed her lead.

“I can use a little exercise. Besides I enjoy your company,” he said softly, sliding his hands on the trousers pockets, protecting them from the breeze. “And I feel better knowing you got home safely.”

“Thank you.” She grinned and bumped her shoulder against his side.

When their gazes meet, she felt a dozen butterflies – maybe a hundred of them – fluttering on her stomach. His hand flew from his pocket and he raised his arm to put it around her. On his lips a wide enthralling grin. However, his arm retreated mid-air before reaching her shoulder and his hand returned to his pocket. An apologetic half-smile after he put some space between them once more.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. An unfamiliar feeling striking her. It was not as if they walked like that on a regular basis, and suddenly couldn’t anymore. On the contrary. Never had his arm being around her shoulder like it could’ve been, and somehow, she missed it. The strangest sensation. The knowledge they must be careful to not stir the interest of tabloids, either on him or her or both, didn’t easy it – not even a little. The request to avoid any displays of affection in public and be discreet came from her, but it didn’t prevent the unexpected bitter taste in her mouth, though.

She crossed her arms tighter around herself, they were so close to her home and Hamid did what she asked of him. To preserve her, and she should be thankful that he was such a considerate friend. Either paparazzi or Henrietta's vicious tongue, she couldn’t pick which could be more damaging.

Yet, it never felt this wrong doing the right thing.

Soon they reached the front door, and his eyes scanned the imposing brick facade with numerous windows facing the street and he took a step back.

“Are you still going to study?”

“I don’t think so… What time is it?”

“1:30.”

“Then definitely not.” She smirked and fidgeted with the keys on her hand, looking up at him. A warm smile on his lips and eyes sparkling. “Text me when you get home?”

“Sure.”

Just a gentle squeeze on her arm, bunching her green coat, and a soft goodnight slipping from both tongues and they parted with the promise to cycle in the morning, enjoying together another cool autumn day and the pleasure of the other’s company.

-----

Notes:

MI5 - The Security Service, also known as MI5 (Military Intelligence, Section 5), is the United Kingdom's domestic counter-intelligence and security agency.

#desire and decorum #hamid x mc #luke harper #briar daly #annabelle parsons #prince hamid #second chances #playchoices fanfiction #desire and decorum modern au

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venomsvl · 4 years

Text

Your Fault

Pt.1 || Pt.2 || Pt.3 || Pt.4

Summary: Betty copper, a perfect girl next door, wants to reflect back the anger and hurt feelings, back to Jughead. In order to reach her main goal; Revenge.

Warning: Angst, depression, crying, past trauma, did I mention angst?

Betty's POV

I had taken place behind the ajar door, no one had noticed me. I was listening in on them, but in some parts, he was whispering. As if he knew I was listening.

I was beyond confused. Thoughts were clouding my senses, I didn't comprehend what I just heard. So the past few years of me crying myself to sleep were for nothing? me always feeling guilty too?

I haven't noticed that I was beginning to cry. a sob left my mouth, that had caught their attention.

Jughead immediately stood up and with caution, he took his first steps towards me. I couldn't look at him or even hear his voice again at the moment.

with my mind still fizzy from the emotional and mental shock, did the only thing that came to my mind; I ran away.

I ran in the girls' lavatory. I was pretty sure he was coming after me because I could hear his rapid footsteps behind me. the only thing that stopped him, was when I entered.

Going in the last cubicle and closing the toilet lid

Veronica's POV

I had understood why Jughead did it; he was protecting us. Saving us from the hands of death. but what I didn't get was why betty ran.

Am not sure if she heard us and started crying or is it because she saw jug? I went with the latter. so when Jug came back I didn't expect him to come with betty at all. and as always I was correct.

"Jug, where is Betty?" really Archie isn't it obvious she wasn't going to enter back with him!

"she entered the girls' loo, I couldn't enter after her" well that's surprisingly unexpected, I guess I was partly wrong.

"Its ok Archie, I will go after her and see what happened " If Betty wants to talk that is, if not am still going to be there for her comfort.

I left them after getting their approval. they seemed quite hesitant at first but agreed in the end. I am wondering why Betty ran? isn't she supposed to be happy that she saw Jughead after a long time? I just don't get why she is acting this way!

"Betty, what happened? why did you run all of a sudden?" I didn't get any response back which made me more worried "B, honey, where are you?" again no response. I kept quiet that is for me to be able to hear any small noise. I heard someone sniffle from the last cubicle. I immediately knew that Betty was indeed here. I knocked on the door asking her for permission to open the door. upon opening the door what I saw was not something I was expecting at all.

Betty sat on the toilet lid crying her heart out like there is no tomorrow.

"Oh my god B! what happened for you to be in such state?"

"Jones happened!" I was taken back by her response.

"What do you mean Jones happened?"

"neither you nor Archie know this but when Jones accused us, bad things happened to me that made my parents change their way with me. And then with Polly thing happened a few weeks after that it made it harder for me! I couldn't take all the pain, sadness, guilt, and all the feeling was feeling all at once. it was hard really hard V! I couldn't, I couldn't take it. it was all too much for me. am a human too! I wanted comfort but neither of my parents gave that to me! Because they would never understand what I was going through!"

"I was diagnosed with depression, after a month of the events of Polly. I had to take medication and go to therapy every few days to have the doctors keep up with my mental health as well as my emotional health. That's why I always gave excuses like 'sorry, my parents want me home immediately after school' 'i can't make it I have so many homework due tomorrow' because I wanted nothing more than to let my bed swallow me. I was grieving and with my parents not caring about me and me thinking that if I told your or Arch it would bring more burdens on both of you."

"I felt lost broken and damaged just because of Jughead jones! I know he wanted to help us or to save us but I don't care he could have done anything else rather than bringing upon me all of these feelings. he could have us told us! I didn't ask for him to save me I wanted to be happy with my best friends! wanna hear something even more wonderful? he is my mystery crush! he is the one. Not Archie, not Reggie, not any other boy in this god damn hell of a place but him! so add on top of having your best friend feeling betrayed by his friends and conflicting guilt and sadness on them but also you own crush kind of rejecting you! how would you feel? huh, TELL ME?"

"Oh, and how can I forget! one of the reasons why I dated Elijah was that I was trying to forget about him, trying to get his stupid face out of my head. to forget that he never existed in my life at all, I did like him but I will always like or maybe even love Jughead more. I don't know what to do anymore with my life and seeing him stand in front of me brought back, way too many memories of us I was trying so hard to suppress from resurfacing. So if your hear to inform me that I was overreacting and being dramatic or whatever, just leave then because I don't want to hear any of the Bullshit!"

"B, I never knew you were going through all that and of course your not a burden. We all have our burdens and its okay to ask for help. And you should never feel ashamed that you go to therapy or that you take medication; because that shows how strong you are to admit that you need help. Your way stronger than you give yourself credit for. I myself wouldn't be able to do what you did Betty. Do you know what I admire the most about you? your will power to be strong and continue. That characteristic is very rare to find and I found you! not anyone else. You're as beautiful as a rose! and I would never think your overdramatic even though you have some of those moments" That had made her laugh. " See even your laugh is beautiful!"

"Now come on, let's go eat spaghetti to forget your regretti"

in spite of having a break down just a few moments ago, she is now smiling and laughing. being her ordinary carefree self.

"Now now, we wouldn't want other people knowing about what happened so let's get you all cleaned up" splashing water on her swollen eyes and re-applying her makeup; there was no trace or evidence that she had been crying at all.

Tag Your username

#archie x veronica #betty cooper #betty x jughead #bughead #riverdale #riverdale fandom #riverdale fanfiction #veronica lodge #archie andrews #archie x betty #bughead your fault

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tinylilemrys · 5 years

Link

Rating: T

Word count: 3,407

Summary: Richie Tozier was an open book – some would call it the best thing about him, others would argue that it was the most annoying thing about him.

There were only two secrets that Richie fiercely guarded. One: he had been desperately and completely inconveniently in love with his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak, for years now, and two: Richie liked – no, loved – playing Dungeons and Dragons.

Richie Tozier was an open book – some would call it the best thing about him, others would argue that it was the most annoying thing about him. While it was true that you were never unsure of where you stood with Richie, there was also almost nothing others would classify as too much information that Richie wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing. They knew when he was angry, they knew when he was scared shitless about his Calc test, they knew when he’d eaten food that was more than a bit past its sell-by date as a dare and all about the day of spectacular gastrotechnics that followed, they knew (in great detail) when he’d found a new supermodel that he considered attractive, they knew when he had fought with his parents, and they knew when he was feeling particularly sentimental about his group of friends.

He hadn’t meant to enjoy it as much as he did. He’d only agreed to sit on a few sessions because one of the girls from his Drama class told him it was really good way to improve his storytelling and improv skills, but after one session of being sucked up into the world that Will Jones, the Dungeon Master, had spun and being frustrated at not being able to influence the decisions the party made, Richie was hooked. He had spent all of that night creating his character and eagerly (though stealthily) handed his character’s backstory to Will at school the next day.

And that had been that. His little Gnome Cleric had been a vital part of the party for the past six months and Richie couldn’t remember what life was before he started playing.

Of course, finding excuses to duck out of plans with six other friends had proven more difficult than he initially thought it would. Though the party only met to play every second Friday, it was often when the rest of the group had made plans for a movie night or a night swim at the quarry and finding excuses to not be there was tricky. Though the excuse he’d finally settled on was guitar lessons, he could almost feel how annoyed the rest of them were each time he flaked out and though he felt bad about it, D&D had become too important to give up.

The only one who seemed to understand was Eddie, who had started tutoring to make a bit of extra cash on the same Fridays that Richie had D&D and as such was also subject to the ire of the group.

Eddie, however, had a far shorter fuse for these things than Richie did.

“Could you all just give Richie a fucking break?” he snapped one Thursday when Bill had complained about them never hanging out together anymore. “We’re in our junior year. Shit’s getting busy. You can’t accuse us of being shitty friends just because we’ve got other things going on. He’s trying his best and so am I, so back the fuck off.”

Richie had wanted to kiss him – even more so when he’d given him a shy glance afterwards to make sure he hadn’t overstepped.

Though honestly, there weren’t many times when Richie didn’t want to kiss him.

The Loser’s Club had backed off a bit after that, and it had become a routine for them to schedule their movie nights on the weeks where Richie and Eddie could make it. It had also become a routine for Eddie to come over to Richie’s place the day after the Fridays where they couldn’t hang out.

This Saturday was no different, apart from the fact that Eddie wasn’t quite himself. He’d sensed that something was wrong as soon as he opened the door, but when Eddie didn’t even fight him over which movie to watch, Richie knew for sure there was something up.

“Hey, are you okay, Eds?” asked Richie, setting down the VHS tape he was about to put on. “You seem a little down.”

“I’m fine,” said Eddie, but he chewed his bottom lip the way he always did when he was lying.

“No you’re not,” Richie replied, crossing the living room to sit next to him on the sofa. “It’s not your mom again is it?”

“No, not this time,” he replied, his face screwing up when he realised that he’d just admitted he wasn’t fine. “It’s really stupid.”

“If it’s making you this upset, it’s not stupid to me.”

Eddie looked up at him then and Richie’s heart jumped to his throat. He knew he was being reckless, that being this soft with Eddie would lead to him working it out, but he couldn’t imagine being snarky when Eddie looked so sad.

Eddie heaved a deep sigh.

“Okay, well, it’s my, uh, my babysitting.”

“You mean your tutoring?”

“Yeah, what did I say?” asked Eddie, eyes wide and cheeks flooding with colour.

“You said ‘babysitting’.”

“Fuck. Well, I meant tutoring.” He was looking down at his hands now, red-faced. “It, uh, it didn’t work out. I got let go.”

“Ah man, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Richie, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you maybe want to ditch the movie and go for ice-cream instead? You seem like you need sugar. My treat, since you’re broke now that you’ve lost your job.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Eddie replies, and though he rolls his eyes, he’s grinning. “You know me, I’d never say no to ice-cream.”

“Thought so,” laughed Richie.

Half an hour later, they were sitting on a patch of grass near the river, quietly eating their desserts. What he appreciated about hanging out with Eddie was that the silences between them were never awkward. He didn’t feel the need to fill the air with the sound of his voice, because it was always so comfortable between them. When Richie was with Eddie, he could just be.

“Thanks for this, Rich,” said Eddie, finishing up the last of his cone. “I needed it.”

“Anytime,” said Richie, lying back in the grass to look up at the sky now that he had finished his own. “Don’t stress about it though, alright? We can find you another kid to tutor.”

Eddie sighed and lay down next to Richie, propping himself up on his elbow to look at him.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually tutoring anyone.”

Richie frowned and propped himself up on his elbows too.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I lied about the tutoring because I didn’t want you or the rest of the Losers to know what I was really doing.”

“Okay, so what were you doing?” asked Richie. “Since you telling me the truth now obviously means that you want to let me in on the big secret.”

“You swear you won’t laugh?”

“Oh, my dear Spaghetti, I can promise you a great many things, but that is not one of them.” The crease in Eddie’s brow deepened. “But I can promise you that, depending on how serious this is, I will at least try not to laugh.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get from you. Fine. The truth is that instead of tutoring every second Friday like I told you, ivebeeninadungeonsanddragonsgroupwithsomeoftheavguysforthepastfewmonths.”

“Jesus Christ, Kaspbrak, slow your roll,” said Richie, turning to his side to face Eddie better. “Tell me again, but slowly.”

“I’ve been in a Dungeons and Dragons group with some of the AV guys for the past few months,” Eddie repeated, his face the reddest Richie had ever seen it. Richie had been fully prepared to laugh or at least suppress a laugh, but none came. He was too astounded to hear that Eddie played D&D to do anything except stare at him. “At least I was until Steve, you know the president of the AV club? He said that because Grant and Matt can’t sort out their shit, he’s dissolving our party. That’s why I was upset earlier. And, yeah, I get that probably makes me more of a fucking loser than the rest of the other Losers, but I was really enjoying it. I wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I do, but it’s been really fun. See I play this Bard who’s less of a musician and more of a stand-up comedian and I’m starting to get really good at getting into character. He’s so different to me and it was just nice to be able to stop being Eddie Kaspbrak for a few hours to be someone else, you know. And I just –“

Richie places a hand on Eddie’s arm and his words, which had been flying at a mile a minute a moment ago, suddenly falter.

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” he said, knowing he should probably take his hand back now that Eddie had calmed, but somehow not being able to work up the will to. “If you enjoy it, fuck the rest of them, right?”

And it was at that point that he totally meant to tell Eddie that he was doing the same thing with his Fridays – that the two of them had been keeping the same damn secret for half a year – but it was also at that point that he felt Eddie’s lips crash into his.

Richie’s brain shut down. Eddie, Eddie who he’d been in love with for years, was kissing him. Eddie was kissing him. But no sooner had his brain began whirring back to life than Eddie was pulling back with a look of horror.

“Oh my god, Richie, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m so fucking sorry I–“

“Hey, Eddie,” said Richie, smiling as he slid his hand from Eddie’s shoulder to his burning cheek. “Don’t be.”

And all thoughts of dungeons or dragons or the president of the AV club left his mind as he kissed Eddie, enjoying the taste of vanilla ice-cream on the lips he’d been dreaming about for so long, enjoying the way that Eddie’s fingers began tangling through his hair, enjoying his soft laugh as they pulled apart again, and especially enjoying the euphoria rising in him at the realisation that this meant that Eddie felt the same way. He was looking at Richie shyly through his long lashes the way he often did, but now he finally knew what that look meant.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, brushing back a tendril of soft dark hair that had flopped across Eddie’s forehead, “though I totally get the appeal of wanting to be someone else for a few hours, I happen to like Eddie Kaspbrak. Like, a lot.”

“He likes you too,” Eddie replied. “Like, a lot.”

There was no way he was changing trajectory now to tell Eddie his other secret. Not when Eddie was scooting closer to wrap his arms around him, not when the two of them were lying together watching the blue sky turn from orange to pink and eventually deep blue, both the happiest they had been in years.

He later realised of course – long after Eddie finally announced that he should head home, long after the hour it had taken them to finally move after this announcement, long after trying to bring it up during the car ride home, though being unable to find the moment to – that there was no longer a good time to tell Eddie that he also played D&D, not without an unnecessarily awkward conversation.

He had missed his window and now he hoped and prayed that another would miraculously show up.

–

The next two weeks were the best of Richie’s life so far. Though he and Eddie had both agreed to keep it quiet for the time being, there were so many stolen glances, and brushes of skin and kisses that the secret felt less like a burden and more like a covert and daring mission. So far it seemed that the Losers suspected nothing, to the point that they had even gotten away with holding hands the whole way through that week’s movie night without anyone noticing.

As the two of them lived the closest to each other, they spent every moment they could at each other’s houses (though mostly at Richie’s – his parents were far more prone to knocking than Mrs Kaspbrak was). Despite all the time that they spent together, however, Richie still hadn’t found a good way of telling Eddie that he was in a D&D party. He fully acknowledged how ridiculous his situation was – he couldn’t bring himself to say it, though he also couldn’t imagine that Eddie would be too upset if he just told him and it would mean that he could potentially invite him to join their party. Their party could do with a Bard. The rest of the drama kids were too focused on exploring the tragedy of their backstories and the idea of having Eddie’s quick wit and banter at the table was a glorious one.

There was just no good fucking way to bring it up.

It was getting to the point by Thursday evening where he found himself, for the first time ever, dreading the next session. He knew he had to tell him – he wasn’t going to give Eddie a sloppy excuse – but he was already curling into a ball at the embarrassing idea of not only having to admit to Eddie that he also played D&D, but also that, for whatever reason, he had felt too awkward to talk about it until then.

Thankfully, he was saved from having to do anything when a beaming Eddie stopped by Richie’s place on his way home.

“I can’t stay – my mom’s inviting people over tonight so I have to help her set up. I just wanted to let you know that I found another group that plays D&D and I’m starting with them tomorrow. I don’t even have to change my time slot.”

“That’s great,” Richie said, pulling Eddie into a hug just as the pager in his pocket started beeping.

“Shit, that’s my mom. We’re still on for Saturday, right?”

“Always.” Richie kissed Eddie on the cheek and when it looked like he was lingering at the hope of more, Richie laughed and nudged him out the door. “Go, you dork. The last thing we need is your mom not letting you come over anymore because she thinks I’m trying to kidnap you or some bullshit.”

“Miss you already,” said Eddie and though Richie vowed he would never, ever, be one of those couples, the sentiment made his stomach somersault.

“Miss you too,” said Richie, closing the door before he said anything more cliché and sappy than that.

Richie got to Will’s house early the next night to help set up the game table and set out chairs.

“Are you alright there?” his friend asked, giving him a curious look. “You’re kinda bouncy today.”

“I have ADHD – I’m always bouncy.”

“You know what I mean,” scoffed Will. “It’s like you have an extra spring in your step or something.”

For a brief moment, Eddie’s face popped into his head and Richie couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“I guess I’m just really looking forward to tonight’s session,” he replied and though Will still looked curious, he didn’t press the matter further.

“Oh shit, before I forget,” Will said, taking a tray of pizza rolls out the oven, “we have a new guy joining us tonight.”

It took every one of Richie’s spider-man reflexes not to drop the bowl of chips he was setting out.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, hoping his voice sounded casual and not like his blood was suddenly pounding in his ears.

“Yeah. Steve Himble from the AV club says that two of his players were giving him shit so he decided to just stop the game, but he’d invited this guy from his Biology class to join them and he feels shitty that he dissolved the party just as he was starting to really get into it. Apparently, he’s really good. He’s playing a Bard, so that should be fun.”

“Yeah,” Richie replied, not sure what else to say. Was it too late to fake being sick to avoid the situation that was rapidly hurtling towards him?

The crunch of tyres in the driveway answered that question for him.

When the rest of the party had arrived and there was no sign of Eddie, Richie began to hope against all hope that Eddie had chickened out or that he wasn’t going to show, but there was a damning knock at the door five minutes later. Eddie strolled into the room a moment later, as adorable as he always was, cheeks flushed because he was no doubt embarrassed to be the last to arrive.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as he strode towards the table. “I took a wrong turn and I got…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes locked with Richie’s and Richie, unsure of what else he could do to make the situation less awkward, waved at him.

“No worries, Eddie,” said Will. “We usually just talk bullshit for the first half an hour anyway. I take it you know Richie?”

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Eddie replied, pulling his eyes away from Richie to introduce himself to the rest of the party. When he took the seat next to Richie, Richie was certain that his heart was visibly thudding like in a Tex Avery cartoon.

“Sorry, Eds, I meant to tell you, but the moment passed on the first day and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up again without looking like a dumbass,” Richie whispered.

“The good news is that you don’t need to worry about looking like a dumbass,” Eddie replied under his breath as he set out his character sheet, notebook, and dice, “because you are one. And I’d be a lot madder at you if it wasn’t just such a fucking relief to see you here.”

He threaded his fingers through Richie’s under the table, and Richie beamed at him. The crisis had been averted.

Eddie was as good as Will said he was. It became instantly clear from the moment he opened his mouth that he was just what the party needed. His Bard was snarky, impulsive and had a witty comeback for almost everything. Richie had been right in his guess that they would role-play well together – their characters bantered back and forth seamlessly and it filled Richie with pride to see the rest of the party laughing at Eddie’s clever one-liners. It was also the best feeling in the world to glance over at the person he loved more than anyone else in the world and know that he was enjoying all of this as much as he was.

While in combat with several wyverns that had suddenly snuck up on the party, Eddie nudged Richie, pushing his notebook closer so that he could read what he had scribbled there.

Salvan is kinda based on you, just so you know.

Richie couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, despite the twenty points of damage Lucy’s character took just then. He scrawled his reply beneath Eddie’s message, the words curving up because of the angle he was writing at.

Pips is kinda based on you too.

Eddie gave him a confused look and began writing again.

An angry little gnome cleric? I don’t get it.

Richie raised an eyebrow at him.

Think about it, babe. You’re obsessed with making the people around you better – healing – and you hold a disproportionate amount of rage for someone so small.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at Richie after reading the note, but the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Fuck you so much, Tozier. ♡

Richie’s stomach flipped at the little heart next to his name, and he smiled softly to himself as he penned his reply.

Fuck you too, Kaspbrak. ♡♡

Eddie blushed, and Richie wondered how he had gotten so lucky. For the first time in years, he officially had no secrets.

Well, he mused as he took Eddie’s hand again under the table, at least not from him.

–

@faequill

#reddie #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #it movie #i finally wrote the thing #whoop whoop #long post

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catsbrak · 6 years

Text

and they were roommates.

(reddie, risqué content, internalized homophobia(?)) the roommate reddie AU that literally no one asked for! (based on a true reddit post!)

it turns out I don't have any problem with Eddie kissing guys if it's me he's kissing.

'Hey, reddit! got a bit of a question for ya. I’m a little stumped. see, I’ve always thought of myself as an accepting person. That’s why I didn’t care when my roommate, I’ll refer to him as Eddie, told me that he was gay. Or I thought I didn’t care.'

He and Eddie Kaspbrak had been roommates for three or four months now. When Eddie first told Richie that he was gay, he really didn’t care. He tried to be supportive, even. He considered himself a very accepting person, always had been. He hadn’t exactly been cool in high school - and thanks to that, he spent time with a lot of kids who didn’t quite fit in, for one reason or another. And being gay was something Eddie was mocked for, but it never bothered Richie at first. Sometimes, they even flirted a little. Eddie had told him it wasn’t unusual for him to flirt with a straight guy, so nothing about it was weird.

They played video games, they laughed, and Eddie was so witty. He had a comeback for everything. He also thought that Richie’s voices were funny, it was incredible. He even let out the adorable little giggle every time Richie would call him ‘Eddie Spaghetti’. Everything was just fine. Peachy, really. That is, up until the first night Richie came home to find Eddie sitting in some guys lap on the couch. His instantaneous reaction was disgust.

“I thought you’d be out longer!” Eddie insisted, and Richie felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach. “I’m really sorry, Rich.”

"It’s fine. I just didn’t expect to walk in and see you all– tongue down your throat on the couch!” Richie said in exasperation, and it caused both of them to blush and look away from one another.

'I don’t know how to describe what it was like walking in on them, all I could think was that I was going to be sick. Eddie was embarrassed but I tried to tell him it was okay, that I was just embarrassed too. Because there was NO good reason for me to have that sort of reaction.’

Richie had convinced himself that it was because he’d been so shocked to see it. He’d just never seen something like that. That heavy, and between two men. He didn’t want to think it was because he could be grossed out. But after a couple more incidents, walking in on Eddie and a few different guys throughout the weeks, Richie was completely on edge. It made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen when he wasn’t here. What those guys were doing to Eddie, and what he might be doing to them. It made him anxious and ill. One such occasion he came home just as some guy was parading around without a shirt on.

They briefly made eye contact, and Richie felt his grip tighten on the door handle. “Hey Rich,” Eddie called from the kitchen area, where he stood sipping coffee, the stranger’s oversized shirt on him and hanging off of one shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. His eyes flickered back to the other man.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving?” He asked, in an unusually snippy tone, and the man laughed, before realizing Richie was serious. “I’m home. That’s usually the cue for fuckbuddies to fuck off." He said, and he wasn’t looking at him, but he practically heard Eddie’s jaw drop. The man simply put his hands up in defense, slipping his shoes on, as well as his coat. Eddie moved to put his coffee down and tug at the shirt, but the man - who was still just a stranger to Richie - replied 'keep it’, before going out the door.

"Good riddance,” Richie called after him as he slammed it behind him, and threw his bag down on the couch, flopping down beside it.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Eddie said, and finally Richie looked at him in time to see the absolute fire in his eyes; if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. “Why did you do that? I liked him. He’s never going to come back here after you behaved like that- like you’re my father.” Eddie said, and Richie cringed at such a comparison. He didn’t know why but it struck him in a way he really didn’t like.

“It’s my dorm too, Eds. When I come in, I shouldn’t have to see that.”

“You mean like I had to see your little 'friends with benefits’ thing with that girl? What was her name? Beverly..? I didn’t give you any shit for it.” Eddie didn’t think it was fair, starting to get worked up as his breathing got heavier. Richie felt bad. He glanced around quickly to find his roommate’s inhaler on the coffee table, just in case, and handed it to him. Eddie’s expression softened at the gesture.

“Look, Eds.”

"Please stop calling me that.”

“Eddie, then, I’m sorry. I’ve had a really long day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but you’re right. I’m being an asshole.”

Eddie just scoffed in reply, “I’m going over to Bill’s. I’m so fucking upset at you right now,” he leaned over where Richie’s legs were sprawled out, shoes on the table, (something Eddie hated, which was the reason he chose to do it) to grab his sweater from the arm of the couch. Richie’s eyes only left the exposed skin of the other’s shoulder when the shirt Eddie was wearing rode up to reveal a small strip of waist. The smaller of the two looked back in time for them to lock gazes. “And you won’t care if I go have sex with him at his place, right?” He asked in a way that made Richie’s stomach drop, “Just so long as I don’t do it here?”

“It’s not my business what you do at someone else’s place, Eds.” Richie swallowed as he looked away. Just thinking of Eddie going somewhere else to fuck some guy made him feel like he was going to be sick.

"It's Eddie." The door slammed behind him.

'I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been homophobic, but for whatever fucked up reason, I’m being totally homophobic and shitty to my roommate. Is it because I’m okay with gay people but not living with them? What gives? Any advice would be great. I’m at a fucking loss here, and if I can’t figure it out I’ve decided the best option is to switch rooms. I don’t want to hurt Eddie more than I have already. Thanks!'

The moment Richie hit send, he was filled with regret. Would people find him hateful? Would they tell him to find a new roommate immediately..? Eddie deserved so much better, and he knew that. Not some homophobic creep. People online would agree. He felt nauseated again as he rose from his desk, but the pinging of a message brought him back. Already? He was cautious when he checked the message.

'are you sure that weird feeling isn’t jealousy..? I mean this only seems to revolve around Eddie specifically.’

He stared at the message in confusion. Jealousy? Not possible.

"Not sure what I’m meant to be jealous of. Sure he has a more active sex life than I do, but freaking out over that would just be irr-ation-al." He muttered what he was typing in the reply aloud to himself. Once he had hit send, he tapped his fingers on his desk loudly, knee bouncing a bit. Jealous. Huh.

Richie left the post up and decided to talk to Beverly about the situation. As previously complained about by Eddie, the two of them had tried the whole 'being together' thing at one point. It became clear very quickly that they were meant to just be friends.

'So I read some of your comments, and I talked to my best friend about the whole thing. She agrees with everything you've said, and has called me an oblivious walnut.'

"You oblivious walnut," Beverly pushed Richie in the arm, having just finished reading the original post he put together, "you're actually just joking, right? Rich, you're in love with him. And he's in love with you too."

"What?" Richie wasn't sure he heard that correctly. "How?"

"Here you mentioned how when you told him you didn't care who he slept with, he got even more upset. Also," she glanced back at him over her shoulder, "why would he bring up you and I? Sounds like he's been trying to make you jealous, Richie." She smirked, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose as he tried to think about just how plausible this all really was. It still didn't make sense. Even well after Beverly had gone he was just pacing and scratching his head.

'I spent a few days sitting on my ass trying to think about how to rationalize this to myself, or worse, to Eddie. It could really ruin our friendship. And if I didn't say anything and he got a boyfriend, I didn't think I could handle it. So I told him. During a Tarantino marathon we had - because nothing says romance like graphic violence, am I right?'

Richie drummed his fingers on his thigh as the diner scene from 'Pulp Fiction' played on their shared tv in the dorm room. Eddie sat beside him, his knees pulled up on the couch; and while his interest was in the movie, Richie couldn't keep himself from glancing over at him repeatedly. It had been three days since his realisation, and he didn't know that he could keep his mouth shut that much longer. Or any longer at all. In fact he felt like he was going to explode holding in the information.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah, Rich?" His eyes didn't leave the movie, and Richie fidgeted a bit as he turned his body toward him on the couch.

"I'm sorry for being such a dick lately." He told him, and finally Eddie looked at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Let me finish," Richie continued, already foreseeing the sassy remark on his roommate's tongue, "I was acting that way because I... I'm jealous." He finally admitted, letting out a nervous chuckle. Eddie watched him carefully, tilting his head.

"Like you would have trouble finding people to sleep with, Rich," he replied, giving him a smile that didn't appear to reach his eyes. Richie shook his head.

"No, Eds, I'm trying to say that... oh, shit." Richie muttered, voice shaking a little with anxiety. Eddie could sense this, and his smile faded as he focused on him. "I'm not jealous of you. I'm jealous of the boys you bring home."

'We had a loooong talk. Eddie revealed that his flirting had always been real. But he never imagined it would go anywhere, because I was just the oblivious "straight" guy. He got a real kick out of the fact that I had mistaken jealousy for homophobia. He laughed quite a bit. Man, his laugh is cute.'

"How the hell can someone be jealous for that long without even knowing they're jealous?" Eddie teased, and Richie let out a laugh.

"Denial..? Stupidity, maybe?" He offered up in suggestion, and Eddie giggled again, a sound that was music to Richie's ears. They laughed for a good few moments, but when finally it died down, they were left staring at each other in silence.

"You think we should.. kiss?" Richie finally asked, to which Eddie looked away almost bashfully - and Richie realised he had never seen him so open and vulnerable before. He had a usual sort of confidence around him that impressed Richie; but he was curious about what else there could be, too. It was like meeting him again for the first time.

'So we kissed and... to be honest, I've sort of never stopped wanting to kiss him since. We've gone on dates. It's so different now, though, going to all of our favourite places but with new context. And the kissing- did I mention the kissing? Yowza! Even last night when he almost burned dinner, because he just had to kiss me, I mean, I can't keep his hands off of-'

Richie stopped typing to laugh as his boyfriend was batting at his arm.

"You were the one who pulled me away from the stove!" Eddie giggled beside him, and Richie feigned offense.

"Excuse me, this is my story, Edward." He told him, expression serious as he moved his hand over his heart, "And I won't have you lying to all of these fine people."

"Alright, jackass, but when you're ready to really continue the story, I'll be in your bed." He smirked as he stood, and Richie glanced at him for a moment, before snickering and looking back to the laptop. "... Naked." Eddie added when he didn't get the response he wanted, before disappearing from the living room space.

"Oh shit," Richie breathed.

'okay WELP, I'm cutting this short. Thank you guys for all your help! In conclusion... plot twist! It turns out I don't have any problem with Eddie kissing guys if it's me he's kissing.'

With that, Richie hit send, and slammed the laptop shut; already pulling his shirt off as he dove onto his bed beside his giggling Eddie Spaghetti.

#reddie #mine #fic #myfic

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buzzedbabe · 6 years

Text

Before I Dive... Chapter 24

“Is there a reason you bought the entire produce section at Sainsbury’s?” Richard asked on his third trip up the stairs with bags of groceries.

“You mean other than you taking your breakfast and feeding your co-stars yesterday?” Amy commented as she unpacked the bags. “You remember the picture you sent pouting with the empty container?”

“I didn’t realize they were my breakfast for the week,” he called from the stairway. He kicked the door closed as he brought in the last of the bags. “They were really good. I thought the others would enjoy them too.”

“I guess I should have been more specific,” she sighed, separating out cans of tomatoes from the fresh vegetables. “And I had to buy the stuff for spaghetti sauce. So yes, I made a new friend in the produce manager, but at Waitrose.”

“You know you don’t have to make me breakfast,” he said, putting away the vegetables in the crisper drawer. “We have caterers on the set.”

Amy handed him cartons of eggs to put away. “You don’t want me to?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying you don’t have to.”

Amy sighed as Richard’s arms wrapped around her waist. She wrapped her arms over his, leaning back against him.

“I want to. I can take care of you that way. It sounds stupid but I want to be able to do that,” she whispered.

Richard turned her in his arms. He lifted her chin when she wouldn’t look at him.

“I love that you want to take care of me,” he said. “I really do. But please don’t stress yourself out cooking breakfast for the entire cast and crew. What if we limit it to Jed and Kee?”

“Three people sounds more manageable,” she agreed quietly.

“Then they'd like a bit more veg if you could. Not that the ham and cheese cups weren't delicious.”

Amy laughed. “Oh really? I see how it is.”

“You see how it is, huh?” he asked as she turned back around. He pinned her to the counter with his body, kissing her neck. He felt Amy soften under him, turning her head back toward him.

“It will be hard to make your breakfast if you keep distracting me,” she whispered as he continued up her neck. “Then again,” she moaned, “the egg cups don’t really take that long to make.”

“And I might help you,” he whispered in her ear before gently biting the lobe.

“You will help me,” she said turning. Her lips brushed his as she locked her arms around his neck. “Because we still have to clean for tomorrow. And you get to clean the loo. And it needs to shine like the top of the Chrysler building.”

Amy laughed as Richard pouted, then squealed when he threw her over his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom.

“Richard, are you sure it's okay we're early?”

“Yes Mum,” he said, leading his parents up the stairs. “It is my flat.” He heard loud music coming from inside as he unlocked the door.

“If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.”

He tried to hide his grin as he watched Amy dancing around, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. She didn't notice Richard and his parents come in, setting the table while her top knot bounced along with the music.

“Make it last forever cuz friendship never ends.”

Amy looked up at Richard's mother's chuckle. “Shit! You're early!” she gasped. She took off for the bedroom, freezing as the timer on the oven off. “Shit! Dessert!”

“Go,” Richard laughed, pushing her back to the bedroom. “It's my fault. I tried calling. Now I know why you didn't answer.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing his mother grab the oven mitts off the counter. “And it looks like Mum's taking care of dessert.” He followed her into the bedroom, cupping her face and kissing her. “You are so cute, I can hardly stand it.”

She smiled before pushing him out of the room. “Pasta. Now,” she laughed as he kissed her again, smacking him on the butt as he left.

His parents watched as he came back out and moved into the kitchen, taking a pot out and filling it with water.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled. “I guess we surprised her.” Richard glanced over at his parents who were looking at each other and back at him. “What?” he asked, putting the pot on to boil before stirring the pot of sauce next to it.

They all turned as Amy hurried out of the bedroom to the bathroom.

“I'll just be a minute,” she said before closing the door. “Richard, can you please switch to my classical playlist?” she yelled through the door.

His parents watched as he strolled over to her phone on the coffee table and tapped it a few times, turning off the Spice Girls for something more soothing.

“He's happy,” Richard's mom whispered to his dad. “Are you noticing…”

“I see it,” his dad replied.

“I'm also not deaf,” Richard said.

“But it's diff…” She trailed off as Amy came out of the bathroom.

“Mr. and Mrs. Madden, it's a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said, coming over to shake their hands.

In the few minutes Amy had been gone, she had changed into a simple turquoise wrap dress that brushed her knees and let her hair down in loose waves. She'd skipped putting on makeup, not wanting to keep Richard’s parents waiting.

“Please, call me Dick,” Richard's dad said, shaking her hand.

“And I'm Pat,” his mom said, doing the same.

“May I offer you something to drink? Water? Some wine?” she asked, motioning for them to both sit back down at the table.

Both of Richard’s parents nodded as Richard grabbed the bottle of wine on the counter. They watched as Amy poured pasta into the boiling water and Richard reached around her for the corkscrew out of a drawer.

“So, Amy, how did you and Richard meet?” Pat asked as she happily noticed the smile never leaving her son's face as he uncorked the wine.

“We met at a coffee shop. I will admit, I thought he just needed the chair from my table. But he sat down and we started talking. Pretty soon, I had daily company for my afternoon coffee,” Amy said, stirring the sauce.

“And then, one afternoon, she asked me out,” he added.

“Yes, but it took me almost 2 months to work up the courage. And then you wouldn't let me pay even though I asked you out,” she teased, pinching his side.

“And I haven't let you pay yet,” he said, bringing his parents their glasses of wine.

“And were you aware of Richard's profession when you met?” Dick asked, taking his glass with a nod to Richard.

“Actually, no,” Amy said as she strained the pasta, blushing. “Not until the morning of our first date. Imagine my surprise when I stop for a few groceries and see his face plastered on the front of the Telegraph.”

She motioned his parents over to serve themselves at the stove before bringing a basket of bread over to the table. She waited until last to serve herself, then sat down next to Richard.

“It looks delicious,” Pat said, setting her napkin in her lap.

“Thank you. It's my family recipe,” Amy said, passing the basket of bread to Dick.

“Oh, are you Italian?” Dick asked.

“Nope,” Amy chuckled. “I wish I was though. Probably why I love this recipe so much. I think my grandma said my grandpa learned this recipe from the guys at the firehouse. He was a firefighter for over...gosh...40 years?”

“My dad was a member of the fire brigade. Did I ever tell you that?” Richard pointed out.

“I was always so proud of my grandpa. Even took him to show and tell once with all of his fire chief gear. Thought I was the absolute coolest.”

They all chuckled as they started eating. Amy smiled as Richard gently squeezed her leg.

“So why is it that Richard tells us you’ve only been together for a few months when it sounds like you’ve known each other for much longer?” Pat asked between bites.

Amy’s face fell a little as she remembered the night almost a year ago when her mother had frantically called her about bringing her father to the hospital, needing her to come home.

Richard reached over and took her hand. “Amy’s father took ill and she had to fly back to Chicago,” he said. “She’s only managed to come back to London a few months ago.”

“Yes, my dad ended up in the hospital. He’s doing much better now,” Amy added, answering the questioning look on Pat’s face. “But Richard and I kept in touch the whole time I was at home. And I began falling for him even then.”

Richard smiled at her, kissing her hand. “Me too. Little did I know, this one and Lily had also become good friends during that time. And that they worked out a plan for Amy to move to London. Amy was my birthday present this year.”

“I’m also going to school here,” Amy interjected quickly, not wanting Pat and Dick assuming she'd moved just for Richard. “For my Master’s degree in creative writing.”

“Seems half the time I see her, she's scratching away in a notebook or typing on her laptop,” he said, smiling at her.

“Hey, not all of us have such glamorous day jobs,” she teased, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Richard looked over at his parents, who were both quietly eating, but with grins on their faces. He glanced back over to see Amy blushing as she twirled pasta onto her fork, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

After Amy hugged his parents goodbye, he escorted them down the stairs to wait for the car he had called.

“So?” Richard asked, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

“So?” Dick said.

“So?” Pat echoed.

Richard laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to make me ask.”

“Ask what?” Dick said, smirking.

Richard took a long drag off the cigarette, shaking his head with a matching smirk.

“Ask when you’ll quit those?” Pat asked.

Richard put out the cigarette on the brick wall, exhaling away from his parents. “What did you think of her?” he asked.

“She’s lovely,” Dick said. “A good cook. Sweet girl.”

Richard turned to his mother, knowing she would give the answer he was looking for. She reached up and patted his cheek.

“This smile hasn’t left your face all evening,” she said, smiling.

“Earlier you said something about me being happy,” Richard said as the car pulled up. “What did you mean?”

Dick walked over and opened the car door for his wife.

“I think this is more than you being in love,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You’re just you. You know you can be yourself around Amy because she fell for you long before she knew you were famous. You're...content.”

Richard smiled, kissing his mother on the cheek. She hugged him before moving to get in the car.

“Please tell Amy again that dinner was lovely,” Pat said. “And I expect an email with that apple crisp recipe.”

“I will,” Richard said, closing the car door and tapping the roof of the car. He realized the smile was still plastered on his face as he headed back up to the flat. He locked up, turning to look for Amy.

“I’m out here,” she called from the balcony.

He grabbed his glass of wine off the table before heading out to join her. She had curled up in one of the chairs with her wine, a blanket around her shoulders. She smiled as he leaned down to kiss her. He sat down next to her, taking a sip of his wine. Her hand reached out to take his, sitting in silence, enjoying the brisk fall evening.

“I think that went well,” she said after taking a drink.

“Aye. My parents reminded me to compliment you on your dancing,” he joked, knowing her cheeks bloomed in the dark. “Spice Girls?”

“It’s good cleaning music!” Amy protested, turning to face him.

“I’ll take your word on that,” he chuckled, setting down his wine. “It really took you 2 months to ask me out?”

Her cheeks almost glowed in the dark they were so hot. She stood up and came to sit in his lap. Her arm wrapped around his neck, her fingers toying with his curls.

“Yes,” she said. “I was a bit intimidated to be honest.”

“Intimidated?” he said. “How am I intimidating?”

“It’s not that you’re intimidating. I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we had built,” she said, leaning her forehead on his.

His arms wrapped around her waist. Her fingers continued playing with his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask what they thought?” he said.

“Can I make a confession?” she asked. She felt him nod. “I could hear you up here.” She squealed as he tickled her side. “But all joking aside, is what your mum said true? Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Content?” she whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her again, hands reaching up to cup her face. Her fingers tangled with his curls as he deepened the kiss. When he finally leaned back, she took a minute to catch her breath.

“Gotcha,” she whispered, making him laugh.

His brow furrowed when she froze. “What?” he questioned.

“I just met your parents,” she whispered. “Oh my god.”

“You're just now realizing that?” he laughed.

“That's a big step, like two steps from marriage,” she gulped.

“What are the other two steps?” he asked, confused.

Amy blushed. “Moving in together and sex,” she uttered so quietly, Richard leaned his head closer to hers to listen.

“Aye. Those are big steps,” he teased.

“Did...did they like me?” she asked, looking at him hopefully.

He shifted when his phone vibrated. He chuckled as he read the text, turning his phone to show Amy the screen.

“Reminder to ask Amy for apple crisp recipe. You'll bring her for Xmas? I think Cara and Elle would love her,” Amy slowly read the text from Pat. “Oh God! Meeting your family?” she squeaked, burying her head under the blanket.

“Three steps then,” he laughed, kissing her head through the blanket. “And I agree. My sisters will love you too.”

“Well, I’m glad to know that. I hope they don’t mind if I stay under this blanket the whole time,” she giggled as he tried to climb under with her.

“Only if I can meet your family under this same blanket,” he replied when finally got his head under. “My niece and nephews might think it's a game. But you've done the hard bit, meeting my parents. I get to meet your entire family Christmas. Your parents, grandparents…”

“Grandma. I only have one left,” she interrupted.

“Your gran then, cousins, parents, nieces, parents, nephews, parents,” he rambled.

“You’ve met my sisters. Or did you forget already?” Amy laughed, kissing him. “And I told you that you're not paying for me to fly home.”

“Oh, I am though. It's a present,” he countered.

“I can't afford presents like that,” she frowned.

"Fine. We can start a payment plan,” he joked. He kissed her sweetly, cupping her face. “There’s your first payment. 999 installments to go.”

Amy laughed, pulling the blanket off their heads and wrapping it around both of them.

“So Lily is having a get together for Matt at The Box on the 27th,” she said, snuggling into Richard's arms. “I didn't realize I was 4 days older than Matt. I really am the old fart of the group.”

“You're not old,” he soothed. “Just more experienced.”

She scoffed, “I'm not even that.”

“Well then, The Box will be a real treat for you,” he chuckled. “What are we doing for your birthday?”

“Lily says karaoke party on the 28th.”

“But nothing the day of?” he asked.

“Just classes. Otherwise, I've got nothing.”

He squeezed her. “I'll make dinner. We'll just stay in since we'll be busy the following weekend.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she smiled as they settled in together.

Amy browsed the racks at the thrift store, growing more and more frustrated. Rocio hugged her from behind, holding down Amy's arms so she didn't knock over the rack.

“Hermana, is just a dress,” Rocio soothed.

“That I still can't afford. Oh and did I mention I have no idea what passes as acceptable to wear to The Box? And that Lily has decided we should all wear 80s clothes for my party? My credit cards are groaning in my purse,” Amy complained as Lily came back over.

“Oh stop. I'm buying and you know that,” Lily said, handing Amy a handful of different dresses.

“And I said I'm not letting you. I'm not some charity case,” Amy whispered, tearing up.

“I know that,” Lily countered. “And I'm not trying to make you feel that way. Part of your present?”

Amy nodded, wiping her eyes. “Things are just more expensive over here than I imagined. I need to find a job. A high-paying one, preferably. Do you think I could be a call girl?”

Lily slapped Amy's arm playfully. “No. And Richard wouldn't allow it.”

“Why don't you ask Richard for help?” Rocio gulped as Amy stared daggers at her. “What? I'm sure he would.”

“I'm not in this relationship for his money,” Amy gritted out.

“Hermana, I know that.”

“I'm not about to ask him for money I know I won't be able to pay back,” she continued, going into the fitting room. “I just need a job.”

“You need to be careful with your visa,” Lily said, continuing to browse the racks. “If you're here on a student visa, I think you can only work so much.”

“Great. And I bet that's like 5 hours a month. Lily, what the hell is this?”

Amy opened the curtain, revealing the short blue satin dress with puffy sleeves bigger than her head. Lily and Rocio giggled as Amy turned her head.

“I wouldn't be able to cross the street safely in this,” Amy complained. “Dear God, I never wore anything like this. I'm not that old.”

“You'd be fine crossing the street,” Lily laughed, “because you'd stop traffic.”

“Next,” Amy said, closing the curtain.

She handed out a bunch of prom dresses, waving them about until Rocio took them.

“Less prom, more Madonna,” Amy said from behind the curtain.

“Didn't you have to have enough money to live when you applied for your visa?” Lily asked, pulling out some more modern dresses for Amy. “Here, try these for Matt's party.”

“Yes, I had to prove income, but that didn't account for cell phone bills, books, how much I'd spend on my Oyster card and taxis, that emergency new cord for my laptop, going out with a bunch of celebrities, groceries for 2,” Amy listed.

“I'm paying you back for groceries,” Lily countered.

“He's not,” Amy mumbled.

“What?” Rocio yelled. “Hermana! You need to talk to him.”

“How do you have that conversation?” Amy asked, coming out in a red knee-length sleeveless wrap dress, holding the neck closed.

“Babe, I need grocery money,” Lily teased. “Pony up.”

Amy rolled her eyes at the blonde as Lily moved Amy’s hands, adjusting the neckline and stepping back.

“My bra is showing,” Amy argued, trying to cover up.

“Darling, this is tame for The Box,” Lily chuckled, pulling the front edge of the wrap open slightly. “Yes. A sparkly bra, some stilettos, and you're set.”

Amy turned to look in the mirror, Lily coming behind her and piling her hair on top of her head. Rocio giggled as she moved next to Lily and squished Amy’s boobs up to have massive cleavage. The three women laughed as Amy eased Ro’s grip slightly, cocking her head.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Now, make me a material girl. A material, ma-material, ma-material girl.”

“I thought you were ‘Like a Virgin’,” Rocio laughed.

Amy cracked up as Lily sang, “Touched for the very first time. Like a virgin.”

Lily ducked as Amy threw a shirt at her, looking guilty as the trio received dirty looks from the store employee.

Richard came in, smiling when he saw Amy engrossed in something on her laptop. She bit the edge of her index finger, her other hand scrolling down a webpage. He set down his bag and came and sat next to her.

“Guy Fawkes?” he asked, reading the screen. “Looking up stuff on Kit’s miniseries?”

“What? No,” she replied, coming out of her trance. “Lily was trying to explain Bonfire Night to me.”

“Oh ok,” he said nodding. “Kit has a miniseries about this coming out that weekend on HBO. Apparently one of his ancestors came up with the plot, but Guy Fawkes became the figurehead.”

Amy stared at the screen. Richard reached over and turned her head.

“What is it?” he asked. “You look troubled.”

“I am troubled,” she whispered. “I had no idea this happened.”

“Babe, it was over 400 years ago.”

“It's part of my history and I had no idea.”

“Amy, what are you talking about? Are you related to Kit?”

“No. But I am Catholic.”

“I'm not understanding.”

“It’s like being a Jew and only knowing something called the holocaust happened,” she whispered. “I knew about Bloody Mary and whatever. The fight over which religion England would have. But I had no idea the extent Catholics were persecuted here.”

Richard pulled Amy into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “You are the sweetest, most loving, big-hearted person I know.”

Amy tried to pull away. “You're picking on me.”

Richard held tight. “I'm not. You probably cry at those animal rescue commercials.”

“No I don't,” she muttered. “I turn them off so I don't have the chance to.”

Richard laughed, kissing her forehead. “Like I said, big hearted. No bonfires for you, I suppose.”

“No. Don't want to accidentally get pushed in on purpose.”

Amy looked over Richard's face as he laughed, loving the way his eyes danced and the skin scrunched up. She cupped his cheek, running her thumb over the ridges.

“Thanks for caring for a silly girl like me.”

“You're not silly,” he replied. “Crazy American, yes. Silly, well...maybe a little.” He caught Amy's wrist as she went to playfully smack him, kissing her fingers. “You make it easy to care for you.”

“Same,” Amy said, snuggling into his arms.

She bit her lip. She'd almost said “loving a silly girl like me”, but had no idea if it was appropriate or how Richard would react. Were they there yet? Did she love him? Did he love her?

She relaxed as she felt his lips at her hairline, listening to him reminisce about Bonfire Night. She knew in her heart they were in no rush. They'd already made it down a crooked path to end up in each other’s arms. Wherever the road continued, they were together.

#before i dive #Before I Dive ff #Richard Madden #lily james

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mygiantesslove · 6 years

Text

Mother & Son: Underfoot by Azra

Chapter 17

In a beautiful part of the world, in a homely Japanese inn beside a famous hot spring, a large beautiful woman slept between fine silk sheets, her face, as regal as an empress', adorned with a blissful, silent smile. Underneath her, unconscious from the heat of her mighty body and with his face wedged securely up his mother's backside, her son dreamt of the week just past.

The commercial was a mess. At least, it was from Phil's perspective. He had assumed Madame Harukawa had offered them a vacation in Japan with no string's attached, but of course, that had dovetailed into "optionally" shooting a big set of adverts for his mom's joint-marketing push in Tokyo, and when it came to business that was never an option.

It was a series of short vignettes centering around Phil getting completely dominated against his will by his mother, with shots like him getting dragged away by her foot as her toes latched onto his head or shoulders, or him swimming up from deep underwater only to find the plump, breath-stealing ass of his mom ready for his face as he broke the surface.

They took care to illustrate the inevitability of his mom's superiority over him, framing it as "fate" or "destiny". One commercial depicted him as a tortured, brilliant artist, struggling to climb the "mountain" of his torment with his bare hands only to find his angelic muse (his mother, dyed blonde with angel-wings) falling laughing from the sky butt-first, impacting his face and knocking him off the mountaintop and back down to earth. Another showed him trying to run away from something in tears, only for his mother to slurp him up like a string of spaghetti, winking at the camera as she caught his face between her lips for the money shot. There'd be one where they were dressed for a dinner ball and he was smoothly chatting up a beautiful Japanese girl, only for his mother to realize this and with a raised eyebrow yank a leash that was revealed to be around his neck and pull his face into her crack as the girl laughed.

Yet another had him running a race barefoot along a beach in record time, only for him to be crushed by some unknown shape and blackout at the finishing line and the scene to switch to his voluptuous mom, who has now completed the same race half a minute quicker. She would then smile in victory and raise her almost-barefoot, revealing she'd been running on her shrunken son who had been strapped to her foot the entire race. He'd be a wrestling champ, fresh off a title win, only for a massive, purple toe-nailed foot to come down from above and squash him, and a zoom out to show his mom taking his title. They were all played half for laughs, but they were also partly going for a serious and forthright tone. The femdom angle was obvious, and the mother-son element was reinforced at the start and end of every clip as a choir of energetic girls would scream "Son Life?!" and then "No! Mother Life!" as his mom made her sudden impact. He didn't get that, but then he supposed it wasn't for him.

The end of the ad would feature him acting as a throne for his mom, now clad in spikey leathers and a glittery silver tiara. She had a catchphrase to say at this point but he never heard it as the role always necessitated his face being between her butt-cheeks, but he did know that when she stood up he had to repeat the name of the station as loudly as he could (despite being buried in bum) and then give a hearty thumbs up with her as the commercial ended. This was quite awkward, as when his mom stood up the part of the leather outfit that strapped his face into her butt-crack would pull taught as she raised her arm for the thumbs-up, causing him to stumble more than once, much to everyone's mild amusement.

Eventually, at last, they got it right, with both mother and son giving the line and salute at the same time with him on his knees and her standing with her ass in his face, and they could finally, he thought, get on with the remainder of their vacation. He was so embarrassed that briefly, just for a moment, all he wanted was for his mom to push his body up between her buttocks, his face into her anus and just hide him there forever, away from the rest of the world.

However, this feeling passed quickly enough that when his mother asked him to sit beside her in the taxi he was relieved not to be finding his head a cushion for her bottom once again. She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, her face glowing with maternal pride.

"I'm so proud of you sweetie, my little acting star." She beamed. "Did you enjoy yourself today? I found this acting thing very easy personally, most of the scenes we shot today came very naturally to me."

She raised one plump leg off the floor with a grin and left it dangling there between them. Catching a wink of her eye he removed the strap from her shoe and then place it on the ground as she slowly moved her foot towards his face, letting the aroma waft around him.

"It felt very ... true to character..." He admitted, suddenly transfixed.

"It did, didn't!" She agreed happily. "Did you enjoy having mommy's bum on top of you in front of lots of sexy Japanese girls? Did you enjoy their nubile young bodies moving to follow you, only for you to be smothered under my big, smelly feet?" Her soft sole pressed against his face now, and his eyes rolled up as she began rubbing it up and down, caressing him with her skin. She laughed as she caught his nose between her big and middle toes and he visibly shook as the earthy stench, leather and sweat, entered him point-blank.

"Lick?" She commanded quietly. He did with a large exhale, as his tongue snaked out and caressed her salty, soft, occasionally calloused skin. She cooed appreciatively, never taking her eyes off his face, framed as it was from her perspective as if her foot was resting on top of it. She arched a heel and pressed her biggest toe firmly against his lips.

"Suck." She commanded, considerably more smugly. She pushed insistently and his lips yielded, allowing her plump and fragrant foot into his mouth. His brain almost seemed shut down know, she smiled; his eyes were white and his expression pale, and the only movement from his body came from his sudden shaking and drooling at the mouth. She raised her phone and took a picture.

She decided to let him massage her toes with his tongue until they got back to the hotel, she was sure she'd have something else by then. She smiled and rubbed her other foot against his groin where despite himself his member stood at full mast and pressing hard against his pants. She had heard, translated though it was, that he had born it all shoot long.

The door shut with a solid click, and Phil ushered his giggling companion in, heart all a-flutter. His hands around her waist, he led Naoko into their hotel room the studio had arranged. Never having any luck with girls before, Phil was thrilled to find cute, giggling Naoko eating ramen at one of the touristy-traps down in Shibuya-cho. She could speak broken English but understand it perfectly, and she was intensely interested in a cute foreign boy like Phil! He hazarded she was a few years younger than him as he cheekily groped at her perky chest (getting slapped playfully for his efforts) and braided her hair into pigtails to exacerbate the look of a schoolgirl, complete with bright pink schoolbag and pleated short-skirt. He took her hand, and he was walking on air. After a few hours of her leading him around downtown he invited her back to the hotel so he could change before finding a place for dinner, and here they were.

"I hope you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I just feel so uncool next to you in my dorky shorts and tee." He laughed. She giggled and shook her head in response. "Do I look like I mind?" And then with the pristine delicacy of a butterfly alighting on a petal, she pressed her lips against his and gave him his first kiss.

He breathed out.

"That ... was amazing." He said, trying hard not to gasp for air. Naoko giggled and teasingly drew his hands lightly down her slim young hips as the light flicked on and -

"Oh. Philip. And who's this you've brought back with you?"

His mom was sat on the leather sofa with a glass of full red wine on the table and a Japanese phrasebook in her hand. In contrast to Naoko, she was dressed aggressively, in a low-cut black figure-hugging tee and leather mini-skirt that came down to mid-thigh. Her legs were covered in tan pantyhose, and she wore dark pumps on her feet. Her mature face was covered in make-up, rouge, mascara, eyeliner and deep ruby-red lipstick, her hair was trussed up and dyed blonde in indifference to the dark-haired masses of Tokyo and she wore two large gold rings on her ears. Phil's breath quickened as her thunder-thighs unfurled and came to rest just a head's width apart.

"Hi. Mom. Hi!" He said, shocked. "I didn't think you'd be back yet! This is Naoko and we just met today!"

"Oh?" She said rising, and Naoko saw she was much taller than she had suspected. The maternal bbw stalked behind her son and placed a hand possessively on his chest, heaving her buxom cleavage onto his shoulders. "And just what does Miss Naoko-chan want with my son, hmm?"

Naoko was blushing pale almost as much as Phil was red. She quickly looked away from the lady's jiggling bosom around her paramour's face and said "I - I take him out for dinner! Show him sites of Tokyo! I live here a long time and know all the great place to eat!"

"Yes and I've just remembered I don't really mind what I'm wearing right now so we're just going to be going right ahead and l-"

"Oh Phil you can't possibly leave just yet," Mrs. Metzger said, her eyes flashing, "not when I'm feeling so gassy."

Phil went white. "Oh. Uh. I guess not, mom."

"Excellent!" She replied, a wide smile splitting her face as she strode over to the sofa. Naoko felt very confused.

"Um, gassy? What is?"

Phil turned on a wirey smile and looked sheepish. "It's just this thing me and mom do, it's no big deal. I just smell her farts and kiss her butt a bit, you know, it's nothing." He said, sweating.

"Farts?" Naoko repeated. "Butt?"

"C'mere Phil sweetie." His mom interrupted, curling a finger at him as she produced that little decanter from between her plump bosom. Assuring his newly minted girlfriend Phil hurried over and drank a single drop from the little bottle. Obediently, he then knelt down on his knees and braced his back. Debra giggled. "Oh, somebody can't wait for his mom to sit on his face!" She said, laughing expectantly at Naoko as if it was a joke between old friends.

Naoko then watched as the lady turned around and began rubbing the largest butt she had ever seen right into the face of the boy she had only just met!

"Oh, yes! Ohh!" Debra moaned theatrically, tossing her hair and rubbing her hands up and down her rotund hips, "Oh take it, Phil, take it all! That feels so good!!"

The poor Japanese girl wasn't sure what she was seeing! Right in front of her eyes, a cute foreign boy seemed to be ... worshipping the ass of his big, beautiful mother?

"Phil?" She said, inching back to the door...

"No, no! It's fine, see? We do this all the time!" Phil blurted out frantically, lips still plastered to his mom's backside. "Please don't be weirded out!"

"I-!"

"Hush now dearie, we're almost done," Debra laughed, clapping her cheeks on her son's nose, "You wouldn't know but Phil's just absorbing some of my gas so I can shrink him down to size."

Sure enough, Naoko noticed that Debra was now leaning farther back onto her son's face. Whereas once her bulbous skirt-clad cheeks had covered up to his ears now they reached past his hairline, and soon she was leaning on his shoulders as his head had disappeared altogether up her bum! Her mouth opened wide as Phil got smaller and smaller until -

*BUMP!!*

Debra crashed seat-first onto the floor, landing on a pile of Phil's clothes that suddenly had no Phil in them. Naoko rushed over, panicking.

"Is he- is he -?!"

She was searching through the tumble of garments as Debra merely laughed getting to her feet. "Don't worry dear, he's in a safe place." She said, turning around to reveal her naked son plastered against the leopard-skin clad seat of her large skirt. She scraped him off with two red fingernails and held him up to the light.

"Oops! I think he's unconscious!" She laughed. "Phil, come on, wake up sweetie!" She took her little boy in her big, warm hands and gently prodded his naked belly with one plump finger. He began to come to, slowly sitting up in her palm. "Ah, there's my big strong boy!" She turned conspiratorially towards Naoko. "You know I sit on him quite a lot so he's really quite resilient! Which of course just means he gets sat on more!"

Phil shook some feeling back into his head and, suddenly very aware of his nakedness, covered his groin with his hands. "So mom now that I've helped you out I thought you could maybe get to growing me back and Naoko and I could just be on our-"

"Oh no sweetie, no, this is a perfect time for us to have a little chat and get to know each other!" She smiled innocently, looking directly at her son's small companion. "Like Naoko-chan here and what she plans to do with my little boy behind my back."

She hushed the suddenly very jittery girl backward into a chair. "No dear you just sit there, my little Phil will sit here," she said, pointedly placing him directly behind her on the sofa, "and I'll just sit down right on top of him-"

Naoko rose to her feet. "No! Don't sit on him!"

Debra snorted at the thought. "Don't sit on him? Why ever not? I've been sitting on him for years, Naoko-kun! Did you know that? My little Phil is my favorite pair of panties." She smiled proudly. "Besides, you saw earlier - he'll be perfectly fine even if I sit right down on him. A mother knows when her son's in trouble, and I can assure you that there's no safer place for my little boy than right under my big, soft bum!"

"It's - it's alright Naoko, honestly," Phil said rising, his head still woozy from the huge impact it suffered moments ago. "I - I can take the pressure and breathing's not too much of a problem, especially if mom keeps farting on me. Honestly, it's pretty safe."

His words didn't seem to be working. Naoko's hands were shaking and her eyes were bright and watery. "Phil, I don't think this - our dinner - you could die!!"

But Phil's mom was smiling smugly at all of this. Picking Phil up again, she strode over to the girl with the solution, as it were, in hand.

"Here sweetie, you can even help me put him in." The large, voluptuous Mrs. Metzger said to the suddenly very small and frightened girl, who suddenly found herself holding a tiny man. Smiling confidently over her shoulder, Mrs. Metzger reached around with one meaty hand and pulled the hem off her skirt from her prominent hindquarters, nodding to Naoka to drop her son into her butt-crack as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Too frightened even to notice Phil's nakedness, Naoko squeaked as she drew her hand near to that big bottom and Phil, whom only minutes ago she was kissing on the door-step, dropped because of her into his own mother's ass-crack!

"Ah, there we are." She said, wiggling her buns as she felt Phil's body drop in between them. "He's nice and cozy. Now, what would you like to talk to him about?"

Phil was not a party to the ensuing conversation because his mother chose that moment to sit down on their plush leather sofa and seal his body under the weight of her giant form. However, he heard what he assumed was Japanese being said by the girl and the frantic, rushed pace of it worried him. He tried to parse it but before he could his mother helpfully said: "I'm sorry dear, but I don't speak Japanese."

Phil happened to know this was at least partly untrue, as by this point many of his mother's clients were, in fact, Japanese natives, but the girl didn't know that and responded in broken English.

"How can do that! That you son! How you kill him?!"

Phil was shocked. Kill him? His mom wasn't trying to kill him, she just popped him in between her butt-cheeks for a bit, didn't this girl know that? His mom sounded equally affronted. "Kill him? How very dare you! I'm not killing him, you silly girl, we do this all the time! I assure you he's very much alive!"

But the little girl wasn't convinced. "No! I see you! You sit on him!"

"Oh for goodness sake," Debra said, suddenly standing up and swinging her prominent posterior into view, "There, you see? Right where I'm pointing?"

The little girl found herself scrutinizing the bigger woman's bottom very hard for a moment. Sure enough, there was the little boy, or at least his outline, pressed up against the tiger-skin skirt covering his mom's bottom. Or at least, there was most of him.

"Where his head?" She said, shaking hers.

"Well, it's in-between my butt-cheeks, obviously! That's his favorite part!"

"His favorite part?!"

Phil heard his mother sigh. "Phil, I've had enough, tell her yourself." She pulled down the hem of her skirt and, with some effort, plucked her son's head from its maternal prison.

"Naoko, it's okay, I'm fine, see? This is all just ... perfectly normal!" Phil gasped before his mom pushed his head back into it's home with her big finger.

"Normal?! You face up your mother's butt!"

"Well of course!" His mom yelled back, almost laughing, "because it's much more comfortable than your boney little behind!"

The conversation ended swiftly after that. He heard some more yelled Engrish, and then his mom farted on him and he didn't hear anything at all.

When his hearing finally returned after a few minutes he called out to the surrounding bottom: "Mom, is she still there?"

Debra smiled and rocked her bottom back and forth slowly into the chair. "No sweetie, I'm sorry. I don't think she was ready for this relationship. And, I may have said one or two things that scared her off." She conceded.

"Oh," Phil said, clearly crestfallen.

Debra smiled sadly and tapped her foot against the floor. "I know sweetie, I know. But that's girls for you. They'll drag you around, lead you on and then rip your heart out! And with you being shrunk half the time God knows what'd happen to you if you dumped one or someone thought they could push you around. That's why you're staying with mommy, right? That's why every day I keep you safely tucked away up my backside, where no-one can hurt you and you know exactly where your place is! You're one in a million sweetie; you're not meant to find someone, you're meant to live in my bum forever and make me feel so good! And I make you feel good too, sweetie! My big butt will hug and kiss you better than any flat-bottomed girl could! You don't really need anyone other than me, do you?"

Phil sighed deeply into his mom's suffocating ass-flesh. After all this time, it certainly seemed that way. "No mom, I guess not."He admitted.

His mom beamed, her chest swelling with pride. "There, that's a good boy! Tell you what! Come climb out of my butt and lie down on the sofa, and I'll give you a nice full-body massage with my butt! That always makes you cum, right?"

"That would ... that would actually be really nice, mom."

Phil kicked in his sleep, and to his surprise pranged his foot off the bed-knob on the wooden corner post. The sensation of being able to reach the corner of the bed with his feet was unusual to him because normally he was far too small to do so. He rubbed the sore foot on his calf as he woke.

Of course, then their sleeping arrangement came back to him; because Phil was on holiday with his mom she'd wanted him to experience life in Japan from as regular a point of view as possible, so this meant that for most of the time he'd walk around at full size, eat at full size, go to the bathroom at full size and yes, sleep at full size. He wouldn't even be tied down to the bed. The only minor concession that he had to agree to was that his mom would sleep sitting on his face each and every night with his young boyish face wedged tightly up between her plump, middle-aged butt-cheeks. He'd willingly spend each and every night with his face in the warm confines of his own mother's ass-crack. At no point would Phil take his head out from under his big mother's heavy, round ass, and if he broke their arrangement at any time then he'd be shrunk down to miniature size and crushed summarily between his mom's feet until she was sure he was sorry, and then attached face-first to her sole to be slept and walked upon for the rest of the trip. Phil, of course, agreed eagerly to the stipulations - he'd never dream of hurting his mom's feelings intentionally by doing something as rude as pulling his face out of her ass while she was innocently sleeping on top of him - and had readily enjoyed the hotel's luxuries so far.

Of course, this situation had it's drawbacks too. He was entirely under the sheets, and it was getting warm down there. Moreso, he just wanted to get up. He had no idea what time it was, but he imagined house breakfast couldn't be far off, and the thought of fried bacon and eggs made his lips drool even as they were pressed loyally against his mom's dozing bum-cheeks. He fumbled with the sheets and poked his mom's round hips with his right hand. Her soft white flesh yielded pleasantly to his touch, and her plump flanks bounced softly. No response. He waited a minute, and then hesitantly poked her again.

*sngr, snore*

Still nothing.

"Oh, mom ..." He sighed, lying his arm back and trying to find a sweet spot for his face to sleep in when suddenly the force on his face increased dramatically as his mom sat up and all her upper body's heavyweight was on him and

"Wuz Phil? Wuzza?"

*BBBLLOOOOOAAAAARRRFFFTTTT*

Mmmng! The stink was all around him! His nose hadn't even been against her butthole but mom had a very definite stench that she exuded from her musk and of course, her beloved son was the constant recipient of it. His young body, much smaller than his voluptuous mother's from years of her loving, taxing domination, whipped and spasmed under her from pure reflex as her half-awake rump kept him pinned to the floor. Outrageously, he could not get his face out from under his mom's fat ass.

"Mmm? Phil? Phil, you're not trying to get out, are you?" She said hotly, misunderstanding him. No, no! he waved and kissed her bottom frantically. "Ihm justh ... hungwy mohm!" He muttered, his voice very much obfuscated by attendant maternal rear-end.

"Oh," she smiled, wiggling her bum on her own son's face, "well it's almost 7 o clock, they'll be making breakfast soon. Let's go get showered and dressed sweetie. You get in there, mommy'll wash you!"

His mom "washing him" generally involved, from Phil's point of view, an awful lot of standing and kneeling, and then standing up again. After getting him sufficiently soaked in the shower she'd step in next to him, completely buff, and proceed to wash him with only one part of her large body - her curvy ass. So after she'd lather up her big, chubby cheeks and the deep dark crack in between she'd spend an extended time washing Phil's face, hands, chest, and groin. Afterward, if he was lucky, she'd shrink him down, soap him up and then use his tiny body as a loofah to scrub herself with, paying particular attention to her ass, bust, armpit, thighs, and feet. However this was not one of those times, and as their bathroom toilet didn't have space for Phil's head to fit in after helping that enormous rear-end towel itself off he found himself dressed and waiting in the eating area with his mom, eagerly awaiting breakfast.

But today turned out to be different in more than one respect. Shortly after arriving in the breakfast room two beautiful young spring maidens wandered over to them and both began attending to Phil; asking him was he okay, laughing at anything he said and generally flirting quite obviously with him. Phil was feeling great until a much heavier, middle-aged hostess appeared and spoke something in their native tongue. The two listened attentively as the elder lady pointed at Mrs. Metzger and then at her own bum, and made a sweeping motion with her hands. The two turned to Phil and for some reason burst out laughing, before rising and swiftly excusing themselves from the room. The older lady smiled and led them out into the hot-springs unisex changing area and Phil, blushing red and suddenly remarkably interested in not being in the dining room any longer, quickly followed as his mom politely stifled a giggle.

They changed and were led into a private hot-spring, Phil trying not to stare at his bbw mother's wiggling bottom as she teasingly swayed her hips in her purple bikini. They were asked if they were hungry, and then politely told to sit down on the edge of the spring.

After not even a minute Phil, a little bored, slipped down into the warm waters of the spring. It was surprisingly deep, and he found his feet on the lower rungs of a makeshift ladder. He splashed his mom, who smiled back at him, spreading her legs and then clapping her thunder-thighs together. A mock-warning. Phil gulped but smirked back, and made to rise from the water.

"No no Phil, that perfect. Stay right ... there!" The matron suddenly said as she entered, striding over gracefully to the pair of them and gently pressing his head down until his chin was just below the water line. His face had come level with his mom's big, bikini-clad crotch. He stared in awe of it. The matron's request to spread her legs had pushed her hips forward, and he blushed and tried not to look. "Oh, look at that," she teased as his mother tried not to giggle, "you gone back to where you come from. Don't you feel good? Now mom, please move your legs over here." She motioned down to Phil.

Mrs. Metzger draped her thick thighs over her son's shoulders and giggled to see his peculiar expression. Having his mom's big, strong legs, each the size of his own chest these days, wrapped protectively over his shoulders made him feel safe, but there were also problems. The added weight pushed his face below the water-line; he could breach the surface and breath, but only if he pushed constantly with his own body, and only if she didn't push down. Her own body at rest was almost enough to drown him. She gave her son a cuddle with her legs, squeezing her quads thickly around his face.

"You look so cute down there sweetie! Like a little bunny trying to pop his head out of a hole!" She said, tightening her leg muscles and giving Phil's head a good squeeze between her thighs. With a small motion, she locked her ankles and Phil's face fitted perfectly between the big, strong legs that were ready to squash it silly.

"Phil," the matron said, smiling warmly down at him, "hold on to the back of your mother hips, and rub her there quietly." He did so and was rewarded with a relaxed moan from somewhere above the big maternal breasts currently blocking his view of her face. He had to admit, rubbing such a big butt felt really good, and he liked that his mom enjoyed it. But ... this was just a stone's throw from being mom's seat cushion!

"Okay now, mom," he sputtered, "take your legs off my shoulders, please, and let me back up."

"Oh, I don't think I should Phil," she said, pursing her lips in concern, "the matron said not to, you know ..."

"Of course not!" The lady in question smiled, "Phil, your mom is giving you hug! Hug with big, strong legs much better for you, she can squeeze you lots, remind you of dominant love. Besides, where would you eat breakfast?"

"Br ... breakfast?" Phil asked, puzzled.

"Yes! In fact, here it comes now!" She replied, nodding to the spring entrance which had suddenly burst open and three smiling maids, all large and maturely aged, came bustling in with big blank smiles carrying trays. The first carried a large tray filled with delicious smelling food (Phil could make out some rice bowls, an egg in a cup and was sure he smelt bacon in the air), the second with an assortment of cups, kettles, jugs, and decanters for various kinds of teas, coffees, and juices, and the third carried an odd tray of what seemed to be cutlery and hot, moist towelettes. The big maternal thighs around Phil's head wiggled in delight, causing water to splish and splash around him as they squeezed his skull. That was nothing to what happened next, as the first maid leaned down and with a big smile laid her delicate ceramic tray down on his mom's lap, squarely on top of his face!

"Oh, how wonderful!" His mom squealed.

"There! Now you can have breakfast with son!" The matron said. Phil couldn't believe the world his face had been thrust into! Everywhere around his face, his mom's thighs sat softly, enfolding him in fat thigh-meat. Right now it was like a warm, soft hug, but they were ever so slowly pressing him down into the water unless he strained against it and besides, he knew just how strong his mom's legs really were. He wiggled and wiggled, but he just couldn't get loose.

"Phil? Phil! Now calm down Phil, this very instant! You're going to make me spill my breakfast!" She said, tightening her grip around her son's head until her treetrunk-like thighs had lifted the tray three inches off his face from muscular swelling. He heard the maids giggling girlishly as he thrashed in pain before his body went limp and his mother's leggy grip relaxed on him, setting the tray down to its original position balanced carefully on her legs and his trapped face. "There's a good boy." She said warmly, gently butting his lower back with her locked ankles.

This was ridiculous, Phil thought. I'm hungry too, but I get mom's big, strong legs wrapped around my head and squeezed. I'm trying not to upset her meal but her quads are pushing me underwater and I have to stay on tiptoes to even stay up! What do I do?!

The matron called down helpfully to him. "Use your mother body to help you, Phil! Hold onto her bottom to keep your head afloat! Do not rely on your own body, it will fail! Rely on your mother and respect her wishes!"

What choice did he have? Phil readied his arms as the blood began flowing into them again and then pulled, letting his feet be pulled off the ladder some several feet below. The tray righted slightly, and the egg-cup slid precisely into his mother's waiting grasp. He felt her legs give him an appreciative cuddle as she squeaked in delight, and then began eating.

It was a long ten minutes before she was done. She had used this time to converse nonchalantly with the always happy to be of service maids who were pleasantly helpful in suggestions for their last day in Japan and always seemed to have another jug of warm sake to hand. In fact, Debra was well into her second gourd before she remembered Phil was caught between her warm, heavy legs. The maids insisted on lifting the tray for her, and as it turned out for good reason; Phil was sleeping quietly, his dozing head tightly caressed by his mom's encircling thighs. His arms hung limply from under her butt - they had gone limp long since and he was being restrained from the depths solely by her motherly head scissors.

"That's so strange! I've always thought he hated my big legs. I always used my head scissors to punish him or reward myself with a guilty orgasm. I never thought he actually liked it." She said.

The matron just smiled knowingly. "This one of greatest gift boy give his mother. The knowledge that he like that his suffering brings you pleasure is a very rare thing. You instruct son to become one with your foot, you ass, and he obeys. Now, he goes further and let you know it okay you crush his head with your legs." She tipped the gourd of sake into Phil's snoring mouth and he sputtered awake.

"Now mother reward son with a hug. Show how proud of him you are and that this his proper place in the world."

With a soft smile on her face, Debra then waded into the water after her son and reaching out with her warm, soft hand pulled his dazed face into her big, comforting cleavage. She held him deep in there as he came back to the world of the living, squishing her big boobs playfully against his face and whispering how proud she was of him in his ear. She held his shoulder with one hand and pressed the back of his head into her considerable bosom with the other, smothering him in her boobs. He tried to resist and made a moan like an infant, but she cooed and hushed him against her chest, and soon he was nuzzling in there like a baby with his arms drifting in surrender by his side.

"Such a good boy!" She smiled, kissing him lovingly on the forehead. "Up now, let's go!"

He stumbled backward as he tried to rise, and simply lay sprawled against the springs wall, his nudity and erection exposed for the tittering spring maids to see.

"I'm tired mom ... can I just ... go back up ... your bum ... please?" He panted.

His mom tittered in front of him with her hands proudly on her hips. She took a swig of sake offered by one of the maids, wiped her lips and offered it to her son. Thinking better of it, she rubbed the mouth of the jug between her big butt-cheeks and then returned it to him and smiled aggressively, nodding insistently as he eyed the jug before putting it to his lips and downing it. She smiled as the last gulp went down his throat. "Of course sweetie. Hurry on to our room, I'll be along in a moment to sit on your face. It's our last day here and we've got a little while before dinner, after all ..."

#giantess #g/t #g/t writing #butt crush

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plungermusic · 3 years

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“Kinda bent, but we ain’t breakin’… in the long run”

Maverick Saturday stretched out before us like a challenge - thirteen hours is a long time on your feet for a couple of oldsters, but we’d give it our best shot…

We didn’t catch all of Dan Walsh’s opening Barn set, but his closing number, a lyrical, backwoods folk-flavoured instrumental that peaked in an increasingly frenetic celtic reel to the whoops and stomps of the crowd, was enough to impress us with its fleet-fingered dexterity.

Kelly Bayfield made her second barn appearance with another stylish set drawn from the new album: Kelly taking to the piano to give us a new short number Sing which was twinned (“well, they’re a similar flavour, and in the same key!”) with her last single Hitchhiker, both oozing classy 70s chanteuse vibes and the latter closing in some great Telecaster work from Andy Trill in a majestic closing solo.

There’s not much that’d drag us away from a Kelly performance early, but having spotted his programme picture (“Long hair, Les Paul? That’ll do!”) we pottered down to the open air Green Stage for David Banks and his band. He did exactly what we thought it said on the tin: lots of Springsteen/Petty influenced muscular Americana with a dash of Molly Hatchett topped with excellent southern-fried guitar and classic ‘big endings’… marvellous.

He was followed by Simon Stanley Ward (another ‘old fave’) who brought his Jonathan Richmanish irreverence and wit to Old Time Country in Excuse Me While I Feel Sorry For Myself; the Graceland-African-style I’m A Worrier (”…that’s worrier, not warrior”) a swinging rock’n’roller Bigfoot, Baby (Eddie Cochran meets cryptobiology) and Rocket In The Desert (the salad leaf not the projectile) with its Lawrence Of Arabia theme tease. While lampooning his own assumed-Nashville twang in American Voice the accompaniment was as echt as you could want, and the deadpan humour of Beluga Whale was sung to a properly stirring Journeyesque anthem.

As it wasn’t raining The Green seemed the place to stay, where Forty Elephant Gang came next. Reviewing their album we were a little sniffy about their ‘crowd-pleasing festival songs’ but aside from the field holler-meets-O Brother Where Art Thou-style Songs Of Praise, this set was mostly the ones we’d liked: the relaxed Tex-Mex of Strange Things Happening with three-part harmonies and intertwining mando’n’guitar lines; the melancholic waltz of Young Man’s Game and the Squeeze-y domestic wit of Drunken Promise Song. A final ‘crowd-pleaser’ came in the chugging bluesy Hands Out Your Pockets, an instruction the assembled masses eagerly followed to add the required clap-along.

Sam Chase Trio made another appearance at The Green, wooing the larger crowd with both edgy humour (including praising UK portaloos in comparison to US versions, and introducing Everyone Is Crazy But Me as “a children’s song... now, what they mean is that it’s simple, since kids are generally at the dumber end of the spectrum”), and songs as varied as the fiery protest of What Is All The Rage and the haunting, wistful Lost Girl, (from the “Faustian Spaghetti Western Of Epic Proportions Known As The Last Rites Of Dallas Pistol”) sung by cellist Devon.

Now Plunger do like a bit of bluegrass, whether it’s grainy b/w Flatt & Scruggs clips from the 50s, through Sam Bush and New Grass to Béla Fleck and Greensky Bluegrass so The Folly Brothers should have been our kind of thing… however what we heard of them was more My Old Man’s A Dustman than anything Appalachian so we wandered off…

Back at The Barn Dean Owens and the Southerners drew a large and attentive crowd, but the popular Scot also left us a bit underwhelmed. Mellow, melodious troubadoury country that wouldn’t have been out of place on a mid-afternoon 70s Radio 2 show, the kind of thing that takes a deep listen in your bedroom to appreciate the stories told: very easy on the ear for sure but without any particular thing to grab us at a festival.

After an abortive attempt to catch Ella Spencer and her accompanist at The Moonshine (an extremely long soundcheck with problems with feedback from pretty much everything they touched meant we gave up) we caught a snatch of Los Pistoleros as we rounded The Green: probably the most C.O.U.N.T.R.Y. thing of the weekend, complete with draggy fiddle, pedal steel and old time vocal harmonies… if I’d not left my cowboy boots at home I’d have been out line-dancing with the best of them.

Plunger had only just seen Alyssa Bonagura (with Tim De Graaw’s band) less than a week since. Here at The Barn she was nominally solo but Tim joined her to add sweet harmonies and mellow guitar to Alyssa’s polished Cali-country: her strong yet ethereal vocal equally at home in slow emotional confessionals or giggly upbeat Big Yellow Taxi-style big strummers.

Listed only as ‘Dogs Play Dead’ it was only a lucky guess that took us down to The Green for what turned out to be Friday’s headliners Black Eyed Dogs playing a set of Grateful Dead classics. Mainly those with a countryish twist to them already, like Casey Jones, I Know You Rider and Friend Of The Devil; and bringing that flavour with fiddle and pedal steel to others like Truckin’, China Cat Sunflower, Playing In The Band and the epic closing Franklin’s Tower. All done with the right degree of loose, shambling rhythms and discursive noodling on guitar (and fiddle!) Fabulous stuff for grooving on the grass under what by now were glorious sunshine-filled blue skies.

Brooks Williams’ jangly sonorous acoustic and warm, smooth higher register vox was ideal early evening fare at the barn, in covers like Dave Alvin’s King Of California, traditional numbers like Deep River Blues and originals like the Gordon Lightfootish melancholy of Frank Delandry, and the damp-eyed nostalgia of Palomino Gold, aided toward the end of his set by some more excellent banjo from Dan Walsh.

The USP of Eddy Smith & the 507 is Eddy’s gravelly soulful voice, ideal for their bluesy-edged material, like the harp-led strut of It Don’t Feel Much Like Living and the new single Ticket Out Of Here, a bustling two-step with impressive three-part harmony vocals. They definitely have moved up a level since we last saw them a couple of years back.

Somehow we managed to miss Sarah Petite with her band completely on Friday, and almost all of her stripped-back Moonshine set on Saturday. Which was definitely our loss gauging by the brief snatch of crackling husky vocal over restrained bass and reverb laden guitar that we heard while hunting for a still-open toilet (a water supply problem having rendered all loos unusable for a considerable portion of the late evening... pretty much the only fly in the ointment all weekend!)

As the sun set the two-month date differential was beginning to tell: clear night skies in September aren’t quite the same as July and the growing chill was testing our stamina a bit. We headed for The Peacock and the tribute show to John Prine, hosted by Rich Hall. Pretty much every act who was on site came to do a turn in honour of the recently-deceased songwriting legend, with their own favourite from his oeuvre. Kelly Bayfield band gave us Hello In There, Tim De Graaw with Alyssa did That’s The Way The World Goes Round, Alyssa gave us the obligatory Angel From Montgomery, and Simon Stanley Ward (plus Kelly) gave a fantastic rollicking Lake Marie. Entirely in character, Sam Chase Trio broke the mould and gave us their own tribute song John Prine.

Rich Hall had to skip out on MC duties to attend his own set at The Barn: sacrilege to say, but the appeal of stand up (even to music, even from such a big name) palled a little. It was getting bitterly cold (you could see your breath hanging in the air) and given that what we could hear of his set was the same as we’d heard last time he was here we spent much the time attempting to warm up with piping hot beverages. However it was by far the rammedest set of the weekend, with the tightly-packed crowd spilling out of The Barn for some distance.

Jon Langford was unsurprisingly somewhat hindered by the draw of Rich Hall (which left The Peacock a bit underpopulated!) His spiky, punky approach wasn’t entirely our bowl of chilli, although the rendition of Eddie Waring (originally by Help Yourself with Deke Leonard and BJ Cole, who was sitting in with Jon tonight) was very good.

The programme description of headliner Jerry Joseph did its best to weaken our staying power too: with our deep suspicion of any write-ups that include the ‘p-word’, and somewhat incredulous of the mention of ‘jam bands’, Jerry looked like he wouldn’t be our kind of thing at all. However he didn’t live down to expectations (wholly). A very animated stage-prowling audience-provoking figure in shorts and no shoes, there was no shortage of energy even if it was largely unchannelled and could get a little wearing… (maybe it was that, maybe it was the chill, but The Barn steadily thinned out during his set, ending less than half full). War At The End Of The World was the pick of the bunch, although like most of his material it would probably have sounded better with a band (like, erm, Stockholm Syndrome, which he co-founded; or, erm, Widespread Panic who he has written for… so much for our ‘jamband incredulity’!)

While it might have ended as a bit of a test of endurance, there were more than enough high points to make Saturday another enjoyable Maverick experience.

“Did we do it for love? Did we do it for money? More like stubborn dumb persistence and hot chocolate, honey…”

#Maverick Festival

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90sreddie · 6 years

Text

thin ice

- dedicated and inspired by the lovely @richietoaster who came up with this awesome reddie au idea and requested it be written. i accept the challenge!!!!

-alsooooo go check out the amazing headcanons of this idea by @creamsodaclaudia

ahhhh i know that this is kinda short but i promise i’ll make the next part longer. let me know what you guys think. should there be a part two???? i hope you all enjoy :))

you can read it on ao3 as well

summary: eddie kaspbrak is a figure skater. richie is a hockey player. no matter what, being anywhere near each other is, well, worse than walking on thin ice. [lol i’m terrible at summaries..]

word count: 1463

Eddie hummed along to the music as he glided along the ice. He had been practicing his routine for hours it seemed, but no matter how many hours he practiced or how many days of the week he dedicated to going out to the rink, he just couldn’t seem to nail his routine. It frustrated him beyond belief, and the last couple sessions had ended in angry, frustrated tears. Eddie was nearly making himself sick thinking about why exactly he was doing all of this.

He had been training for months for his solo at the National Derry Figure Skating Competition. Now, with the competition in merely a week, the pressure was hitting him stronger and harsher than ever. After all, there was no way he could master the trick his coach had advised him to finish with, guaranteeing a ticket to becoming a finalist. He wasn’t even close…

Eddie took a deep breath to steady his racing heart as he swung around to complete a butterfly. As he landed, he immediately pushed off again to race across the stretch of ice. One, two, three…he counted, taking another deep breath. The music reached a crescendo and Eddie set his mind to it.

Go!

“Triple Axel, Triple Toe.” He mumbled, reminding himself. Pushing and encouraging himself. One last breath of reassurance…and then he was pushing up off the ice and jumping. Eddie grinned as he floated through the air, almost in slow motion. And then he was landing, he had stuck it, finally he was going to make it…finally he was going to stop all his worrying!!

And then he was falling. He slid to the ground and spun around a couple of times before coming to a stop, out of breath, his butt aching from his crash landing.

He sighed, his chest burning with frustration, and tried to stop the stinging in his eyes. “Fuck.” He muttered, slapping his hands to the cold surface beneath him. He threw his head back and groaned. “I am so fucked.”

Suddenly, the music cut out and Eddie’s eyes flew open. “You can be if you want to be!” A familiar annoying voice called out, followed by an annoying fit of laughter, nearly giving him a heart attack. His asthma was already so bad, he knew he could not handle a heart attack.

“Yo, Ice Princess!” The voice continued as Eddie searched for where it was coming from. “Time’s up! The Queen’s calling, time to get that pretty ass off the rink!”

Oh. It was just Richie. Of course. When was it not Richie?

Up to his same antics, obviously. It couldn’t be time already. Eddie glanced at the clock across the room and shot a look at Richie who was staring back at him with that stupid smirk of his. “No way, Richie.” Eddie shook his head. “I’ve still got at least an hour!”

“Says who?” Richie asked. Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but Richie didn’t give him the chance. “Not me, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, Richie!” He snapped. It was nearly a reflex now after weeks of arguing with the rude boy who always strolled in well before his practice time was scheduled. Little did he know it was because of him. “Seriously, you can’t just walk in here and kick me out just so you and your team can pr-“

Oh no. Why was Richie skating towards him? And why was he smirking that stupid, annoying smirk that Eddie hated so much?

Richie stopped beside him and grabbed Eddie by the arm. Then he started pulling him towards the exit of the ice. “Sure I can, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Let go of me, asshole!” Eddie shrieked, trying to shrug him off.

It was at that moment that he realized the rest of Richie’s team was waiting just outside the rink, watching the situation with clear amusement. Eddie, however, was anything but amused. He tugged away from Richie and shot him the meanest, most disgusted look he could manage, which, much to his disappointment, only made Richie grin.

“Alright boys,” He said, waving them in. “Rinks all ours.”

“Wh-…Uhm, excuse m-…I AM STILL PRACTICI-…RICHIE!!” The boys nodded and stormed onto the ice, whooshing past the small boy in a blur. Eddie stumbled over his words, hands clenching into tight fists, face burning red. Richie saluted him.

“Elsa is waiting for you, Eds. Let it go, Princess!!”

Eddie huffed, his face turning bright red. He hated that boy with a burning passion. And he would stop at nothing until he believed that.

“Richie!!” Eddie screeched, racing after him.

“Oh Stan, do you hear the whisper in the wind?” Richie said to a curly haired boy skating beside him, cupping a hand around his ear. Another wave of anger passed through Eddie.

“Richard Tozier, you narcissistic, assholish son of a… “ Eddie shoved Richie with both hands as hard as he could, using all of his annoyance to fuel his shove.

“Strong wind today, it is!” Richie said, voice almost perfectly mimicking Yoda’s.

“Richie, you butt-faced miscreant-“

Richie spun around with a confused look. “What’s a miscreant, Eds?”

“I’ve told you a million times, don’t fucking call me tha-“

“Ohhhh, look at the time,” Richie sang, pulling back his sleeve to look at his wrist. Eddie narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not even wearing a watch, assha-“

“Boys!” Richie gestured to two guys on the team that Eddie vaguely remembered as Bill and Mike. He remembered Bill as ‘Stuttering Bill’ and ‘Billy Boy’ which the boys often called him when passing a puck, and he recalled Mike from previous weeks that this same, unfortunate, dreadful, aggravating thing occurred, the team calling him ‘Mikey’ and oddly, ‘Mike the Dude Who Can’t Bike’, which Eddie never really understood, but nevertheless-…

Eddie noticed Richie gesturing towards him, trying to tell the boys something with those stupid, dumb, beautiful, soft, dark brown eyes. The two clearly didn’t get the hint. Richie sighed and shook his head, his shoulders sinking. And then…oh no, why was Richie moving towards him again? His heart started pounding. He gulped. And then suddenly the messy haired boy was standing right in front of him, looking right at him with those sweet, chocolate eyes of his and Eddie found himself completely frozen.

You hate him. He reminded himself. And just as he was about to open his mouth again to yell at the boy, Richie was scooping him up off of the ice and into his arms. Eddie could hardly believe what was happening, especially that Richie was skating with him in his arms, like how the hell did he get so strong, and how the hell had he not dropped him yet?!!

Before he knew it, Richie was setting him on his feet outside the rink. Eddie was speechless. “Too-da-loo, Eds.” The tall boy smirked, wiggling his fingers. Suddenly the color came rushing back to Eddie’s cheeks, along with everything else.

“No, Richie, please! Seriously, I really need to-“

Richie was waving him off. “More walk less talk, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Can you ever at least let me finish a fucking senten-“

“You’re really cute when you’re angry, you know.”

Eddie felt the heat rushing to his cheeks again, but he quickly stopped himself from overthinking what he said. Instead, he took a deep breath and set an angry glare at him. “My competition is in less than a week, Tozier,” He hissed. “I swear, I really need all the ice time I can get, please, I’m begging you!” Eddie felt devastatingly needy and whiny. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. “Please, Rich.”

A moment of silence ensued, the two boys standing in silence, watching one another intently. Richie put a hand on the smaller boys’ shoulder and shook his head in pity. “Boo-hoo, poor little Eddie Bear.”

“Richie, please. Can we at least share the ice? You guys have your half, I have mi-“

Richie put a finger to Eddie’s lips, shushing him for the millionth time. “Let me make this real simple for you Eds…no, no, and no. Now, run along Ice Princess. Your castle awaits!” With that the boy was skating off, grabbing his hockey stick and joining his teammates on the ice. Eddie felt his hands curling into fists so tight that his knuckles were turning white. His breathing was short and fast, and although he found out years ago about the gazebos, he couldn’t help but wish he had his inhaler right then.

“Whatever.” The tiny boy said, stomping over to grab his duffel bag. “Fuck it.”

I swear, Eddie thought to himself as he exited the building and headed to the bus stop. Being around Richie is more nerve-racking than walking on thin ice.

tag list: @richietoaster @smol-and-annoying @notreallysurewhatmynameshouldbe @solbrenthimmel

#reddie #richie and eddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #figure skating #hockey

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