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phantaloon-books · 3 years

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I was rereading the iconic reunion at baltimore and this came to me and I can't not write it (even though I have a half finished chapter waiting to be written for a fic for a whole different fandom but who cares right)

in which neil regrets realizes that the feds were on to something when they talked about witness protection program. brace yourselves, it's angst time bby. please bear with me, I don't write stuff like this, content and format wise.

so everyone knows what goes down in baltimore. everyone knows that famous college exy striker for the foxes neil josten has been the son of the butcher of baltimore all along, and that smth happened after he was kidnapped and tortured that resulted in the butcher and some associates to be killed. everyone knows that neil walked out alive, injured but alive. so when a few weeks, months later, associates of the butcher start getting raided and taken in custody, everyone knows exactly who opened his little mouth and revealed everything he knows (bc there's literally no one else who could know this stuff and would be willing to share with the fucking feds, no one has a death wish)

It's a slow process. It starts with the feeling of not being safe, which is ridiculous, because he hasn't been quite as safe as he is right now, with the foxes, his family, and most importantly with Andrew. They're on summer break, technically speaking, even if they're at campus for practice because they gotta train the new foxes. They're barely doing anything than hanging out together and training, but still Neil can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, that someone is watching him, but he doesn't say anything, because it doesn't make sense, he's just being paranoid, there's no need to panic.

Neil can swear he's being watched. He feels the dread whenever he's out of the dorm, when he's out running, when they go out to eat something, when they go to the mall, on their way to practice, at Eden's. But when he looks around there's no one looking, it's been weeks and nothing has happened, he hasn't seen anyone.

Neil can tell Andrew is growing suspicious of the way he checks out a place, the way his eyes trace every corner, every exit, because he's starting to fall back in old habits, and he knows Andrew hates it. But Andrew doesn't ask, he knows that Neil will speak when he feels ready, so he lets it go, even if he can't quite let got of the worry clawing at his heart.

But everything keeps going normally, things are fine, everything is fine fine fine. Neil doesn't talk about it, but it's fine really. Until it's not fine at all, but it's also too late to talk now because his head is fuzzy and throbbing, and he feels like he might throw up and he feels pain even if he's not sure where the pain is coming from. But he can't do anything now, he can't tell Andrew how he's been feeling dread for weeks, because a man whose name he doesn't even know but whose face is awfully familiar is standing right in front of him where he lies on the floor, and the situation is also awfully familiar.

Stop being a martyr. Oh Andrew would kill him. If Neil gets out of this alive, Andrew will kill him, because he left again. He didn't want to, he really didn't. He was out on a run while Andrew was in therapy with Bee and Aaron, a couple miles away from fox tower, when a car pulled up right in front of him, two men wearing hoods and sunglasses stepping out and standing in front of him. He came to a halt, trying his best to keep calm because who the hell were these men and what did they want and for fucks sake can this just stop? It would have been smart to turn around and try to get back to the tower but he can't ever keep his mouth shut can he?

"Look I don't know who you are, I don't care what you want, but you're in my way, so move away if you know what's best." He intended to go for more sarcastic, but he was doing his best not to panic, so that had to do.

"You're coming with us, get in the car, or we'll do this the hard way." Their voices said they wouldn't hesitate, but Neil laughed anyway, that smile he knew was the Butcher's resting on his lips. Anything to make the men leave. He opened his mouth and then- "The Minyard twins are at Dr. Dobson's office. Reynolds, Walker, and Wilds are at the mall. Hemmick, Boyd and Day are in the dorms. The newbies are at the dorms as well. Come with us the easy way and we'll let them walk out of their respective places alive, Nathaniel."

And he was fucked. Of course he hadn't been safe, he would never be safe. In fact no one he cared about would ever be safe. He should have known better. But he wasn't going to let the foxes be harmed.

"How do I know you won't kill them anyway?" The snark was gone, the smile vanished. His face was blank and dangerous, because he'd done this before. "I don't even know who you are, you're obviously not the big guys, and I don't remember seeing your faces."

"We don't want to attract unnecessary attention. All we care about is you. If you come, you spare us all the trouble. As for who we are, let's just say someone is pissed at the piece of shit that ruined everything."

"The Butcher's friends then. I can't argue with that, it's a habit of mine to fuck up. Ichirou won't be too happy if something happened." He played his strongest card but fuck it. The Moriyamas owed him protection, Ichirou himself had made a deal with him.

"The moment they turned their backs to the Wesninski and made a deal with Hatford, those Japanese shits mean nothing to us." These were desperate men apparently. If the Moriyamas were nothing, the FBI was even less. "Time is running Nathaniel, decide. You or them?"

Andrew would kill him, but they'd talked about it before. Neil had told Andrew. If it means losing you, then no. He would not put himself first. Hell, he'd told the others before, the Foxes were all he had, he wasn't going to risk them for himself, not for anything. He needed to keep them safe.

So now he's lying on the cold wooden floor of some house or shed or whatever, drowsy from whatever they drugged him with once he got in the car, and in pain after being beaten for the last hour or so. He didn't bother asking the man (who is obviously in charge and sent the two men) for a name, and honestly he still doesn't plan to. What was the point of that anyway? He just looks up at the cold brown eyes of the man standing over him, Neil's face as neutral as he could keep it despite the fear of not making it out alive threatening to pull him under. The man just stares at him, calculative eyes and cruel smile, and Neil can't take it.

"What, so you're just gonna stand there? I have better shit to do." He hears the slur in his voice, wonders if it's just the drugs or something else. A concussion is likely. He's met with silence, so he closes his eyes and lays his head down. Fuck he's tired of these situations. He truly will never be safe, no one will-

"You know, I was expecting so much more from you Nathaniel," the man says with a laugh, "I was told that you'd put up a fight, I thought this would be fun. They said you'd beg for your precious life, but you haven't even made an effort."

Whoever his source was, they definitely do not know Neil, or Nathaniel for that matter. Not only is he not going to risk the men hurting the others, but he isn't going to fight, not against so many of them, not when running would be more likely to get him out alive. He isn't going to let them know that. "First go fuck yourself, and second, this isn't remotely close to entertaining to what I've been through, maybe if it was more interesting."

What does Andrew say? Regret is worthless? It seems right, because he can't find regret in what he said, even if his face is a bloody mess (what's new?) and his body shakes with shivers, after his head is held underwater so many times. No, he doesn't regret it. Instead he finds himself laughing a hollow thing.

"Y'know at least others have had a point, this time it's just for the fun of it, and it's not being much fun." His voice cracks a couple times, hoarse from coughing up water.

"You're right though, it is for fun. You cost me absolutely everything Nathaniel. Did you know the feds and the Moriyamas have been after us for months? Hunting us like we're rabbits, all because you decided to be a dipshit and open your mouth. You should be dead. You should have died ten years ago, back in March, anytime. All your existence caused us is trouble. And ratting us to the feds wasn't enough was it? No you told Ichirou all of the Butcher's men were loose ends, too." The man took a deep breath, composing himself. "So yes Nathaniel, this is for fun. This is payback, you've cost many lives, this is retribution for speaking, and I'm gonna enjoy seeing you have fun for as long as I can."

At some point, after hours, he's left alone in the dark, in the cold. He knows he’s in pain. He’s pretty sure his arm is broken, and so are several ribs. He knows he should be in a lot of pain, but he's just numb. Regret is worthless. Because even if he feels even worse than how he felt last winter at Evermore, he doesn’t regret it. He can’t be sure the guy’s men were truly going to kill the Foxes, but he doesn’t regret coming here to make sure the others don’t suffer more than they already have because of him. He wonders if Andrew will forgive him. He didn’t leave proof that he didn’t want to leave this time. Would Andrew think he left them - him? God, he hopes not. Would Andrew look for Neil or leave it thinking that Neil wanted to leave?

It doesn’t really matter, though. Neil is so tired. This time isn’t like when he was on the run or when he went to Evermore or when Lola took him. While with the Ravens, Kevin knew he was there at least, if anything were to happen, a person would know where to look somehow. At Baltimore, several people knew the most likely place to find him; Uncle Stewart, the Hatfords, Kevin again. He has no idea of where he is, or who took him, and no one knows he’s been taken in the first place. No one will ever find him.

Maybe it’s better that way, he thinks. No one will have to deal with the burden of him or his disappearance or his death, because no one will know. The simple thing would be to assume he ran. He hopes they assume he ran. Maybe they’ll be hurt, but haven’t they been expecting him to run? They won’t make it to championships without him considering Jack is an awful striker, but Kevin will manage. Andrew - Andrew is the one who expects him to run the most, maybe he’ll take it nicely. Neil hopes he takes it nicely. Guilt blossoms among the nothingness in his chest, but he can’t take it back, and he doesn’t want to. It’s better this way. No one will find him, but that’s fine. He wonders what the Moriyamas will do. He doesn’t want to think about that. He thinks of Andrew, the kisses, the care, the love, the nights spent together. Thank you, you were amazing. He wishes he could tell him how much he cares one last time. He feels something wet slip down his face. He can’t tell if it’s water, blood or tears. He sighs. He thinks of Andrew, and his eyes slip close.

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

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Graduation surprise; BoRhap cast x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey ya’ll well I promised this fic when I posted the Queen prom fic so here it is. Now I know it’s not as long as the last one is but I felt like this didn’t need to be super long. Also as another special little fact for ya’ll I was gonna make this a Queen fic as well but then I decided to change it to a BoRhap CAST fic since I hadn’t done one of just them in awhile.

So to all seniors whether HS or college, the class of 2020 CONGRATULATIONS I know it’s not what you hoped it would be but still try to find celebration in this pandemic, you all achieved probably the greatest milestones in your life. So stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane, and be happy :) Lot’s of love from me my darlings!

Taglist:

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@platawnic

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@kairosfreddie

_______________________________________________________________

Goddamn this year! Just when we think the new decade would be worth our wild, now we’ve got all this shit going on! First there was the threat of WW3, then the next month we’re dealing with wildfires in Australia, and finally to top it off why not add a global pandemic?!

The Coronavirus has literally been all over the news for months, and the fact that our government knew about it since late last year and didn’t warn us about it!? Then when they told us to be on lockdown, everyone starts hording toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food that no one can buy said items for weeks on end.

But of course my main problem is the fact that I, along with so many other kids and adults around the world can’t participate in their own graduation ceremony. As a college student, I was just longing to finally participate in my final graduation ceremony ever. This was supposed to be my final chapter in school life and now because of this damn virus, that’s gone.

I mean yeah my diploma will be coming in the mail but I wanted my family to all be there to see me reach the end of my school life before I finally begin a new chapter. Plus my cousin’s friends said that they would come and see me and I’ve missed seeing those guys, I hadn’t seen them all since the Bohemian Rhapsody premiere.

I sat there in my old room of my house (cause since the University closed down back in March, all students had to leave the college campus and go home so that way we could reduce the spread of the virus. So I ended up moving back in with my parents) just finishing up my final paper for class.

That’s when my Zoom video chat blew up with my cousin’s profile pic. I grinned and clicked on the answer button and soon enough my cousin’s face took over my screen.

“Hey poppet.”

“Hey Gwil, how you holding up?” he let out a sigh.

“As best as I can. Though I should be asking you that, you are the one really dealing with this whole Coronavirus adjustment than I am. How’d you do on your classes?”

“For those that have said online classes are easier, they’re dirty rotten liars and completely incompetent.” He softly chuckled. “But thankfully I finished my last exam paper and submitted it just now.”

“Your dad look over it for you? Cause I know you’re a terrible editor.”

“Oi not all the time. Just when I’m lazy.” He hummed as he raised his brow at me. “But yes I did have dad review it for me. Cause before we got to submit the rough draft and my professor said I needed more analysis to my quotes on why I quoted that specific source. God I don’t know why I took that class to begin with?”

“Because you’re a criminology nut and you have been since you turned 16. God and I thought my horror movie tastes were bad.”

“Hey it’s good to be aware of shit like that!”

“Language missy!”

“Okay Cap.” I teased. He gave me his stern look which made me laugh as I fell to my side on the bed. “Oh by the way I saw that little dating app video you did.”

“And what did you think?”

“I liked it. Kinda makes me wish an app like that did exist in real life.”

“You not just pulling my leg on this?”

“No. Honest and swear to god you had me moved by your performance. Well next to you being Brian May of course.” He grinned. “I swear I still can’t get over when I first saw you in the full hair and makeup, I literally almost had a freakin panic attack.”

“And the fact that Brian was also there to witness that.”

“Oh god don’t even go there!” I groaned as I hid my face in embarrassment.

“So—now that you’re all done with school, what’s next for you?”

“Well any plans I had are put on hold till this whole crisis goes away. And I really thought 2020 was gonna be my year. This sucks!”

“I know poppet, I know. But believe me that it’s not just you whose affected by this. Everyone in the whole world is suffering exactly the same way you are.” I sighed solemnly.

“I know. I mean I should be feeling for you and the guys right now, I mean all of you are out of work till further notice. And all the restaurants that I love going to. Did you know that the little ice cream parlor you and I used to go to when we were kids shut down?”

“No!”

“Yeah, the owner couldn’t keep up the payments because hardly anyone was ordering from them anymore, even with online delivery. So she closed it down.”

“Damn, that sucks. I really loved going to that place with you. That was always our special little time together without the grownups around.” I nodded remembering all the fun times we had together in that little shop.

It was then someone suddenly popped into our conversation. The extra person now on my screen was none other than Joe Mazzello.

“Hey Gwil, mini-Lee!”

“Hello Joe.” Answered Gwil.

“Hey Joe been a long time.”

“How you two holding up?” he asked us.

“As best as we can, how about you? I’ve seen those Youtube videos you’ve been doing on your page.” Gwil said.

“You know those were jokes, especially that last one. I just wanted to get a laugh out of everyone, or have them hate me.”

“No one could hate you Joey.” I said with a smile.

“Aww thanks mini-Lee. How’s classes been?” I let out a groan as I once again flopped on my bed which made Joe laugh.

“I am just thankful that this is all over. At first I thought online classes would be easy but one of my professors was technology challenged. Another one would sometimes forget to do a lesson, and then of course blackboard could barely operate long enough for me to submit an assignment which caused some of them to be late.”

“Well like you said it’s over now.” Joe assured me.

“Oh hey I saw that Jurassic Park livestream you did.”

“Oh did you? How come I didn’t see you submit a question or just say hello? I’ve seen your Youtube page so I know your username by heart.”

“Cause I may or may not have also been working on a project. But chose the livestream over the project.”

“Nice going Joe, you’ve turned my cousin into a procrastinator.” Gwil complained.

“Hey at least she has Jurassic Park unlike you Gwilym Lee! Serious shame on you for not owning it! This is why mini-Lee is the coolest out of the two of you.” I snarked out a mock laugh as I stuck my tongue out.

“Ganging up against me okay I see how it is you two.”

“Oh come now cousin dear, we’re just messing around.”

“Messing around? If we’re messing with Gwil then I want a part of it.” Soon another picture came up and there lying on his side was Ben Hardy.

“Benjamin!” Joe screamed joyously.

“Hi Ben.” I sung out.

“Hey (y/n).” he waved at me with a wink. “Now going back to teasing Gwilym.”

“You guys are officially gonna be blocked right after this.” My cousin groaned. We all laughed when I told him.

“Again cousin, we’re teasing you. So Ben, what brings you here?”

“What can’t I pop in and say hello?” I giggled.

“I see nothing wrong with it. Oh hey get this; I finally got around to watching 6 Underground.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“The first 10 minutes were insane! And truthfully I never really understood Michael Bay films, but this one—definitely my favorite. I loved it Ben, really.”

“Well thank you (n/n). Thank you.”

“Never did I think I needed to see both you and Ryan Reynolds on screen together….”

“Whoa okay easy there (n/n)!” Joe interrupted me.

“Oi you get your mind out of the gutters! And you say it’s the fans that make what you say to the extreme.” I scowled him.

“Trust me, I’ve known him for over 10 years and he still doesn’t grow up.” Another voice stated and soon two more familiar faces popped up on screen, stuck in quarantine together in LA were Rami and Lucy. And then a split second later another face came on the screen, it was none other than Alan Leech.

“Hey, Rami, Lu-lu, Alan!” I cheered.

“Hey (y/n)!” the three of them said as they waved.

“God I feel like I’m getting spoiled, got the entire BoRhap family together for the first time in like—forever.”

“It’s crazy.” Alan said.

“Definitely.” Agreed Rami.

“Maybe when this whole thing blows over we should all get together some time in New York.” Offered Joe.

“I’m down with it.” Ben said.

“Me too.” Lucy agreed with a nod.

“Yeah, (n/n), Ben and I could fly out together.” Said Gwil.

“I’m down with that. Now that I’m done with school, I can do what I want now.”

“So guys now that we’re all here shall we begin?” Lucy said.

“Begin what? Gwil what’s going on?” I asked.

“Well (n/n), when this whole quarantine shutdown and school cancellations started affecting the class of 2020 we all felt bad that you couldn’t graduate the way you hoped you would.” Gwil said before Joe continued.

“So Gwil called all of us up via the Whatsapp chat, as well as our daily zoom calls. To gather us all together on your ‘last day’ of college.”

“To celebrate your own Virtual college graduation party!” Rami cheered. At that point everyone either threw confetti, blew on graduation blowers, or holding up signs that said CONGRATS 2020 GRADUATE!!!

I covered my mouth with my hands speechless and tried to hold back the tears.

“Ohh you guys.”

“Since you couldn’t have a college graduation party, we figure we’d bring the party to you. See not even this pandemic can stop us from celebrating our Mini-Lee’s ultimate milestone.” Ben said as he set down his congrats sign.

“And also expect some gifts within the next few weeks, depending on how the mailing services do with overseas gifts.” Alan said.

“Aww thanks you guys, you didn’t have to.”

“We know, but we wanted to. Let us spoil you even through this pandemic.” Said Joe.

“Thanks guys, this—really means a lot to me.” I wiped a hidden tear that strayed down the corner of my eye. They all awed at me that’s when Gwil lifted up a small graduation cake.

“I know, I know this’ll be ridiculous but just humor me will yah?” I smiled and nodded. He lit up the 2020 candles and held it just high enough for me to see the top part of the candles.

“CONGRATS (Y/N) LEE! CLASS OF 2020!!!” everyone proclaimed at once which made me smile and I blew out towards the screen. Gwil then blew out the candles for me as everyone else cheered and clapped.

“Thanks so much you guys. Really, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We’re happy to do it (y/n). If it makes your day a little bit brighter in these dark times.” Rami said.

“It did Rami, it really did.”

“Well hope we can make this even better cause I’ve also got a part 2 to this little surprise. But in order for that to happen, everyone else has got to go otherwise you won’t really be able to see it as clearly.” Gwil said.

“Aww man.” I whined.

“No worries mini-Lee, your cousin added you to our BoRhap Whatsapp chat and I’ll send you a link to our zoom channel if you ever wanna chat with us again.” Joe said with a wink.

“Thanks Joe. And thanks everyone take care and stay safe.” They all waved and bid me goodbye with waves or blowing kisses at me and one by one they signed off till it was once again just Gwil and I.

All I could see across his bearded face was that cheeky grin he does whenever he’s trying to hide something.

“What are you grinning about?”

“Just the fact that I’ll be the best cousin once you see part 2 of your special surprise.”

“What did you do?”

“If I told you it won’t be a surprise now would it? Now let’s see, god I hope they get it.” He muttered the last part to himself. It took a few minutes till finally another screen popped up and standing there in his room was Adam Lambert. I fangirled in my seat and covered my mouth trying to contain my squeals.

“Hey girlfriend!” he greeted with a wave.

“Adam oh my god!”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s been going. Finally submitted my last paper. So I’m officially done with school forever.”

“Yaas Queen!” he snapped. “So how’s it feel to be a college graduate?”

“Well it’d be better if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic.”

“Understandable, but hey you’ve worked hard for this so be proud of yourself no matter what’s going on in the world right now.” I nodded with a shrug. “And to celebrate your graduation, your cousin whipped up another little surprise for you.”

“Oh my god Gwil you didn’t!” I gasped. He merely raised a brow at me cheekily as he bit his lip back from a smile.

“Hey guys you there?!” Adam called out and soon enough two more screens came on and the picture revealed to be both Brian May and Roger Taylor. Brian sitting on his couch while Roger looked to be in his basement with his drumkit.

At this point, I had lost my shit. I was fangirling to the max at this rate but tried to calm down.

“Hi (y/n), congratulations of graduating.” Brian greeted me.

“Major achievement there love. Congrats.” Roger added.

“Oh my god…..Gwil this is—how……”

“I knew you’d love it (n/n). Plus I knew this would cheer you up after our last conversation we had last week. You really needed some cheering up.”

“So guys are we ready to do this?” asked Adam.

“I’m ready to go if you both are.” Said Brian as he took his Red Special and set it on his lap and Roger twirled his drumstick.

“(Y/n), this is for you love. Hopefully when this whole mess is over, you can finally go out there and reach your dream job. Till then we hope you enjoy this.” Roger said.

It was then both Roger and Brian began playing the tune for ‘we are the champions’ but as Adam began singing the song, it turns out that they were actually singing their new song, ‘You are the champions’ dedicated to the first responders worldwide.

But now they were playing it in my honor as a college graduate. As they continued to play the song, I allowed the tears to flow down my face as I laced my hand over my heart.

God—never did I think that through this pandemic would I be happy. From having to never see any of my friends I made in college again, to not having my whole family come to the house to celebrate, or going out to party with some of my friends. But this—right here and now, my cousin made it all up to me all the way from London.

At this point, I knew that I was officially the luckiest person in the world. All thanks to my favorite cousin, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

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The Crackship Sails to Molly’s Natalie Manning x Stella Kidd

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, mention of homophobia, Manning isn’t Nat’s maiden name, she changed it when she got married, just saying, Helen’s kindof a bitch, canon compliant accidents, implied artificial insemination, implied/mentioned smut

They had absolutely no idea how they ended up there. Well, that wasn’t strictly true... Molly’s and ladies’ nights. And tequila, tequila was definitely at fault here. For their hangovers and their nudity under the covers. Unfortunately, the tequila didn’t take their memories, so they knew exactly what they did. Or who they did, rather. And the answer was each other.

After Natalie’s awkward exit from Stella’s apartment above the Hermann house, Stella made quick work of the dirty dishes from their breakfast. She couldn’t help but think back to the previous night. They were so drunk, but Natalie was so hot and Stella just felt something inside her snap. It had felt like a coil, but everything that she and Nat did last night, it all just felt so right, so satisfying. She felt like she was on a high. There was no way she was going to last long without having sex with Natalie again, she could already feel herself going crazy.

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As it turned out, she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. And so, their friends with benefits relationship began. Stella was a bit nervous, she had a two-year-old son and a pretty crazy mother in law. But it felt so right. Until it felt more than right, and both women knew they were in trouble. It started with cuddling after sex and lead to watching movies in the afternoon and lingering touches and longing looks. But one rainy Sunday afternoon, they were cuddled on Natalie’s brand new GRÖNLID, and suddenly it just hit both of them. They were dating, in secret, but dating. Natalie licked her lips and looked Stella in the eye. “Will you go on a date with me?” Stella cradled her face gingerly, placing a soft kiss on her lips. “I would love to.”

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It became obvious to Helen very quickly that Natalie was seeing someone, and the thought made her stomach heavy. She knew it wasn’t fair of her to hate the idea of Natalie moving on, but she couldn’t help it. She only had one son. She only wanted one son. And he was gone.

So when Owen was picked up by someone else while Natalie was at work, months after Helen knew she had officially begun dating him, Helen lost it. Her mouth turned bitter as she drove to the hospital, fully prepared to scream at her daughter-in-law in front of her coworkers. When she got to MED she barely remembered to throw her car in park before slamming the door and marching past everyone. The people waiting, nurses, secretaries, the only one who was able to stop her was Maggie. “Helen, hi. How are you? You know you can’t be back here right?”

“I’m here to see Natalie, move.”

“Okay, no. You do not get to speak to me like that ever, much less so in my ED. Drop the attitude. Now.”

“It’s too soon, Maggie, it’s only been-”

“Four years. It has been four years Helen, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through, but I know that it is absolutely no excuse for acting the way you are. You are not entitled to Natalie’s love life, and you still haven’t apologized to me. And since you’re not in an emergency medical situation and I do not feel like dealing with your BS right now, you need to leave.”

“Maggie you can’t-”

“I’ll call security.”

“Don’t interfere with something that-”

“Security, escort this woman off the premises, please and thank you.” The two security guards Maggie had summoned with a raised eyebrow ended up dragging Helen out kicking and screaming. All while Natalie watched in heartbreak. Was it really that awful that she didn’t want to be alone and empty for the rest of her life?

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Because of the incident at MED Nat and Stella decided it was time to sit Helen down and tell her that they were dating and to get over herself. Helen entered in a huff, somewhat pleased with herself that she finally got Natalie to admit she was seeing someone, but she would be lying her ass off if she said she wouldn’t give whoever this guy was shit for sneaking around with a widow. She didn’t see him though, only a Latina woman in a mustard sweater and jeans. “Alright, where is he?”

“Sit down Helen, you don’t’ get to talk to me that way.” Helen threw herself down onto the same chair she’d tossed her jacket and purse on while Natalie sat beside the woman on the light green couch. Helen felt all her rage and grief evaporate as she watched the two women intertwined hands. “I’m bisexual, Helen. So is Stella. I didn’t figure it out really until I met her. I guess a part of me always knew but I kind of ignored it, because, well, you know how people discriminate against LGBTQ people. But, she makes me so, so happy. And Owen just loves her.”

“Oh thank God.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t care about sexualities, really. Love is love and anyone who tries to limit the love of others is a fool and a monster. Truthfully, this is a relief. I was so scared that you’d found a man to replace Jeff. You dating a woman is actually a lot more comfortable for me. I already approve.”

“While I’m glad Stella’s got your stamp of approval, you have to understand that your behaviour recently is unacceptable, right? You are not entitled to anything, and you owe both me and Maggie apologies.”

“You’re... Right. Completely right. There isn’t an excuse or a reason, not a good one anyway. I’m so sorry Natalie. Really, I am... That... That psychiatrist you work with, Dr. Charles, does he, uh, is he accepting patients? I think, I mean I’ve put it off for so long, I think it’s time that I talk to someone. About everything.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Helen, I’ll talk to him tomorrow for you.”

“Thank you. Now Stella, you’ve been very quiet during all this, I’d like to get to know you. What do you do?- Oh! And how long have you two been dating?”

“I’m a firefighter, and we’ve been dating for- eight months?”

“Around that, yeah.”

“That’s wonderful, how do you like being a firefighter?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Helen apologized to everyone and started therapy, things got much calmer. She also became Stella and Natalie’s biggest supporter. Like tonight, she was always offering to babysit for date nights, and the couple took full advantage of that. They were dining out at an intimate restaurant, glad for some time with just the two of them. “So I read this story on Reddit on my break today about this guy who, completely sober, was shoving a toilet brush up his... You know, so that it looked like he had a bunny tail. You guys ever get anything crazy like that?”

“Yeah actually, we’ve got this frequent flyer for ambo who regularly gets high off his ass, draws weird, nonsensical symbols all over his body, then call to complain that he was assaulted by aliens.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, hey, I found The Italian Job on Netflix, the one with Jason Statham. Wanna watch it when we get back?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love his movies.”

“I know right?”

“He’s like the British Ryan Reynolds.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO YEARS LATER

Stella was just finishing up with the snacks for Owen’s fifth birthday party when the Hermann Horde arrived. “Hey guys! Nat’s just about done with the decorations, but she and Owen are out back.”

“When does Helen get here?”

“She should be here in fifteen, she picked up the cake from the bakery.”

“I thought you were a pretty good baker Stella, why from a bakery?”

“I can bake many things, but a cake for forty people that looks like a shark? Nope. Not that.”

“Owen really likes the ocean, doesn’t he?” Cindy looked around at all the ocean-themed decorations, the snacks dressed up to look like different sea creatures. “He really does, can’t say I blame him though. We go to the aquarium pretty frequently, and damn these little guys are amazing and beautiful.” The placed the last of the jellyfish sugar cookies on the platter and smiled. She really felt like Owen was her son, and as far as anyone was concerned, she was. It would even be official in a couple of months when she and Nat get married. “I love seeing you happy like this Stella.”

“Thanks, Cindy. It feels good.”

“It looks good too, you’re both just so bright and sometimes I swear that Natalie’s glowing.” Stella kissed the older woman on the cheek, biting her lip to keep from revealing that Natalie was glowing, and that they’d be welcoming another member into their family in around eight months.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO MONTHS LATER

Natalie and Stella were overjoyed, they were finally wife and wife, recognized by the state as a family. Hearts full and warm, they danced in slow graceful circles, the skirts of both their gowns flowing in cloud-like motions around them. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.” The music from the orchestra trickled to an end, parting the smiling brides. “Ready to tell them?”

“Yes. I am so excited.” Kisses were exchanged before the blushing brides made their way up to the stage with their arms around each others’ waist. “First of all, we would like to thank everyone for being here to celebrate the best day of our lives.”

“Second of all, we have an announcement to make. Nat’s three months pregnant.” Stella and Natalie placed their hands over Nat’s abdomen, smiling misty tears as they were met with cheers from all of their family and friends, no one louder than Owen.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FIVE YEARS LATER

While working in the ED Natalie had been a witness to numerous tragedies. She’d also been through a few herself. And Maggie, wise, gentle, loving, Maggie, always knew when the worst of the worst were about to come through. She got this look on her face as she answered the head nurse phone, meaning that it was someone they all knew. After a few whispered words with Ms. Goodwin Maggie’s guilt-ridden gaze settle on Natalie. “Nat, I need you to go wait in the doctor’s lounge.”

“Maggie? What’s going on?” In the back of her mind, in the depths of her heart, Natalie knew what was wrong. But she didn’t want to be right. She wanted to be so, so wrong. “Dr. Conte,” Natalie had realized two months into her and Stella’s relationship that she still had the name she took when she married Jeff at twenty years old and decided to go back to her maiden name. “You need to go wait in the doctor’s lounge.”

“Sharon, no-”

“Incoming! Thirty-three year old female, firefighter, inside an electrical fire when the house went. Halstead, Noah, April, you’re in treatment three.” The sounds of beeps and medical jargon couldn’t be heard above the buzzing in Natalie’s ears. Choi was holding her back, trying to drag her to the doctor’s lounge, stopping her from being with her wife. And then her BP dropped and she flatlined. The instructions given could not be heard by anyone outside of the room over Natalie’s horrified, deafening, soul-shattering scream.

And then it was back. One round of epi and she was back. Natalie broke down into heaving, gut-wrenching sobs in Ethan’s arms. He was the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor, her legs had lost all their strength.

She didn’t remember sitting down, or getting any water or food. But suddenly she feels like she’s woken up and she has a bottle of water and thermos in her hands. “Eat.” Kelly Severide is beside her with a hand on her shoulder. Sylvie is handing her a spoon. Joe is handing her tissues. “Cindy and Helen are watching Owen and Celeste, don’t worry.” She’s drunk the entire water bottle and eaten five spoonful of soup when Maggie approaches her. “Maggie don’t tell me she’s gone- oh God, please no-”

“She’s fine. They’re closing her up now, she’ll recover just fine. Come on, I’ll take you to her recovery room. And bring that thermos. You’re going to finish eating even if I have to tie you down and feed you myself.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nat?” Stella had woken up, for good this time, and was staring at the love of her life as Connor and Crockett left the room. “You scared me. So, so much.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be alive. Please, just stay alive.” Nat kissed her forehead and stroked her hair as all her tears just couldn’t be held back anymore. “I know you love being a firefighter, and I love it too, I will never want you to give up a job that you are so kickass at, but please, please be more careful. I’m begging you.”

“Okay... I’ll be more careful.” Stella’s coughing fit was cured by a glass of water, and the aches in her bones were cured by the gentle hugs from her son and daughter when they saw her an hour later. “I love you.” She chanted to each of them. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And she did, until she and Natalie were in their eighties and living in Fowlerton. They were found by their neighbour who went to check on them after he didn’t see them on their porch like he did every morning. Stll. Peaceful. Tangled together. In love until their very last breaths.

#One Chicago #Chicago Fire #chicago med #Natalie Manning #stella kidd #natalie manning x stella kidd

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vanxcks · 5 years

Text

how delicate

Three things happen before Eddie Kaspbrak shows up, hair dripping, in day-old clothes, nothing on him but a dead walkie-talkie, on Richie Tozier’s doorstep. His fanny pack—his mom had replaced the “lost” one quickly enough—lays abandoned in his room; the walkie-talkie is clenched tightly in his fist.

For the second time in his life, Eddie runs away from home.

Word Count: 4839

Richie is shocked to see him.

“Eds,” he says, uncharacteristically succinct. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I just come in, please?” Eddie asks, rubbing his arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. “I can’t be at that house any longer.” He’s itching to head inside, wrap up in a blanket. The summer’s finally ending, autumn showing itself in brown leaves and occasional brisk air, and that on top of being in the rain is a sure enough way to get hypothermia. He feels the panic setting in, and he takes a deep breath.

You’re strong, Eddie. (Fragile.) You can do this. (Delicate). Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks. He doesn’t invite Eddie in, which from anyone else Eddie would find rude, but Eddie stopped being offended by Richie years ago.

“Yeah, if you could hurry the fuck up?” Eddie prompts, words quick. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Yeah, of course, Eds,” Richie says, a little crease between his eyebrows. Uncharacteristic again. He turns around and walks inside, letting Eddie follow him. “Sorry, my sister’s not free right now. She got crabs, like I told her she would, and I said you probably got it from your mom, but she didn’t believe me. Actually, she told me to get the fuck out of her room, but anyway, I thought you should know, since you always seem so interested—”

“Can I have a towel?”

Richie pauses, mouth open, but only for a moment. “What’d you do, jump in a lake? I knew you were an idiot, but you do know that you’re not supposed to jump in the water fully clothed, right? Or did you run into Belch Huggins again? Eddie, you’re a fuckin’ twig, I don’t know how you can keep standing up to them. What’d you say to make them so mad? Did you tell them they were going to contract chlamydia or something? I’m not sure their pea brains would even be able to understand—”

Eddie lets him talk, not bothering to yell over him like he might have two months ago. Not because he’s anymore willing to tolerate Richie’s idiocy than he was. He’s just too tired to open his mouth right now.

That said, it really is getting cold. “Pea brain? You’re one to talk, trashmouth.” Richie’s face splits in a grin, and Eddie can’t help but half-smile back. “If you won’t get me a towel, I’d be happy to get one from your sister’s room. I know my way around.”

“Hey, I already told you she has crabs, right? Probably from you.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Just checking,” Richie says, grinning good-naturedly. Eddie shivers.

[March, 1989]

Eddie is eleven when he gets his first panic attack. It’s after they find Richie’s backpack, still in his locker, the door on the linoleum floor and warped from where Bowers tore it off its hinges.

Eddie is the one that finds it.

“I swear to god, guys,” he’s saying, one hand on the strap of Richie’s backpack and the other ushering Bill along, “if we’re late again Mr Reynolds is gonna kill me—”

“Y-y-you haven’t been l-late in weeks,” Bill says.

“I swear he hates me, though. Last time I was one measly minute late and he held me back. I swear when he dies and they do an autopsy, they’ll find a stick up his ass. I bet you a million dollars.”

“I’d want to hear the story behind that,” Richie says, flailing away under Richie’s hand.

“Of course you do,” Stanley says as they round the corner.

“No, I’m serious! I mean, how did it get up there? I bet it was some freaky sex thing, you know?”

He chatters on as they reach their lockers. Eddie grabs his own bag, then, after waiting a moment to see if Richie will pause in order to get his own, reaches into Richie’s locker.

And then he screams.

“Eddie?” Richie asks, spinning. Then, “Oh, my god,” as he looks at his backpack. “Holy shit! Bowers took a shit in my bag! He actually fucking did!” Richie cries. “I really didn’t think he was the sort of person that would keep his promises! Look, he tore the door off and everything.”

“That seems unnecessary,” Stanley says, looking down at it, “you always leave it unlocked.”

“Do you see this shit?” Richie goes on. “I can’t believe this. Eddie, do you see this shit? Eddie?”

Eddie’s fumbling for his inhaler, unzipping his fanny pack, trying to keep taking deep breaths. “That’s.” He gasps. “That’s so fucking disgusting, oh my god. Oh my god.” He takes a puff, holds his breath, counts to five. Then another. He wipes his hand off on his pants. How many different types of bacteria are there in feces? It’ll probably have gotten in his fingernails, all over his skin—how long will that take to wash off? What if he has a paper cut? God, then it’ll get infected. Is his heart supposed to be beating so loud? So fast?

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice sounds far away. It’s almost quiet behind the jackhammering that is Eddie’s chest. He reaches out to touch Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie flinches away. “Eds, are you okay?”

“I’m having a fucking...I’m having a fucking heart attack and you ask if I’m fucking okay?” Eddie gasps. What are the symptoms again? Pain in your arm, and in your chest, too. He’s got that. Pain in his chest. That’s one off the checklist. And fuck, if he could hear himself think over that thump, thump, thump—”Holy shit. Holy fucking...fucking shit. I am not dying in the school hallway,” he gets out, hand clutching at his own chest.

“E-Eddie, what’s going on?” Bill asks, gripping his backpack strap tight.

Richie grabs Eddie’s heaving shoulder. “Hey, are you serious? Is this real? Should I call 911?”

“You think I’m fucking faking a heart attack?” Eddie snaps, and then he bends double, gagging.

“I’ll d-d-do it,” Bill says, and runs off to find a phone.

Eddie falls a little; Stanley catches and steadies him, lowering him so that he’s sitting on the ground. Richie puts a hand on his back, rubbing little circles there, telling him again and again that it’s gonna be okay, that an ambulance is coming, that they won’t let anything happen to him. And Eddie really, truly, completely believe that this is it. He keeps his eyes open, etches his friends’ faces into his mind. If he’s going to go, he’s not going to forget them. If there is an afterlife, Eddie is bringing that memory, of all of them, with him. His best friends holding him.

It isn’t a heart attack, in the end. The doctor call it a panic attack. Eddie is diagnosed with anxiety on March twenty-fourth, nineteen-eighty-nine. Now, he supposes, it’s the only one of the diagnoses that isn't bullshit. Of course, his mom doesn’t let him go home just yet. She’s terrified, absolutely scared shitless. She leaves Eddie alone in the hotel room for some hours, and when she comes back, she tells him that he’s going to have to stay in the hospital for several days.

“I thought it wasn’t that serious,” Eddie says quietly. He always speaks quietly with his ma. He knows that he’s the delicate one, of the two, but sometimes it seems like she’s the one that’s going to break at any moment. Fragile, like one touch could shatter her.

“I know, honey,” she says comfortingly, even though that’s not what he needs or what he was asking. “They just want to monitor you, make sure it’s not something more serious.”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Now go to sleep. You’ve been very badly frightened, I’m sure, so make sure to get some rest.”

He nods, and she sits down in the little chair in the corner of the room, pulling out a magazine.

It’s a long two weeks.

Soon, Eddie is sitting wrapped up by Richie's heater in the basement. They've talked about the basement before—about all of it. About how they can't go into dark rooms on their own, about how sometimes they wake up in the night to learn that they've been crying out in their sleep. They've talked about how they can't even see a yellow raincoat on the street without having it all come crashing back, without suddenly not being able to breathe.

Eddie can't help but think how much easier that July would have been if he'd had his friends. Maybe it wouldn't have made him less afraid, but at least he would have been afraid with them.

"You still haven't said why you're all wet. Unless it's sweat, in which case you were either having really amazing sex—and if I’m right, I want all the details, like who found your scrawny ass attractive and their address so I can go beat them up for taking your viginity before I could—or you actually had to lift something heavy for once in your life—"

"Hey, I didn't ask to be fucking taken out of PE." Eddie didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

"I didn't say you asked, but now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe if you'd been there it wouldn't have been quite so fucking torturous. I swear to you, Mr. Kravitz kept staring at my ass," Richie says, warming up. "I mean, I don't blame him, but jesus fuck, he's a teacher and I'm but a helpless—"

"It's not sweat, okay? It's fucking rain. Are you happy now?"

Richie doesn’t slow down. “It hasn’t rained since morning, why the fuck—”

“You know, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here to hear you talk my ear off for an hour, and I’m having a bit of a crisis at the moment, so maybe if you could shut the fuck up, that would be perfect,” Eddie snaps, and Richie goes quiet for a moment.

“Well, out with it!” he yells suddenly in a terrible British accent, loud enough to make Eddie jump. “The doctor’s in, come on, what’s wrong?”

“Jesus, really? The british guy?”

“I said out with it! No use coopin’ it up, better just get it over with!” He’s still yelling, brash and obnoxious.

“You know,” Eddie snaps, grabbing his walkie-talkie and stuffing it into his pocket, “I thought this was a good idea, to come here, but clearly—”

“Wait,” Richie cries, standing up a little. Eddie looks at him expectantly. Richie quiets. “I’m sorry, I—please. I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me.”

Eddie stands there for a moment, and then sighs. “Do you have any music?” he asks.

“Oh, absolutely,” Richie says, jumping up. Eddie follows him upstairs to his room, not mentioning the fact that Richie isn’t really allowed to play music after nine pm, thankful that Richie doesn’t mention it either.

[July, 1989]

July that year is the longest month of his life. It’s a stifling cycle of taking a shower, taking his pills, reading and rereading and rereading, and then pills and shower and sleep. Rinse and repeat. If he’s lucky, he’ll get his hands on a newspaper. Everytime he does, he skims through it in a frenzy. He always pinches the paper too tight, turns the pages a little too wildly, and he knows it could worry his ma, but he’s always terrified he’ll see something new. A new Local Girl Missing headline. A body found.

Every day there’s nothing, but every day Eddie checks.

They’d beaten it. They’d chased the monster back into the sewers, where it belonged. And Eddie had come back safe, to a loving mother and a clean and healthy household, and he should be okay. He should be free. He is free.

But It still has a hold on him, too strong for comfort.

It’s not just the newspapers, either. It’s the things he sees in the shadows at night. The way he’s taken to sleeping with a light on. It’s easy to explain to his mom; she probably wouldn’t question it anyway. Anything for her little boy.

The lights don’t reach everywhere, though. And he’s convinced that there’s something behind the desk, in the closet, waiting to pounce on him from behind a door. Yellow eyes, glowing in the dark. A gleeful, burbling laugh.

A torn face. Blood, dripping in the wrong direction. A leper, sores oozing, rotted fingers resting on his shoulder. That day in the house shows up again and again in his dreams, every night. And every night Pennywise tells him something different. “Poor Eddie. Poor pathetic, delicate thing.” And “Your friends left you, didn’t they? Left you all alone.” Some nights, it’s “Did you think that by locking yourself inside your little house you can escape me? Oh, no, Eddie Spaghetti. That just makes it easier for me.”

He wakes shaking, sweating, covers kicked onto the floor. And then he picks them up, lays them over him, and lies there, eyes shut, awake and aware, until the sun comes through the curtains and he can hear his ma walking down the stairs.

Eddie knows it’s not her fault. He knows she just wants to protect him. He knows that he’s sick and that this is all for his own good. But he can’t help but entertain the idea, once or twice, that he could find some way out. He wants someone to talk to about all of this. He needs someone to talk to about all of this. And it’s not like he can just tell his mom that he and his friends got attacked by a killer clown. No, they’re the only ones. And they’re impossibly far away.

Instead, he thrashes at night. He leaves the lights on, keeps a wary eye on the shadows, and doesn’t even look in the direction of the sewer. He clenches his fists until there are little bloody half-moons in them...and then scrubs them clean, over and over and over again, wincing as the disinfectant touches the cut.

The Loser’s club survived the clown, but did Eddie? Is he alive after all? He’s not always sure.

They end up curled up on top of the covers, Eddie scooched over until he’s practically in Richie’s lap. The music is almost as quiet as it can get, but Richie makes up for it by yelling along to the lyrics, holding up a pen to his mouth like a microphone.

His voice is godawful, and it must show on Eddie’s face, because Richie pokes him in the cheek and says, “Oh, is there something wrong with my singing? Is there?”

“Stop fucking—get off of me!” Eddie cries, with is a fun joke, because he’s the one almost on top of Richie.

“Is it not good enough for your highness?” Richie shouts, adn then belts out one of the riffs. “Huh?” He pokes Eddie in the cheek, and Eddie laughs, pushing him.

“You’re so fucking ridiculous.”

Richie doesn’t reply to that, just keeps on singing, wild and drunken. Eddie joins in, and then they’re both giggling like idiots.

It’s such a sweetly familiar scene that Eddie almost feels alright, for a moment.

After a couple songs, the music switches to something quieter, more relaxed, and Eddie and Richie quiet down.

“Don’t your parents have an issue with you playing music while they’re asleep?” Eddie asks, because of fucking course he has to bring up parents. And now he’s fidgeting again, antsy and stressed out and he can’t get the image of his ma crying in his absence out of his head. Of her shutting the door on him gently every time she left the house, locking it.

But Richie seems totally oblivious to that. “Nah, they’re not home.”

It occurs to Eddie that it hadn’t seemed strange for Richie’s parents not to come downstairs, for them not to greet him or check up on him. “You’re so lucky they let you stay home alone,” Eddie says, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. He can feel Richie’s breathing, can feel him glance toward Eddie and then away.

“Yeah,” Richie says, smiling a little. “Can’t imagine your mom would let up on her reign of terror for one second and let you actually have fun.”

Eddie hms. “Reign of terror? For some reason I thought you liked my mom.” Not seriously, but.

“Oh, I do, Eddie Spaghetti, I do.”

[August, 1989, and after]

The seven kids stand in the fading light, outside the house on Neibolt street for the final time. Or what they hope is the final time. Twenty-seven years—so much can happen. Will they still be friends? Will they have long split? Will Eddie have raised a family, or will he still be alone?

Future. He might have a future. They all might.

He’d thought so many times that they would die, this summer. Seeing the rotting, sore-ridden fingers connected to the rotting-sore-ridden person in front of him. Pennywise, inches from his face. Richie’s hand on his cheek—a pathetic, last ditch effort at comfort. (It didn’t work as a comfort, strictly, but it stuck in Eddie’s mind for the whole month he was at home. He hadn’t wanted Pennywise’s face to be the last thing I saw. For some reason it makes him feel warm inside.)

Suddenly, things don’t seem so bleak.

Then Eddie gets home, and things go back to the way they were. The way they were, except that everything’s tinted by the fact that Eddie knows. Eddie knows his meds are fake, that he isn’t sick, that his childhood was taken by nothing more than an overprotective mother.

God, he was a fucking idiot. He didn’t even know what his sickness was—his ma hadn’t told him anything more than careful, sweetie, and you know how delicate you are. Did he play along with it because he believed her? Because he was just as terrified of his dying as she was? Or just because it was easier to do that than face facts.

After Neibolt, after Georgie and the clown and all of the horror that Eddie can’t share, his mom stops keeping him inside. He leaves the house quietly with a note on the kitchen table. When he comes home, there’s no more evidence of his ma’s worry than her pursed lips and the worried divot between her brows—he’d inherited it—and they speak nothing of it.

Eddie finds himself spending more and more time with Richie, as things progress. Richie never comes to Eddie’s house—Eddie’s willing to push his luck a little, but shoving the fact that he’s meeting Richie in his mom’s face would be too far. Not that his meeting up with Richie is a capital-t Thing. Of course it’s not. Because even though Eddie looks at Richie sometimes and can’t look away, even though Richie pulled Eddie close when they thought they were about to die, even though Eddie secretly loves it when Richie pinches his cheeks and calls him cute, doesn’t mean Richie likes Eddie. Because Richie isn’t like that. No, fuck that—because they’re both boys, and that’s not how it works.

If any of his friends had to show their faces at his house, Richie would probably be the worst choice. Eddie’s ma hates Richie with a passion—”dirty boy,” she calls him. When they were little, Richie had come over to Eddie’s house for sleepovers almost every week, at least until they tried to climb out the window one night and sneak into the playground. It had all gone fine—or the climbing out the window part had, at least. But Eddie tripped on the sidewalk and skinned his knee, and the cut ended up getting infected. He was sick at home for weeks.

(Now, after everything that has happened, Eddie has to wonder if any of his sicknesses were real. Did he ever hear the diagnosis from the doctor themself? Eddie can’t even remember.)

So Eddie bikes to Richie’s house, or he finds him waiting outside the arcade for him. They buy ice cream, wander through the park. Eddie brings comic books to Richie’s house and they blast music and eat a frankly disgusting amount of chocolate. Richie seems to have an endless supply of peanut butter cups in in his bedroom.

Eddie has been friends with Richie for years—he’d call them best friends, if he didn’t know that Richie would tease him mercilessly for it. (Or he’d pinch his cheeks and call him adorable, which is just as bad, really.) But something about hanging out with him, separate from the group, has felt different, lately. Slightly charged. Electric in their slight touches, in the way Richie grabs Eddie’s hand, in the way Eddie catches Richie looking at him over his Batman. Eddie thinks he likes it.

Things go on as they would. Considering how their summer had gone, considering that he’s Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, things are good. Happy. Peaceful.

Eddie feels alive, for the first time in years. Not delicate, alive.

And then, one day, Eddie wakes up in the morning, and his mom is sitting at the foot of his bed, watching him.

Okay.

"Good morning, Eddie," his ma says softly, placing a hand on his leg.

"Good morning," Eddie replies, fucking confused but trying his best to keep it out of his voice.

"Eddie," she says, using his name again, which is usually a bad sign, "I went into the bathroom this morning, and I noticed your fanny pack hanging from the door."

"Yeah, that's where I always leave it."

"I know, and I opened it, just to check to see if your meds needed to be topped up."

Technically, the meds never need to be topped up. They never needed to exist in the first place. But Eddie keeps his mouth shut.

"I noticed," she continues, and it occurs to Eddie that the flatness of her voice seems to be wavering, like she's forcing something down, "that there were more pills in the jar than there should be. Haven't you been taking your pills, Eddie?"

Fuck. He hadn't been taking the pills since Neibolt, but he'd been careful to do away with them anyway. Flush them down the toilet, or let them go down the drain. He'd thought it had been a slightly silly precaution, but apparently his ma really was paying attention.

It makes his stomach hurt a little, and he tells his fingers not to itch for his inhaler.

"You were counting my pills?" he asks, voice a little hoarse.

"I'm only looking out for you, Eddie," she says, and his stomach definitely hurts.

"I don't need those meds, ma," he replies, voice edging up a couple decibels. "I'm not sick."

"You are, Eddie. You are sick. You know that. The doctors said it, remember? Remember that?"

Eddie tries to stand, tries to get out of his bed, but his ma puts a hand on his leg. His head knows that she really is just trying to help him, that she's his mother, that she knows what's best. But something else says that only one of those things is really true. "Doctors? All I remember is you coming into my hospital room and saying that I need to stay overnight for a scrape on the knee!"

"Sweetie," she says, her tone saying loud and clear that you're being unreasonable, "you could have gotten an infection."

"It was a scrape on the knee, ma!" he cries, wrestling his leg away and scrambling out of his bed. He's not sure, all of a sudden, why his heart is beating so fast. "Keeping me in the hospital, it—it was irrational."

"I was only looking out for you, Eddie," she says tenderly.

"Stop saying that!" he yells. "I'm not fucking sick, and I just want to have a normal life and—and not have to take fucking meds with me everywhere I go—"

He hears it first. It takes a moment for the pain to come, for him to realize that she's slapped him. Shit.

Eddie's ma brings a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and frightened. "Eddie," she gasps, "Eddie, I'm so sorry."

Eddie just stands there dumbstruck, staring at her. He's never been hit in his life—not by anyone other than fucking It.

"I didn't mean to, I love you, you know I didn't mean to—" she says, reaching out for what looks like a hug.

And suddenly he's in that house on Neibolt street again. There's a painted and awful face jeering at him, and he's cornered, and he can't fucking breathe, and he just turns and opens the door and leaves. Just fucking leaves. He's not even running, at first. There is no noble rescue. There is no Beverly, in the sewers. No heroic deed ahead of him. He just walks down the stairs, and then speeds into a jog, and then opens the door and fucking sprints down the street.

He can't hear his ma calling after him. He can't hear anything.

It rains. He wanders the city for hours, not keeping track of time, panicking and then convincing himself he’s going to be fine and then panicking again. Where can he go? What can he do? He doesn’t want to go back, but should he?

Who is someone he trusts? Who he knows isn’t going to send him home, who will listen to him, no matter what?

So he ends up at Richie’s house.

They sit there in silence for a little while, the only sound Freddie Mercury crooning through the radio speakers.

“I’m not sick,” Eddie says quietly, eyes directed unfocusedly at the comics lining the bookshelf across the small bedroom.

“What?”

“I’m not fucking sick, Richie,” Eddie says, and he’s too tired to snap at him.

“So did you make all of that up just so you couldn’t hang out with us? I thought you were deathly athsmatic or some shit,” Richie says. There’s laughter in his voice. He doesn’t get it.

“No—” Eddie says, and he sits up, widening the distance between them so he can look Richie in the eyes. Richie’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m not sick. I—all my meds were, were—placebos. Fakes.”

“Wait, what the fuck? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Richie, I—I don’t fucking know! I don’t know what to think. All my life my ma has told me one thing, and then the girl at the pharmacy, she—she said something else.”

“Hey,” Richie says softly, putting a hand on Eddie’s knee.

Eddie ignores him. “And then I confronted my ma about it right before, before Neibolt, but she seems so—goddam she seems so vulnerable, and I just—I don’t know what to do, I really dont—”

“Eds, Eds,” Richie says, moving his hand to Eddie cheek and making him meet his eyes. “Slow down.” Eddie stares at him, chest heaving, and he reaches for his fanny pack, for his inhaler.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasps, wringing his hands, “oh, god, I need my inhaler, oh shit—”

“Eddie, Eddie, stop!” Richie shouts, grabbing Eddie’s hands and holding them still. “You’re spiraling, and when you do that you need your inhaler, and you clearly don’t have it right now, and apparently you don’t even fucking need it, whatever that means, so just—just shut up and tell me what happened!” Richie lets out a breath, quiets down. “Maybe I can help.”

“I think…” Eddie says, and he takes a breath, trying to calm his roiling insides, “I think my mom has been keeping me. Like a prisoner, or something.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie breathes.

“I mean. Not a prisoner. But she’s so...so hyper-anxious about me getting sick that she’s been telling me I’m sick so that I don’t go outside, I guess. Like when I had to stop taking P.E. class, because she said I was too delicate. I guess I wasn’t as delicate as she thought, but she did everything in her power to protect me.”

“Shit, Eddie, are you okay?” Richie asks, and his voice has none of its normal teasing spark.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, honestly.

“Is there...anything I can do?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the tears coming. He feels Richie’s hand take his, squeeze it. “No, but can I stay here tonight?”

“Fine, but stay the fuck away from my sister. We have really thin walls here, and if you two keep me awake I’m going to throw you out, I hope you know.” And it’s an awful thing to say, but it’s the perfect thing, too.

Eddie grins. “I make no promises,” he says, and he follows Richie into the hallway.

Richie doesn’t let go of his hands.

#reddie #richie/eddie #fic #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #sonia kaspbrak #eddie's mom deserves jail time i've never hated a fictional character more #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #my writing

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yarart4ever · 4 years

Text

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! HAMILTON ARRIVED ON DISNEY+ A FEW DAYS AGO WHAAAAAAAAAT!!!?????

as you couldn't tell, I am IN LOVE with Hamilton! the musical got me into discovering the musical fandom! sure I was in love with Hairspray and musicals in general but Hamilton was my first actual music obsession!

this is the LIVE SHOW! just recorded professionally! and Imma do my usual review on it! :3

-lol king george's intro at the beginning! XD

-WHO ELSE BOPPED AND GOT EXCITED DURING THE FIRST SONG IN ACT I: ALEXANDER HAMILTON!?

-I like how the crowd is so respectful to the performers and only laughs and claps when necessary!

-the dance choreography! *chefs kiss* perfecto!

-YO! the actors for John Laurens/Philip, Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson and Hercules Mulligan/ Maddison ARE. FINE! they. are. DADDIES! PERIODT!

-okay but like... the actresses for Angelica and Peggy are also pretty fine! like.. UwU WIFEYS!

-Angelica~, (work, work) Eliza~ and PEGGY! the schuyler sisters~! sorry I had to! TvT

-ANGELICA. IS. A QUEEN! PERIODTTTT!!

-lol everything that comes out of King george's mouth is gold! XD

-RIGHT HAND MAN IS A BOP OH MY GOD! (O///o///O)

-aw, Helpless is so wholesome I love it! <3

-okAY BUT SATISFIED IS MY FAVORITE SONG AND IT'S WHAT GOT ME INTO THE HAMILTON FANDOM! I KNOW THE SONG WORD FOR WORD ISTG-

-lmao who else died at raise a glass reprise cuz... XD it got me!

-WAIT FOR IT IS MY SECOND FAVORITE SONG!! (>///o///<) but like show me mother theodosia pls! T^T

-"I'm a general! WEEEE" Charles Lee~ best quote by far!

- the way! John Laurens! looks at Alexander! jesus why does he have to be so attractive!?

-damn Alexander got daddy issues! O_O

-that would be enough almost made me cry what??

-EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR AMERICA'S VERY HOT FIGHTING FRENCHMAN!... wait that's not the lyrics..

-damn! dying is easy, but living is harder... that hit different! :'(

-THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN!! HOLY THAT SONG SLAPSSSS!!

-oml Hercules Mulligan's solo (O///_///O) and he sticks his tongue out too! he's a aggressive top hottie and I am living for it!!!

- what comes next was totally foreshadowing for when Trump becomes president. like, "when your people say they hate you, don't come crawling back to me"! like yo! foreshadowing or what??

-aw dear theodosia! my third favorite song! you know, ever since I heard this I wanted to name my child theodosia so that I could sing her this song as a lullaby.

-NO!!! JOHN LAURENS MY HUSBAND!!! T^T </3 I knew he was gonna die anyway cause I've listened to the sundtrack many times but still! and Alexander was so happy singing about his son and then he hears about John's death I'm- :'( I almost cried again during that song... you can probably tell that I love John Laurens..

-NON STOP THO!! LIKE WHAT!?! THIS SONG WAS AWESOME IN THE SOUNDTRACK AND IT'S MORE AWESOME NOW THAT I'M SEEING IT AND SINGING ALONG!! (>///O///<)

~~intermission~~

-okay okay, act II! I'm ready!! give. me. that. tea!

-THOMAS JEFFERSON! HOLY SH!T HE'S HOT!!! AAAAHHHHH!!!

-OH! AND HE DOES THE KISS!! excuse me while I faint of fangirling...

-aw, poor Maddison is sick. lol corona?? I'm telling y'all they knew what was gonna happen in 2020! like even John wanted to help end black slavery and then there was that george floyd situation now and just... foreshadowing all over! :T

-HOLY CRAP YO THERE'S AN ACTUAL RAP BATTLE!! XD WHAAAATT??? like Jefferson and Hamilton got them mics, they be all up in each other's face roasting each other like bro!

-"turn around, bend over I'll show you where my shoe fits!" OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH! GET ROASTED JEFFERSON BAM WHAT??

- lmao why the fnck do they have an grown a$$ man playing a 9 year old?? XD

-okay, I love the sister dynamic for Angelica and Eliza! they're so cute! and I like how no one questions that even though their races are different they're still related. and it bothers me that people nitpick about that. like leave them alone, they are sisters! periodt!

-oh no it's say no to this... I hate this song... I can't believe Hamilton had an affair with someone he doesn't even know! who cares if she's hot?? you're MARRIED!

-and wait... ain't that the actress who played Peggy in the last act?? sheesh no wonder she's so attractive!

-look at this dude saying "lord show me how to say no to this, I don't know how to say no to this"! LIKE BOI! just say no! tf?? it doesn't matter if she's a fncking model! if I was married to a kind hearted, gentle and just generally an amazing person Like Eliza, and a woman pulled me in their bed and said "stay~" I would've been like "HAHA nope! peace out my guy, I'm already taken thank you very much and they do it to me better than you ever did! periodt!" and I would leave. it's that easy!

-"and her bodies screaming hell yes" BOI IF YOU DON'T KEEP YOUR D!CK IN YOUR PANTS AND GO HOME ALEXANDER I SWEAR TO FnCKING ALLAH......

-and he fncked up... that's it... I'm done!! Deuses! *gives peace sign and leaves*

-no one else was in the room? okay we getting hype now! XP

-damn Aaron Burr is a great dancer! XD

-oh sh!t oh sh!t there's another rap battle! same people too... everyone take cover! seriously this is not a drill!

-damn! okay did not hear this yet?? uhm so.... Hamilton snapped. and not the good type of snapped too... the moment he was given a opportunity to speak he literally shouted "YOU MUST BE OUTTA YOUR GODDAMN MIND!" and when I tell you I shook....

-"daddy's callin'.." oKAY FIRST OF ALL HOW WRONG DOES THAT SOUND TO YOU??

-lol when Burr came on stage and started singing, Jefferson was so confused he was like "bruh the hell did you come from??" and I died! XD

-oh sh!t Burr and Jefferson are joining forces- LOOK OUT EVERYONE AS THEY BRING THE THUNDER!

-YO THE RAPPING IN THIS SONG IS LIKE WOWZAH! LIKE BARS BRO! :D LIKE FnCKING M&M IS QUAKING!

-"sir, I don't know what you heard but WHATEVER IT IS.... Jefferson started it.." LMFAO ALEX I SWEAR TO GOD XD

-one last time oh no I'm scared this song is gonna make me cry isn't it??

-YEP I WAS RIGHT! I'M CRYING NOW! GREAT!

-George Washington's voice is so powerful oh my lord... and oop! he's crying too! also great! :'D

-my hEART T^T-

-King George Istg STOP! XD

-also yay, I like how they used a woman for the guard/right hand man to the king! as a feminist... I approve UwU

-who else flinched when the king started laughing........ because I did....

-"sit down John you FAT MOTHER FnCKER!" oop... was not expecting that!

-NO ALEX DON'T TELL THEM THEY'RE JOINING FORCES YOU'RE DEAD IF YOU TELL THEM THAT- aaaaaaaand you told them... smart.. real smart -_-

-okay but Thomas' reaction was even more funny on screen then in the sound track X'D

-welp... now Burr's gonna tell everybody.. oh wait no.. ALONG with Jefferson and Maddison... good job, Alexander..

-holy sh!t the reynolds pamphlet! he actually wrote it down?? I mean I knew this happened but STILL! WHAT THE FnCK, HAMILTON?!?

-Jefferson is getting to hype for this I swear XD

-OH CRAP ANGELICA IS HERE!

-"all the way from London? DAYUM!" that's me!

-damn, work it, King George! XP

-YEAH DAMN RIGHT HIS POOR WIFE ELIZA DIDN'T DESERVE THIS! >:(

-aw man, Burn hit's different! especially when you catch your ex cheating on you. if that ever happens, LISTEN TO THIS SONG! trust me!

-I feel so bad for her.. :(

-Philip saying "the scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my pops, the ladies say that's not where the resemblance stops~" MADE ME DIE! LIKE ON THE SPOT! NO JOKE!

-the ladies are getting hype for Philip and honestly I CAN SEE WHY! HE'S A DADDY! DUNNO! UwU

-OOF! BEEF!

-he got shot AGAIN!?!

-he dies AGAIN!?!

-WHY DOES THIS HANDSOME BOI KEEP DYING?? LET HIM LIVE BRO!! T^T

-poor Eliza...

-oh god please no not it's quiet uptown! Imma cry again!

-oop... and now I'm crying again... ain't that fun! :'D

-the way they held hands at the end! T^T be still my heart!

-DAYUM! Hamilton chose JEFFERSON over Burr! oof, that's gotta sting!

-"you know what we can change that, you know why?" me: why? "because I'm the president.." me: *blushes and sweats*.... uh.. ahem... welp, that's enough convincing for me you got it sir! I am so sorry... TvT

-oh no they about to duel! oh sh!t oh sh!t! I'm scared!

-lol A. Ham! XD I'm sorry I just find that so funny! HAM! AHA do I look like a Christmas meal to you?? lmao

-he's... HE'S AIMING HIS PISTOL AT THE SKY! BURR HOLD UP DON'T SHOOT DON'T-

-... he shot Hamilton...

-seriously Burr??

-Eliza has been through many heartbreaks right now..

-oh this is my 5th favorite song. who lives who dies, who tells your story... I'm gonna cry again, aren't I?

-yep! definitely just cried! that song always hits home for me..

I love this musical so much! no words can describe how much it means to me. so I suggest you listen to the soundtrack yourself, if you haven't and tell me how you feel about it. c:

#I feel a rollercoaster of emotions #i criiii #who lives who dies who tells your story #hamilton #hamilton the musical #they added hamilton to disney+#we rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes #alexander hamilton #the schuyler sisters #i'm in love with musicals #musical #musical fangirl #extreme fangirling #who else thinks that Thomas Jefferson is hot??#who else thinks John Laurens is hot??#who else thinks Hercules Mulligan is hot??#the revoltuion #dear theodosia #musical fandom

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theentiregdtime · 5 years

Note

hey if you’re still in a mood for bryan adams/macden asks: please consider “cuts like a knife”

Dennis is dropping Mac off on a date.

Which is fine. It’s an inconvenience and a complete waste of an hour of his evening, but otherwise… it’s fine.

Traffic is light, he can pick up dinner on the way back, and he’s playing his Bryan Adams CD in the car without any objection from Mac, for once- presumably because he feels guilty for asking this favor of him.

Which he should! And he should give Dennis the usual ‘thanks, man, you’re the best!’ and swear to pay him back and babble on and on about how awesome this is to the point where it’s entirely annoying (but Dennis doesn’t tune him out, he never tunes him out, even when he’s rambling incoherently).

Mac isn’t doing any of that, though. As a matter of fact, they’re hardly talking at all. It’s quiet between them. Not the effortless, familiar quiet, but the kind that sits on the back of your tongue and burns a hole in your throat.

The only thing filling the stillness between them is the stereo, good ol’ Bryan Adams singing about how there was only you and me and there’s nowhere unless you’re there and you told me that you’d wait forever.

“I feel like you’re mad at me, dude,” cuts the silence like a knife.

What? He isn’t-…!

Ah, shit, that’s fair.

Dennis does have quite a history of berating Mac over his dates- but that’s because they were always thinly-veiled charades that he made a big, flamboyant show of so everyone could see just how well he was keeping the closet doors shut.

But they’re open now. They’re open and it’s different and Dennis isn’t mad. He’s not even jealous or bitter about how he’s going to go home tonight and watch a movie alone and his best friend will be out here gallivanting about town with someone else. There’s just…

Something in him is burning. He can’t quite place it, but at the same time, he knows exactly what it is and simply doesn’t wish to look it in the eye.

Mac is out of the closet. He’s dating guys now, and this is the first of them he’s formally gone out with, at least as far as Dennis is aware. He doesn’t pretend to know what Mac gets up to when he spends the afternoon at the Rainbow and comes back covered in sweat and glitter, or what he did over the course of the year they didn’t speak.

It’s real now. It’s genuine. It isn’t a stage act. It isn’t a six-ring bullshit circus of Catholicism and heterosexuality and look how normal I am whilst he parades around like a damned rodeo clown.

That means if he grabs someone by the shoulders and says he loves them, he’ll mean it. If he ducks in to give someone an excited kiss, it’s going to connect and he’s going to want it. If he goes out on a dinner date, he’s going to wear two colognes and someone is going to like the smell of it. If he moves in with someone, they’re going to sleep in the same bed, and if they sleep in the same bed, they’re going to hold each other. If he buys someone a gift, it’s going to be because he knows them, really knows them.

And there aren’t going to be any more movie nights or monthly dinners or drunken brownouts at the bar. Dennis is going to be alone- and he’s never been truly alone. It was Dee and his parents, then it was Mac, then it was Maureen, then Mac, then Mandy, then Mac-

He isn’t certain what silence is going to sound like.

When he pictures it, he’s on the sofa watching a movie, and no one is eating chips too loudly and leaving crumbs, no one’s feet are encroaching upon his personal space, no one is pausing to make idiotic commentary every ten minutes, and the movie just plays and plays and keeps going until it’s over and time is passing and everything is growing old. He’s reading a book undisturbed because there’s no one in the other room on a goddamned exercise bike or making themselves a sandwich or taking a shower. There is Dennis Reynolds and then there is blackness, deafening quiet, like the vacuum of space, and there is nothing in between.

“I’m not mad,” Dennis insists unconvincingly. He’s not sure why it sounds like a lie, because for once, it isn’t.

The CD skips over to the next song, and an upbeat guitar begins blaring a bit too loudly for their conversation. He doesn’t turn it down, though, because he doesn’t want to have to hear the nothingness in between.

Driving home this evening, could have sworn we had it worked out…

Dennis likes this song. Of course he does, it’s his mix CD- but it strikes him differently now. Typically, he’s slapping the steering wheel and cutting people off in traffic and singing loudly, thinking about wanting something so badly and feeling it slip away but still wanting it, and the reckless thrill and romance of the give-and-take of it all.

Well, I heard it on the street, heard you might have found somebody new…

But it doesn’t feel that in real life. There is nothing exciting or arousing or mysterious about this. It just feels like trying to hold onto water.

Who is he, baby? And tell me what he means to you…

“I do think this is a waste of my night, but I didn’t wish to hear your whining, so I’m here!” Dennis snaps a little callously, but he isn’t shouting yet. “I’m driving the car, aren’t I?”

Mac doesn’t respond right away. It’s just the music again.

Mac was supposed to wait. He was supposed to wait for Dennis. He was supposed to be fine with nothing for years and years, fine with both of them stalling by messing around with inconsequential women, until Dennis decided he was finally ready. He was supposed to always be an option. He was supposed to always be there, just waiting in the corner of the ring until Dennis tapped him in.

The door was always supposed to be open and now it’s starting to shut.

I took it all for granted, but how was I supposed to know that you’d be letting go?

Yeah, that stings.

“It’s just, like, we’re not talking and-”

“Then talk. Why must I be the one to talk? I am trying to focus on the road, Mac!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to, because you’re just gonna yell at me.”

Dennis doesn’t glance over, but he’s sure Mac is pouting.

Or even worse, maybe he’s not making puppy dog eyes and sticking out his bottom lip as he does when he’s being melodramatic. Maybe he’s hurt, wholly and genuinely hurt, and his face is just dead.

Dennis doesn’t glance over.

“Oh, that is- I am not going to yell at you, you sound like a child-”

“You’re yelling at me now, Dennis.”

“Because you’re being absurd!”

It’s silent again.

Can’t you see we did the best we could?

Mac clicks his tongue.

“See, this is what I was talking about,” he sighs in defeat.

Dennis is not going to apologize. No way in hell is he going to apologize. He isn’t even going to pretend to- Mac is acting absolutely ridiculous.

“Sorry, but you left for like a year,” Mac continues to rant, loud enough to drown out the stereo. “All I’m trying to do is go out on one date!”

Dennis comes to a sudden halt at a stoplight, hoping Mac’s seatbelt locks and snaps against his collar. It’s what he deserves for starting this purposeless argument.

“I didn’t make you drive me to North Dakota,” he levels, voice devoid of any tone whatsoever, and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, yeah, but I’m doing this for you!”

Oh, what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he meant to get down on his knees and thank him for the opportunity to be his chauffeur?

“I didn’t want you not to have the car tomorrow morning if I end up…”

Someone behind them honks, even though the light’s been green less than a second. Normally, Dennis would spin around and memorize such a rude man’s face to seek reprisal, but he doesn’t have the time nor the energy at the moment. Instead, he merely hits the gas and takes the next corner.

“And what if you don’t? You expect me to come back out here at god knows what hour of the night to pick you back up? Like some sort of schoolchild? As if it would be beneath you to take a goddamn taxi?”

Mac is broke, he’s always broke, Dennis knows that. He knows that because all of their money was in the same place for years, and it was all Dennis’, and then he was a ghost and Mac was left to pay the bills alone.

But he seems to have spent the past year getting himself together, supposedly enough to save his money and actually spend it on something other than ironic shirts and scratch-offs and dangerous schemes with Charlie and shopping on the dark web. He’s gotten himself together enough that he really doesn’t need Dennis for anything…

And that’s terrifying.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Fine, then don’t pick me up.” Mac throws his hands in the air in an act of surrender. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Dennis’ fingernails dig into the steering wheel, and he tosses some words around in his head, feels them out, because he needs to say something and it needs to be convincing, and goddamn it, he’s going to say something because-

“You should get over. It’s coming up.”

He wonders what would happen if he didn’t hit the turn signal, if he missed the stop by accident, if he just kept on driving. He wonders if the door would still be open.

When he looks over to check the flow of traffic in the turn lane, he catches a glimpse of Mac’s face. It’s only been a year, but he looks a lot older than Dennis remembers. He looks less energetic, less happy, less carefree. He supposes they both do.

It’s like there’s a weight on them now. Mac is out of the closet, and suddenly it’s not just fun and games and casual touching and almost kisses and laughter and late nights and sharing beers and crafting fake marriage schemes and pretending it all means nothing. They can no longer fall into the safety net of denial. Everything means something now, and that makes Dennis want to say and do nothing at all, because every word and every touch is a glass one drop from spilling over into something for which he isn’t ready.

But Mac was supposed to wait.

There’s no more time for him to wait, though, because they’re at his stop.

“Thanks,” Mac mutters under his breath before kicking his door open.

He’s angry now, but he isn’t going to do anything about it, because Dennis did him a favor by driving him here. That’s how Mac is. Even when he’s bursting at the seams with rage or excitement or something else entirely, he chokes his emotions down for the sake of their friendship. Dennis is usually apt at keeping things in, too, but tonight it feels like bile is rising in the back of his throat.

Mac’s feet hit the pavement and he tugs his jacket sleeves over his wrists, bracing against the cold air. He turns to close the passenger side door, but before it shuts, Dennis reaches an arm out. His knuckles just barely graze Mac’s shoulder.

“Mac, wait…”

Mac doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t walk away, either. He simply stands there, staring like a fish, eyebrows curved and lips tense, like he might go if Dennis tells him to go, but he might stay if Dennis asks him to stay.

He doesn’t ask him to stay.

“I’ll pick you up later, okay?” he offers, their eyes finally meeting dead on. He hopes Mac will know what he means by it, to save him from having to admit to anything aloud.

Mac swallows, contemplating, and for a moment, Dennis thinks he may respond with an ‘I’ll let you know’.

“Okay,” he says instead.

Dennis wonders what Mac might say if he tells him he’s ready, tells him he doesn’t have to wait anymore, tells him he doesn’t even need to go meet this guy because there doesn’t need to be another guy.

He doesn’t say any of that, either.

“I’ll… rent a movie,” he mumbles, “and you can tell me about your date.”

“Okay.”

Mac nods softly, looking at Dennis like he could say anything in the world and he would still reply ‘okay’.

'Stay with me.’

'Okay.’

'Don’t go on any more dates.’

'Okay.’

'Wait for me.’

'Okay.’

“Text me,” is all that ends up leaving Dennis’ mouth.

“Okay.” Mac closes the car door.

Then he’s stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, spinning on his heel, and making his way into the restaurant. Then he’s gone.

And the door is really shut.

All that’s left is the music. All that’s left is Bryan Adams still singing to him like he knows him and sees exactly what the fuck is going on and just how fucking pathetic he looks right now.

Oh, it cuts like a knife…

“Yeah,” Dennis says to himself, as he turns forward and pulls back onto the road. “It sure does, buddy.”

#asks #ptsunnydee #OH IT DOES NOT FEEL SO RIGHT #ok i know this prompt so clearly coulda been mac's pov about maureen or mandy or w/e but i couldn't get this out of my head #tysm for the ask but at the same time ouchhhh #iasip #it's always sunny in philadelphia #it's always sunny #dennis reynolds #mac mcdonald #macdennis #fics #my writing

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epic-summaries · 4 years

Note

Thank you for giving Ettard a Happy Ending where Pelleas isn't rewarded for his creepy Nice Guy behaviour. If it's not too much to ask, could you also write a story where Nimue and Ettard both rebuke him for his stalking? At first he angrily insists he did nothing wrong, but later on realizes his behaviour was wrong. He then goes to Ettard ashamed to apologize and make amends.

Sorry this took so long. But here’s the sequel to https://epic-summaries.tumblr.com/post/187624143434/random-idea-pelleas-and-ettard-story-but-nimue.

“You are the embodiment of the Virgin herself!”

Lady Ettard starred at the lonely insane knight at her castle gate. She then turned to the woman beside her. “How is that romantic? Who wants to have sex with the Virgin Mary?”

“The Holy Spirit and Joseph, I assume,” said Nimue.

Lady Ettard giggled.

“Your eyes shine like the morning sun!”

Both women rolled their eyes.

Lady Ettard made a dismissive motion with her hand and left to run her castle. Nimue stayed enjoying the cringe.

Her “charming knight” was not giving up. Lady Ettard didn’t know what to do. She told him that she did not love him many many many times. It didn’t matter. She sent knights to fight Sir Cringe. But even losing time after time, he came back. He found her in bed with another man for God sake! Now that she found love with Nimue, she wanted him even less, something she did not think was possible. Did he think that his persistence was cute? Probably. Did he think he would wear her down and she would eventually have to say yes? Probably.

“My Lady.” Her knight bowed. He held the hilt of his sword. “Would you like us to chase Sir Pelleas away?”

“Not until Lady Nimue gets bored of him. How are the villagers doing? I see the harvest is almost over.”

“Yes, and there is a surplus for winter.”

“Good. Any news from Camelot?”

“Not since last time.”

“Perhaps I should go there and get the King to order my stalker to leave.” Lady Ettard doubted that would actually stop him.

“Maybe if you were to marry, he would give up?”

Lady Ettard laughed. “That doesn’t matter. He is a romantic. Queen Guinevere has many knights pledge their love for her and she is married.” She sighed. “Send for Nimue. I have a plan.”

Lady Ettard went to her stables where Nimue was standing near her horse. Lady Ettard didn’t know if she could ever get used to Nimue’s magic. Nimue was teaching her some magic but it still felt mysterious to her. But there was a power in the mystery of magic and she was going to discover it.

“My love.” Nimue had her her horse and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Lady Ettard took her horse and pulled Nimue into a kiss. “I love you.”

Nimue blushed dark blue. “Are you going to fight Sir Halftwit yourself?”

“No, we will have a civil conversation and you are coming with me.”

Nimue toucher her face and gave her a chase kiss that still brought a tingle to her spin. “I would follow you to Annwn itself if I had too.”

See that was sexy and romantic. It was a romantic punch to the gut stealing the air from Lady Ettard’s lung. Sir Asshat could learn a thing or two from Nimue.

Lady Ettard climbed her horse and Nimue sat being her. Her arms were around Lady Ettard’s body and face in the crook of her neck.

“Stop that. I am a proper lady.”

Lady Ettard rode to Sir Stalker. His face lit up seeing the object of his affection. He was wearing armour with such little quality that it was rusting in some parts. His horse was unarmed, but looked well fed. His camp was quite pitiful. Lady Ettard saw it every day from the roof of her castle wall, but it looked worse up close. The bones of birds, rabbits and squirrels surrounded the camp. Most of the bones were crushed from hooves or Sir Idiotface’s walking. Some bones still have flesh, which was probably one of the sources of the strange smell of the camp.

“My lady.” The Idiot went on one knee like he was about to swear fidelity to Lady Ettard.

“Get up.” He listened right away. He knows the meaning of that word. “You are not my champion knight…”

“We can change that and I will swear the oath right now.”

“You will not because I do not want you to be my champion.”

He looked genuinely confused at that statement. It was like she surprised him, which surprised Lady Ettard. How was he surprised? He was a dullard!

Nimue gave Lady Ettard a squeeze on her hand for encouragement.

“I want you leave me and my castle.”

“But my lady, my queen, my goddess, you are the most beautiful woman in the world and you must be honoured with a champion!”

“I have many knights in my service.”

“You must have someone declare their love for you and protect that love.”

“I have that.” She looked at her beautiful fairy lover.

“What do you know of Lady Ettard?” Nimue asked.

“She is the most beautiful…”

“Yeah, yeah, we know that.” Nimue rolled her eyes. “What else do you know about Lady Ettard?”

Sir Dullard looked confused. “She runs a castle.” He thought again. “She has quality knights in her service.”

“What else?” asked Lady Ettard.

“What do you mean what else? Does anything else matter?”

Both women groaned.

“You don’t love me,” said Lady Ettard.

Sir Idiotface looked aghast that the accusation. “Have I not proven time and time again how much I love you. Each day I stand here declaring it.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have tried to kill me!”

“Sir Gawain had dishonoured you. He was a demon you lead you away from God and his holy rule. He dishonoured me.”

“And makes it okay to kill me?”

“Lucretia taught us that only with death we can be pure but that doesn’t matter because I have forgiven you, like God surely will.”

Lady Ettard was very happy Nimue was there to protect her. She did not trust this man.

“Did you know that Lady Ettard loved looking at the stars in heaven?” said Nimue. The insane man shook his head. “She is learning astrology. She laments that she would love to ride her horse again. She loves the feel of the wind on her face and the freedom it brings. She hates carrots and gives any to the hounds under her table. She snores loud enough that you can hear from the other side of the hall”

“I do not!”

“You do.”

Lady Ettard shook her head in opposition. She didn’t want Nimue to stop telling her stalker how much she loved her.

“She keeps one of the best organized castles I have seen. Her name is Arcade but she hates that name and prefers Lady Ettard.”

“I did not know that.”

“I know,” said Lady Ettard. “I hope you will be gone in the morning.”

She went to her horse and Nimue followed.

The next morning, Lady Ettard was awoken by a knight.

“My lady, it is a miracle!”

“Pardon?” She was still half asleep and could not process what was being said.

“Whatever you did yesterday, it worked! Sir Pelleas is gone!”

Lady Ettard shot up. She stared at the knight wide eyed. “Are you sure?”

“He told Sir Reynold that he was mistaken and he must respect you and your wishes. He wishes you would hear his apologies and would leave you.”

Lady Ettard felt like something was lifted off of her. She could not believe it. She ran to see if this was a lie. It was not. He was gone. HE was gone! She was finally free of Sir Pellaes!

#lady ettard #nimue #sir pelleas #arthurian legend #my writing

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

Text

Imagine Samuel being a father

A/N: So, in my opinion... Samuel Drake as a father would a killer. I think that he would be somewhere between Ryan Reynolds (find his parenthood tweets, oh lord) and Josh Wolf (such a good stand up comedian).

He would love his children endlessly, he isn't his own father, after all, but he'll maybe terrorize them a bit. Like in a funny way.

Also, I might start a series of one-shots, because I have a ton of ideas for this one.

Warnings: Samuel being a kickass father. There's some weed mentioned in here, but it is meant to be fun.

You and Samuel were together for some time.

Let me say, you were that badass Californian couple - partying, drinking your ass off, smoking weed and doing a lot of fucking things.

Like, you were practically animals. Party animals.

And of course, you were on your pills. We don't want any accidents here, right?

But, if ya know and are aware of - antibiotics and hormonal pills kinda don't do a single shit when mixed.

You should let him know that when you were finishing your antibiotics after a looong illness.

But you somehow magically forgot when he started to nuzzle you on the sofa. You know the drill really well. But why not, you were horny as hell, you missed his weenie and his body. Boy, it shouldn't be a sin to make love with your boyfriend, right?

Ya know how this goes, don't you? You don't? But I do and let me tell you.

Nuzzling > nude dudes > just the tip > oops, I cum in you.

It wasn't a sin to make love with your boyfriend. But you didn't count on that you actually get pregnant.

Yet there you were, holding that goddamn stick in front of his hazel brown eyes.

"Alright, young man." - You went. - "You wanna tell me something about dat? Because I'm pregnant and I don't certainly didn't impregnated on my own." - You asked, looking at him with that you know what you have done. But he just slapped you in the face with his answer.

"Maybe it's God's will?" - Samuel asked and you didn't know if you were about to cry or laugh actually. There was a fucking baby on the way and you two weren't that couple who would get rid of it. Maybe it hadn't the most perfect timing, yet you two have done it, so it was your responsibility now.

"Are you joking me?"

"Babe, I have one question and I am scared of the answer." - He whispered and you waved your fingers as sing for him to go on. - "I've heard some... Rumors? Like... Will your vanana be the same when he or she gets out of your body? I kinda like your tight little girl."

So yeah. There were no fights, no yelling or tears. The only two things Samuel was concerned about was the health of the baby and how actually make your vanana tight again after that.

He's an idiot. Don't mind him. At least he was looking forward to being a father. He looked like the type who runs away directly after telling him - but he was fucking pumped for your child.

That didn't mean he would be a good father. Not at all. You could tell, you could fucking tell, that he'll be that prankster, pretty tough dad with some terrible fucking jokes and you were sure that when your child will be an adult, they'll have some freaking funny memories to share.

Let me say one thing - he read as many books about labor and pregnancy as he read on the topic of vanana. He has his priorities straight. And you couldn't tell otherwise.

But no one else could believe.

"I'm with a baby." - You told Elena and Nathan who has their daughter just a few months ago. She was gorgeous after her mother and you were all scared that she'll catch Nathan's attributes.

Nathan started to laugh hysterically, but you guys were looking at him with a frown. Elena slapped his back and her stare was like can you calm the fuck down, man?

"I meant that they were joking."

Nobody could believe that Samuel Drake is about to be a father.

But when your belly got bigger and bigger, they figured out you might not be joking at all.

Samuel loved when he could speak with your belly, whispering to it when the evening came and you two lazily lied on the sofa, watching some dumb movies with Bruce Willis.

"Hi there, little one." - He carefully descended between your legs, nuzzling your belly with his lips and nose. You unconsciously messed his hair with your hand.

"Had a crazy day, I tell ya, buddy. My head is blowing up with one thought at the moment." - Samuel sighed dramatically.

"What thought, daddy?" - You messed with him with a quiet laugh. You were all in about calling him daddy in the family way and in a naughty way as well.

"I was thinking about marrying mommy, little fellow."

It wasn't history's greatest proposal, but it was something, right? It was romantic in its own way and it made you really happy.

And when the baby moved under his palms for the first time ever, it made him legit cry like a little boy.

At the moment he officially started the age of Sam, the sensitive and loving father™ (even tho it was insanely lovely, it didn't stop you from making fun of him).

He acted around you as if he was walking around some porcelain which he could break easily. He made sure you don't drink, you don't even get close to some weed, he was cooking you the healthiest recipes and even bought you some pregnancy clothes.

You wanted to know the gender, of course, but Samuel was strictly against it. So you knew it would be a boy from the start, right?

But his curiosity almost killed him. He asked you many times during different events.

Once you made dishes? He asked. You were cooking? He crept being you and almost killed you because of freaking out. You were washing clothes? Dear, that man just magically stood next to the washing machine.

But in the end, you finally told him.

And he cried again - he was about to have a baby boyo. His own son. Someone to pass the legacy on.

That made him the happiest man under the sun.

When that day came and Thomas finally saw the light of the world, Samuel was under serious pressure, shaking and crying a big time, white as a fucking wall - and you were screaming that you'll kill him if he ever tried to have another child with you.

And yes, your firstborn son was named after a pirate - Thomas Tew.

It was a long and let's be honest, painful a fucking lot in the end, labor but there was a small little bean in your arms, both of you were crying like little fucking girls and you almost immediately fell asleep after breastfeeding the baby and having all of those pregnancy things out of your body.

"You can breastfeed me as well." - Samuel whispered wickedly, thinking about sexual stuff again, and you were so disgusted by it after baby just fucking crawled from your vanana that you smacked his cheek hard. He was mesmerized, shocked and partially amused.

"If you ever put your lips close to my boobs or your penis somewhere near my vagina, you better be sure that I'll cut your weenie off, you motherfucker." - You sighed painfully with your eyes closed. He chuckled.

"From today on I'll be a motherfucker, I solemnly swear." - Samuel said in a loving tone.

He called Nathan as soon as he left you when you fell asleep. Both of them cried and they decided to have a shot for the welfare of his son - which meant that Nathan vomited in the park at three am and Samuel tried to kick hydrant because that hydrant insulted him.

They were fucking high, having the biggest hungover of their lives, waking up on the beach and neither of them knew how the fuck they got there.

You came home after a few days with a baby in a safety cradle and you couldn't believe your eyes. Those little things which made baby safe about sharp edges and some fuses.

The funniest was when Samuel forgot how to open the one on your toilet. And he needed to pee desperately.

He always thought that babies are more fun than just crying, eating and pooping - why would everyone want them then?

He kinda didn't understand Nathans feelings about Cassie. It doesn't mean that he doesn't love his little baby boy, alright? He was just that kind of a man who thought that babies crawl out of the woman and they immediately do everything. He needed to learn that it takes some time before they walk and talk.

So when he was holding Thomas in his armchair, he whispered him his pirate stories and fact and that little one didn't understand a single word, but it calmed him down.

So be sure that Samuel was PUMPED when the boyo started to crawl around and saying those sweet nonsenses. Samuel also almost threw a huge celebration when Thomas said mama for the first time or when he did his first step.

“He's a genius! Have you heard the pronunciation? Our little boy is exactly like his dad - fast, charming and extremely good with ladies. Have you seen him with Cassie?”

“Samuel, I think that you're freaking out and overthinking it a lot.”

He was basically pumped every everything Thomas did.

And when his boy started to draw? Jesus, Samuel was ready to call him Picasso. In his eyes, he was extremely talented (and you didn't ruin it by saying him that Thomas is completely normal, little boy).

You were pretty lit parents, to be honest.

When you had a long day at work and Samuel was too sick from Thomas making him angry (like when he fucked up your beautiful white wall with Nutella and fucking ketchup), you just waited until your son fell asleep.

“Are you ready for it?”

“You bet your ass, Samuel. I just need to turn off my brain.”

And you two smoked some tree (weed, who doesn't know). You were high as a kite. You didn't smoke weed much, just sometimes and it wasn't even a lot of it. Just to make you feel ok, restart your brain.

But one day you came to the bedroom and Samuel was pale and looking into your closet.

“What is up, baby? You look scared.” - You said and stood next to him, looking into that closet next to him. - “Babe?”

“You were... You know, eating our happy brownies what you've baked for today's evening?” - Samuel asked and you shook your head and his eyes and expression went to “What?” to “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Thomas ate your weed baked in brownies. There was not a lot of it, thank god, so he was mostly okay. He was totally fine the next day - but the evening, man, that was a wild one. You both didn't leave his side all night, watching him and you didn't even fall asleep. Nothing happened, thanks to god.

Even tho, years later you burst out of laugh when Samuel was talking about his baby boy getting high on accident.

Yet, from that day on, you started to hide your edibles and weed more carefully.

From that day on, Samuel sometimes didn't leave his side all day - he woke him up, prepared breakfast, took him to kindergarten, took him out, went out with him and so on - sometimes he even fell asleep during telling him a proper pirate story.

Especially when you somehow got pregnant, again. What should I say? This man just has good genes and really good sperms.

Nobody knew how it happened again.

But Thomas was just about to have a sibling when he was four years old.

So Samuel took the role of father for 24/7 when you got really pregnant. It was nice and Samuel was a lot calmer this time.

He was a self-proclaimed pregnancy expert since Thomas was born and he was pretty sure your vanana can be tight once again after labor because you were successful the first time.

Especially he loved to take Thomas out to the park.

He was sure that his son will be like him. When he was five years old, he was pretty good with the girls his age and because he took after your beautiful face and he took after Samuels' eyes, he was good even with women. Thomas was an adorable boy.

But that's what made Samuel worried - if he would be like Samuel as a teenager, you will through some tough shit.

But hey - for that moment, he was only five and he had a little sister named Anne after a pirate woman Anne Bonny. Sam did his puppy eyes for that one and he promised you endless nights of eating out if you name her Anne.

And Thomas was like “Why the fuck should dad eat mommy?”. He was pretty scared at that moment.

When Anne was actually born, you had already learned from the mistakes you have done with Thomas.

Your life went on - you got a house, Sam was still in the business with Sully and yet Sam wasn't exactly the youngest, he had a hella energy for his children and job. And he got a hella money from that. Sully knew really well what he was doing. Tom started to go to elementary school and it wasn't a much of time before Annie went to kindergarten.

You stopped smoking tree at home; Elena and Nate were looking after Tom and Annie and you just got off to the woods or you want on to some mountain cottage. But you have still done that only when life was too hard on you and you needed to relax really badly.

Sometimes you took Cassie to your house, planning the evenings of their life to them.

Samuel and Nathan even started a competition who will do it better - but let's say that Samuel wasn't as much pussy as Nathan. That prison made him crazy a bit.

But oh man, then it started.

Thomas was twelve years old and he was a high-school boy. So watch out. Obviously, you are old as fuck and you don't know shit about his cruel, tough life.

He stopped telling you everything, but you know it was only a natural thing that you had to accept. Annie was seven at the time and she was Samuels little sunshine and princess and you were her best friends.

But Tom had a strong relationship with Sully and Nathan and Sam. And the older he was, the stronger it was.

He wasn't that little boy anymore. He slowly started to be a man. And you couldn't be prouder.

He had his moods, yeah, but he helped you at the home, he cared about his grades, he even hadn't that much of a mess in his room and he was really well brought up. And he loved you more than anything else in the world - you were his mommy.

But just as Sam, Nate, Sully, and Tom had their club, you, Elena, Cassie and little Annie got you a one.

But oh my fucking Lord, you loved the stories what Sam was telling you when you got to bed. He didn't tell you Tom's problems in from of him, but you two were still his parents and you know how the drill goes: what does your dad know, your mom knows too.

"Dad?" - Tom came to Samuel one evening and he was looking like a piece of shit. Samuel frowned immediately and put his newspaper on the table. He was still worried about Tom even tho he was really smart, pretty non-problem thirteen-year-old boy. He knew how to take care of himself.

"What's up, kid?" - Samuel smiled and massaged his son's shoulder with his palm, trying to calm him down.

"I, uh, oh damn I don't know how the hell I should start." - Tom said quietly and if you were there, you would look at your son and mouth language, but there was only the two of them, so it was cool. - "Okay, okay, okay, I have a problem. It's a huge problem. I think that there's something wrong about me." - Tom whispered.

"Why would you think that? Look at you, you're a handsome young lad, just as I was back in my days." - Sam chuckled and gulped a sip of beer.

"I just gonna tell it, okay?" - Thomas took his face into his palms and started to mumble. - "So my classmate Lindsay had a really nice, tight shirt on today and I saw her boobs in a coincidence and something happened in my pants, you know, with my weenie. And then it happened again when I was a math class and I don't know what to do, because it never happened before and I'm so scared." - He finished and Sam just smiled and patted his shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong with that. Your body just tells you that you're ready to have a woman. But try something when you're underage and I'll kill you, understood?" - Samuel told him with a proud smile. - "And I don't know if this happens, but if you get hard for a man, I don't tell you it has to happen, it's just as good. I don't care whom you bang when you'll be an adult, understood? But you are still young for doing that, so try anything and I'll tell your mother."

He was so proud at that moment. His boy became an official man in his eyes. He wasn't little anymore. But still fairly young.

And you also worked as the biggest threat to Tom, so he was almost shitted because of fear at the moment. You were worse than a hurricane when he did something really bad, like throwing up on your mom's dog or when he broke a toilet at his school.

And you giggled when Sam told you that your son is a man.

He talked with Sam about everything as he grew up - he had told him about his first making out with a girl, about his first boob-touching session which he was really excited about (Tom hummed songs all evening, which wasn't a thing he would normally do) and he even asked for advice when he was about to touch his girlfriend's, her name was Carmen and she was a lovely girl, vanana for the first time ever. They had a big group meeting with uncle Nathan and pa Sully about that - it was huge for Tom and they just quietly remembered how it was for them.

But let me say - Samuel and Nathan aged like a fucking good wine. They maybe weren't the youngest around, but hell, they still did something to the women around and they had plenty of experience.

And it was three times more for Sully. Even he got married to a woman named Florence (@missdictatorme I had to) and when he was twenty years younger, he knew how to do her good.

"Alright, old man." - Eighteen-year-old Tom sat next to his father and grinned at him in the Drake-typical way with his corner-turning upwards and his eyebrows risen a little. - "Might I ask you for some tips and tricks? I think I really love her and I need to be gentle with her so she would enjoy as well."

"I might be an old man," - Sam grinned and looked at his younger brother. - "But I think your mom doesn't think so at times. Am I right, boys?" - He looked at Sully and Nathan, and every one of them laughed a bit. Sully was a really old man; each one of them was considered old, and he was now sitting on a wheelchair. He could walk, but those years of treasure hunting hadn't done any good to his poor knees.

"Ew, Jesus. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that at all."

But they got him some useful tips. Like: don't try to find her vanana on her stomach or when you stick a finger inside, make sure it's wet and don't your hand just, you know, stuck out there. Move it.

They had a great bond. Otherwise, he and Samuel would never talk about it this openly.

You two as parents got a lot of fun with your son, especially when he was nineteen and he was ready to try some new stuff. You knew he will get drunk - but when he vomited all over your terrace and when you heard him speak and say I love you for a million times while you recorded him, you had the fucking time of your whole life. Don't worry, you made it clean up after himself.

Samuel recorded all of his son's bullshit - how he spoke when he had eaten those weed-brownies when you were camping in the wood while he was eight and somehow he got his shit on his earlobe when he totally burned your Christmas sweets... Baby, there is a lot of your son's mistakes you had a proof for.

But the biggest fun actually came when he wanted to try weed. You and Sam acted a bit mad, but you knew it had to come at one point.

So, in the end, you told him "Okay, you're eighteen, so you're in law, but we'll do it together so when something happens, we are with you". And of course, he went like "Wtf no".

But you have all of that shit recorded, and when you have your bad day, you just play the speech of your stoned son. It's embarrassing and he wanted you to delete it immediately - so you knew you'll play it at his wedding.

But when it came to Annie, his baby princess and a flawless small girl being in the same age his son were when he started his sexual life, oh dear lord.

A boy looked into her direction? Sam was there, looking at him like "touch her and I would fucking break your hands, hands and penis, punk".

But you knew it is going to happen someday, so you went all in about hormonal pills, condoms, other sources of protection, you told her a hundred times that she shouldn't do it because every girl has done it but because she loves somebody... And she was like "mom, you've told me a million times and I'm not an idiot."

But you know - Tom, now a twenty-two-year-old adult, and his fiancée moved into a flat together, so you took care of Annie even more intensely.

Annie accepted your opinions if they were useful and not too idiot-sounding like. But you know girls her age - she was sure that Samuel is a huge dick who just wants to make her life harder.

And he almost fainted when she came home with a boyfriend. His name was David.

In your opinion, he was a nice boy, he was really nice to you and your daughter and polite to Samuel as well. They got through everything together - first kiss, boob-touching, making out, even first sex.

Annie even married him five years after that evening. And they moved out as well.

At the end of the day, besides for your son getting high as a kite when he was just five years old, your daughter accidentally drinking aid alcohol, losing your children in the mall a few times, a heck of bruises and a load of embarrassing, childhood stories... You were good parents.

And your son and your daughter knew that they were very lucky to have you because you taught them how to love and enjoy life and every time they need you for anything...

You were there for them.

#samuel drake #samuel drake headcanons #uncharted #daddy sammy #he would be great #i love this #had a ton of fun #hope you’ll enjoy it as well #have a nice day

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lifeoftheparty74 · 5 years

Text

Boyfriend’s best friend

A/N: So this is kinda what I imagine (more like hope) MagCon is still like around each other. It’s also my first fic that implies some more sexual themes, so I’d love feedback! (And yes, I do also take constructive criticism)

Pairing(s): ShawnxReader, CarterReynoldsxDemiPlaras

Word count: 1350

Warning(s): Some more sexual themes at the beginning and more towards the end, but nothing graphic

I am on top of Shawn, one of my hands resting on his bare chest and the other tangled in his hair. His hands are on my waist, softly rolling my hips against his lap as he lets out a moan.

My lips are on his neck, sucking at the sweet spot just behind his ear I know he loves. This was just how I liked him, underneath me, panting at my mercy.

Just as I am about to take things a step further, Shawn's ringtone rings throughout his condo loudly. "Really?" He groans, throwing his head back on his pillow. "I'll be right back, baby." He says as he kisses my nose and rolls out from underneath me to answer it.

I take the few seconds to catch my breath and calm down a little, while admiring the great view of his back muscles that I was given while he picked up his phone.

"Hey Carter, what's up?" Carter? That's been a while.

"Yeah, sure, I don't see why not."

"Really? Today?"

"You're sure?"

"Okay, hold on a sec, I gotta ask Y/n."

I faintly hear Carter shout "Whipped!" from across the room and roll my eyes at his childish behavior.

Shawn covers the underside of his phone as he whispers to me, "Carter is going to propose to Demi tonight and he wants all of MagCon and a couple of other friends to come,"

"What? Aaww, that's soo cute! Of course we'll come!"

Shawn pointedly looks down at his boner, shaking his head that he doesn't want to go.

"Come on Mendes, your friend is getting engaged! Are you really going to refuse to go because you're still a horny teenager?" I whisper hurriedly.

"Yes," He whispers back, trying to convince me to agree with him through his eyes. He knows I have a hard time resisting his puppy dog eyes, but not today Mendes.

"Please, babe, if we stay home I'll let you come four, no, five times tonight."

"Uhmm, guys, you know that I can hear every word you say..... Right?"

"Oh shit, Carter, I'm so sorry!" I call out as Shawn rolls his eyes. "Of course we'll come! What time do we need to be there?"

"I'll text. Don't worry, you can go back to whatever the hell you were doing before I called. See you tonight."

***

As we arrive at the fancy restaurant Carter chose later that night, Shawn's arm wrapped around my waist tightly to protect me from creepy people checking me out, I am amazed at how good and happy Demi looks. Her skin seems to be glowing, even more perfect than normal and I can't help but wish I could look so effortlessly beautiful too.

Carter smiles at us as we come in nervously, his hand covered his jeans pocket briefly, luckily going unnoticed by his girlfriend.

"Shawn, Y/N, it awesome to see you again!" Demi hugs us, and me and her go on about each other's makeup and clothing and boyfriends while Shawn reunites with the guys that have arrived before us. Carter, Cameron, Nash, Hayes and Shawn argue about where everyone will sit, but I don't really care.

The restaurant looks lovely; It's cozy but also very chique, and gives a romantic vibe. The walls are coated with mostly brown and green colors, and paintings of trees complete the look.

About ten minutes later, almost all of MagCon and their girlfriends have made it. The only ones missing right now are the Jacks. When they finally enter the small place, everyone turns their heads, and damn, I'm reminded of the raging crush I used to have on Jack Gillinsky immediately. His sharp cheekbones, the jawline that could cut, and his deep eyes.

Of course, that doesn't mean he could ever pass Shawn, never, but a girl can have a crush.

"Damn," I whisper in Shawn's ear, and his hand moves to my thigh.

"What?" He furrows his eyebrows, making him look way too cute.

"I'm talking about Gillinsky."

"Oh." His hand squeezes my leg a little, leaning down to my ear. "If you make too many comments about him tonight, you are going to be punished, baby."

"I know." I giggle. "That's why I'm doing it."

As Johnson and Gillinsky greet everyone and take their seats, Shawn subconsciously pulls me closer to him and I giggle.

"But, for real though. Have you ever really looked at his face, I mean, that jawline..."

"Y/n, I swear to god.."

"What? I'd do him."

"If you don't shut up now, I'll make sure you regret it." He whispers the threat in my ear and I blush at his breath fanning my ear.

Dinner is lovely and the food tastes amazing, but I'm mostly just waiting for when Carter will finally pop the question. And after desert, he answers my question by clearing his throat and standing up.

"Thank you all, guys, girls, for coming tonight. So I wanted to start with saying something about my lovely girlfriend sitting here right next to me. Demi, sweetheart, I love you to death, but you already know that.

"I want you to know that not only I love you dearly and I would not be able to live without you, in the past few years you have changed me and made me into the person I am today. Without you, I would have never had some of the views I have right now, or looked at some things in the way I do. Without you, a very different man would have been talking right now."

I smile as I see Demi wiping her eyes, but she doesn't seem to have caught on the fact that this is not just a love speech, it's a proposal. Luckily, she only looks at Carter, and hasn't noticed everyone's knowing smirks yet.

"You are the most important person in my life, my queen, my absolute favorite human and the best girlfriend, best friend and soulmate I could have ever wished for.

"I cannot bare to think of a life where I would have to live without you. Which is why I am doing this right now."

He gets down on one knee next to her, opening the box he had been fiddling with nervously, and Demi's hands fly up to cover her mouth as her shoulders shake from exitement.

"Demi Plaras, will you make me, Carter Reynolds, the happiest man alive, and marry me?"

"Yes. Oh god, yes!" She cries out as he slips the ring on her finger and embraces her, still on one knee in front of her.

"She can't though." My own boyfriend whispers in my ear.

"What?" I reply, turning my head just slightly, not making it obvious that we were having a conversation.

"Make him the happiest man alive."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I already have that position, thanks to you."

I blush at his words, and tilt my head up to kiss him on the lips. "I love you."

"So much," He replies as he snuggles his head further into my hair.

"But I've gotta be honest though, if I got the chance, I'd do Gillinsky. No doubt."

"Okay, that's it." He grumbles. "You'll get punished for that."

"I can't wait, daddy."

"Fucking hell."

***

We arrive home later that night in the darkness. I walk in before Shawn, knowing I only have a couple of seconds before he'll push me against the wall and absolutely devour my lips.

I am right, as he closes the door and his hands are on my behind in an instant.

"Now, babygirl, what was that you were saying just now?"

"That I love you?"

"Who's are you?" He growls into my ear, pressing his body into mine, making me very aware of his length poking against my thigh.

"Yours," I breath. "Only yours."

"You better be."

#shawnmendes #shawn #shawnmendesfanfic #shawnmendesblurb #shawnmendesimagine #magcon #carter reynolds #camerondallas #jackgillinsky #jackjohnson #hayesgrier #nash grier #jack and jack #matthewespinonsa #taylor caniff #aaron carpenter

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musical-chick-13 · 5 years

Text

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Speed Round: Episodes 8-10

-META REFERENCES TO GREG AND SHIPPING GREBECCA LMAO I AM LIVING

-MY MAN!!! IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!

-NO GODDAMMIT I CAN’T SHIP REBECCA WITH PEOPLE THE WHOLE POINT IS THAT SHE DOESN’T NEED A RELATIONSHIP TO BE HAPPY SINGLE REBECCA OR BUST I CAN’T BE IN GREBECCA HELL AGAIN I HATE THIS

-So we’re just gonna...forget about Beth? Valencia’s...you know...canon...girlfriend...? Like, I get closure is a thing, but you’re making it seem like this is some overarching big dramatic romance that has the power to change Valencia’s life, and her One True Love, when she LITERALLY HAS THE COOLEST GIRLFRIEND EVER???!!!!

-....Polk? Really? I take it back. I unstan. Seriously. That is the most White Person(TM) answer I’ve ever heard. Wow, this conversation reeks of white privilege. You just...had to go and ruin a good thing, show, didn’t you.

-IT WAS FATHER BRAH YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME I HATE THIS I HATE THIS EPISODE THIS LITERALLY CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN SUSIE REYNOLDS I’M SO FUCKING ANGRY I TRUSTED YOU SHOW I. TRUSTED. YOU.

-I swear to God, if she cheats on Beth, I will personally jump into my computer screen and burn down Home Base.

-Okay, she explicitly talked about how she’s in love with Beth and how them being together is bad and she’s going to steal the letter, and they dealt with it in a mature way and admitted that sometimes life isn’t a rom-com and you miss chances and that high school loves aren’t usually The One, and I’m okay again. I’m sorry for doubting you, show.

-WHY IS HER FAVORITE PRESIDENT RUTHERFORD B. HAYES THOUGH

-I’m so proud of Rebecca. Owning up to a mistake, not wanting a potential relationship with Greg to be built on a lie/secret. I love my disaster child so much.

-ARE WE GOING TO GET A CATS PARODY NUMBER YEEEESSSSS

-Aw, man, I know you you feel, Darryl. Feeling irrelevant and replaced, like everyone likes your “cooler” coworker more than they like you...I JUST NEED HIM TO BE HAPPY AND LOVED THAT IS LITERALLY ALL THAT MATTERS

-I like aware-of-how-bad-he-is-at-being-nice Nathaniel...SOOOO much more than “Bad Boy” Nathaniel.

-Maya having an unrequited obnoxious crush on Father Brah is the only romantic subplot Father Brah should have been in, and I will die on that hill.

-Jason...deserves so much better than this entire embarrassment. Idk, hook him up with Maya or something NO BRING MONA BACK HAVE THEM BE A THING THEY’RE BOTH SWEET AND WONDERFUL AND DESERVE BETTER

-REBECCA IS GOING TO BOND WITH HER DNA-CHILD AND I’M SO EXCITED

-SPEAKING OF WHICH THAT BABY IS SO CUTE (all babies are cute, but SHE’S JUST REALLY CUTE)

-AND DARRYL IS GOING ON A DATE THIS IS THE EPISODE THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

-Okay. I’m going to get a LOT of hate for saying this, but I’m glad his date is with a woman? Because I feel like, a lot of times, we get bisexual characters who either get an endgame relationship with someone of their gender identity and people just go “See, they’re gay” or only express interest in people of their gender identity and people just go, “See, they’re gay.” Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay and we DEFINITELY need gay representation, too. It’s just...there’s no way to erase Darryl being bi, and as a bi woman, that really means a lot to me.

-(Now, if we could just have Valencia actually, like, talk about her status as a wlw and be shown actually doing couple-y things with Beth, that would be perfect.)

-(Also give Maya a girlfriend.)

-GREG AND REBECCA ARE HAVING EARNEST, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, I CRY

-I’M SO CONFLICTED I DON’T WANT HER TO END UP WITH ANY OF HER EX-BOYFRIENDS UGH I NEED A TV CHARACTER TO BE HAPPY AND ENDGAME-LY SINGLE LIKE JUST FOR MY OWN PERSONAL VALIDATION AND EMOTIONAL NEEDS BUT UGH LOOK AT THESE TWO

-If all I ever get from this show is Josh in songs about sports and their weird place in American culture, I’ll be happy.

-VALENCIA GETTING EMOTIONALLY DEEP CONTENT ABOUT HER INSECURITIES I LIVE

-EVERYONE HELPING JOSH WITH HIS PHOTOS AND NOT BEING WEIRD ABOUT IT MIGHT JUST BE MY FAVORITE THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED ON THIS SHOW

(-For the love of God, please give Josh a win. I’m begging you.)

-So I?? Cried???? At the Nice to Meet You reprise??????? (It’s always the families that get me. Every single damn time.)

-WOW I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WHEN IT’S GONE IT’S THE ONLY THING THAT GIVES ME FAITH IN HUMANITY

#listen I don't care that I got the season 4 renewal I wanted I will plug this show until I die #crazy ex girlfriend #rebecca bunch #greg serrano #grebecca #valencia perez #josh chan #rachel bloom #crazy ex girlfriend spoilers #cxgf talk

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latetothegreysparty · 6 years

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The Daily Grind

Coming at you this Friday evening with another collaboration with the lovely @omeliathehurricane. It’s silliness that turns into smuttiness. Consider yourselves warned. As usual, thank you to my dear partner in writing for putting up with my scatterbrained self, listening to my weird stories and commentaries, and making me laugh a thousand times as we wrote this (though a few times unintentionally). I hope all of you lovely readers enjoy it.

The Daily Grind

Sometimes everyday life is too mundane, and I have to find a way to spice it up. That’s what I keep telling Owen, but he doesn’t see it the same way. It’s good to mix things up a little, keep it interesting. For example, I love vanilla ice cream, but sometimes it’s good to try something new. There are so many flavours out there to try: rocky road, mint-choc-chip, tutti frutti... Or you can add nuts or gummy bears or sprinkles…you just have to try them all!

Owen likes to try new flavours, but sometimes he needs a little push. Just a bit of the right kind of pressure to get him going, and I know he’ll soon be along for the ride. So I have made it my job to give him that nudge in the right direction. I give him a little bit of time to grind it out and then see where things go from there.

Material Not Suitable for Children

“Why do you always have to pick the most popular films of the week to come and see?” Owen groans as we take our place in the queue for tickets to see Deadpool 2.

I snort slightly, amused by his annoyance considering he was the one who insisted on seeing this particular movie. Not that seeing Ryan Reynolds’ naked ass is anything to complain about. “I’m not the one who offered to trade sexual favours because they were so jazzed about this movie…”

“Amelia!” he hisses in a loud whisper, “We’re in public, there are children around! You can’t talk about sex in front of children.” I glance up at him and smirk at his rose-tinted ears and blushed cheeks. Sometimes it is the easiest thing in the world to push his buttons.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about it.” He nods and accepts my apology. Poor guy. He has no idea where this is going. I take a small step back, and he thinks nothing of it. He absentmindedly wraps his arm around my waist, his chest brushing against my back, and pulls his phone out to check the email he just got. I start slowly at first. Subtly. I shift backward only slightly so that my ass grazes his package, and he probably thinks it was an accident.

I pause, but just for a second, before pushing back with more pressure. “Amelia,” he says in that warning tone that I get from him all the time when he thinks I’m being incorrigible. I guess he’s starting to understand now. I say nothing and smirk slightly as I grind against him once more, this time finishing with a swirl of my hips. A tiny burst of laughter escapes my lips as my back reverberates with the vibration of his chest as he attempts to suppress a deep moan. This is working. “Amelia,” he growls, his lips now millimeters from my ear. “I’m warning you. We’re in public; control yourself.”

“Hmmm?” I turn my head slightly and catch his gaze from the corner of my eye, the most angelic of looks plastered across my face. He rolls his eyes and takes a tiny step back, separating our bodies. Within seconds, though, I have closed the gap again and am swirling my hips against his crotch, gradually increasing the pressure.

“This is a movie theater, not a nightclub,” he says, his voice low, though fuelled by desire. He’s close to giving in now. I push my ass against his crotch again and feel the pressure his now growing member is putting on his pants. It’s just a matter of seconds now. “I’m warning you.”

“What’s wrong with a little fun?” I tease, hoping he’ll drag me into the disabled toilet and put an end to this torturous grinding.

“Amelia,” he says, his voice calm and controlled. I feel his hands place themselves on my waist, and I can’t help but grin. This is the moment. “Stop moving,” he commands instead, his hands holding tightly onto my waist, stopping my movements. He pulls me sideways and steps forward so he’s standing next to me. I pout and cross my arms. This was not the ending I had in mind.

Nothing Satisfying Happens After 3 am

I cover my mouth with my hand as another yawn ripples through me. “Long night?” Sandie, one of the nurses who’s been here for years, smiles understandingly at me. I nod, but as I open my mouth to answer, all that comes out is another yawn. I really hate it when the hospital is this quiet at 3 am.

“Need a nap, Dr. Shepherd?” a teasing voice calls from behind me. How is Owen this chipper in the middle of the night? It’s not normal for a human to have this much energy at three in the morning.

“Yes,” I whine in response, “How do I arrange that?”

“By not signing up for the night shift,” he teases back. Oh good, he’s chipper and taunting me. Typical Owen.

“It’s in our contracts to do a certain number a month,” I complain, drumming my fingers against the surface of the station, doing everything in my power to not yawn in front of him. I am not a pretty sight when yawning.

“For what it’s worth,” he smiles kindly at me, “I’m happy our night shifts happened to line up.” As he finishes his thought, he takes another step closer to me so his chest is pressing against my shoulder blades and leans over my shoulder to press a soft kiss against my cheek. At the skin on skin contact, a rush of heat surges through me; and all of a sudden I’m awake and prepared to be active. Very active. Active in an on-call room without the burden of scrubs. God, it’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid. Well, it’s barely been a week; but that’s a decade in sex years.

I swear it started innocently at first. I lean back a little because I’m craving a bit more contact. But then before I even know what’s happening, I’m pressing my ass insistently against him and he’s groaning and it’s turning me on even more, so I’m full-on grinding on him in front of the nurses’ desk. Like I said, I need to get laid.

“Amelia…” the word barely leaves his lips as he battles to stop another moan from escaping his lips. I don’t answer. In my exhausted, sex-fueled haze, I just keep going.

Buzz. I suddenly hear Owen talking through gritted teeth. Buzz. “Do you hear that?” he says. He’s acting like a child. “It’s my pager. People need me. Lives to save. See you later!” And all of a sudden I’m left in an exhausted mess of raging hormones.

“Owen!” I call out after him, too tired to attempt to disguise the sexually frustrated desperation in my voice he knows all too well. But nothing, he’s gone. And I still need to get laid.

“Dr. Shepherd, if you go to the on-call room now, make sure you lock the door,” says Sandie. Crap. I forgot she was still here. “You’re going to be even more frustrated than you are right now if someone walks in on you with your hand down your pants.” Normally I would laugh, but I’m too tired and frustrated right now. I just groan as I head toward the on-call room. I take her advice and lock the door immediately after it closes behind me.

Rising Tension

“Why are we at the mall?” I groan as Owen takes my hand in his and lets me step onto the escalator first. He rests his hand on the banister and leans closer to me.

“I need some new clothes and you always say I have terrible taste and yours is so much better than mine, so I thought I would bring the expert.” I cross my arms. Sure, I might have told him that some of his outfit choices leave something to be desired, but I never said I wanted to go to the mall in the middle of the afternoon on a weekend when there are tons of people milling about who are too engrossed in their phones to notice that they’re obstructing the flow of pedestrian traffic. He wraps his arms around my waist and nuzzles my ear. “Will a cuddle cheer you up?” he asks.

No, a cuddle will not cheer me up, but embarrassing the hell out of you will. I begin to shift against him. Thank goodness we’re on an up escalator because I have the perfect angle to grind against him in earnest. It’s only been a few seconds, and I can already feel his erection forming. “Amelia, no,” he says sternly. “Not again.” He groans, knowing what’s coming next. “We’re in public.” Um, yeah, that’s the point, buddy. I ignore him and continue to grind, hard enough that he’ll have an impressive erection by the time we step off of the escalator in a few seconds, but not so aggressively that it’s obvious to onlookers what I’m doing.

The stair I’m on reaches the top, and I step off and dance away from him. I turn back to see him shuffling off of the escalator and glaring at me. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he grates out. He emerges 30 seconds later, and his erection is no longer visible.

“That was fast!” I say with a large smirk. “Are you sure you washed your hands?”

“You know damn well what I was doing in there. It’s your fault. Now tell me which store we’re going to so we can get the hell out of here.” Mission accomplished. Now he’s just as miserable to be at the mall as I am.

Below Deck Play

“Make yourselves at home!” Jackson encourages as we all scatter across the deck of his boat. A day at sea is the perfect way to detox and not think about the hospital. I take a deep breath, letting the clean sea air fill my lungs and leave me feeling tranquil and revitalized. Several of us head out toward the top where the captain’s chair is. April and Arizona opt for some seating along the side while Owen goes for the captain’s chair. Of course.

I follow him to his seat. “Mind if I join you, captain?” I ask saucily as I approach him. I’m in a happy, carefree mood, so of course I want to tease him a little. Nothing brightens my day quite like watching him squirm. Especially in front of our colleagues.

“Go ahead,” he says absentmindedly, so I take him up on his offer and sit down on his lap. I’ve barely managed to shift an inch on his lap before his arms are tightening around my waist and his mouth is next to my ear. “Behave,” he whispers gruffly. Smiling, I internally congratulate myself on wearing a very thin summer dress today.

I giggle. “Kepner, do you guys have any lemonade over there?” I call out, purposefully drawing their attention toward us before shifting again, hoping I can at least get a groan out of him.

“Yep, I’ll grab some from the cooler and bring it over,” Kepner offers.

“Great, thanks,” I say, smiling over my shoulder before turning back around and grinding down on him again.

This time, he grabs my right knee and squeezes. “Do I need to take you back inside and spank you?” My eyes get huge, and I’m certain the way I whipped around to face him was extremely unsubtle.

“Owen, there are other people around!” I whisper frantically. Over his shoulder, I can see Kepner approaching with the aforementioned lemonade.

The bastard is smirking at me. “That didn’t stop you from grinding on me today or any other day.” Damn it. This is backfiring. I’ve got to think of some way to regain the upper hand. “Or do you just talk a big game?” Okay Owen, challenge accepted. Two can play at this game.

“So, how would you put an end to this?” I say, keeping my voice a moan-like whisper. As he opens his mouth to throw a witty comeback my way I swirl my hips again, readjusting my position. He immediately shuts his mouth and glares at me, trying his hardest to trap another moan in his throat.

Right on time, April appears beside us holding two bottles of lemonade. “Here’s your lemonade!” she says cheerfully. Her brow furrows when she catches sight of Owen. “Owen, are you alright?”

He opens his mouth to answer, and I discreetly shift once again in his lap. By now his arm around my waist has become a death grip. “Yeah, Owen, is something wrong?” I ask, making my best effort to sound overly concerned. He goes to answer, and once again I move. This time, though, I re-adjust my position so my sundress falls on either side of his knees and the thin material of my panties is pressing against his crotch. It takes everything in me not to smile gleefully. I’m definitely winning now.

I can feel the deep gulp he takes to steady himself before answering. “Thank you for your concern, April,” he says, and I wonder if she can hear the frustration in his voice. “Now that you mention it, I’m not feeling my best. Amelia, would you mind giving me a hand?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he stands up, causing me to almost fall to the ground, he does it so suddenly. He then grabs my wrist tightly and begins to drag me toward the inside of the yacht.

“Where are we-” I begin to ask while he pulls me into one of the cabins and lets go of my wrist before closing the door behind himself. The words catch in my throat as he leans against the now closed door, his eyes locked with mine as he turns the lock. As he does so, his eyes shift to a far darker shade of blue and he flashes me that cocky smile of his that I know all too well.

“We are putting an end to this,” he says, his voice calm, cool, controlled. “Right here.” He takes a step towards me, closing the gap between us. His hand snakes its way around the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the edge of my jawline. We’re standing so close. So close together I can feel his breath tickle and caress my skin. “Right now.” The words barely audible as he crashes his lips on mine, connecting us.

He controls the kiss, his other hand grabbing hold of my hip and pulling my body flush against his. My hands move up and wrap themselves around his neck, increasing the pressure. In the tight, enclosed room he turns us around and walks us back until my back crashes against the locked door. The thud against my spine makes me bite down on his bottom lip. He doesn’t wince, though, he just lets out a deep, long moan, as though all his suppressed ones from earlier in the day were finally bubbling over.

With me now pressed against the door, trapped by his frame, he lets his hands explore my body. Tracing their way up the exposed skin of my leg and continuing up, under the material of my dress, not stopping till they snake around my lower back and cup my ass. His hips thrust a bit against mine while he continues to kiss my lips, my cheeks, and my neck. He thrusts again, more firmly this time, and I can feel the anticipation coiling within me. He’s getting close to ripping this dress off of me and getting to the main event.

But several more minutes go by, and all he does is cup my ass, kiss me, and dry hump me like a high school boy hiding out under the bleachers. “Owen,” I hiss. “Act like you’ve done this before and stop teasing me.”

All of a sudden he stills against me. “Stop teasing you?” he says with a chuckle. “You’ve taken every opportunity you could find in the last few weeks to grind on me in public places and leave me with a boner, and now you’re complaining that I’m teasing you?” He hooks his fingers around the waistband of my panties and slowly pulls them down my thighs and over my knees until they are on the floor. He captures my eyes again and smirks, a smirk so dirty it sends a rush of heat surging through my body. But then he crashes his lips on mine again and carries on as though I had not said anything.

“Owen!” I moan, the word almost getting caught in my throat as he takes the parting of my lips as an invitation to push his tongue past my teeth and begin asserting his dominance. His tongue laps at mine.

As frustrated as ever, I drag my nails down over his stomach until they reach the waistband of his jeans. Quickly and expertly my fingers undo his belt and pop the button. I pull the waistband open, pulling the zipper down, and his fly comes open. I dip my hand in, immediately feeling how hard he is, but as I snake my hand past his boxers, he steps away from me. “What’s with all the haste?” He mocks me as his eyes catch mine devouring his now very obvious erection.

I know that there’s no way I can provide any sort of decent comeback to that, so I just reach out and tug his pants and boxers down his hips. Next, I reach for him, hoping I can distract him with a few well-timed strokes. He’s playing hardball, though, and takes a step back. At this point, I don’t really give a shit anymore about this little game. “Oh, for crying out loud!” I snap. “You know damn well you’re about to lose your mind just like I am. Would you please just get over here and put us both out of our misery?”

He laughs. God, I want to slap him. “You’ve always been such a romantic,” he teases, but I can see that his guard is down, so I grab his hips and yank him forward. The contact between his erection and my naked skin snaps him out of whatever teasing mood he was in, and now he’s not interested in games anymore either.

Without uttering another word, he allows himself to fall back against the small couch which is built into the wall. He takes my hands in his and pulls me towards him until I’m on my knees on the couch straddling him, our crotches inches apart, no longer separated by clothing.

He grabs my hips, lines himself up at my entrance, and then he’s sliding in, and we’re both moaning. Super loud. We can probably be heard throughout half of Seattle, but I’m past caring at this point. Our combined desperation means the steady pace he set quickly becomes frantic. It’s not long before he’s panting out, “I’m gonna…”

“Me too,” I cut him off. I bury my face in his neck in an attempt to somewhat stifle the moans as pleasure rips through me. He doesn’t even try to muffle the noises he’s making, he just shouts for all of Washington to hear. I wrap my arms around him and cling tightly to him while we both come down from our highs.

I don’t know how much time passes, but he finally looks up at me and whispers, “We should probably get back out there before anyone realizes that we’re gone.” I can’t help it. I burst into uncontrollable laughter. “What?” he asks. I can’t answer him because I’m laughing too hard. He pinches my hip gently. “Amelia, just what is so funny?” I look down at his innocent face, his cheeks still flushed, breaths laboured and hair sticking out in all directions as a result of my fingers. He has absolutely no idea.

Finally, I barely manage to answer him through my laughter. “Owen, you shouted loud enough for the entire city to hear. I was still wearing my dress. My hair is probably quite the sight. I don’t think anyone is going to be confused about where we were or what we were doing.”

His face drops into my shoulder. God, he’s adorable. Did he seriously not realize how obvious we were being that whole time? He must have been really horny.

“Ready to brave the storm of mocking and ridicule?” I tease him as I stand up and pull him with me. He snorts an unamused breath as I slip my panties on and he pulls on his discarded items of clothing. “Good to go?” I ask, smiling sweetly as I balance myself on my tip toes and brush my lips against his.

He follows me out of the room, holding onto my hand tightly, much like a child would do. I can’t help but smile at how adorable he is.

When we arrive back on the deck, I’m relieved to find only Meredith up there. At least we’re not going to have to deal with everyone at once. She turns around and gives the two of us a very noticeable once-over. Okay, Meredith, I get it. It’s extremely obvious that we hooked up. She finally speaks up. “Does this mean you’re going to stop dry humping him in public places?”

“No, I think I’ll continue,” I answer. When I pictured how awkward this was going to be, I definitely didn’t imagine it going like that. Had I really been that obvious when I’d been messing with him?

“If you have to, please do it in private next time.” Maggie’s voice can all of a sudden be heard behind us. I spin on the spot to find our entire boat party comfortably seated around the loungers directly above the room Owen and I had been in minutes prior.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the snigger that escapes my lips at seeing how embarrassed Owen is. “I guess subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” He suddenly decides to poke fun at me.

“Dude, speak for yourself!” Alex scoffs loudly. “It’s going to take days of showers and combing to fix that sex hair.”

From where Owen and I are standing, it looks like we’re being told off by the high school disciplinary board. I can’t help but laugh as Owen awkwardly scratches the back of his head, before running his fingers through his tangled locks. “Seriously, that’s not going to fix it,” Alex carries on, unable now to hold back his laughter.

“What I think we should all be talking about is how loud Owen was!” April decides to join in on the teasing. “Is Shepherd really that good?”

I open my mouth to answer. However, before I get a chance to answer, Owen is giving the passionate “Yes!” that I had intended to say. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” He grins, unfazed by everyone’s surprised expressions given he’s known for enjoying his privacy, and grabs me by the wrist. He proceeds to pull me back toward the staircase without concern for the wolf whistles that follow us.

“I’m going to buy everyone earplugs!” Meredith’s indignant and yet amused judgemental voice follows us as we head downstairs.

Grinning from ear to ear, I stick my hand up in the air and throw my sister a thumbs up. “Great! Send me the bill!” But before I can hear the response, I find myself locked in the same tiny cabin. All my grinding has paid off.

#omelia #omeliafic #omeliafanfic #amelia shepherd #owen hunt #april kepner #jackson avery #maggie pierce #meredith grey #grey's anatomy #greys anatomy

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nickireadstfc · 6 years

Text

The King’s Men, Chapter 12 – Highway To Hell

In which things go really beautifully well, and then really fucking horrible.

Sounds good? No, it doesn’t. It’s time for Nicki to read The King’s Men.

You guys warned me about this one, and for the entire first half of the chapter I was like “what are they on about, this is wonderful, there’s so many great things happening”, like I was genuinely considering y’all might have had your chapters mixed up.

And then.

Oh god.

Let’s take it from the top, shall we? Let’s go back to a time where things were easy, chill and beautifully gay.

(Also, welcome to yet another 3k word dump, because this chapter is an absolute monster.)

The Foxes are on the road to Binghamton, their next big opponent before semi-finals. And less than half a page in, the first miracle of the day happens – or rather, the first miracle of the Day:

The monsters voluntarily and easily socialize with the rest of the team, led by none other than Kevin.

Granted, it’s to talk Exy strategies which, as we know, is Recommended Kevin Bait, but my teamwork-loving heart is not gonna complain.

The best thing about this, though, is that Neil actively refuses to join their sweet sweet Sportsball Talk just to make sure Andrew won’t feel left out.

Excuse me while I cry into my rainbow-coloured jersey.

Linked to that – and we’ve not had these in a while, so I’m proud to present you – Today’s Casually Mentioned, Yet Heartbreakingly Sad Neil Fact is:

Neil had spent his entire life drifting by on the outskirts, looked over and looked past. It’d made him happy, or so he thought, because being ignored meant he was safe. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was until he met the Foxes.

Uhmm, cue my tears.

Kevin, though, isn’t so happy his favourite minion in training isn’t cooperating:

“You gave me your game. You don’t have the right to walk away from me when I am trying to teach you.”

“I gave my game to you so we could get to finals,” Neil sent back, “but you said yesterday you don’t expect us to make it there. You’ve given up on us, so I’m taking my game back. I don’t owe you anything.”

Damn, you tell him, Josten.

Neil has exactly -3 fucks left to give and it’s absolutely glorious.

In other news – we’ve reached the end of the Suspicious Countdown (shoutout here to the anon recreating this in my ask box, you sly fuck).

Every night since his birthday he’d gotten a number texted to him. Today’s sobering “0” had arrived during lunch. Neil didn’t know what to make of it. (…) It was as anticlimactic as it was nerve-wracking.

Same, my boy. This shit is unnerving.

Well, I’m sure this is absolutely harmless and nothing will happen at all.

To distract himself from the Slight Feeling of Impending Doom, Neil engages in his new favourite pastime:

Adoringly gazing at Andrew’s handsome features like a love-sick pathetic idiot.

Neil didn’t know what he was looking for. Andrew looked as he always had, and Neil knew his face as well as he knew every iteration of his own. Despite that, something seemed different. Maybe it was the sunlight streaming through the window, making Andrew’s pale hair shine brighter and his hazel eyes seemed almost gold. Whatever it was, it was disorienting.

Oh boy, oh my sweet innocent summer child, I can tell you right fucking exactly what it is.

Your ass is the fuck in love.

“I’m not doing anything,”

“I told you to not look at me like that.”

Neil didn’t understand, so he let it slide.

…… //looks into the camera like I’m on the office.

Any time I think this boy is done being oblivious, he instantly goes back on his bullshit.

Although maybe –

“I didn’t say anything [when we were talking about zombie apocalypses] because I knew I’d look out for only me when the world went to hell. I don’t want to be that kind of person anymore. I want to go back for you.”

Uhmm, EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRY.

Can these idiots like – fucking stop being sappy and gross, I did not expect this bullshit from them, give a girl some fucking warning.

Jesus fuck.

And they keep going, of course – being on the road to Binghamton reminds Neil of his time Being On The Road, and so he casually tells Andrew all the shit that happened to him on his travels, which of course he never told a single soul before.

Natch.

It passed the time, though, and Andrew let him ramble. He never once took his eyes of Neil’s face or looked like he was mentally tuning out of the conversation.

Oh yeah, also of course Andrew is a love-sick pathetic idiot as well.

Natch.

And Neil uses that to get Andrew to open up about his travels between foster homes and his time with Aaron, which he also never told anyone before.

Fucking natch.

[Andrew took] care of Aaron’s addictions. He stocked the upstairs bathroom with canned food and barricaded Aaron in there until he had finished withdrawal. Luckily (…) there were no neighbors close enough to hear Aaron’s best attempts at breaking out.

Andrew Minyard, putting the ‘love’ in ‘tough love’ since 2010.

These brothers are everything, haters please exit in a left-directed fashion.

When they make their next pit stop, Coach doesn’t even make any attempts at separating Andrew and Neil, which brings on one of my favourite bits in this chapter:

Neil’s oblivious ass comes to the realization that Coach Knows™.

“I really want to know when Coach figured this out.”

“It isn’t a ‘this’,” Andrew reminded him.

Oh yeah, please also know that every time I’m shouting at Neil to stop being so oblivious this of course also extends to his smaller, deadlier counterpart.

Last November Neil put Andrew’s hands to his damaged skin and asked Andrew to believe in him. Somehow Wymack had seen right through Neil’s crushing guilt and Andrew’s grudging trust.

Well, if I saw two idiots that have been radiating tension all semester anyways suddenly fumbling under each other’s shirts, I would get suspicious too.

“How did he see it when Aaron and Nicky still can’t?”

“Coach doesn’t care for rumours and bias,” Andrew said. “He sees what is, not what people want him to see.”

Which is the reason why David Fucking Hufflepuff Dad Wymack is the best damn character in this series, no questions asked, no other opinions accepted. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

I need more Wymack love in this fandom always.

In related news, though – apparently the upperclassmen are betting on Neil’s sexuality, which is just about the best thing ever. Also, heck yeah, I called it.

Apparently, they’re split down the middle. In my book, this means Matt and Allison betting on Gay Neil, while Dan and Renee bet on Straight Neil.

(You’d think Renee would bet on Gay Neil since she’s subject to Andreil Pining every practice break, but nope – you can’t tell me Allison Reynolds, Lipstick Bisexual and Bad Bitch Extraordinaire doesn’t have her gaydar on lock.

I rest my case.)

“It’s a waste of time and money. They’ll all lose. I’ve said all year I don’t swing and I meant it. Kissing you doesn’t make me look at any of them differently. The only one I’m interested in is you.”

I’mma go fling myself into the fucking sun.

Brutally Honest About His Feelings Josten is a very, very good Josten.

Also, someone finally teach this boy the definition of demisexual, please.

“Don’t say stupid things.”

“Stop me,” Neil returned. He buried his hands in Andrew’s hair and tugged him in for a kiss.

Happy to report the gays are back at it again.

Nothing like some fun backseat fondling before a big game, because sooner than thought they’ve arrived at Binghamton and their asses are in for a fun game of Orange Spotsball.

Did I say fun? I mean fucking stressful.

Almost-cards left and right, balls thrown in unholy places, all remaining chill has fucking evaporated.

But as always, when Sportsball Times get tough, there is one thing we can count on:

Andrew’s willingness to do kind of everything if Neil asks nicely.

“I’m asking you to help us,” Neil said. “Will you?”

Andrew considered it for a moment. “Not for free.”

“Anything,” Neil promised, and stepped back to take his place in line again.

Neil didn’t exactly know what he’d gotten himself into, but he honestly didn’t care, because Andrew delivered exactly what Neil wanted him to.

Which, in this case, means trashtalking every opposite player that comes close to his goal and fiercely fending off Exy balls as if they’re straight thoughts.

HEEEELL YEAH.

Also, I’m totally sure this promise won’t come back to haunt us ever again.

With Andrew kicking some major Bearcat butt in the back and Neil and Kevin fucking shit up in the front as per usual, the Foxes reign home a glorious close win! Celebration all around!

Girl dancing gif

And I’m sure there is exactly nothing at all that can go wrong now.

Neil was halfway to the door when his phone hummed (…) He didn’t recognize the phone number, but he didn’t have to. He knew that 443 area code.

Baltimore was calling.

Well, tits.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Junior. Do you remember me?”

Neil’s heart lurched to a sick halt. (…) It was Lola Malcolm, one of his father’s closest people.

LOLA.

I’ve heard that name before. I swear to fuck I’ve heard that name before. Was she mentioned already? Did I just read it somewhere on tumblr? Whatever it is, I know that she’s not fucking fun.

We’re in deep, deep shit, people.

“Are you listening? It is time to go. If you make this difficult for us, you will regret it for the rest of your very short life.”

Hell fucking no, lady. You can take that dramatic ass attitude and stick it right up your ugly butt.

Neil agrees with me:

Fast on the heels of fright was an irrational and wild anger. He was halfway of winning Andrew’s trust, a weekend from his first vacation, and one month from semi-finals. There were only four matches left in championships. Neil was so close to everything he wanted and Lola was here to steal it away.

“Put a hand on me and you’ll regret it,” Neil said.

HELL YEAH.

Fuck this, fuck all of it, she is not getting us this easily.

We came so close, so close, and we are not here to have this taken away.

“[Your father] is in Baltimore,” she corrected him. “His parole hearing was on your birthday. (…) We can’t kill [the Foxes], but we can hurt them. You’ll see.” (…)

Jackson Plank was in the locker room with his team. A second later Romero Malcolm stepped into view in a similar [security guard] getup.

… Maybe we are here to have this taken away.

Hey, remember how literally a few pages earlier Neil said he wouldn’t save the Foxes, only himself, in an apocalypse scenario?

I’d like to call heartfelt bullshit on that.

The five feet between Neil and his team could have been five thousand miles. Looking at them all, Neil was as sad as he was proud. (…) He was sorry to leave them with all of his lies, sorry they’d have to get the truth from Kevin after the fact. They were all right here with him still but he missed them with a ferocity that threatened to turn him inside-out.

Also known as: The moment literal tears started to form in the corners of my eyes.

I say “omg I’m crying” a lot, but I very rarely shed actual tears. This was a moment that came close.

The last moment Neil gets to look at his team before being literally kidnapped, the moment he loves them more than ever, ever before, and they all have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen.

And it gets worse.

Only Andrew saw the strain in Neil’s mask. (…)

“Thank you,” Neil finally said. He couldn’t say he meant thanks for all of it: the keys, the trust, the honesty, and the kisses. Hopefully Andrew would figure it out eventually. “You were amazing.”

I’m so emotional. I’m so, so goddamn emotional. I can’t handle this.

I feel like this is as close to a love confession as we’re ever gonna get, and I’m not handling anything right now.

Deep breaths, Nicki. Deep breaths.

(Disclaimer: I’m not actually expecting Neil to die in Baltimore. I know this book has five more chapters and I know Nora is not killing off her protagonist, come on. But I am expecting some awful, awful shit to go down, like “way worse than the Raven’s Nest” shit, like “changes the game forever” shit, like just some majorly fucked up shit that I am very much not here for. And so let me treasure those last moments – not because we won’t come back, but because we won’t come back the same way we’re leaving right now.)

And with that, we’re off – kidnapped away in a whirlwind of fan riots outside, handcuffed and chained to the inside of a car, zooming along the highway off to god knows where, and now comes the moment where I understood why y’all were warning me about this chapter.

Aside from beginning to cut up his fucking hand as soon as they get in the car (really, what the fuck is it with this mob and knives), Lola has certain opinions about Neil’s facial tramp stamp.

“I can’t take you before your father with such a stain on your face. Rome?” (…)

Soon enough the dashboard cigarette lighter popped free of its lock with a metallic cling.

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK.

And with that – the bitch burns Neil’s tattoo off.

SHE BURNS.

NEIL’S.

TATTOO.

OFF.

And not enough with that, she also presses her knife into his other cheek so he can’t draw back without literally cutting himself open.

What the absolute everloving shit. I literally sat shellshocked for a good ten seconds that that.

But oh, my friends, it gets worse – because apparently they also gotta question Neil about the whereabouts of his dear mom, and “she’s dead” of course isn’t a satisfying answer.

And when they’re done with his mom, they move on to questions about the Foxes.

And when they’re done with his face, they move on to his arms.

I will never, never be able to look at a car cigarette lighter the same way again.

He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to feel this, so he thought about thr Foxes instead. He clung tight to the memory of their unhesitating friendship and their smiles. (…) The memories made him weak with grief and loss, but they made him stronger, too. He’d come to the Foxhole Court every inch a lie, but his friends made him into someone real.

More wet eyes. Such wet fucking eyes over here right now.

I’M NOT HANDLING THIS.

STOP IT.

He’d hit the end of his rope before he wanted to and he hadn’t accomplished everything he’d hoped to this year, but he had done more with his life than he’d ever thought possible. That had to be enough. He traced the outline of a key into his bloody, burnt palm with a shaky finger, closed his eyes, and wished Neil Josten goodbye.

Oh my god.

Nathaniel Wesninski let the last few miles fly by unnoticed.

OH MY GOD.

This is both super painful and super genius and I am FUCKING SHOOK.

STRONG YELLING, YOU GUYS.

The worst injuries were the ones on his face, but the mess Lola made of his hands was the most inconvenient. It’d be hard to fight back when even the slightest twitch of his fingers made his hands ache.

Oh yeah, also by now we’re back to being Human Punching Bag Neil Josten.

Well. It’s rather Human Punching Bag Nathaniel Wesninski now, right?

Nathaniel closed his eyes against the pitch black that threatened to swallow him whole. Lola smiled against his cheek and bit at his burns.

Y’all for real what the fuck is wrong with this woman.

Petition for her to decease right this very second, thank you.

And after that, Lola chloroforms him and drags him into to the house of his father, a literal Abusive People-Butchering Mob Head.

You guys. You guys. We’re in completely new uncharted waters now, and I have no idea what the hell is about to happen.

I both don’t want this to continue and really, really can’t fucking wait for this to continue.

If you like what I do here and you want to help me through the heartbreak of this chapter, why not buy me a coffee? Every lil bit helps, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!

#tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #andreil #tkm #the king's men #nicki reads tfc #TWO UPDATES IN THREE DAYS #AREN'T YALL IN LUCK #don't get used to it this is me boosting ahead bc I'll be busy out of my head till next week aha ha ha #hope you like!!!#come cry in my inbox if ya wanna

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wordmage-girl · 6 years

Note

Love: Hamilton the musical

Uhhhhhh this is an awful question because I love EVERYTHING about Hamilton.

You know the bit in Helpless where Hamilton sings “as long as I’m alive, Eliza, swear to God you’ll never feel so-” and then Eliza sings “I do!”, as if she’s saying she’s ALREADY helpless. To me that’s a very loaded moment. Hamilton doesn’t understand that as a woman in the world she lives in, Eliza is helpless no matter what she does. He ends up hurting her anyways. However, in the face of his betrayal, she isn’t helpless at all - he is. Also, it’s a whole theme with Hamilton and women - Maria Reynolds is presented as helpless and then as making Alexander helpless himself; Angelica, having giving Alexander up, is helpless to keep loving him, but cannot act.

Anyway, I love the weight there is in that little exchange, buried in an otherwise very happy song.

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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years

Text

poison ivy & stinging nettles 17

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

Chapter 17- Rue

~~~

'Tis the damn season.

~~~

December 26th- 1 am

As it turned out, Hades was a woman. Or so she proclaimed herself over the DJs speak system to a screaming crowd. The music was turned back up, drunken party-goers mashed into one another on the massive dance floor.

StyX certainly lived up to its reputation of leading people to darkness.

Sherlock had bribed a bartender in a back alley on a smoke break to let them in. Fortunately, he was able to find John suitable clothes for the scene, his own jacket and shirt blending in with the well-dressed clientele.

“So Jessica owns this place?” John asked his friend, trying his best to avoid staring at the nearly naked dancer on a nearby platform. “Not what I expected for her.”

“Last time I saw her she was throwing herself all over Amelia,” Sherlock mused. “Granted, she was diligent in her work. Here’s hoping she got the binge drinking under control.”

He scanned the room, looking to the edges for where an administrative suite might be located.

“Don’t you two stick out like a couple of sore thumbs,” a female voice laughed behind the men.

“Miss Reynolds,” Sherlock turned with a smirk on his face.

“Long time no see, Mr. Holmes,” she gestured over her shoulder for the men to follow her to a secluded hallway. “Moriarty mentioned you would be stopping by.”

The music was non-existent by the time they stepped into Jessica’s office.

It was a neatly organized, modern space, with no trace of the lewd debauchery outside.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t realize he was going to be kidnapping your girlfriend,” she continued with a low sigh. “Have a seat.”

Two black seats were in front of her large glass desk. She turned and started to rummage through a filing cabinet before taking a seat in her chair.

“He left this,” she slid an envelope across the desk.

“What did you tell him?” Sherlock demanded, eyeing the envelope. “Why would he help you set all of this up from your father’s accounts?”

“He’s laundering money through the bar,” she explained so casually, it almost didn’t seem like she was referencing a very serious crime. “I have one of my security guards pass his guy a large duffel bag every other week, and he makes sure my shithead of a father stays out of the picture.”

“He’s dead then,” John stated and she shrugged.

“As I’m sure you’ve done a full inventory of my life, he isn’t the best person,” she replied truthfully.

“Why are you telling us this?” Sherlock examined the envelope in the light, checking for any stray hairs or fingerprints.

“Because, despite how it looks on paper, I’m not a bad person,” she answered earnestly, leaning back a little in her chair. “Neurotic? Definitely. A little unstable? My therapist thinks so. But I do have good intentions.”

“If you had good intentions, you wouldn’t have gotten in bed with Moriarty,” Sherlock scoffed, peeling back the edge of the envelope. “He’s a maniac.”

“He has good business acumen,” Jessica frowned. “I’m not thrilled about it, but I needed my father's money to finally get my own. If he’d been indicted, it would have been locked up in legal fees and government agencies for years.”

“A nightclub is getting your own?” John snorted.

“I hire homeless folks,” she explained, narrowing her gaze at him. “People coming back into work, retirees who need a little spare income, addicts looking for a second chance. I’m on track to donate a quarter of my profits to local domestic abuse programs. I’m not a monster.”

“God, you sound just like-,” Sherlock stopped when he pulled out the card inside.

Written in neat script was a small snippet of dialogue from Hamlet.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love,

remember. And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.

There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you,

and here’s some for me. We may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays.

O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There’s a daisy. I

would give you violets, but they wither’d all when my father

died. They say he made a good end.

“Ophelia,” Sherlock’s words were barely above a whisper, passing the paper to John.

“Wear your rue with a difference?” John looked at his friend. “Why is that underlined?”

“It’s the implication that I have different rue than the speaker,” Sherlock muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rue for you and rue for me.”

“You can’t tell us anything about Moriarty’s whereabouts?” John demanded, waving the card toward Jessica.

“I can’t,” she replied softly. “He just told me that you’d be by after giving me the envelope. It was one of his security guys that mentioned Brenner.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Sherlock stood up abruptly, racing toward the door of the office, his mind moving at top speed.

Ophelia. What did he know about the character?

It inspired Amelia’s middle name, no coincidence there.

Flowers. Intentional.

Ophelia went mad after Hamlet killed her father. She goes to the river and drowns.

But it isn’t intentional, or so it’s implied it isn’t.

She’s pulled into the river after falling in.

But she doesn’t struggle and drowns in her misery.

There’s of course the medieval belief that Rue was a means of abortion.

No, Sherlock frowned. That was too barbaric for someone like Moriarty.

He’d pick his tortures carefully. Toying with his victims. He wanted to prove his genius. Show it off.

“Sherlock!” John caught up with the detective near the end of the block, grabbing his sleeve and shoving a phone in his friend's hand. “A body’s washed up. Molly’s meeting us in the morgue.”

~~~

Allison Nell, a 30-year-old real estate broker, avid swimmer. Newly engaged, but lost her fiancé during his deployment two weeks previously.

Suicide is the presumptive cause of death. Overdose of pills then wandered into the Thames.

“Why would you think otherwise?” Sherlock asked as Molly unzipped the body bag.

“Because of this,” she used a gloved hand to open a large incision in Allison’s stomach.

Pills.

Undigested pills.

Meaning they weren’t metabolized at the time of death.

“Toxicology shows a slight increase in the substance, but not a lethal dose. Or even a strong enough dose to render a woman of her size unconscious. It wasn’t the pills that killed her,” Molly explained, a small look of pity at the woman’s swollen, blue face.

“She drowned,” John lifted the police report and skimmed it over. “If she hadn’t passed out, why didn’t she swam to shore?”

Ophelia. A voice in the back of Sherlock’s mind whispered.

“Was she wearing winter garments?” he directed the question to Molly.

“A large wool coat, and heavy winter boots,” she confirmed with a nod.

“She was pulled down,” he decided. Against his better judgment, his gaze fell on the woman’s face. “With the shock of the cold water, she would have tired out, especially so with the extra weight pulling her down.”

All he could see was Amelia.

“She could have been trying to come back,” John realized, his expression set miserably. “Second guessed herself...”

“She likely fell into the river after trying to get help,” Sherlock pointed to the woman’s address. “Ran out of the house, and stumbled along an embankment, and slipped in.”

The trio stood in silence, considering the sad fate of the woman in front of them.

His phone chirped with a text message from an unknown number.

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element; but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death

~~~

“He wanted you to figure out how that woman died,” John was summarizing when they returned to Baker Street near dawn. “To tie it with the clue from Jessica... why am I getting deja vu? Is he going to lead us on another round of crimes to solve?”

Sherlock tossed his coat on the hanger by the door, stewing over the text while the men made their way up the stairs to the flat.

“I just don’t know what he’s trying to prove,” John huffed from behind. “You’ve done this before. What’s the difference?”

Sherlock stopped short at the landing, gaping into the main living room of 221B Baker Street.

Photographs of Amelia were taped all over the room, plastering the walls and bookcases with candid images that seemed to range in date from her first few weeks in London to the day she was taken.

“That’s the difference, John,” Sherlock breathed, trying his best to steady his heart rate. “He wants to prove that sentiment is a detriment.”

“He’s trying to use her to distract you,” John translated. “He’s waiting for you to slip up, but what does that mean for Mia?”

Before Sherlock could reply, both their phones indicated new messages.

A video message, followed by a second text: “Happy Christmas.”

Amelia, looking fiercely defiant was slamming her hands against a metal wall, screaming a song out of tune. She was still wearing the jeans and oversized red sweater from Christmas Eve. Her blue coat was discarded on the floor.

There was no furniture or windows, so far as Sherlock could tell from the video.

“Country roads, take me home to the place I belong,” she screeched. “West Virginia, mountain mama take me home, country roads!”

There was a significant amount of background noise and the flicker of an unseen screen outside the view of the camera. She continued her rebellious shriek, clearly trying to be louder than whatever else she was exposed to.

The clip cut off from there.

“Alive,” John whispered first, his shoulders deflating just a little. "She's alive."

It certainly was a bit of good news in an otherwise depressing evening.

~~~

January 3rd

Nothing.

Sherlock rewatched the video religiously.

He’d left the photographs on the wall, walking through the room over and over, hoping for any indication of a clue.

Nothing.

John made sure he ate. Mycroft had called once, only to confirm that they had no leads either.

Even Jessica Reynolds texted him to inform him that Moriarty’s men hadn’t made their scheduled pick-up.

Lydia Brenner was almost hysteric when she called from a secured government line. She begged him to find her daughter, knowing full well what Amelia’s fate was otherwise.

~~~

January 6th

13 days.

He received another video message.

It had no sound and was short, a five-second clip of Amelia slumped over in a metal chair.

Same room.

New clothes.

He threw his phone across the room with a shout, nearly decapitating John in the process.

~~~

January 11th

A single red rose was sitting on the fireplace mantle after Sherlock and John returned from a crime scene.

When the detective stepped forward, he must have hit a tripwire because the television flipped on a scene from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty.

“I know you I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do-,” and the scene repeated.

Over and over as Sherlock studied the simple flower.

“Briar rose!” John guessed, looking to his friend with a satisfied nod. “That’s the princess in the movie and the story. She gets locked up by the evil witch and rose thorns overgrow the grounds to stop people from saving her. She had to have true love’s kiss to wake up.”

"Why do you know this?” Sherlock quirked a brow, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

“I have a sister,” John shot back, growing defensive. “She was quite fond of the movie growing up.”

~~~

January 12th

Briar Rose Gardens is where they found the next clue, as well as a dead body, frozen on the ground from the cold winter air.

And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,

Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,

Shall send between the red rose and the white

A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

King Henry the Sixth. More Shakespeare.

More flowers.

At this point, Sherlock knew he was playing by Moriarty’s hand, whatever that may be.

At least, however, he was familiar enough with the Temple Gardens, practically dragging John along to their next destination.

“Rose plant… rose plant…” Sherlock was frantically searching the dormant gardens for the horned plants.

“Sherlock,” John held up a small envelope, a large rose plant next to him.

It was an invitation; a date and an address.

Chapter 18

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock/OFC #sherlock bbc #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #john watson #watson #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #OFC #OC #sherlock/reader #reader #sherlock/OC

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aaluminiumas · 6 years

Text

At Ten Paces

“So, Burr, have the finger on the trigger?”

Hamilton, as usual, didn’t miss the opportunity to sneer and throw a waspish remark at me. As expected, he wasn’t serious at all, this duel meant merely nothing to him: he didn’t respect this historical moment – just like he didn’t respect me. He made fun of everything he saw – made fun of the situation, made fun of me, that eccentric that would certainly be dished on by newspapers!.. Unbearable, ridiculous! This man turns everything into a farce: once he takes the floor, any session morphs into a mess!

“Almost pulling it.”

Hamilton grinned arrogantly – with the schadenfreude so characteristic of him that drives me crazy. Oh, if only I could, I would’ve shot him back then, I would’ve planted a bullet into his sarcastic dirty mouth which is always full of snide remarks! He’s always vaunting of his “service in battle”, but in reality it seems like this filthy little toad lay low somewhere in the tent scribbling his useless plans and botching up senseless essays! Instead of being active in politics he always dilates upon, the only thing he’s doing is writing which is not going to help us on the economic arena. This Caribbean bastard, supercilious parvenu God knows how ingratiated himself with Washington, managed to obtain his cushy job – and now he is not ashamed to use the fruits of his so called providence! What are his achievements exactly? A couple of Federalist articles for the Constitution nobody cares about? This mediocre project of the National Bank which isn’t accepted even by excruciatingly indifferent Jefferson? What’s his cultural impact? What’s his contribute to our country’s development? His constant squabbles in Congress – at any meeting in general? His permanent braggadocio, idiotic ostentation, swelled up conceit? Showing off in front of the delegates and haughty behavior? Voting for the man unable to make a strategically important decision, voting for someone preferring to procrastinate and postpone? The fact that his vote gravely changed the situation during the election of 1800 rose himself in his own eyes and ascribed non-existent accomplishments to him. Hamilton, enough. You can apologize – here and now – and stop marring this beautiful day with your insipid jokes popping out of your carelessly concocted pamphlets. But no, you want to take revenge for your own disrespect – again, posing, giving a performance, trying to prove what a perfect shooter you are. You’ll have to take responsibility for your words, for your exceedingly long tongue, for your everlasting attacks and accusations – and your hubris.

“Don’t hesitate, sir,” Hamilton drawled in a mocking manner, reluctantly preparing himself for the duel.

He looked around slowly – slightly narrowed his eyes, he glanced at the boats and the oars; took a gander at me – and, damn it, he obviously noticed I had soaked a bit!.. He muttered something about the fog – and the wonderful day that lay ahead; patted Pendleton on the shoulder, smiled… and started telling us about his plans for the evenings as if he expected to go home in one piece! As if there was not a gun loaded, there were not a second tensed; me, the one capable to determine his fate, did not exist for him!.. He idly adjusted his sleeves as if preening before a date; grabbed the weapon and glanced at the boats again. Hamilton didn’t look nervous at all – on the contrary, he seemed either to be participating in another passionate dispute, or preparing himself for another blow to inflict on the Republicans, especially on Jefferson who had been elected to run afoul of me.

“At ten paces?” he asked, adjusting a ginger strand at the temple. Hell, is he attending a party?

Fighting my annoyance, I nodded. Yes, he surprised me here as well – he baffled me with his outstanding impudence.

“If you say so, Hamilton.”

“Good to know that at least now you hear me.”

I clenched my teeth: he simply couldn’t stay silent for a second! Moreover, the closer the moment of truth crawled, the calmer he became – he wasn’t in the least affected by the seriousness of my intentions! Is he that dumb to take everything for a joke, a cheap trick? The only thing he had to do was to issue an apology and admit the inferiority of his judgement – I’d easily relent! This bastard is always turning the world around into a penny-ante play, and unfortunately this duel wasn’t an exception to the rule. On the contrary: it had awakened the honed skills of a third-rate clown.

“It’s a pity you can’t shut up even on the brink of death.”

“On the brink of death? For god’s sake, Burr. I bet I’ll outlive you.”

And again, that brazen grin, this histrionic astonishment of a bad actor – he wouldn’t be accepted even at the wayside travelling show though he was accepted at the Congress abrim with the same prancing fools!.. No, I am not against the idea of reconciliation, I would forget about the affront, but Hamilton somewhat insists on violence. He vexes me even more so, pits himself against me! With every second he’s digging a deeper hole. I feel a growing urge to tell him that a couple of words could alter everything, even my intentions – he doesn’t even care what nonsense to talk, so if he added a few more lines to his stupid monologue of a great length, it wouldn’t play a significant part for him: a sentence more, a sentence less…

The seconds strained. At the beginning they thought the duel to be a silly caprice of two men with no death happening at the end (at any rate, Hamilton always managed to interject with a long tedious speech full of redundant details, or with a squib). And now they understood the shots were unavoidable. God knows, I didn’t want it to occur – someone had to watch the mouth instead of talking nonsense amplifying it with publications and pamphlets. If Mother Nature created people for a certain purpose, Hamilton had none – he was a startlingly garrulous experiment, ready to take chances. If others consider that to be elocution and talent, then I realize this lack of interest towards my modest person – to any person whatsoever, as this ruffled rooster outshines the most obtuse parrot chattering days on end. Hard to imagine how his family put up with him – I bet his wife and children elude him all the time.

“Check the gun: they say it misfires. You sure don’t want to be a poor shot to boot?”

Pendleton frowned – and Hamilton definitely saw it though didn’t pay any heed to this. Winked and smiled; no control over the situation. Is it possible he is not scared at all? Is it possible he… he intends to shoot? Is it possible he… wants to end it up this way?

“Not worse than you are.”

“We’ll see!”

Just imagine: that smirk, again! I can’t bear it any longer!

“Ten paces,” came a muffled voice. I cannot even make out to whom it belongs exactly. Dang it, he isn’t kidding. He really is going to kill me.

“One…”

Everything is so foggy – it seems the haze covered the eyes as well. I am no longer certain what is going on.

“Two.”

The second’s voice didn’t quiver – but dropped down a notch.

“Three.”

Hamilton barely suppressed the desire to toss another wisecrack. He could hardly keep himself from saying something.

“Four.”

Making a step, I stumble over wet grass.

“Five...”

I can hear Hamilton’s steps behind my back. Slow, steady, made at the word of command.

“Six.”

I falter again. For some obscure reason, I am nervous: maybe I should turn back?

“Seven.”

He commences to sing a doltish funny song as if it is the right time to dally. Hamilton manages to ruin the most serious moment – we’re an inch from death!

“Eight… Nine… Ten. Stop.”

We turn to each other. He shoots first – what have I done to disgruntle him so much that he wants to destroy me? Is he eager to be the most discussed politician of the time? Wasn’t it enough after that Reynolds’ Pamphlet read by the whole country?

“You know, Burr,” Hamilton smiled, aiming, “I am not a supporter or adherent to Draconian measures. But drastic times…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead of listening to his monologue, I way too vividly saw his white finger placing on the trigger. I swear, nothing else seemed more natural to me: he knew how to use the gun; you’d think he was born with the weapon in hand; the way he held it, the way he…

…shot the tree.

I hear the bullet piercing the air next to my ear; honestly, it was an inch away from me – and it got stuck in the trunk of a spreading willow now shaking its boughs.

“…call for diplomacy, not violence.”

I gave a start. He stood opposite me, unusually collected, straightened up – and appeared taller than I remembered; I saw my own reflection in his violet eyes; I was sure there was no shot at all, and if I hadn’t been deafened by it, I wouldn’t have grabbed my own pistol so hastily, I wouldn’t have been so trigger-happy, I wouldn’t have…

“Burr… damn you. The wound is fatal. You aren’t as bad as I thought.”

Hamilton’s voice was muffled and cracked – but his lips were still grinning. Out of the corner of the eye I saw him falling – and the seconds running up to him. As for me… I stood there rooted to the spot, staring into space. Duels had seemed different to me… before I shot Alexander Hamilton, the first secretary of Treasure of the United States.

#fanfiction #hamilton #alexander hamilton #aaron burr #burr #fanfic #duel #history #shooting

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