#i tried to incorporate all 3 prompts into one comic i think it came out nicely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peejsocks · 2 years

Note

i just looked at one of your prompt lists and if i could get a "so...if i liked you, i don't by the way, but if i did-" fic for pontius, i would be forever indebted to you

a/n: sorry this took so long anon, but here it is, thank u for requesting <3 (also to my law students reading this, i am so sorry)

disclaimers/tags: fluff. no smut. i know chris lived in his van around this time, but being neighbors is a cute trope and i wanted to incorporate some stuff from the song velcro by single file for velcro anon (my beloved) so yeah <3

prompts: "so...if i liked you, i don't by the way, but if i did-"

pontius x f!reader

There was a lot on your plate all the time, but this week is the kind to test your decision to go to Law school. Not like it hasn't been considered an awful call, the most mature pathway, the best and worst choice that you could've done for yourself many times before, constantly alternating.

One thing you always tried to balance was how much of a corporate asshole you would be.

Can't act like friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, but there's no need to leap down to the other end of the spectrum and become Devil's Advocate in the name of a nice office and an even nicer penthouse. There had to be a middle-ground between a Saint and Patrick Bateman.

That line of thought lead you to your new job.

The boy who lived downstairs from you, Chris, was a very loud talker. There were many nights where he would play his guitar in the balcony and you'd have to argue with him, explaining that it was late and you needed silence to go to sleep.

Eventually you get into an agreement that he could make all the noise he wanted until you came out - "At a resonable hour!" - and proclaimed it was enough for the day.

It makes you sound so stuck up and you hate it. It's probably what he thought of you too, until you eavesdropped on one of his phone conversations.

Well, it was more like being able to hear than eavesdropping. Again, very loud boy.

On a random Tuesday, you're about to shout at him about getting a noise complaint when you hear the word "lawyer" coming from his smooth voice.

At first, you expect him to be gossiping about you, his annoying old-hag of a neighbor. But instead, you learn about a position needing to be filled. With the little you know about him, you can be sure it's not for any big law firm, like the one you were miserably being exploited at right now and not getting much out of, spiritually or financially.

That's the first time in the entire year you lived there that you knock on his door.

His face when he sees you in his hallway is comical.

You can't really see each other from the balconies, since they were directly above one another, but you had crossed paths and shared elevator rides. When you moved in, he had helped you with some boxes. But it's so rare that you forgot what he looked like.

You think his hair is longer now, just below the jawline. Straigher, you could've sworn he had more curls. His eyes are beautifully green. Wow, his nose is prett-

"What are you doing here?" And you had been caught staring, how embarassing.

"I live here." Trying to be humorous didn't make him budge. "I heard you."

He apologizes, promisses he'll keep it down and begins shutting the door but you stop it with your hand.

"Woah, Jesus, what? Do you have a girl in there or something?" There's a little flushing to his cheeks and you cringe, not expecting your second joke to bomb because it was accurate. "Right, okay, I'll be quick. I meant I actually heard what you were saying on the phone, just now. Sorry about that. But I'm a lawyer, and I'm sick of my job, so I thought maybe I could be your girl. Or whoever is hiring's girl."

You cringe again. Social interactions aren't usually this god-awful for you, but the boy is simply hard to read.

"Give me your phone number and I'll text you the details." So easy.

Oh, right, he's trying to get rid of you.

You exchange information, and to your surprise, the buzzing of a phone hits your ears as soon as you get back into your apartment.

And that's how you ended up Tremaine's lawyer, or his right hand, as he called you. It's been just a couple of months but it's already paying off a lot better than your last place, money and 'soul-searching' wise.

The way it works is that MTV is technically your employer. There's a team of fancy suits that go through the bigger stacks of paperwork regarding the filming of Jeff's show, Jackass, and you were in charge of making sure the director's rights and interests were taken care of in the best possible way.

There's some financial supervision, but mostly you make his - and unthankful MTV lawyers' - life easier. Basically, you're supposed to have his back while he runs off masterminding wild stunts.

It's the perfect function, you get to be cutthroat like you were taught in school but for someone who is close to you, and you can see exactly how you help his life everyday. It is also gratifying to know that he is using the free time you provide for him to do absolutely dumb hilarious shit. It makes your career feel more innocent. And you don't need to wear heels everyday.

The crew is all very likable, but you don't actually spend that much time with them. Occasionally, you leave the rented office to follow the main group and watch a stunt, not the gross ones though, being pretty squeamish. You know the guys make fun of you for it, but you're used to people thinking you have a stick up your ass.

It's truly Jeff who you see the most of, constantly on calls with him too. Sometimes you're forced to follow him around for the day while he's directing an episode because the negotiating is more delicate and you need to be in continuous contact with him. On those days, Bam and Dunn tend to mock you by imitating your formal way of speaking. When you catch them doing it, they run away like middle-schoolers. To stick to your role, you hold back your laughter.

What you do most of is find legal loopholes for the shit Jeff wants do in Jackass and locations he wants to shoot at. There's a lot of lawsuits coming in that get settled out of court, thanks to you. It could all be done by MTV attorneys, but Tremaine insists you do it better. It's more work but the praise is nice to hear and it keeps you on the job, so you would never complain.

Technically, this makes Chris your coworker, beyond your neighbor. It doesn't change much. If there ever is a reason for the boys to be at the office around the time you're leaving, he gives you a ride home, otherwise you take the bus.

It's during those car rides you start getting to know one another better. Turns out you're exactly as different as you thought you'd be, the only common interest being a love of Black Flag and more Rock music. Still, you click so well it becomes the best way to relax on a stressful day at work, sometimes rooting for him to show up at the office just so you could spend some time with him.

It's not attraction. Really, the past year of working a boring internship for a generic firm made you crave brainless fun. You felt like you forgot how to laugh, and Chris could get tears out of your eyes with whatever throwaway line about something said on the radio or seen on the street. More and more, you felt like you needed him around.

Especially today. Jeff asked you to sort out an insane lawsuit he honestly had coming, after filming Johnny and Steve-O fucking with surfboards on a random alley and they managed to mess up a fire exit ladder of one of the buildings. Now the landlord was crying in your ears about it. There might be some leeway given how old and rusty the thing already was, and the old man having a history of not caring about his own tenants' requests.

Entering his office, you're met with some familiar faces. Chris, Johnny and Wee Man. "Oh, hi." Out of breath, blackberry in one hand, you move past their uninterested questions of how you're doing. "I think I got that landlord guy by the balls, thanks to a very nice girl who's pissed he hasn't fixed her shower in over eight months. She's hot and single, by the way, I could get her number if you guys are feeling lonely." You turn to the boys and shrug, it's so much fun to randomly step out of your assigned spot of 'serious woman' and confuse them a little bit. Not giving them time to say anything, again, you continue. "I'm grabbing lunch, what do you want?"

The face meeting your agitated energy unnerves you, bad news were coming. "I'm so sorry to ruin your mood, kid. But I really need you to lay base for a clearance for a shooting location, like, today."

"Uhm," Tapping your fingers rapidly on the empty coffee cup your other hand was holding, you reroute. "Okay. I can skip lunch if I have to. Give me the number and I'll get to it right now."

"Golden girl." That's your official name around the office and set, always willing to work that extra mile for Jeff. People thought you were either in love with him or addicted to the job. "Thank you so much!"

Making first contact with the people supervising a location Jeff wanted to shoot at was a run-of-the-mill activity for you, buttering them up before the MTV lawyers could hit them with the heavy legal talk. The problem is your sneaky friend slash employer didn't forewarn you this was a second attempt at talking to the owners of this paintball place. They had seen Jackass, and were not fans.

You're not entirely sure why he was insisting on this so much, a pretty standard establishment. It would be easier to push through if the lady in charge wasn't such a meticulous bitch. That's harsh, but she's also transparently mean when you're just trying to do your job, so screw her. It brings you back to those god forsaken days of customer service work, and tears prick at your eyes. It's past seven pm when you finally give up, having been on the phone with the woman since lunch as she lectured you on the immoral acts of the show's cast and going through every single one of the boys and their personal life choices. When you ask if you can call her on tomorrow, she straight up tells you to fuck off. Four hours of your life thrown out the window with two words.

You have to be a certain type of person to go through with a career in law, and unfortunately it is the kind that hates to lose.

Defeated, in need of a shower and terribly hungry, you're surprised when you finally step out of the small building to see Chris' car in the parking lot. You knock on the window to wake him up.

"Is it next year?" He jokes, face a little puffy and hair messy from his nap.

"What on earth are you still doing here, Pontius? Running away from a girl waiting at your place to kick your ass for not calling back?"

Hair flies into your mouth but you can't do much about it, hands full with an aluminium water bottle, your phone, wallet, backpack and a trash bag - because if you didn't take it out, no one would.

"Ouch, no, I'm the most gentleman. I always tell them I'm not gonna call." Not surprising. "I was waiting for you."

"Are you a debt collector and I don't know?" You walk to the dumpster close by, still in earshot distance.

"No. You're a fucking pain in my ass, you know that? I'm actually being extremely sweet by sticking around to take you home and you have the audacity to be skeptical." The look on your face makes him sigh. "I'm not letting you take the bus this late when I'm your downstairs neighbor. I also got you lunch, or dinner I guess. Just get in."

He opens the passenger door for you from inside.

Surprisingly, you actually ponder if you wouldn't rather take the bus. Usually Chris is exactly the remedy you need after a rough work day, but right now you feel like crying and you really don't wanna do that in front of him.

His green eyes are studying your hesitation, so you collect yourself and step inside the vehicle.

You're quietly eating the sandwich he separated for you, ceasar salad untouched on your lap, when he breaks the silence.

"What's up with you?" Instinctive words tell him to keep his eyes on the road. "You're like, really quiet. Most days I can't make you shut up, or stop singing. The radio is off and you didn't even say anything."

You could've sworn Alanis Morissette was playing, but maybe that was in your head.

Chris was the only one who saw the real you, relaxed and unbothered, singing along to the radio and talking endlessly about random fun facts you memorized for no good reason. He never complained, even if you expected him to everytime. Your quietness was obviously not going unnoticed by him.

Taking another bite of the sandwich as an excuse for not being able to speak, you shrug and rudely spit out that nothing's wrong. He drops it.

Stopping at a red light, you're obssesively playing with the plastic salad bowl and making loud squeaky noises with it, when you notice from the corner of your eyes that Pontius is staring.

"I know what could you cheer you up." Rolling your eyes, you face him. "Hooters."

You burst out laughing at that, the knot in your chest loosening temporarily.

Your right hand covers your eyes, as it usually did when you laughed really hard. When it comes off, Chris is still looking at you, a half-assed smile showing up on his face. You look at each other for a beat too long, your head rolled to the side on the seat, and you inexplicably bite your bottom lip. The action draws your neighbor's eyes to it. A very well known shiver runs down your spine before the Hummer behind you honks, signaling the light was green.

Turning on the radio, soft indie rock music replaces any talking for the rest of the drive.

Quietly walking to the elevator, party boy pipes up. "You need wine right now, want me to bring it up to you?"

You snort. "I know you don't have wine, Chris, we'll drink mine."

The blatant self-invitation makes your face turn a little red, noticing it on the mirror in the elevator, and it's a shame you can't blame it on the drinking yet.

Unlocking your door, you're thankful for being a very neat person, happy to make a good first impression. At least a first impression of your home, since Chris had never been there before, even after becoming your coworker.

Taking your shoes off, you tell him to drop his things by the couch and walk to the fridge.

"I have beer too, if you prefer." A nod from the curiously coy man and you sigh. "More grape juice for me."

As you're unscrewing the cork, your elbow knocks over a glass cup that starts rolling to the floor and in your failed attemp to keep everything under control and catch it, the wine bottle almost slips from the counter too. Saved for the second time by Chris, he manages to grab the cup and hold the bottle simultaneously.

Speechless at how fast things were spiraling today, your eyes shut and you breathe in deeply. Tears are threatening to spill again. "Nice reflexes."

"Thanks, spider-sense." A reference to one of your favorite characters, as you had told him one afternoon in his car.

"Ha!" It's a genuine response. You want to laugh, delighted by the boy continuously surprising you, but you're too tired to fully commit.

"Are you sure you're okay?" It's the first time you hear a genuine tone to his voice. "Just tell me what's bothering you, it might help."

Letting him serve your wine and taking a seat on the small kitchen isle, Chris sitting next to you, the words simply come out. "I hate feeling useless."

He asks for context, so you give it to him. Summing up the long phone conversation you had is not easy, but the long-haired boy listens attentively. "Ok, so she's a miserable middle-aged woman. How does that affect you?"

"Because I didn't get through to her. I can be successful nine out of ten times, that one I failed at is gonna make me feel worthless for a long while."

Swirling the drink, you don't look at him, embarrassed to open up like this.

"Woah, hold on. That's a heavy word." He scrapes the metal stool on the floor, inching closer. "You can't put that much self-worth into your job. There's more to you than that. Don't belive me? I've seen it. You really enjoy reading autobiographies of random people no one's ever heard of before, you watch soccer even though you're american, can't stand when I play guitar and cover your eyes when you laugh." That last one catches you off guard, sure it's a habit but you didn't know it was a noticeable one. "All those small things are parts of you, and they have nothing to do with being a lawyer. So, even if you sucked at it, how could it ever make you a worthless human being?"

The look on his face is so serious it scrambles your brain, so you joke to ease the mood. "Your guitar playing isn't that bad, I just think it could benefit from being less loud."

"Or from actual lessons." The alcohol and exhaustion are getting to you, because when you laugh, your body leans forward and you rest your forehead on Chris' shoulder. He smells musky.

Not thinking, you put a hand on his bicep and sit up. "How about a movie?"

You're forcing him to watch Dr Caligari on your neatly clean couch, occasionally adding trivia commentary about the movie. A total fucking nerd, but he doesn't protest. Mostly, you stick to drinking your chosen beverages.

When it ends, he gets up first, grabbing the wine bottle from the floor and the glasses, putting them in the sink. Pulling on your sweater's sleeve, you open your door and wait for him to put his shoes back on, holding out the worn bag for him.

"Feeling better?" He asks right before stepping into the hallway.

"Yeah, thanks to you." It's shy because it's true, he made you feel good. "You keep doing that." Your brows are furrowed and you're looking down, the sentence came out without much thought.

Chris huffs out a laugh and says goodnight, adding that "By the way, Jeff wanted you to close the deal with that Paintball place because it's his nephew's favorite, and he wanted to get him in for free. That's all. So don't get too worked up about it."

That does make you more relieved, also more idiotic.

After a much needed shower, you're turning over in your bed, hugging your pillow. Your eyes stare deep into the darkness, cracking your brain over the warm feeling in your chest when you think about the boy downstairs. Glancing out the bedroom window, looking at the full moon, you can't help but wonder if he's thinking of you too. For that night, you allow thoughts of Pontius to lull you to sleep.

Waking up in the morning, you're surprised by an e-mail from your boss saying you got a day off. Suspecting a certain long-haired neighbor, you walk to your balcony and wait to hear if there's any noise coming from downstairs. Nothing, so you call to him. "Chris?"

He must've gone to work early.

You can't remember the last time there was nothing to do all day, especially on a Friday. Time drags on as you figure out what to do with it. You watch movies, moisturize your hair, paint your nails, and go to bed at eight.

The sounds of a guitar softly playing wake you up, and the bedside clock tells you it's two in the morning. You think about striding to your balcony and humorously yelling at your rude neighbor, but you're too lazy to move.

As the notes flood your ears, there's a burning in your chest and it's all you need to know. Your feelings have changed.

You wish you had the guts to do something about it, maybe you could be the girl he played songs for. Instead, you shut your window and force yourself back to sleep.

The weekend goes by without any disturbances outside, it's entirely too peaceful for L.A. Inside of your head, however, there's a storm destroying everything in its path.

You're flip-flopping between asking Pontius out and risking your job or keeping everything in until you die and risk becoming miserable again. Speaking of the boy, he weirdly only makes any noises at night now, right when you're going to sleep, taking out his guitar for practice. It doesn't annoy you anymore, it was nice to feel his presence in a way, so you leave the window open.

When Monday comes around, Tremaine has some weird words for you after dropping another lawsuit on your desk. At least this time he brought a cup of coffee with him.

"So, Pontius was here at five in the morning on a Friday to request a day off. For you, not him." You smile into the paper cup, your suspicions were correct, of course. "Whatever is going on, I'm glad you have him. You seem less…neurotic when he's around."

"Oh my god, Jeff, you can't call an employee neurotic."

"Alright, less stressed out. Anyways, I approve. I'm a cool boss."

"Get out." You're both laughing.

Jeff's words ring repeatedly on your ears throughout the day, unfortunately distracting you from work, which means you also miss lunch again.

At least you had time to think about Chris, deciding you should go for it. If your boss didn't mind, there was no real problem. He made you feel good and that's always worth giving a shot.

Jeff's words ring repeatedly on your ears throughout the day, unfortunately distracting you from work, which means you also miss lunch again. At least you had time to think about Chris, deciding you should go for it. If your boss didn't mind, there was no real problem. Well, there are a few, but you're going to ignore that for now.

Stopping by his office before leaving, you're curiously met with Tremaine and Pontius playing with a baseball inside a room with many breakable objects.

"I'm gonna go before you make me clean up broken glass." Your hand does not leave the doorknob. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait, I'll take you." Chris quickly gathers himself to follow you, just as you hoped.

With some confidence sparking up inside you, holding your belongings close to your chest, you start the conversation, "Here you are again. Late at night, doing nothing around the office. Did Jeff call you to tell you I skipped lunch? Is this his way to avoid a 'precarious work conditions' type of lawsuit?"

Slowly stepping to his car, the green-eyed boy rests his back on the driver's side. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

"Bummer, I was really wishing for a sandwich." You bite your lip, smiling in anticipation. "Oh well, what is it?"

"Why did you not yell at me at all this weekend?" Seeing your confused expression prompts him to continue. "I was playing loudly, badly! At two in the morning! What were you doing?"

"Listening. You're getting better." The smile you give him is real, if suspicious. He seems flustered. "Is that all you were going to ask?"

"No, not really." He swallows so hard you can hear it.

"So?"

"So…if I liked you, I don't by the way, but if I did-"

"Yes." You cut him off, ruining the moment.

"I didn't even finish my sentence." His hands are in the pockets of his cargo pants, and his forehead is seriously wrinkled. He is not fucking around with this.

"I apologize, go on." Your cheeks hurt from holding back a grin.

"If I liked you, would you want to grab dinner sometime?"

"If I liked you back, I'd love to. How about right now?"

His cheekbones are flushed and he rushes to open the car's passenger door for you. Getting in and giggling at the ridiculousness of it all, you look like kids going on their first ever date.

Backing away from the parking lot, Chris asks, "What do you want to eat?"

"Oh, god, a little of everything. Italian, Mexican, Chinese."

"You seriously need to stop skipping lunch. I don't have enough money to afford three different restaraunts in L.A. in one night."

You laugh and turn on the radio, rolling your window down. "Do you have money for Hooters?"

"Don't play with my heart."

Laughing again, you enjoy the wind in your hair and look at the street lights. Things were looking up.

#chris pontius x reader #chris pontius #jackass #jackass fanfic #johnny knoxville #ryan dunn #bam margera #steveo #jeff tremaine

238 notes · View notes

zeldahime · 4 years

Text

thanks to the 3zun discord and cleromance on twitter, i have now written modern!rule 63!3zun. 3zun lesbians is all i want in life, i think

i don’t really describe them so i just want to let you know that meng yao is like 5′2 and 95lbs and high femme; lan huan is 5′10 and lives in Women’s Business Attire; and nie mingjue is still 6′3 and built like a tank

----

Prompt: “Can you keep a secret?”

"Can you keep a secret?" Lan Huan whispered. Meng Yao was asleep next to her, her fine hair tangled on the pillows, her face relaxed. She almost looked like a completely different person, as young as Lan Huan felt, with the tension of her life temporarily relieved. "I think I'm in love with you."

Meng Yao slept on, as Lan Huan gently ran her hand over her lover's face, down her neck and arm.

Lan Huan hated that the bed would be empty when Meng Yao woke up at seven. Meng Yao had barely anything in her apartment, just clothes and schoolbooks and other necessities; she barely had groceries and had no decorations. She was too proud to accept gifts, and when Lan Huan had tried to leave some things of hers behind accidentally-on-purpose, Meng Yao had conscientiously made sure to return them. In her white-and-blue skirt suit in an empty apartment, she felt like a ghost flitting through Meng Yao's life, invisible and incorporeal during the day.

But at night -- oh, at night -- when she and Meng Yao talked and whispered and touched, when they laughed, when they loved -- Lan Huan felt like the luckiest girl in the world, even if the rest of her world was on fire.

She wanted Meng Yao to know that she wanted anything she had to offer. She wanted more than just stolen moments on weekend nights, when neither of them would be missed, if Meng Yao wanted it too. She wanted to see her every day, to do whatever Meng Yao wanted, for Meng Yao to do whatever she wanted. She would pull the moon out of the sky to make her smile.

Slowly, Lan Huan pushed herself up. She had to go to work. But soon -- tonight -- she would tell Meng Yao everything.

She hoped she wouldn't scare her away.

"Can you keep a secret?" Meng Yao asked bitingly. "I thought the blunt and straightforward Nie Mingjue would think those beneath her."

Mingjue's jaw clenched in response. Good. Meng Yao was in a fighting mood.

"I've kept secrets." The words came out low and careful; she'd learned something over the last year, then, about diplomacy. They also weren't an answer and they weren't a reason.

"Like what, a-Huan's birthday present? It's that necklace she liked at the summer fair, the blue one. She'll love it. Try again." Meng Yao kept her face perfectly flat. If Mingjue wanted a reaction from her, she'd have to actually try. She hadn't tried in a while.

"I'm trying to help you!"

Meng Yao felt her lips thin. Of course she thought that's what she was doing. Of course she saw herself as the savior. She always had, and she always would. She never understood that Meng Yao didn't need saving. She wasn't a fairytale princess waiting to be rescued -- she had rescued her own damn self.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Da-jie. You haven't tried to help me since before we broke up. If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."

Mingjue looked like she'd been slapped in the face. Since Meng Yao would bet her entire bank account nobody had ever struck her in the face in her life, and Meng Yao was much too small to get that effect the old-fashioned way, it was probably the closest she'd ever get. She did not allow herself to smile in satisfaction, but she felt it all the same.

"You wouldn't let me." Mingjue stared at a spot somewhere above her head. "I wanted to. But you wouldn't let me." She spoke in a strange tone of voice, one Meng Yao had never heard from her. She sounded almost... lost. Hurt.

Like Meng Yao was the one who betrayed her trust, and not the other way around.

"Fine," she said, before she had actually made the decision to speak. "I'll tell you a secret, if you can keep it. Forgive me or don't, I don't care, but you'll know why I did it."

When Huaisang came home an hour later, Mingjue was holding Meng Yao to her chest, whispering apologies into her hair.

"Can you keep a secret?" Mingjue asked a-Huan, as they waited for their date. Yaoyao had texted them that something had come up at work, and she was coming as soon as she could, but they all knew that emergencies at Jinlintai Inc. could take anything from a half-hour to an overnighter to resolve. She'd know what kind it was soon enough.

"It depends," a-Huan said mischievously. "Is this is a fun secret, or a business secret?"

Mingjue smiled, and a-Huan gasped a little. She was a sucker for dimples, and Mingjue used hers judiciously. "A very fun secret."

A-Huan fluttered her eyelashes. "Then I can keep it for as long as Da-jie wants me to, if she asks nicely enough." She raised her chin for a kiss, and got it. Mingjue could never deny a-Huan anything.

"I was thinking about Valentine's Day, and our Yaoyao’s birthday, and how they're very close together," Mingjue said slowly. "And about how much she likes both chocolate and beds that are big enough for the three of us."

"I like this secret already, Da-jie."

"She's well overdue for a vacation."

"We all are, I think."

"And she hates how cold it is here up north."

"She does indeed, our poor little southern flower."

They smiled at each other as a blur of a pale blouse and lacy umbrella powerwalked into the restaurant, and they had their Yaoyao with them at last.

"I am going to murder Jin Zixun," Yaoyao announced for the third time that week, and a-Huan fussed over her hair and Mingjue took her hand. "It's like he wants someone to riddle his body with holes and leave him to die right in the middle of Qiongqi Pass. I'd do it myself if I could figure out how to get away with it."

"Hello to you too," Mingjue said mildly as Yaoyao pecked her on the cheek and took her seat.

Bonus:

"Can you keep a secret?" Huaisang asked them. She'd sat them all down in the living room, wringing her hands like she was afraid they would vanish. "Because I'm pretty sure Yao-jie can but I want to know for certain. You're not going to tell anyone what I tell you right now. Right?"

They looked at each other. Da-jie radiated confusion; Huan-jie and Yao-jie looked perfectly blank.

"A-Sang?" Huan-jie asked quietly.

"Okay, I should probably start at the beginning. When I was like 14, I had a big crush on Wei-jie, you remember that right Yao-jie? I definitely told you. Um. So I kind of wrote this comic about it?”

She walked them through a series of events that seemed both fantastic and completely plausible. And then she told them the title.

"Wait a second. A-Sang. You wrote The Mistress of Demonic Cultivation? And you sold the rights without having me read the contract? Huaisang," Yao-jie said slowly, in her voice that asked the question "are you stupid?" and answered it with "clearly," "I am an intellectual property attorney."

"I didn't! I don't think I did? I'm pretty sure I didn't! I didn't sign anything! I don't know!"

Huaisang watched her sister and her wives roll their eyes in perfect unison and stand with choreographed ease. She was expecting to be yelled at, or possibly told to go practice saber.

She didn't expect to be the center of a group hug, or for her da-jie to say "I'm proud of you," or for Huan-jie to tell her that Lan Zhan had recommended her story to her. She did kind of expect for Yao-jie to demand the contract and mark it up, so that wasn't a surprise at least. That was why she'd told them at all.

Maybe she'd tell them more things, if she was going to get hugs out of it instead of yelling.

Being married was good for Da-jie, she thought. It was good for all of them.

#3zun #nie mingjue #lan xichen #jin guangyao #meng yao #xiyao #nieyao #nielan #the untamed #please please people write more lesbian!3zun so i can read all of it!!!!#my writing

77 notes · View notes

george-frost-tent · 5 years

Text

reddie gift exchange

written by @freakytozier

prompt: “I’m sorry, I tried to buy this for you but I couldn’t get it so I made this for you instead.”

word count: 1,320

The worn out chucks thudded against the Quarry’s icy ground in a rhythmic pattern of worry. Richie Tozier frantically paced back and forth. In his hands, he fiddled with a small box that contained Ed’s gift. It wasn’t ideal, hell, it was far from perfect but Richie couldn’t help but hope his Ed would love it. Crooked glasses sliding down his nose, and his hair a mess from running his fingers through it so many times, to say Richie was worrying may have been an understatement. It was a week away from Christmas, and tonight was the Losers clubs’ gift exchange. Richie bought Big Bill a new notebook for his writing, Stan the man got a new a bird book, Bev was going to receive some cigarettes and some new nail polish, Mikey was going to get some new work boots for the farm, and Benny boy was getting a book of new poetry. And Eddie, Eddie was the hardest to shop for. Richie was going to get him a simple gift, a new comic. Sadly, in Trashmouth fashion, he panicked. He always panicked when it came to Eddie. He didn’t know what comics Eddie had, nor did he have the common sense to ask Stan or Bill. Instead, he made Eddie a mixtape, it was cheesy and full of songs the two would screech into the night (when Sonia wasn’t around). It was heartfelt, a gift that was thought out, that the very thought of Eddie hating it crushed his spirits. Instead of getting ready for the gift exchange, the trashmouth was pacing at the Quarry, the biting December air making his flesh go numb. Snot dripped from his nose, and his eyes watered from the cold, yet he couldn’t help himself. After all, the Quarry was the one place he felt calm, it was his and the Loser’s place. A place where they felt as if they belonged. It only seemed fitting that Richie would choose to panic here.

Richie’s 30-minute pacing quickly turned to 3 hours, the sun had set long ago and Richie was sure he would get sick from the cold. Deciding to choke down his worry, Richie slung his backpack that rested on the ground that contained his friend’s gifts and decided to head to Big Bill’s. It was now or never. The gifts to his friends bounced against his back as he walked out of the Quarry and into the main street of Derry, Ed’s gift still being shuffled between his hands. The snow glistened beneath the street lamps, as Richie walked carefully down the icy sidewalk, his chucks seemingly thankful that the snow had been cleared from the sidewalk. Muttering to himself, he made up new voices and characters to pass the time, the walk to Bill’s long and Richie distracted himself from his never-ending thoughts.

Rounding the last corner, Richie faced Big Bill’s driveway, Eddie’s gift becoming heavy in his hands. Taking a deep breath, Richie puffed his chest out and walked with a slight swagger in his step. The trashmouth oozed fake confidence, a gimmick he had been practicing since day one. Knocking on the door, Richie ran his hand through his messy hair in vain attempts to fix it,

“T-T-Trashmouth T-T-Tozier, i-i-it’s g-good t-t-to see y-you man.” Bill stuttered out as he stepped aside to let Richie enter. Awkwardly standing in the doorway of the Denbrough household, the two friends exchanged soft smiles, causing Richie to let out a small chuckle,

“B-B-Big Bill, it’s good to see you too. It’s been a while eh?” Richie jokes, as Bill only nodded with a wide toothy smile. Slowly, the two walked back into the living room, where the rest of the losers sat, Richie obviously being the last to show,

“Great. You’re finally here, and to think I thought I escaped the annoying Tozier.” Stan quipped as the losers shared a small laugh, Richie puffing out his chest, his own smile spreading into a devilish smirk as his right hand smacked into his chest,

“Oh, Stan. Stan the man, that hurt. Your words have wounded me.” Richie mocked as he dramatically fell to his knees. Familiar laughter rang around the room as the group rolled their eyes at the childish behavior, in the background a familiar squeeze of an inhaler caused Richie’s heart to skip a slight beat,

“So, should we do the gift exchange now that everyone is here?” Ben asked quietly, his eyes only really focused on Bev, causing the others to share a small knowing glance. The soft-spoken loser quickly noticed where his eyes had been and turned to face Big Bill, a blush dusting his cheeks.

“Well, I don’t see why we should wait!” Mike chimed in as Bev nodded her head in agreement. Looking around the room, waiting for objections the Losers made eye contact with each person, all of them silently agreeing to begin,

“I-I-I w-w-will go f-f-first,” Bill announced, as pulled a simple bag in front of him. Taking out each gift with a sense of gentleness, the losers watched the leader hand out his gifts one by one. Stan received a bullet journal, Mike got a new hat, Ben received a book on architecture, Bev was presented with some lipstick and a flask, Richie got a book on the greatest radio show hosts, and Eddie was given a new comic. Silently Richie thanked whatever higher being that existed that he avoided getting Eddie a comic. One by one each Loser handed out their gifts. Mike got a bunch of things for his farm work, Stan a bunch of organization and bird items, Eddie a bunch of hand sanitizer and comics, Bev a lot of makeup and strange items that only their Bev would ask for, Ben received a lot of poetry and architecture items, Bill got both art and writing supplies, and Richie got a lot of books on jokes. One by one the each passed out gifts, until Richie was the last one. The trashmouth handed everyone their gifts except Eddie’s, the worn out box heavy in his hands,

Stan opened his gift first, on top was a piece of paper with a sloppily written note that read, “Happy Hanukkah!” causing Stan to let out a small laugh of disbelief,

“Do my eyes deceive me or does this really incorporate the fact that I’m Jewish?” Stan teased as he thanked Richie for the bird book. Each loser opened their gift from their loud-mouthed friend and thanked him, all until Eddie,

“So did you forget about me Rich?” Eddie asked, his annoyed tone easily read as joking, at least to the losers. Richie dramatically gasped, his mouth falling open in shock as he shook his head in disbelief,

“My dearest Eds-”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“-Do you really think I would forget you, my love?” Eddie and the rest of the losers rolled their eyes at the antics before them, quiet giggles escaping the group,

“I merely saved the best for last,” Richie concluded as he handed the old box over to Eddie. Ever so slowly, the asthmatic boy opened the lid, to reveal a small cassette tape. Watching the way Eddie’s face held no emotion caused panic to surge through Richie causing him to do what he did best, talk,

“I-I meant to buy you a comic, but I forgot which ones you had...and I should have asked you or anybody else but I panicked? I don’t know Eds, I just- If you don’t like the gift I can get you something else, but I’m fairly certain someone important once said it is the thought that c-”

“Shut-up Trashmouth. I love it, this is an amazing gift. Thank you, Rich.” Eddie muttered, his hand gently caressing the cassette tape, a small smile resting on his lips. To say Richie was ecstatic to hear that was an understatement.

#reddie #winter camp 2018 #day 6 #george frost tent #fics #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

47 notes · View notes