It’s like when you were a kid. The first time they tell you the world’s turning and you just can’t quite believe it because everything looks like it’s standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We’re falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go…That’s who I am. Now, forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home.
Nursey doesn’t usually go to these things alone. He can usually find a date - or at least a friend - to make everything a little less awkward. This is Jack and Bitty’s wedding, though, which means that all of his friends are already here. It also means that the only person he would want to bring as a date is already here, too, looking unfairly dapper in his grey suit.
He’s jumping around on the dance floor with Chowder and Farmer when the DJ announces that she’s switching over to a slow song, and he ducks out to sit down at the table.
He doesn’t mind sitting and watching the couples dancing, Chowder lifting Farmer off her feet to spin her around, Ransom with his face tucked into Holster’s neck, Jack leaning down so his forehead rests on Bitty’s, but he’s spent the whole damn day fantasizing about what might’ve been if he had the balls to just ask -
Requested: anthony x reader where reader is anthony’s longterm girlfriend who stuck with him through him never being home, missing out on date nights for rehearsals & performances, & really through everything together. when the show hits broadway, anthony starts staying waaay later than he has to @ the theatre & on readers 3 year anni with him, he insists he has to stay late at the theatre when they already had plans together & reader discovers it was just bc he wanted to hang out with jasmine
Words: 6,149 (i get it man, I’m so extra)
Warnings: swearing, cheating, AND angst, SO much angst, I’m sorry
A/N: I WANT TO DEDICATE THIS FIC TO THE MOST AMAZING PERSON, ELL @lookaroundlookaroundhowlucky. THANK YOU FOR LOOKING OVER THIS & FOR LITERALLY MAKING ME LAUGH & SMILE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY. I LOVE YOU & I APPRECIATE THE SHIT OUTTA YA GIRL. Y’ALL GO CHECK HER OUT, SHE SLAYS THE GAME EVERYDAY.
ALSO, I have no words as to how PROUD I am of this fic, it’s UNREAL. It took me so long to write and I love it, it’s basically my child. PLEASE ENJOY.
Another meme I won’t finish: Doctor who (2005) one gif per episode ★ Rose (01x01)
Do you know like we were saying, about the earth revolving? It’s like when you’re a kid, the first time they tell you that the world is turning and you just can’t quite believe it ‘cause everything looks like it’s standing still. I can feel it… the turn of the earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour. The entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour. And I can feel it. We’re falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world. And, if we let go… That’s who I am. Now forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home.
You hiss as your bare feet make contact with the cold wooden floor of your kitchen and hop around for a second as your skin gets used to the change in temperature. The house is particularly cold this morning, and you’re not quite sure why. The first thing on your mind is getting yourself a nice, hot cup of tea. It’s barely October, so you hadn’t bothered to turn the heat on yet, and you sincerely regret it at the moment.
Even the cupboard door is cold as you open it to get the tea kettle, and you rush over to the sink to fill it up with warm water. As you do so, you look out the window just in front of you, smiling to yourself at the gentle blanket of frost that covers the grass. Warm water overflows from the kettle making you look back down at the kettle.
But then you freeze.
You drop the kettle into the sink with a loud clang and run to the backdoor, not bothering to shut off the water. You fling open the door and run out onto the lawn pajamas, bare feet and all. The frosty grass crunches coolly under your feet, and you spin around in a 360, trying to take in your whole yard at once. “Jack?” you yell.
You wait for what seems like forever, watching your breath crystallize in the air in front of you. No response comes, and your heart sinks. You had thought he’d be back, but to no avail. Nearly six months of not seeing him isn’t going to change today. Sighing, you turn back to your house and walk slowly to the door.
“Wow, you’re seriously going to give up that easily?”
Gasping, you spin back around, watching as Jack floats down only a couple of feet from you. He grins, blue eyes twinkling as he does. “Do I have the wrong house?”
“Jack!” You squeal, rushing towards your friend and practically leaping into his arms once you reach him. He laughs and wraps his arms around your waist, spinning you around in a circle. After a couple of seconds, you pull away slightly and cup his face in your hands, taking in his features in wonder. “You’re really here.”
He smiles softly. “I’m really here.”
You smile brightly and pull him into another hug. “Oh, I missed you so much.”
Do you know like we were saying about the Earth revolving? It’s like when you were a kid. The first time they tell you the world’s turning and you just can’t quite believe it because everything looks like it’s standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We’re falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go…
That’s who I am. Now, forget me, Rose Tyler.
Warning - May be upsetting to some readers, contains bad language
Within 5 minutes, a small argument has blown into a full shouting match. You and your boyfriend are stood at opposite sides of the kitchen, screaming insults at one another. You’ve never seen him this mad before, and you’d be scared stiff if you weren’t just as angry. Having enough, you storm past him and to the door, trying to leave. But he didn’t like that. He grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the door,
“You’re not leaving!” He shouts at you, and you shout back that he doesn’t own you, even if he thinks he does. You watch his face darken and you instantly regret your words.
warnings: henry bowers is a fookin goon, profanity, sexual implications
summary: I love your blog btw, I was hoping you could write reader x Richie. Where Henry and his gang is going after the losers, Richie has always had a crush on the reader but has never done anything about it. The reader has a trash mouth too and she stands up to Henry. Could there be a cute moment at the end we’re Richie says something like he loved her trash mouth or something funny but cute. Thanks you so much keep up the amazing work.
You and Richie Tozier had an odd sort of relationship.
It first reared it’s head when it became apparent in around fifth grade that you two were just as foul-mouthed as each other. Where Richie was a motormouth with no filter, and any thought that swum to his consciousness simply HAD to be blurted out, your words were carefully chosen with just the right amount of dry wit to pair with whatever filthy phrase tumbled from your mouth to feel like a slap to the face.
It was a relationship built off mutual respect, an understanding for one another, but that was as deep as it went. You and Richie had probably exchanged less than a hundred words in the five years you’d known each other, even if you did find him funny and a little endearing with those massive, Coke-bottle glasses perched upon a freckle-smattered snub nose.
Nothing good would come of two trashmouths uniting, and so you never bothered to make real contact with the boy.
You’d stayed after school to brush up on your biology, because, what, just because you had the largest vocabulary of swear words of any thirteen-year-old you knew meant you couldn’t be smart at the same time?
In any case, you’d been making your way to the back gate with your bag slung over one shoulder, when the hum of passing traffic outside the fence halted, and other sounds of the seemingly-silent schoolyard began to creep in.
Sounds that sounded horribly like Richie Tozier getting laid into by Henry Bowers and his gaggle of goons in the crook of a gap between the art and drama block some feet away.
You didn’t hesitate; spinning round so quickly you kicked up a load of gravel, you marched toward the shadowed gap, from which pitiful whines and curses coupled with laughs and thuds were emitting.
You halted at the edge, staring down in momentary shock. Richie looked even scrawnier than he usually did as he was now, half-standing and slumped against the wall, seemingly held up only by Bowers fisting a handful of his shirt.
“That’s it, Bowers, let it all out,” Richie said weakly, words slightly slurred. “Bottling up frustration shows itself in funny ways - like, imagine if you did something violent. Then where would we be?”
Bowers gripped a handful of Richie’s wild, dark hair and slammed his head into the brick wall. Richie hissed, blinking hard to ward of unconsciousness, because the pain was bad but God if he wasn’t terrified about what Bowers would do to him if he were passed out.
The yell stopped both seventh-grader and junior alike, both eyes snapping to the girl silhouetted against the opening of the alley. Richie’s eyes widened behind his glasses, because if there was one person he didn’t want seeing him like this, it was you.
Bowers stared you down with a malign fury, but you refused to budge, glaring back with a venom searing in your irises. Finally, Henry scoffed and broke the stare, and you took to opportunity to march forward, wedging your body between his and Richie’s slumped on the floor and protesting feebly in the form of pawing at your ankle, trying to shove you away from the teenager who so obviously wanted to hurt you.
“Get lost, you dippy cunt,” Henry snorted, backing up a little. “What’re you gonna do? Bite my ankles?”
“Get away from him and go home to your deadbeat daddy, Bowers,” you snarled. “Or better yet, why not Hockstetter’s? If you’re looking for a frustration outlet, I hear he’s provided you with that a couple times before.”
Before you could blink, two furious hands had grabbed fistfuls of your shirt and had shoved you against the wall. Bowers was so close you could smell the hot dampness of his breath pushing into your face, see each individual twitch of each wound muscle in contorted face.
“Hey, there’s no judgement, I mean, what is this, 1959? But really, picking on seventh-graders is subpar, even for you. You’d think after sixteen whole years of being a fucking dickbag you’d at least have an age-appropriate victim range, but I guess not.”
“That’s the problem with you trashmouths,” Henry breathed. “You never know when to close your goddamn mouths. I could kill you both right now, and who’d have anything to say about it, huh, shortstacks?”
“I’m not afraid of you, you son of a motherless whore,” you spat back.
“How perfect,” he hissed. “I’m not afraid of you either.” One hand left your shirt to reach into his back pocket, and with a sudden jolt of fear, you saw the bronze handle of a knife glint in the afternoon light.
“But you’re afraid of your dad.”
That did it. The hand grasping the knife hilt faltered, and his gaze was on you fully. You had his undivided attention, but now, when you needed it most, you couldn’t scrape up a word to say.
You felt your eyes fly open and your jaw drop as Henry was suddenly struck with something so hard it sent him reeling; his hands let go of your shirt, and you shoved him away from you, scrambling blindly away from the wall and falling into step with a terrified-looking Richie Tozier, bruised and bloody and holding a four-foot-long wooden object aloft.
You gaped, wordless. “Is that a fucking baseball bat?”
“Gym closet,” he breathed back, eyes wide as coins. You glanced behind you, where a door spilling tennis balls was indeed swinging ajar, and in your peripheral vision, you noticed Henry finally regain balance and turn to the both of you with furious malignancy contorting his face into a scowl so ugly it was terrifying. “Fuck. Go, go, go.”
You took off at a run together, flying for the back gate like your lives depended on it - which, you reckoned absently as you sprinted for the fence, it kind of really did.
The two of you shot out of the school grounds, dithering for a mere second before Richie seized your wrist and tugged you to the left, yelling in squeaky panic, “the woods!” You followed his lead, darting into the shadowed greenery, never once stopping to look around, to see if Henry still pursued you.
In fact, you didn’t stop running for almost five solid minutes, before the both of you collapsed, exhausted, near the thick stream cutting through the vegetation.
You dropped to your knees by the water, cupping two handfuls of the cool stream and pressing them to your sweaty face, over the damp tendrils of hair curling round the back of your neck as you regained your breath. In your peripheral vision, you saw Richie, without even stopping to roll up his pants or toe off his shoes, wade into the flowing water and dunk his entire head under.
You laughed despite yourself as he resurfaced, gasping with flushed cheeks, sopping hair and Coke bottle glasses dotted with specks of liquid like rainfall flicked against a window. He waded back over to you, seemingly oblivious to how his hair dripped onto his slightly-bloodied Hawaiian button-down. He collapsed beside you on the bank, whipping off his glasses and rubbing them dry on the hem of his shirt as you watched him in silence.
Finally he slid those chunky red specs back up his snub, freckled nose, magnifying his brown eyes comically.
“You think we’re safe?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, drawing your knees to your chest.
“From Bowers? Never,” shot back Richie. “But for now, we’re good, yeah. Hey-“ His hands skittered to his sopping hair, slicking it up. “Whaddaya think? Danny Zuko?”
“I think John Travolta would rue the day he ever took an acting class if he saw that,” you giggled, reaching up and tangling your hand in his hair, destroying his hairdo. He batted your arm away and instead carelessly pushed his wet hair back away from his face.
“To turn the conversation away from this hateful bullying -“ he glared at you, and abruptly switched into a crude parody of a Southern Belle accent - “ah do declare, it seems ah owe you’s a big ol’ thank you after you stuck ya skinny neck out for me.”
“Careful, Trashmouth,” you snorted. “That sounded almost sincere.”
“Pshh,” Richie deflected, knocking his shoulder into yours. “As if.” A pause. “I meant it, though. Thanks.”
“Yeah, it’s cool. Bowers’ had it out for me for a while, so, I know what it’s like.”
“Yeah but…” Richie trailed off, seeming to gather his thoughts. “Most people still wouldn’t’ve done it, y’know? Just because some toad got knocked around the ear by Bowers doesn’t mean they’ll stop him from doing it to someone else, right?”
“Wouldn’t they?” you caged, eyes on the ground. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Probably not.” Blunt as ever. You appreciated that. “But you did, so, what was that about?”
“I don’t know. Bowers doesn’t scare me, I guess. It’s not like I have any friends he can go after, so…”
“Oh.” Another silence bloomed between you two, somehow not awkward. “I liked it.”
“You. Standing up to that dickbag. ‘Son of a motherless whore’? That was fucking hot.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, okay Tozier. Don’t have a cow just because it’s the first time you’ve heard a girl curse.”
“It’s not that! Just… I thought it was cool, alright? Fuck, just accept the damn compliment you wasteoid.” Richie seemed to be getting incredibly more flustered with each word.
Catching his increasing embarrassed frustration, you relented. “Okay, okay, Trashmouth. Thank you. I guess I just… I hoped that if I were that far up shit creek, I’d want someone to help me.” The sentence felt odd on your mouth, like a food you’d never eaten before. You had no idea why you were even telling anyone this - this being as close to sincerity as you’d had in years - and especially as the anyone being referred to was Richie Trashmouth Tozier, who’d likely pull your hair teasingly and laugh all over your confession.
Instead, he huffed bitterly. “Yeah, I get it,” he mumbled softly. He looked up at you earnestly. “So, how ‘bout this? We stick up for each other from now on?”
You looked at him. “You serious.”
“Serious as I’ve never been.”
You snorted a laugh. “Alright, Trashmouth, you got yourself a deal.”
Request: Congrats about your anniversary! Can I request a really fluffy dean x reader where they’ve been dating for awhile. Like maybe one night they go to a bar with Sam and dean uses all his bad pickup lines on his girlfriend.
Pairing: Dean x reader
A/N: I’m simultaneously proud and mortified at myself for this…
In all the various wonderful and hilarious “Garak is shocked and horrified by humans” stuff out there, I feel like figure skating has REALLY been overlooked.
“Are you telling me your species has decided filling an arena with ice, strapping blades to your feet, and then spinning and leaping on the slippery surface is considered an acceptable form of recreation?!?!”
“You make sound so dangerous!”
“Well…yes, I suppose. But most of the more dangerous moves are only attempted by those who have been training since childhood.”
Sanvers reunion after Alex almost got launched into fucking space!!
She didn’t go with Alex because she knows Alex.
She knows Alex will be more focused if Maggie is safe. Knows she will be less likely to get herself killed if Maggie is safe.
She hates it.
But she knows her.
And anyway, there are other refugees to keep safe.
And that’s the point of a power couple, right? Stronger together, but sometimes ride or die means riding solo on different parts of the same mission.
So she kisses her like she loves her – because she does, god, how she does – and she tries not to think about the kind of danger Alex is strutting into while she makes rounds on every alien in National City she knows, warning them, smuggling them out when necessary.
She has a few bruises of her own by the end of the day, but that pales in comparison to the pain that shoots through her core when Susan Vasquez calls her with a tight voice and shaking hands.
“Maggie, it’s Cadmus. They’re launching a ship with the refugees into space. Alex… Alex is on the ship.”
She doesn’t hang up the phone so much as she drops it, and she only bothers with her helmet because of muscle memory, and she only pays attention to red lights so she can swerve away from creating four-way crashes, and she forgets what speed limits are because Alex, Alex, goddammit how could she have ever let her go alone, Alex.
“What’s happening?” she demands, and Vasquez won’t let her into the control room. She takes Maggie around the waist and she holds her and she pins her arms to her sides and she rocks her when she breaks.
“Supergirl’s up there with her. She’ll save her, Maggie. They’ll both save everyone.”
“Then why won’t you let me into the damn control room?” she chokes with a wet rage she hasn’t felt since the massacre at the bar.
“I – “
But a cheer rises up, then, and Vasquez chokes out a dry laugh and lets Maggie run out of her arms.
“They’re okay? She’s okay?”
J’onn’s face is in his hands but he nods at the sound of her voice, and she takes Winn into her arms and doesn’t complain when he lifts her off her feet and spins her around.
She does complain a little when he damn near drops her, and Susan has to run over to stabilize them both.
But only a little.
She doesn’t let go of Winn’s hand until the troops return.
The troops, of course, being Supergirl, Alex, and a ship full of refugees, brutalized for being their very selves, abducted and maimed and hunted to satisfy the agenda of xenophobic supremacists who would surely add Winn and Maggie to the list of deportees, gladly, after finding that both of them had dated, had loved, aliens.
Only Supergirl and Alex come back to the DEO, of course, and Winn kisses Maggie’s cheek, hard, before sprinting off the moment he gets a text from Lyra telling him to meet her at the bar.
When a cheer erupts from the agents in the hall, Maggie sprints, too.
Straight into Alex’s arms, and Alex lifts her off her feet – more effectively than Winn – and pulls her in for a deep, breathless kiss that has J’onn averting his wet eyes and Susan whooping and all the agents clapping and Kara somehow laughing and crying at the same time.
Maggie pulls back first and starts checking over Alex’s body with worried hands before Alex has even put her down yet.
“Are you hurt, are you – you – fucking space, Alex!”
Because suddenly the laughter, the relief, is gone from her eyes, and only sheer terror fills them. Alex splutters and Maggie shakes her head and yanks Alex down for another hard, long, desperate kiss.
She’s the first to pull back. Again.
“Space, Danvers! That wasn’t part of our deal!”
“Deal was, you help me save everyone – “
“Alex – “
“They needed me, Maggie, my father – “
“Yeah, I know, I’m proud of you, babe, and I’m in love with you for exactly that, but damnmit, Danvers, I need you too!”
Her voice is thick with tears and her eyes are shining with them, her face a map of defiance, of rage, of relief, of agony, of love, of loss, of fear, of hope, and the agents who were laughing and cheering moments before are now being shooed away by Supergirl and Susan, because the kissing was fun, but the confessions are private.
“You… Maggie you’re… you’re…”
“Not exactly how I wanted to tell you,” Maggie chokes, not meeting Alex’s eyes, her arms wrapped around her chest now, her jaw set, now, her heart shredded with feeling an infinity of different things at once, now.
Alex stares at Maggie’s downturned face for what feels like a millennium – which is how far away she could have been from her, forever, if her sister hadn’t saved them all – and when she can’t bear it anymore, she touches her index finger to Maggie’s chin and gently – gently, so gently, and god she’d almost forgotten what a gentle touch feels like in the last few hours – lifts Maggie’s face up to meet her eyes.
“I’m in love with you, too, Maggie. I… If Kara hadn’t saved us, I… my only regret would’ve been… I’m in love with you, too, Maggie.”
For a long moment, neither of them moves, and for a long moment, neither of them breathes.
“Ally,” Maggie breaks the silence, and this time, her kiss is soft, her kiss is open, her kiss is tender and firm and healing.
Her kiss is forever.
“Alex. When you get a moment to disentangle from Detective Sawyer, I need to speak with you upstairs.”
J’onn’s voice makes them jump apart, but they stay in each other’s arms.
“Acknowledged, sir,” Alex’s voice trembles, but her eyes keep locked in Maggie’s.
“They’ll want to question me, too, I imagine. It might be a few hours.”
“I’ll be here. Always.”
Alex smiles softly and squeezes Maggie’s hands and starts to walk away, though it makes her body ache.
But Maggie pulls her back, and Alex hears her breath hitch.
“I’m home, Maggie. I’m home. I’ll only be upstairs.”
Theme: Five litres of smut with a light, sprinkle of fluff.
Warning: Coarse language, Explicit Sexual Content, and Mature Subject Matter.
A/N: Re-post. The one on Ao3 is fixed if you would prefer to read it there.
There’s sweat dripping down his face and neck. He dabs it off with his hand towel and proceeds to dig through the contents of his duffel bag as you watch from around the corner. You know it’s wrong but you can’t stop yourself from staring. He’s one of the most simultaneously loved and hated students at school. Kind and considerate when you’re on his good side, and a complete nightmare when you’re on his bad side. Just last week, he made your friend cry after she accidentally spilled tea on him in the cafeteria. It was a total disaster. You went home furious that night, praying for the chance to get back at him … and now you have it.
For whatever reason, the academically challenged jerk-off is using the girls locker room. All you have to do is scream bloody murder and the school administration will handle the rest. It’s fool proof … but the second you open your mouth, he reaches back and tugs his shirt off. You rapidly lose focus. Whatever you were going to say is shoved all the way down your windpipe, and you watch in quiet disbelief, holding your breath as he undresses in front of your eyes.
The soft th-thump in your chest grows louder and heavier as you pan a look down his body.
F-fuh-Fuck Off, B-Bowers - Bill Denbrough x Reader (IT)
-|| To the anon that requested: tysm ily and I hope you’re having a good day<3 I’m really sorry that the reader walked home from the library in July and not from school in another season. I hope it didn’t tinge your idea. <3 xoxo E ||-
Request: Could you write a bill x reader where she’s walking home from school & the bowers gang shows up and keeps messing with her but bill shows up & just helps her out? I’m a sucker for cliches.
Warnings: Language (haha, oops), Sexual References. Potential bullying triggers (It’s Bowers. I’m sorry)
A/N: Written in both Bill and Y/N’s POV. There are more flashbacks (whoops) but the timeline’s noted. Italics are internal thoughts. ‘Italics with quotes are past quotes.’
July 1989 - Bill
The warm wind pushed Quarry water across my face as I pedaled home. My hair was plastered to my head, still wet from swimming with the Losers. Silver was kicking up gravel as I rode down Kansas street. As I admired the foliage of the Barrens below I could hear birds chirping in the thick branches. If Stan were there he would’ve told me what bird it was before he could manage to pull out his binoculars. I laughed at the thought as the green street sign for West Broadway appeared on my left. I made a wide curve onto the street and immediately spotted her.
It was Y/N. She was far ahead, nearly at the end of the street, but I could still see the wind sweep through her hair as she made her way south-east, her backpack bobbing with each step. I would have pedaled closer to her, tried to talk maybe, but any conversational topic was water in the desert of my brain, so instead, I rode safely behind her, and with luck she’d turn onto Witcham too. But as I glanced past Y/N, I determined there was no luck on West Broadway street, because where Witcham appeared, so did Henry Bowers.
I could feel anxiety bubbling in my guts like hot, sappy tar. I’d ridden past Bowers before. He–as well as Victor and Belch–had thrown sticks and rocks at Silver’s wheels, trying to get me to fall off. ‘How does it feel to be an ass, you stuttering freak?!’ Henry had yelled. Their laughs echoed in my head as I rode closer to Y/N. A sickening thought emerged from the tar that had made it’s way to my head. What if Bowers does it again? What if he succeeds this time? I thought. What if I eat shit in front of Y/N? The hot tar got hotter. I could feel my feet spinning around Silver’s gears at a slower pace as I subconsciously put off passing him, even if it meant never passing Y/N before she found where she was going.
I was watching the bullies with a concentration I could never muster in class. Y/N was close to them now. Close enough for one of them to reach out and grab her. “You b-better wuh-watch yourself B-Buh-Bowers.” I mumbled to myself, far out of their earshot. I was glad they couldn’t hear me but I was disappointed when I couldn’t hear Henry, who smirked down at Y/N and mumbled something.
It couldn’t have been something nice because Y/N stopped in her tracks and turned to the group. Victor and Belch were giggling to each other, but Henry seemed focused, determined. Like a wild cat studying its next meal. No, I pleaded in my head. No, Y/N don’t stop. Keep moving. God, please. But she didn’t move. She looked up at Henry defiantly as he continued to talk down to her, his eyes dancing over her frame. Something clicked in my head and suddenly I knew what was happening. He must’ve catcalled her. Bowers was trying to get in her pants.
The tar in my stomach was gone. It had bubbled into full-blown fire, fueling my feet which were spinning faster now, around and around the gears. Any trace of fear had vanished, giving way to anger and a longing to protect Y/N. Go ahead, assholes. Touch her, I dare you. I spat in my head. Give me a reason to put you in the hospital. I was surprised by my own courage, but made no effort to stunt it. Y/N was pure, and I’d die before I let those jack-offs tinge her soul.
I was close–within 150 feet at this point–when Henry whipped his arms up and grabbed Y/N by the shoulders. Any confidence that once radiated from her face was gone, leaving behind only fear. She was terrified, and I knew the feeling. She no longer looked like the stunning girl I saw the first day I met her. Instead, she looked like a stunning girl who was afraid. I could remember what she looked like that day. What she felt like. How she made me feel. How she made the world feel right.
May 1989 - Bill
“…and then I said, ‘that’s what your mom said last night,’ and he just wailed on me!”
The Losers burst out laughing at Richie, who was holding the left side of his face. “Well, no wonder he punched you,” Beverly chuckled.
“Hey, don’t trash the trashmouth,” Richie objected before furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. “Where the fuck is Eddie?” Richie turned on the bench in front of Mr.Keene’s pharmacy, still holding his face. With his free hand, he rapped on the glass and yelled inside. “Hey, Eddie Spaghetti! Where’s that ice?!”
Eddie pushed open the glass door and chucked a bag of peas at Richie’s chest. “Hey! It’s cold!” He yelped.
“Of course it’s cold, Einstein. I couldn’t find any bags of ice, but the peas should help. And don’t call me Eddie Spaghetti.”
“You know you love it when I call you that,” Richie chuckled and ripped open the top of the bag. “So how much am I supposed to eat?”
The Losers erupted in laughter again. Eddie threw the palm of his hand against his forehead with a clap. “Dumbass.”
Life felt good as we all laughed at Richie, who was spilling peas all over the sidewalk. The only thing that bothered to interrupt us was the deep rumble of a truck engine making its way down the street. MacPherson Moving Company was printed on the side in big, black letters. We all stared at the truck as it pulled over in front of the pharmacy. It managed to block out almost all of the sun hitting the store window.
None of us knew what to expect in terms of who was going to clamber out of the MacPherson Moving truck, but it wasn’t a young girl, who must’ve been our age, with a dollar bill in one hand and a Walkman in the other. She hopped out of the passenger’s side, gingerly landing on the pavement, then strolled into the pharmacy; and not for a second could I peel my eyes off her.
Ben must’ve noticed because he was giggling. Mike, Stan, and Beverly all joined him. Richie looked over, confused. “What?” He questioned. “What are you dorks giggling at?”
Eddie ducked his head beside Richie’s but didn’t bother to whisper. “Bill’s totally into her.”
Richie’s eyes widened at an alarming speed and he nearly dropped his peas. “Holy fuck!” He turned to me. “Are you into that hottie, Bill?” I could feel my cheeks growing hot. Richie noticed and laughed. “What the shit, dude? Why are you still here? Go in there and talk to her!” The Losers all nodded and mhmm’ed. Anxiety was bubbling in my guts, hot and viscous, like tar, but no matter how much it spat, I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl. She was so elegant. So beautiful. So- “Well, Billy? Are you gonna stand there all day?”
I turned to him. “R-Richie, even if I wuh-w-went in th-there and s-said ‘Hi’, what could I p-puh-possibly talk to her ab-bout?” Richie stood up. The bag of peas was completely empty, tossed on the ground near the bench. Richie put one hand on my back and the other on my chest. He leaned into my shoulder and whispered, “Just go in there, buy her a Dr.Pepper or something, and talk about your massive-”
“Richie!” Eddie yelled, disgusted. “That-That’s enough.”
Richie laughed again but was cut off by Mike. “Just ask her if she’s moving to Derry.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea! You can offer to give her a tour of Derry. You know, the big tourist sights.”
“Ha!” Richie coughed out. “Ladies and gentlemen; On the left: the Derry Public Library, on the right: Bassey Park, and if you look over here you’ll find my tasty shorts.”
Richie was howling. Stan wasn’t impressed. “Eddie, would you control him.”
“Me?!” Eddie Bleated. “You think I don’t try?!”
I may have laughed at Eddie but I was still thinking about the mystery girl. Though I wasn’t excited to admit it, Richie was right. If I didn’t talk to her soon I would drive myself batshit. I shoved my hand in my right pocket and rooted around, pulling out three dollars and twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty cents. Richie was still laughing when I turned and opened the door. The AC bit my chest as I stepped into Mr.Keene’s. She was directly ahead, just arriving at the cashier, her Walkman in her back pocket. I had taken several steps forward before the door shut and the jingle rung. She looked back at me, her eyes locking with mine. Suddenly the tar returned. It was roaring and churning so badly I almost turned and left, but looking back I saw Richie, his mouth hanging open, shocked that I wasn’t copping out.
Don’t back out now, Bill. I thought to myself. I looked at the shelf to my right. The minute-rices were looking extra interesting. I was within ten feet of her. It was an acceptable distance for a conversation, but I still couldn’t muster up the courage to talk, until she spoke first.
“I’m sorry,” She said softly. “How much did you say?”
Mr.Keene adjusted his glasses. “It’s fifty-five cents per cone, young lady. Plus taxes. So that puts us at… well, we can call it a dollar sixteen.
I knew she only had a dollar. I knew I had enough to cover her cost. I knew what to do. I grabbed the closest item I could find. She shook her head at the dollar bill in her open hand. “I’m afraid I only have a dollar. I-“
I tossed two chocolate bars on the counter and handed Mr.Keene the change from my pocket. “I’ll cover b-both of us, M-muh-Mr.Keene.” I whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of my stutter. What if she thinks you’re a freak, Bill? I questioned in my head. The tar broiled and bubbled up to my throat.
Mr.Keene looked down at me with a smirk on his face. He knew what I was doing. “Why, that’s very kind of you, Bill,” He said with a crafty tone. I glanced at the girl, but apparently, she didn’t value being stealthy. She was staring at me in disbelief. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Mr.Keene opened the register with a metallic clank and breathed out through his nose, frustrated. “Would you look at that,” He puffed. “Fresh out of nickels.” He closed the register. “Be right back, kids.” And with that, he turned and stepped into a back room.
I looked at the girl again. She was still staring, but her face had adopted a look of guilt. “You really didn’t have to do that for me.” Her voice washed over my ears like melted gold.
I wanted to pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her frame, but instead, I forced a chuckle and shook my head. “It’s f-fuh-fuh-f-” I stopped. The word wouldn’t come out. Brush it off, Bill. Try again. Just try again. “I-it’s f-f-f-fuh-” I could feel the pressure of tears beneath my eyes, threatening to emerge and overflow like a burst pipe beneath the bathroom floor. That’s it, Bill. I was surrendering in my mind. You blew it, you freak.
She put a hand on my arm. It was warm and comforting and very surprising. “Thank you.” She confided. “I really appreciate what you did.” She was being genuine, looking in my eyes and suddenly I was the one staring. The tables had turned so quickly they made my head spin, but looking at her made me feel grounded, like I had found my center of gravity. “Mr.Keene said your name was Bill, right?” I didn’t know what to say–even if I could physically say it–so I just nodded. She chuckled. “It’s very nice to meet you, Bill. I’m Y/N.” Y/N, I repeated. There’s a name to the face. That beautiful, beautiful face.
Her eyes were so captivating that I had a hard time looking away, but I managed to glance off so that she didn’t think I was brain dead. Looking out the door I found Richie–surrounded by the rest of the Losers–gawking in the window. Everyone’s mouth was hanging open except for Richie’s, which only mouthed ‘Holy fuck’.
I chuckled, having found security knowing that the Losers were practically there with me. I looked back at Y/N, who was taking in the sight of the group of dorks. “Your friends?” She laughed.
I laughed too. “Y-yuh-yeah.”
She smiled ever so softly and looked at my lips. The tar had given way to pleasant heat. “How long have you had a stutter?” She asked. Her tone shocked me because it wasn’t demeaning or sarcastic. She was being legitimate.
I never had to answer that question to anyone that wasn’t a doctor, and it was odd, but not unpleasant. “E-ever s-ss-since I w-w-wuh-” I was struggling again. Shit.
I looked at her to see if I should just stop and let her finish the sentence herself–Knowing when to stop was the biggest lesson my stutter had taught me. That, and don’t open your mouth around Bowers–but she just smiled and said “It’s ok. Take your time.” It was as if someone had shone a new light on Y/N. In addition to the warm glow she gave off, being a genuine soul, this new light allowed me to see her in her purest form. A kind, soft, beautiful girl, who truly cared, and I could hear wedding bells.
“S-since I w-was y-yuh-young.” I managed to croak. Despite my struggle, I felt a sense of accomplishment in completing the sentence, and in knowing that Y/N didn’t think I was a freak. She was like my favourite sweater and a good book, a source of absolute comfort. A cozy hiding place. I could feel the struggle wearing off my tongue. “Thanks for l-letting me f-fuh-finish.” I managed. “M-most puh-people just think I’m a-an ass.”
She threw her eyebrows up in surprise, then let them down and chuckled. “Well, if they’re dumb enough to bother to tell you that then they’re the real asses.”
Suddenly Mr.Keene appeared with shiny new coins. He handed me my change and my chocolate bars. “Here you go, Bill.” He gave Y/N her ice cream cones.”Miss.” Then he smiled like he had single-handedly saved the world. “Have a good day you two!” And with that, he walked off again.
Y/N chuckled and shifted both packaged ice cream cones to one hand. With a soft precision you could only find in the most talented artists, she raised both arms, gently wrapping them around the tops of my shoulders. Her hug took me by surprise, so it took a second for me to hug her back, though I had no problem doing so. She radiated warmth, like the sun on a perfect summer day. “Thank you again, Bill. I’ll repay you someday.” She cooed into the crook of my shoulder. Fuck, she smelt like happiness. “And if it means anything,” She said, turning and starting for the storefront. “I like the stutter.” She reached the door and smiled back at me once more. ”I think it’s cute.”
I could feel my heart melting, sending waves of heat up to my cheeks. It stopped me from leaving the pharmacy for a few seconds, but I managed to toss the bars in my pocket and step out, just as the truck was pulling away.
All the Losers were in shock. All except the trashmouth. “So, Billy.” Richie chuckled. “You gonna-” He was laughing so hard at himself that he could hardly finish his sentence, but he managed to spit out “You g… bone… new girl?”
Stan scoffed and Eddie wailed but I couldn’t take my eyes off the truck. I realized that I never actually asked her if she was moving Derry. You may never see her again. I cried to myself briefly, before abolishing the thought. She could live across the world… it wasn’t going to stop me. “No, Richie,” I mumbled. “I’m gonna marry her.”
July 1989 - Y/N
You had walked home from the library using West Broadway countless times, but not once had you ever been faced with Henry Bowers. Not once had you been reduced to getting catcalled by a kid with a mullet. Not once had Bowers ever actually scared you… until today, which you figured just wasn’t your day.
You had seen Bowers parading around school like some hillbilly king but never paid him any mind. You knew the stories of things he did to scrawny little kids, but you figured it was all a show, like expensive clothes on a broke kid, or a brave face on a coward. You knew that’s all Bowers was. A coward, a phony, a paper man.
In all the days you passed him getting shit from the principal, or brushing his ratty hair in the window of Belch Huggins’ Trans-Am, you realized that not once had he ever seen you. This realization dawned when you tried to make your way past the group of guys, not far from the junction of West Broadway and Witcham. You figured they wouldn’t give you trouble. You figured you’d be fine at your current distance of seven feet, but as Henry scanned you up and down while Belch Huggins joined Victor Criss in whistling and cawing beside him, you got anxious. Not fine, You thought to yourself. You felt like hot tar was burning and bubbling in your guts. Just let me make it to Witcham, You pleaded. Just let me make it home.
Bowers had waited for the right moment to make his move, and now that you were directly in front of him, he had found it. He smirked down at you from his height and mumbled, “Hey, babe. Penny for a piece of your shorts?”
Just a paper man, Y/N. You reassured yourself. Give him his own medicine. Stopping in your tracks you looked up at Bowers with defiant eyes smeared on fake confidence. “I’ll give you a nickel if you jump in the barrens and never come back, Bowers.”
Belch’s jaw dropped and Victor made a sound that resembled an injured owl. Both were staring at Henry, neither had any clue how he would react. They viewed Henry like a time-bomb under Derry, waiting to blow a hole in the small town without any warning, but Henry knew himself. He knew he wasn’t about to be stood up. Not by anyone. “What,” he spat. “You don’t think could handle a little work like you?”
You forced a chuckle. Another layer on the canvas of fear that you desperately tried to cover with false confidence and various splotches of bravery. “I don’t think you could handle your own little work, Bowers.” That’s good enough. You babbled to yourself. Now’s the time to leave.
Henry threw his arms up and clamped them down on your shoulders, causing you to squeak out in surprise. You quickly became hyper-aware of your surroundings. You could feel the wind pulling on your hair, you could hear the trees rustling in time with the wind-chimes that hung from the porch of the house across the street, and you could see the hatred buried deep in Henry’s eyes. You knew he was leaving red patches on your shoulders where he refused to let go. “You know what, bitch?” He spat. “You should know not to fuck with me. I think you need a lesson on who you’re messing with.”
You had no motivation to throw on the tough-girl act again. They knew that wall had crumbled, and Henry was feeding on it like a starving animal. You caught a look at Victor, who looked a little pale. He had no idea what Henry was about to drag his ass into and it made him antsy. At that point you figured you had two options; The first was delivering a swift kick to Henry’s little work and bolting for it, praying the whole way home that you could out-run them. The second was staying and getting the shit beaten out of you by Bowers. The first option was surely the better of the two, but Henry was still fixed to your frame, and fear had made your knees weak. You knew you couldn’t outrun them. Please, God. You prayed. Please help me out of this. Send a guardian angel to take me home. Please, God just let me get out of this.
As if he heard your plea, God filled your ears with the sweet sound of rubber scraping gravel. He had sent angel on a bike to rescue you, and craning your neck to the side you found your savior; Bill Denbrough. You could remember the first day you met him. You were short on change and swooping through the cold Air Conditioned pharmacy on his golden wings he had rescued you then too. Bowers didn’t let go but you couldn’t feel him anymore. The memories of Bill flooded over you like a warm shower on a cold December night. You remembered how sweet he was, how selfless. You remembered how red his cheeks got when he stuttered. You remembered how he felt like sunshine and smelt like happiness when you hugged him. You could still feel the regret of leaving him in Mr.Keene’s. You could still feel how he made the world feel right.
Bill skidded up to the group. “Hey Buh-B-Bowers,” He struggled. He was nervous but he hid it well. “How about y-you leave h-her a-a-lone?”
Bowers actually let go at that point so that he could turn to the newest challenger. Mocking Bill, he ragged with a bad fake-stutter. “H-huh-how ab-buh-bout y-you fuck off, freak?”
Bill looked at you with concerned eyes. You could see the purity in his face, the worry. Bill genuinely cared about you, and you loved him for it. You made a mental note to kiss him once you were both safely away from these assholes. Henry looked down at you again. It ignited a black fire in the back of your mind. How dare you demean Bill, you scrub. Your thoughts fumed. I hope he tears you apart.
“F-fuh-fuck off, B-Bowers.” Bill snapped.
Not only did it shock you, but it shocked the bullies too. Both you and Bill saw it. Henry–for the briefest amount of time–let fear shine through his unforgiving exterior. Paper man, meet lighter, Bill seemed to say with his stance. He was off his bike at that point.
Belch and Victor repeatedly exchanged glances. They were worried that Henry would do something beyond his usual raging threshold and that he would drag them into trouble whether they liked it or not, and for the first time ever you agreed with them. You all wanted to leave and let Henry fume on his own. Bill acknowledged them by making and maintaining eye contact. ‘We’re not afraid of you.’ He chided silently. ‘So you can quit pretending you enjoy this and leave us alone.’
Victor, who appeared to get the message, tugged on Henry’s sleeve. “What the fuck do you want, pansy?” Bowers shouted.
Victor was clearly more afraid of the punishments Henry would bring upon them than he was of Henry. “Dude, how ‘bout we just get outta here, huh?” He whispered.
Belch nodded. “Yeah, Henry. We were gonna hit Costello, remember?”
Henry’s anger shifted from you and Bill to Victor and Belch. You and Bill caught this, and you weren’t complaining. “You two are a bunch of fuckers, you know that right?” He scolded, before turning to you and leaning down. Henry wasn’t all that taller than you, but he still managed to make you feel minuscule. Thought taking another look at his face allowed you to see that he was tired. Being a brooding asshole really takes it out of you, huh, Bowers? You chirped. The fight was over, and with Bill at your side, the two of you had won. “This isn’t over, you shitheads. We’ll be seeing you soon.”
“Yeah,” Belch added. He seemed proud. “Real soon.” and with a final ‘Shut the fuck up, Reginald.’ from Henry, the gang walked off. You and Bill were free.
July 1989 - Bill
The bullies scuffed off, heading the way both Y/N and I had walked down West Broadway. We watched them walk away, with Henry occasionally looking back at us, flipping us off only once.
I turned to Y/N. I could see the fear melting from her face as she watched Bowers walk away. It was reassuring to the point where I finally felt the weight of what I had done. I turned Bowers away in front of Y/N. Is this what Spider-Man feels like after saving Gwen? I pondered. Y/N turned her head to me. Her cheeks were rosy. All the fear was gone, leaving behind her usual sunshine.
I smiled at her and she smiled back. “You shouldn’t have done that, Bill.” She joked. “Bowers is going to be after the both of us. I owe you big time now.”
I shook my head, unable to wipe the grin off my face. “Y-you don’t o-owe me a-a-anything, Y/N.” I managed, but the temptation to reach out and kiss Y/N was growing in my chest, making me nervous. I was close enough to do it, but God she was too beautiful for me to handle. I could barely handle myself and my stutter, much less her. “W-we can c-c-call i-i-it e-” I couldn’t form my sentence. My head was tumbling and my lips were on Y/N’s.
Looking down I found her hands gently placed around the back of my neck. She had pulled me in, her soft lips on mine. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and thank God.
She pulled away, glanced at my lips again, then looked me in the eyes. “Thank you, Bill.” She said softly. “You may have just saved my life.” The only thing I could think to say was ‘Ditto.’ She chuckled. “I swear you’re my guardian angel.”
I wanted to hold her close and say ‘I’m not the angel here’ but instead I just laughed. Then I remembered that she was making her way somewhere. I don’t care where you go. I thought. As long as I can take you there. Reaching down I grabbed my bike off the concrete. “Need a ride?”
Y/N beamed. She was exhausted and whether or not she wanted to show it, I knew. “I don’t want to trouble you, Bill. I live up Witcham and-”
“Don’t w-worry.” I assured, smiling. “Me too.” I took her hand gently, leading her to the bike. “I’ll t-take you to your house on one c-condition.” She furrowed her eyebrows a little, confused. “You have to promise me I can take you to Bassey Park tomorrow, too.”
She smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d love that, Bill.” She cooed, sliding on the seat behind me before kissing me on the cheek. Thank God she was behind me because I could feel my cheeks heating up again. She wrapped her arms around my stomach and laid her head on my back as we started again down West Broadway, then Witcham. I yelled “Hi-Ho, Silver. Away!” and off we rode, happy and free.
I adore you all with everything i am and I hope you’re having amazing days, nights and/or work breaks. With love and appreciation: E <3
Some more sidlink fluff! Requested by @touhouemblem
Request: “Sidlink and Zora sapphire like how Ruto did to Link in OoT.” Pairing: Sidlink (Prince Sidon x Link)
Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild
Word Count: 691
Sidon rolled the ancient sapphire back and forth in his hand nervously. With the countless generations it had passed through, Sidon was surprised that it didn’t seem to show any signs of damage. He brushed his thumb back and forth across the smooth, blue stone, letting himself get lost in thought. Currently, he was waiting for Link to return from his travels and visit the domain once more. With any luck on Sidon’s part, the hero would be here to stay next time.