ଘNot A Loser✶༺

@mirukosbitchywife @get-junpeid

@l1l1pad

@whispywonderland @what-i-am-so-far @robinirisbriar @roquenotdead @thhalune @luvleymarissa @lastchr1stmas @strangerwhovian @spongebobssquarepants @cloverfin @clowneryandshenanegans

@uranium-girlie-side @st3r-struck @oddity123 @lvc13l @phoebephoebia @mischievous-archeologist @sockssketchingshack @listen-to-my-eyes @quietlyartistic13

@radagastthesilly @cocainecoveredstrawberry @bouchard00 @xivvins @swagtreeengineer @oddity123 @deadgaychoirkid + open tag loves!

@that-bookworm-bitch @lindamonroequeenb @wherearetheavocad0ss @ anyone

@differentsublimephantom, @teatothesea, and anyone else <3

Idk anyone bro 💔🥀

@imasillygooose @holywoodelevator @emobirthdaycake

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

HUH?!?!

(HII so sorry it took me so long to answer this I lost all motivation for this blog right before you sent the ask :( I’m back now so yippee!! I would love to rp!!!)

He shook his head dismissively at the thought, going back to carefully watching his somewhat unpracticed knife skills. He knew that Richie had been working hard recently though, so wanted to try his hand at Richie's favourite... It had to be healthier than that pre-packaged stuff in pots either way. "There's miso in the cupboard if you'd rather have that, but I figured with you practicing running around as Zeke the Nighthawk so much, you'd need something with more protein."

[Richie mentions, trying to steer the topic to get his mind off of whatever is making him feel like this.]

"I thought you did," Paul nodded. Whenever Richie was home late, it seemed he was either at practice or with his friends. Paul admired how hard he always worked. "How did it go?"

[His nephew had been complaining about the elevated complexity of the new routine for weeks, so it was nice to hear that he was warming up to it. The shoulder, however, concerned Paul. Now that he was thinking about it, Richie’s left shoulder had been oddly relaxed, as normally the teen perpetually hunched in on himself. Paul couldn’t see any of his skin through the heavy Naruto sweater he insisted on wearing despite his overactive sweat glands.]

[He’s leaning so far onto the counter he’s basically lying on it.]

"Wow," she laughed, her hands on a coffee mug as she stirred some sugar into the drink. "Didn't expect you singing aliens to be able to talk properly. And on command, too. Impressive," Emma hummed.

“And did you say aliens?? Is that what this is?!”

[He exclaims, exasperated. He takes the coffee and inspects it, not trusting anything with how the world was.]

[He plops down in one of the chairs in the coffee shop and takes a hesitant sip of his coffee. Finding nothing amiss, he continues to drink.]

[He said, the anxiety giving way to mind numbing exhaustion.]

[More tears form, and suddenly Richie is crying.]

[He manages to say between sobs and restricted breaths. God he should’ve brought his inhaler.]

"Hey, hey... Breathe or you'll probably pass out," she muttered. "Here," Emma took an inhaler out of her pocket. "Clinics are easier to break into now that all the workers are busy tap dancing."

“If I was asleep for months, I must’ve missed a lot. But whatever Paul is to you, he’s gone. Do you really not… care? At all?”

[The teen sighs, curling in on himself. Suddenly the both of you are startled as the buzzing of the timer sounds on the table. 20 minutes. Richie is human.]

Oh shoot.

[Richie presses so far back into the chair he may as well be trying to fuse himself to it. His eyes are wide with abject terror, yet misty with returning tears; his vision is a weird mix of clear and blurry that only adds to the horror of seeing your dead uncle puppet around by a musical infection.]

[He realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he should’ve added some kind of musical flair, so now he looks at Paul with the complete and overwhelming fear of someone who thinks they are about to die.]

[He almost whispers, voice so shaky it’s barely intelligible.]

[He muttered, voice low and resentful. He doesn’t look “Paul” in the eyes because if he does, he’ll falter, drop his expression, pause in a sentence, or the tears might show again. And Richie refuses to show this thing that he’s still affected by its choice of puppet.]

@r1chi3

[As shaky as his voice was, he tried to make the words sound powerful.]

(HII so sorry it took me so long to answer this I lost all motivation for this blog right before you sent the ask :( I’m back now so yippee!! I would love to rp!!!)

He shook his head dismissively at the thought, going back to carefully watching his somewhat unpracticed knife skills. He knew that Richie had been working hard recently though, so wanted to try his hand at Richie's favourite... It had to be healthier than that pre-packaged stuff in pots either way. "There's miso in the cupboard if you'd rather have that, but I figured with you practicing running around as Zeke the Nighthawk so much, you'd need something with more protein."

[Richie mentions, trying to steer the topic to get his mind off of whatever is making him feel like this.]

[He’s leaning so far onto the counter he’s basically lying on it.]

"Wow," she laughed, her hands on a coffee mug as she stirred some sugar into the drink. "Didn't expect you singing aliens to be able to talk properly. And on command, too. Impressive," Emma hummed.

“And did you say aliens?? Is that what this is?!”

[He exclaims, exasperated. He takes the coffee and inspects it, not trusting anything with how the world was.]

[He plops down in one of the chairs in the coffee shop and takes a hesitant sip of his coffee. Finding nothing amiss, he continues to drink.]

[He said, the anxiety giving way to mind numbing exhaustion.]

[More tears form, and suddenly Richie is crying.]

[He manages to say between sobs and restricted breaths. God he should’ve brought his inhaler.]

"Hey, hey... Breathe or you'll probably pass out," she muttered. "Here," Emma took an inhaler out of her pocket. "Clinics are easier to break into now that all the workers are busy tap dancing."

“If I was asleep for months, I must’ve missed a lot. But whatever Paul is to you, he’s gone. Do you really not… care? At all?”

[The teen sighs, curling in on himself. Suddenly the both of you are startled as the buzzing of the timer sounds on the table. 20 minutes. Richie is human.]

Oh shoot.

[Richie presses so far back into the chair he may as well be trying to fuse himself to it. His eyes are wide with abject terror, yet misty with returning tears; his vision is a weird mix of clear and blurry that only adds to the horror of seeing your dead uncle puppet around by a musical infection.]

[He realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he should’ve added some kind of musical flair, so now he looks at Paul with the complete and overwhelming fear of someone who thinks they are about to die.]

[He almost whispers, voice so shaky it’s barely intelligible.]

[He muttered, voice low and resentful. He doesn’t look “Paul” in the eyes because if he does, he’ll falter, drop his expression, pause in a sentence, or the tears might show again. And Richie refuses to show this thing that he’s still affected by its choice of puppet.]

[He greets, adjusting an anime pin on his backpack strap.]

[ she joked, looking at the anime pin on the others backpack. ]

[He questions, fidgeting with his vest pocket as Roxy still hasn’t let him go from the hug. He had helped her with that project, giving her a bit of direction on where to start.]

[ she replied, putting her phone in her pocket. ]

[Richie adjusted his shirt as Roxy releases him from the hug, and she spots a patch of concealer on his collarbone. The blending seemed rushed, probably the only reason she could see it.]

"Richie, hun..I don’t mean to intrude, but why’s there concealer on ya?"

“You know Max Jägerman? Star quarterback?”

"Oh..Richie-"

[He says with a resigned shrug.]

[ Roxy asked, digging through her backpack and grabbing a water bottle. ]

[Richie concedes, relaxing his hunched shoulders and letting Roxy help him.]

"Poor thing..do you wanna go get something to eat? Get your mind off of this?"

[Richie says with a tentative smile, leaning into the touch of the Roxy’s hands ever so slightly.]

[ she nodding, bringing Richie to the cafeteria. ]

[He asks, wanting to keep the conversation light after what happened earlier.]

NANI?! I had no clue…

"You're what...."

[He’s leaning so far onto the counter he’s basically lying on it.]

"Wow," she laughed, her hands on a coffee mug as she stirred some sugar into the drink. "Didn't expect you singing aliens to be able to talk properly. And on command, too. Impressive," Emma hummed.

“And did you say aliens?? Is that what this is?!”

[He exclaims, exasperated. He takes the coffee and inspects it, not trusting anything with how the world was.]

[He plops down in one of the chairs in the coffee shop and takes a hesitant sip of his coffee. Finding nothing amiss, he continues to drink.]

[He said, the anxiety giving way to mind numbing exhaustion.]

[More tears form, and suddenly Richie is crying.]

[He manages to say between sobs and restricted breaths. God he should’ve brought his inhaler.]

"Hey, hey... Breathe or you'll probably pass out," she muttered. "Here," Emma took an inhaler out of her pocket. "Clinics are easier to break into now that all the workers are busy tap dancing."

“If I was asleep for months, I must’ve missed a lot. But whatever Paul is to you, he’s gone. Do you really not… care? At all?”

[The teen sighs, curling in on himself. Suddenly the both of you are startled as the buzzing of the timer sounds on the table. 20 minutes. Richie is human.]

Oh shoot.

[Richie presses so far back into the chair he may as well be trying to fuse himself to it. His eyes are wide with abject terror, yet misty with returning tears; his vision is a weird mix of clear and blurry that only adds to the horror of seeing your dead uncle puppet around by a musical infection.]

[He realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he should’ve added some kind of musical flair, so now he looks at Paul with the complete and overwhelming fear of someone who thinks they are about to die.]

[He almost whispers, voice so shaky it’s barely intelligible.]

@apotheosis-induced

The cat of insurmountable suspicion and mischief

[He’s leaning so far onto the counter he’s basically lying on it.]

"Wow," she laughed, her hands on a coffee mug as she stirred some sugar into the drink. "Didn't expect you singing aliens to be able to talk properly. And on command, too. Impressive," Emma hummed.

“And did you say aliens?? Is that what this is?!”

[He exclaims, exasperated. He takes the coffee and inspects it, not trusting anything with how the world was.]

[He plops down in one of the chairs in the coffee shop and takes a hesitant sip of his coffee. Finding nothing amiss, he continues to drink.]

[He said, the anxiety giving way to mind numbing exhaustion.]

[More tears form, and suddenly Richie is crying.]

[He manages to say between sobs and restricted breaths. God he should’ve brought his inhaler.]

"Hey, hey... Breathe or you'll probably pass out," she muttered. "Here," Emma took an inhaler out of her pocket. "Clinics are easier to break into now that all the workers are busy tap dancing."

“If I was asleep for months, I must’ve missed a lot. But whatever Paul is to you, he’s gone. Do you really not… care? At all?”

[The teen sighs, curling in on himself. Suddenly the both of you are startled as the buzzing of the timer sounds on the table. 20 minutes. Richie is human.]

Oh shoot.

[Richie presses so far back into the chair he may as well be trying to fuse himself to it. His eyes are wide with abject terror, yet misty with returning tears; his vision is a weird mix of clear and blurry that only adds to the horror of seeing your dead uncle puppet around by a musical infection.]

[He realizes as soon as the words are out of his mouth that he should’ve added some kind of musical flair, so now he looks at Paul with the complete and overwhelming fear of someone who thinks they are about to die.]