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rebellconquerer · 3 years

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Another prompt fill, this time for @woobeau and the prompt "what if I kissed you right now". I hope you like!

"Sarah! How lovely to see that you could make it, and you brought the Sergeant as well… how nice." Abigail's voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Sarah doesn't even twitch at it, just turns smoothly from where she is gathering the trays of baked goods from the car, a polite smile painted on her face.

"Hello, Abigail. Yes, of course, I wouldn't miss this. The boys were both so excited about it." Sarah says brightly. Ice wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Abigail makes a face at the use of her full name. Sarah knows that she prefers being called Abby, but then again Abigail knows that Sarah prefers her name to stay out of her mouth and yet still here she is, hand playing gently in her blond hair, fake smile in place.

They both stand facing each other, eyes flat for a moment before James approaches them. Sarah sees him over Abigail's shoulder and watches him roll his eyes, making a lightning fast funny face for her benefit before he clears his throat.

Abigail turns around slowly, smile going much too warm as she adjusts her hair.

"Hey there, stranger! Long time no see!" Abigail says, swaying towards him.

It's Sarah's turn to roll her eyes.

James gives her his 'I'm too polite to say fuck off' smile and a head nod.

"Abby," he mutters in greeting. "Why not let me get those, Sarah?" He says, stepping in between the two of them and grabbing the last few trays before walking off again.

Sarah watches Abigail stare at his ass. She turns, slamming her trunk loud enough to grab Abigail's attention.

"So nice to see him out and about down here." Abigail says to her, eyes still staring after James.

Sarah shoulders her bag and refuses to roll her eyes again. "So you mentioned, Abigail." She replies, heading into the school while high heeled footsteps follow behind her.

"We are going to have you assigned to table 14 with Leslie, his daughter is in 4th grade, that's where the sweets and drinks will be sold." Abigail chatters.

A school fair wasn't something that she had much experience with as a kid in public school, but she's gotten used to the private school life and the strange rituals it seemed to entail. Not to mention the strange people.

"Sounds good," Sarah replies, trying to get the woman to move along. She sees James has already located the right table, a small tower of baked goods piled high on a ugly, green table cloth. As she approaches he looks up from conversation with an older man with kind eyes and greying temples.

Sarah smiles distractedly as she approaches.

"You must be Sarah. Leslie." The man says, standing to shake her hand while Abigail continues to hover.

"How long will you be in town this time, Bucky?" Abigail asks with a wide smile.

"Oh not long probably. A week or so."

"And Sarah has you here working, no one around to show you a good time? You really should take me up on that offer of dinner. I know a little place right on the water that's just to die for." Abigail continues, leaning into James' space.

Sarah watches his smile go a little stiff. She turns her back to them, focusing on unpacking her little stand while Leslie watches the conversation with a look of sick fascination on his face.

"Thanks, Abby. Yeah, one of these times..." James mutters, trailing off as an uncomfortable silence starts creeping in.

One of the other mother's calls out to Abigail just then and she has to move along, apologizing (only to James) for cutting their conversation short and promising to pick it back up later.

The moment she's out of hearing range, Leslie turns to James. "I honestly thought she was going to whack you in the head and drag you off to her Prius. I was kinda interested to see if you were gonna be beating her off with a broom."

Sarah can't help the boisterous laugh that escapes her at that sentence and the absolute horror that dawns on James' face.

"I like you." Sarah says, eyeing Leslie. He shrugs.

"I call 'em like I see 'em, and that was one hell of a mating ritual. You think she's in heat? I think she's in heat." Leslie replies easily, helping to organize the table.

Sarah glances over her shoulder to see James pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You okay there, soldier?" She asks, laughter clear in her tone.

James glares at her. "And see, if I tell her to shove her dinner invite I'm anti-social and demonstrating maladaptive behaviors. I'm gonna go find the boys. Hopefully they’re far away from her." James mutters the last bit before turning and stalking off.

Sarah glances up to see Leslie staring after him, eyes most definitely focussed on his ass.

"Really? You too? I thought Abigail said you were married." Sarah huffs.

Leslie does not look the least bit called out. "Yeah, married not dead… and even if I was dead I think I'd sit up and say yes sir to that behind."

Sarah shoots him a dirty look, it takes a fraction of a second but Leslie clocks something in her expression.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize he was spoken for. Why the hell didn't you scratch Abby's eyes out for staring at him like a slab of meat?" Leslie questions, face contrite.

Sarah purses her lips. "So I can be told I'm an angry black woman? I think not. Abigail and I have enough history without me going postal on her for making eyes at a man who'll never give her the time of day."

Leslie grins at that, wide and feral. "So he is spoken for then? You and him? Lord have mercy, do you have enough friends? Could you have more? I could have lived my whole life without seeing a man that fine in person. Tell me you're just dying to share some details with a group of girlfriends." Leslie says in a manic rush, words coming fast but with a lazy drawl.

Sarah laughs again, flopping into one of the chairs right as Leslie does as well.

"You really just say whatever is on your mind, don't you?" She asks, with a sidelong glance.

Leslie shrugs. " My husband calls it verbal diarrhea. Says it's endearing."

Sarah smiles at the honesty on his face. This man is clearly totally comfortable with who he is. She wasn't lying, she does like it.

"It definitely won't be boring, that's for sure." She responds and Leslie huffs out a small laugh.

**********************************

The rest of the booths are set up over the course of the next hour, the indoor gymnasium being transformed into a food hall as the outdoor field becomes a fair, complete with rides of questionable safety, clowns and screaming children.

The school puts on this fair once a year, ostensibly to raise money for extracurriculars, but Sarah thinks it's really an excuse for the parents to have a culturally appropriate dick measuring contest. She was over it within 5 minutes of being here the first year the boys started, but she will not let them feel, for even one moment, like they don't belong here as much as every other child. So, here she is, polite smile plastered on her face and socially acceptable conversation topics at the ready.

She hadn't even invited James, not really, but Sam got called away and James had mentioned he'd be at the base for a few days and wanted to see her and when Sarah had mentioned she had to do this, he'd just invited himself right along. He'd been to a few other school events before and if it gave him some time with her and the boys, he said it was worth it.

She glances around and spots him clearly trying to disengage from a conversation with Abigail and her flock of desperate housewives. It's almost amusing watching from across the room as James continues with his polite but distant 'fuck off' smile. Within a few minutes he orchestrates his escape and makes a beeline straight for her.

She smiles as he drops into the chair Leslie vacated moments ago, back to his admirers.

"Having fun?" She questions lightly, it's joking but also very real. He still doesn't like… well… people, and sometimes he needs to just leave. All he does is smile tiredly at her, however.

"I don't remember women being this aggressive in the 40s. Did I just miss it? I used to have to work for this kind of attention." He mutters, leaning over to steal a cupcake from the table. She scowls at him, but can't be bothered to slap his hand away.

"Oh please. I've seen pictures of you before the war. I don't believe that for one second." She mumbles.

That brings a slow, dangerous smile to his lips."Sarah! Are you trying to tell me you think I was pretty?"

She bites the inside of her cheek to prevent an answering smile. "Was, is. Don't fish for compliments. There are whole internet forums dedicated to deciding which version of you is prettiest, 1940s you or 2020s you. But hey, if you really wanna hear it said, I'm sure Abigail would love to wax poetically about any number of your virtues, probably starting with your ass." She replies dismissively.

His smile starts to verge into smirk territory. "Whoever said anything about my ass? Maybe you're projecting, Sarah?" He asks, eyes flicking obviously down to her mouth.

She shakes her head lightly in laughter, leaning just a bit away from him. She needs just a little breathing room before the full effect of Bucky Barnes flirting with her starts to get to her head.

"I think the number of people who have stared at it today speaks for itself." She mumbles, attending to her next customer, trying to ignore that she can feel him staring at her, his entire attention on her in that way that he has.

She glances over at him as the kid and his mother leave her stand. "What?"

"You know I've told Abby and her troupe no in a couple different languages at this point, but there is something I haven't tried yet." He whispers to her, leaning into her space again.

Sarah flicks her eyes over James' shoulder and she can see Abigail staring at them.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

His face gets a little more serious, the wattage of his smile turning down a little as his eyes flick down to her lips. She watches him take a deep breath and lick his own lips before he speaks, the motion sending a jolt of heat to her core.

"What if I kissed you right now?"

The question stuns her and she pulls in a sharp breath. "Here?" She squeaks.

"In front of God and all his angels." James replies, eyes coming back up to meet hers. "Think she'd get the message then?"

He's leaning in even closer, just on the wrong side of social decency and she can smell his cologne, something dark and earthy, mixed with the leather of his jacket and gloves. It's heady, almost intoxicating.

A part of Sarah wonders if he's joking. They aren't dating publicly or anything and so yeah, he follows her around a bit, but they could be friends, friends do that. But she meets his gaze and there is no hint of humor in them. The gears of her mind start to turn a mile a minute. Is this his way of saying he wants them to be more public? To have more borders than whatever 'definitely a thing' means. Or maybe he really is just giving Abigail the shake? Sarah suddenly feels like she's back in high school.

She sways in towards him, the move automatic, before she catches herself and pulls back a little.

"Um, that's probably not a great idea." She manages to whisper back, her own eyes straying to his mouth. "Probably wouldn't deter her too much and then she'd hate me even more than she does now. She's the umm… president of the PTA you know, dangerous enemy to have. Plus someone might get a shot of us, then that's in the magazines and there goes peaceful Delacroix."

Most people here don't know exactly who he is, but someone might, so she's not wrong. Still the mumbled excuses are just that, excuses. She whispers them instead of the truth, which is that if she's kissing him in public she wants it to be because they both really want to and are ready to.

The intensity of his gaze doesn't change, even while he leans away from her again, back into a socially acceptable distance. She can read nothing from his face about how he took her denial.

"Fine, but I'm keeping track. I'm exacting one kiss for every innuendo I have to suffer through." He murmurs and that draws a shocked laugh from her.

"Fair enough." She responds and the dark promise of the smile he gives her as he stands is enough to send her pulse soaring.

The moment he's gone, Leslie comes wandering back, eyes once again focused on James walking away.

"Holy crap, the two of you have enough heat to warm a small Canadian town." He says, dropping into the seat James just vacated.

Sarah starts to reorganize the line of snack sized juices on the table, attempting to ignore him.

"I don't know what you are talking about. You're the only one that has even noticed that we aren't just friends." She mutters. She sees Leslie shrug in her peripheral vision.

"Most people don't see chemistry anywhere they don't expect it. I'm a photographer. I spend half my time trying to get people to fake what the two of you are just dripping."

She smiles softly. She doesn't know why, but the fact that this man, this stranger, sees what she feels from James is… nice. Reassuring somehow.

"It may sound a little strange, but… thank you for that." She replies, unable to maintain eye contact.

Leslie just shrugs again, joining her in her unnecessary task of reorganising their wares.

"People don't always see the chemistry between me and my husband either." He says softly.

There is silence for a moment.

"Then again, if my husband looked at me in public the way that man just looked at you I'd be giving all the kiddies a real detailed sex ed lesson, right here on this table. You are a stronger woman than I, Sarah." Leslie says with a giggle.

Sarah smiles softly in response. Yes, yes she is.

#prompt fill #writing prompts #bucky x sarah fic #ficlet #sarah x bucky #sarahbucky #Bucky Barnes #tfatws #sarah wilson #rebellwrites #fleur de louve

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whatissleepeven · 4 years

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Devildom's Spooks and Scares (Obey Me!)

For my wife @sevensins-stuff because we both share the same fear 😌💕💖💞💖💕💞

*This fic contains her mc Aqua and my mc Musashi. Both of their pronouns are she/her, so read at your own discretion!*

(And can someone show me how to do the "read more" option because I for the life of me have no idea how to do it and this post is LONG)

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Lucifer placed a hand on Musashi's shoulder, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you ready?"

Musashi glanced up at him before sweeping her gaze over the other brothers, Barbatos holding the way to the other side open. This would mark the first time they were going to visit Aqua's universe, and needless to say they were all looking forward to being with her and the brothers' counterparts again.

She smiled. "Of course I am!"

She was stoked to finally talk to Aqua in person rather than over text all the time. A few weeks had passed since their fateful encounter, and it was a hassle to see when their schedules lined up so they could go visit.

The eldest brother removed his hand with a small smile of his own, nodding towards the open door. There was a myriad of colors swirling in its maw, but they all had confidence that it would lead them to the right place.

"Then let's go."

Once they landed on the other side, they looked up at the House of Lamentation. Much like when they met Aqua's group, they were situated near the front door.

"Well, what're we waiting for?!" Mammon said, marching up and (to his credit) knocking on the door.

He only got two knocks in before the door swung open, Aqua's wide smile being the first thing to greet them.

"You're here!!"

Musashi brightened at her appearance, taking a running start and tackling her into a hug. "Aqua!!"

Aqua stumbled back from the force of her hug, laughing at her energy as, this time, she didn't hesitate to hug back. "Long time no see, Musashi!"

Musashi's version of the demon brothers entered from behind, most looking on in amusement at the two humans before seeking their respective counterpart. It was surreal that they were all gathered again (and in such short time to boot), and quickly the House of Lamentation filled with laughter and shrieks (courtesy of the Levis, who found out that they had enough power to defeat a difficult boss level in one of their games).

"How have you been?!" Musashi asked Aqua excitedly, releasing her from the hug.

The taller human smiled at her energy, giving her a pat on the head. "Oh, you know...about as well as a human can do in a house full of demons."

Musashi laughed as Aqua's face scrunched up, the latter no doubt thinking about something one (or more) of the brothers had done recently. "That bad, huh?"

"...You could say..." Aqua answered cryptically, which caused Musashi to burst out laughing again.

She wiped a stray tear from her eye, giving Aqua a side hug. "I've missed you."

The way Aqua's eyes twinkled let her know that she felt the same. "I need a sane person in my life right now."

Musashi linked their arms together. "Unfortunately, I don't think either of us are "sane" either, but hey; at least we're staying the night!"

Aqua's answering laugh warmed her heart, and the two retreated to her room to catch up. They found that it was indeed Solomom who had brought them back, and even shared their similarities with the Golden Hellfire Newt Syrup Fiasco.

"Did you kiss Lucifer?" Musashi teased, lightly pushing Aqua's arm. She was privy to all the late night conversations about how her own Lucifer was hot, and how Musashi's Lucifer was subjected to her endless teasing due to his height. Musashi found it incredibly endearing and cute, so sometimes she asked her own Lucifer what he thought about Aqua.

Lucifer's brows furrowed, a scowl setting on his face as he stared into the distance. "There is nothing to talk about," he'd say, but Musashi knew better as she saw a tiny of red to his cheeks.

"Mm-hm, okay. Thanks Lucifer!"

"What does that mea- hey, no running in the halls!"

Judging by the light flush on Aqua's cheeks, she had hit the nail right on the head. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, goofball."

Musashi grinned, proceeding to make kissy noises like a five year-old to further embarrass her friend. "Aqua and Lucifer, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N- "

Aqua pushed her shoulder, her body shaking with laughter. "Shut up you dork! How about you and a certain white-haired demon, hmm?"

Musashi's mouth clamped shut, red spilling onto her cheeks. She forgot that she in turn told her about her (hopeless) crush on Mammon one fateful night, her sleep-deprived brain turning wax poetic as she gushed about his eyes or the rare, bright smiles he sent her way.

She averted her gaze, sweat rolling down her cheek. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Aqua's smirk was piercing. "Did you two kiss, or no?"

Musashi buried her face into her hands, letting out a noise of embarrassment. "I-I could never, you know that! I'd just be taking advantage of him...I hugged him instead."

She didn't mention how warm and soft Mammon's hug was, nor how she practically melted into his hold as she hugged him back just as tightly. She also didn't mention how she couldn't muster up the courage to even ask him for another hug, but the amusement in Aqua's eyes let her know that she was in the process of coming to that conclusion.

She opened her mouth to tease some more, but a brief knock on the door followed by Satan's head poking in interrupted her.

"Dinner's ready, you two." The blonde said in an amused tone. A shorter Satan also peeked into the room, gesturing for them to get up.

"Hurry and grab your plates before the Beels eat it all."

Aqua and Musashi shared a glance before they were running out of the room, the Satans barely having time to get out of the way.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!"

"Wh- hey, you've got longer legs than me!"

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Dinner was, as always, loud but peaceful. There was more of a surplus of food than usual due to there being two Beels, the Belphies sliding some food onto their plates whenever they caught them looking at someone else's food (read: the Levis'). It got a little hectic once both Lucifers reached for the same piece of food, their staring contest masking the clash of wills that Musashi could've sworn caused electricity to spark between them.

"Hm? Mammon, what's that?"

Asmo's questioning voice had them turning to the demon in question, who was polishing a bottle as Musashi's Mammon looked on with intense focus. He pointed out if the other missed a spot, and Musashi marvelled at how efficient their team up already was. Isn't this only the second time they met in person?

"I bought this at a shop not too long ago, and I plan on sellin' it for a higher price on Akuzon." He explained, wiping the cloth over the smooth surface of the object. "I jus' gotta polish it a bit, is all."

Aqua's Satan hummed, eyeing the vase with a troubled look. "Where have I seen that case before...?"

"Ah! Gotta clean the inside, too." Aqua's Mammon murmured, faltering once his hands reached the cork. "Why the hell's this on there?"

Aqua's face shifted into one of unease. "Hey, Mammon, maybe you shouldn't - "

"Too late!" He cackled, pulling it off in one go. The lights flashed as seven apparitions flew out of the vase, their chilling laughter shaking Musashi to her core.

Aqua's Satan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now I remember. That case is home to seven particularly pesky poltergeists. Luckily, we should be able to reseal them again using the vase."

Musashi tensed. Poltergeists...as in ghosts?

She couldn't handle ghosts.

"Haha, that's funny Satan." Aqua's laugh fell short as she rubbed her arms, glancing around the room. Musashi scooted her chair closer to offer her a bit of comfort despite being scared as well.

The taller Satan frowned. "I didn't make a joke?"

Musashi's Lucifer sent a glare at the Mammons, who were already tense enough as it was. "And now they're roaming the House."

The other Lucifer sighed. "In any case, they don't pose a threat. All they pull are small pranks."

"Wh- we're just leavin' em?!" Musashi's Mammon yelped, Aqua's Mammon shifting from foot to foot as he eyed the ceiling warily. Musashi's heart went out to them both; everyone knew about Mammon's fear of ghosts and things that went bump in the night, and they were always teased about it.

"Why not?" Aqua's Asmo shrugged, a smile on his face. Musashi marvelled at how calm he was being; then again, her mind was running at 150 miles per hour and double-checking every corner covered in shadow. "I think they're cute, pulling harmless little pranks. Don't you agree, Aqua?"

Aqua had yet to loosen up, her back straight as she replied in a cautious tone. "Yeah...cute."

Asmo's eyes widened, an amused smile spreading across his face as he connected the dots. "Why, are you - "

Levi stood up from the dining table, the shorter Levi following in tandem. "Well, we're gonna go game. See ya."

Both Belphies stood up as well. "Going to bed sounds nice right about now, so we're leaving. Beel, are you coming?"

The Beels stopped sneaking food from Asmo's plate, nodding. "Yeah. Goodnight, everyone."

One by one (or in this case, two by two), they all dispersed until only the humans and the Lucifers were left.

Aqua's Lucifer nodded at them both. "We'll be retiring to my-...our room as well. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

Musashi felt like laughing, hysteria building in her throat. How was anyone (save for the Mammons and Aqua, who was turning paler by the second) calm about this? Have they not watched The Conjouring? Insidious?

The Exorcist??

"Nope!" She said, voice strained, "All good here! Everything is good in this hood! Happy hunky dory!"

Now both Lucifers were looking at her strangely. Aqua's forced laugh turned their confused gazes to her, the taller human pulling Musashi away.

"Don't mind her, she's just tired. We're gonna go to sleep now too so BYE!!"

Once they made it to Aqua's room, Musashi closed the door behind her and slumped to the floor.

"So...ghosts."

Aqua flopped against her bed, a stressed sigh escaping her that seemed to stem from her very soul.

"...Ghosts."

Musashi worked her way over, resting her back against the bed. "How screwed are we on a scale of one to ten?"

Aqua shifted, turning to face her. Her expression was apprehensive, and she ran her hand through her hair as her brows furrowed. "Try a twenty."

Musashi fiddled with her hands. "...I guess we sleep it off, somehow?"

Aqua's voice came out dry, her humor tumbling straight to the floor. "Ah yes, sleep off the fact that we're going to be experiencing Paranormal Activity in real life."

Musashi was really hoping she wouldn't phrase it like that, but she was right.

There was one thing left to do in a situation like this. It was a fail safe they had come up with over text: Contingency Plan P on Page 117 of their book What To Do In The Event Of A Paranormal Experience.

It was one of the most powerful weapons they had at their disposal, and it worked 98% of the time: It was the foolproof -

"Blanket fort?"

For the first time since Mammon opened the vase, Aqua smiled.

"Blanket fort."

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They didn't mean to fall asleep.

One minute they were talking, and the next thing Musashi knew was that she was being shaken awake by a very distressed individual. She tensed under the touch, the thought of the ghosts had breached their impenetrable blanket wall and were coming to steal their souls and possess them being the only one that ran through her mind as the shaking got rougher. Her fear was made worse by the fact that she didn't have her glasses on, making the world around her out of focus and leaving her mind to fill in the blanks with its imagination.

Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, and the flight won over as she shied away with a primal startled cry. "Aqua!"

She was relieved to see that Aqua was alright, her blurry figure rising up almost immediately as she punched the form closest to her purely on reflex.

A familiar, brash yelp of pain shook them back to their senses. "Ow! Whaddya have to do that for, huh?!"

Aqua's surprised voice answered. "Mammon? What are you doing in here, so late at night?"

Musashi couldn't really see, but Aqua's Mammon suddenly retreated, bashful. "...What if I just wanted to visit ya? I am your first man, after all!"

Aqua leveled him with a stare. "...Uh-huh."

Her Mammon scowled. "Alright, alright, stop givin' me that look! We were sleepin' and out of nowhere, my radio started playing this horrible sound. Ya gotta come see this, 'cause no one else will believe us!"

A hand touched Musashi' shoulder, and she involuntarily flinched. Her Mammon immediately backed away, raising his hands in defense.

"Woah, chill! It's just me, Musashi!"

Musashi forced herself to relax, groping for her glasses. Where were they...? "Yeah...Yeah. I'm sorry for scaring you, Mammon."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. It was too dark for her to see, but there was a blush on his face as he averted his gaze. "The Great Mammon doesn't get scared, ya hear?! And here; you lookin' for this?"

She felt him gently slide her glasses onto her face, causing her to blink as his face became clearer.

She smiled awkwardly, red creeping onto her cheeks. "Thank you."

He leaned back on his heels, tripping over his words. "Y-Yeah, whatever...it was nothin'."

Musashi could practically feel Aqua's amused stare as the other human got to her feet.

"Save it for later, you two. We have to check out the noise."

Musashi made a mental note to get back at her whenever they encountered Lucifer next as she scowled at her. Just wait until Lucifer comes into play. Then, it's no mercy from me.

"C'mon already!" The taller Mammon urged, grabbing an already hesitant Aqua's arm. Musashi could tell that she was trying to put on a brave face for the Mammons, and brushed shoulders with her both to comfort her and herself.

"Cheer up, Aqua! What's the worst that could happen?"

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"OKAY. A LOT OF THINGS. A LOT OF BAD THINGS CAN HAPPEN."

"Less talking, more running!" Aqua snapped at her, the two turning a corner just in time to hear a plate crash where their heads used to be mere moments ago.

The poltergeist chasing them snickered, a hollow sound that was reminiscent to the wheeze of a dying animal. It had popped out of Mammon's stereo and set its sights on the two humans, collecting every object it could levitate and throwing it at them. Musashi could see that Aqua was getting annoyed the longer they ran, but the fear was still on her face as they bobbed and weaved.

The ghost let out a haunting wail. "OooooOoOOHhHH!!"

"Oh fuck off, you Boo Berry looking see through dumpy son of a - " Aqua was cut off as she ran into a solid chest, letting out a small oomph in surprise.

Musashi could've weeped tears of joy upon seeing the two disgruntled Lucifers, clad in pajamas and their hair tousled. Musashi may not be attracted to them, but even she had to admit that they looked hot in casual wear. (Aqua's blush as her eyes widened confirmed that yes, she did in fact agree with her.) "And what exactly are you two doing, running around the House of Lamentation like madmen?"

Aqua backed up immediately, trying for a smirk that unfortunately fell short in the wake of her fear. "Can't we just enjoy a casual run through the house at night?"

Musashi's Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. She saw him count to ten slowly, trying his damndest to reign in his irritation. "Which is exactly the problem: at night."

Aqua looked around her Lucifer at him. "Ah, sorry about that Luci...I didn't see you there."

The shorter Lucifer tensed as Aqua's raised his eyebrow, giving them both a look of amusement. "As much as I would like to see this play out," the taller one said with some humor seeping into his voice, placing steadying hands on Aqua's shoulders, "That still doesn't answer my question. What is the real reason for this?"

He didn't need to wait for an answer. The poltergeist rounded the corner, hurtling a lamp towards them with an unholy shriek.

Musashi's eyes widened as she saw the path the lamp was taking. "Aqua, look ou- !"

- But Aqua was pulled into her Lucifer's hold, the eldest brother wrapping a protective arm around her as he caught the offending object with ease.

Annoyance seeped into his tone. "...It seems I don't need to look further. You have the vase on you still, yes?"

The other Lucifer stepped forward, vase in hand as he directed the opening at the apparition. There was a scowl of his own on his face, irritation seeping into his frame the longer he looked at the ghost. "It's a good thing I hadn't dropped it off after taking care of the one in our room. Let's take care of this nuisance."

"OooOoOoohhhhH..." The ghost let out a guttural moan as it was sucked back into the vase, the floating objects trailing behind it dropping to the floor with a thud before silence returned to the hallway.

Musashi gaped. "Wh...How did you do that?! That was so cool!"

Her Lucifer preened at the compliment, a small smirk on his face as he set down the vase. "It wasn't too hard; remember, Satan had mentioned earlier that all you need to do is point the vase at them and they immediately return to it."

"So it's like Ghostbusters? That makes it a little bit less horrific!"

He regarded her with another look, Musashi realizing too late what she said. "Are you saying that you were scared of a little poltergeist, Musashi?"

Musashi didn't usually throw her friends under the bus, but she didn't want to be the only one suffering under Lucifer's judging yet amused gaze. "W-Well, I'm not the only one!"

"Musashi!" Aqua hissed at her, no doubt remembering her betrayal for a later date.

Musashi looked around frantically in response, the weight of Aqua's glare growing heavier by the second. "Well would you look at the time, it seems like Beel found one in the kitchen! Let's go, Lucifer! Ghostbusting awaits!"

She tugged on his arm, and he barely managed to secure the vase in their grasp before they were off.

...

It seemed like it was just Aqua and Lucifer in the hallway, now.

Aqua's Lucifer looked down at her, a teasing lilt to his voice as a smirk adorned his features. "Afraid ghosts, are you? I never expected you to be the type."

Aqua scowled, red blossoming on her cheeks as she refused to look at him. "It's not like I wanted you to know about it. I can't help what I'm scared of."

She was too busy looking away to notice how his expression softened at her words, only startling when his hand reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face.

He leaned in, his breath brushing against her cheek as he whispered in her ear. "I'm merely insinuating that you can get behind me if you are scared."

Oh, he was playing dirty and he knew it. Aqua lightly swatted his arm, her scowl gone as she raised the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to cover it. She didn't exactly trust the facial expression she was making right now, and most of all she didn't want her Lucifer to see it. "Asshole."

The insult fell flat due to her shaky voice. A chuckle escaped him as he rested his head against hers, hands moving to brace himself on her shoulders as his lips twitched upwards in poorly concealed mirth.

"I don't hear a no from you."

Aqua snorted, a soft smile forming on her own face as she drank in the sight of a laughing Lucifer. It seemed that he was loosening up more and more around her as of late, and this was an expression she wanted to commit to memory.

"Alright Lucifer, I'll humor you. I'm counting on you protect me from all of the remaining poltergeists in here."

The gentle smile he sent her way nearly made her heart stop.

"I wouldn't dream of anything else."

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

"Well, I guess this is it. Again."

Musashi said jovially as she stepped up to Aqua, a bright grin on her face. With the vase in their possession, it hadn't been long before all seven spirits were rounded up and properly sealed inside once more.

To be honest, the highlight of the entire adrenaline-filled night was when they all crashed in the living room, making a blanket for on the floor (per Musashi's and Aqua's request) and falling asleep together.

...At least, it was either that moment or the one where Aqua and her Lucifer had trailed into the kitchen to check up on them shortly after sealing the first ghost, the eldest demon holding her hand in reassurance as she looked like she was going to drop from sheer embarrassment.

"Say nothing," Aqua merely stated the second Musashi opened her mouth with a mischievous twinkle in her mocha orbs, narrowing her eyes at her. "You have no room to talk."

(She really didn't, not with how she had grasped Mammon's hand after a particularly bad scare later on in the night and gave it a squeeze. She couldn't help it; it was a reflex she didn't know she had, and she nearly combusted once he squeezed back.)

"I'll be visiting you next time," Aqua said with a smile, holding her arms out wide.

Musashi sprang into her arms, wrapping her own around the taller woman's waist. She looked up at her, a grin on her face as she heard Aqua laugh at her actions. "Hopefully soon?"

A nod. "Of course! We need to have movie night at your place, remember?"

They reluctantly let go once Musashi's Lucifer called her over, the brothers having already said their goodbyes. She turned to leave, then stopped and threw a heartfelt smile over her shoulder.

"Despite my soul wanting to leave my body on multiple occasions, I had fun this time, too."

Aqua's smile widened as she raised her hand in a wave. "Don't be a stranger!"

Musashi waved back, and before she knew it she was back home.

"I'm going to go sleep off that entire experience," Belphie groaned, dragging his feet towards the entrance of the House of Lamentation.

Satan smiled, glancing behind him at where the portal used to be. "Overall, it was a rather...thrilling experience."

Now it was Asmo's turn to groan, throwing his hands up as he followed the blonde through the door. "Ugh, who let you near the pun books again?"

Levi tapped away at his D.D.D., no doubt texting his counterpart. "This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Mammon."

Mammon let out a noise of offense. "What makes ya say that? Oi! Where d'ya think you're going, Levi?!"

Lucifer walked after the two, no doubt going to wring out the location of the vase from Mammon so something similar doesn't happen in their timeline.

Beel also made to go inside, but stopped and turned to her. "Musashi, are you coming? I want to try the homemade brownies you promised to bake once we came back."

"Hm? Oh!" Musashi startled, glancing down at her D.D.D. before pocketing it. "I'm sorry for the wait, Beel! Let's get baking!"

The device showed one sent message to Aqua before it shut off on its own.

Did you kiss Lucifer in the hallway too on top of him practically manhandling you to safety?

13 notes · View notes

suits · 5 years

Text

closer to fine.

Can be read here on ao3

Words: 7.3k, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Relationship: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Fandom: IT 2017, IT 2019

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Temporary Amnesia, Post-Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday.

Richie gets his heart broken on a Thursday. He can’t even say he’s surprised. Confused, maybe. Definitely dejected. But not surprised. He's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, so why should Eddie be any different? That doesn't make it hurt any less, though.

He wishes he could say it starts out like any other day, but something like dread makes a home somewhere deep in his chest when he's woken up at noon by two text messages from Eddie.

12:14 - Baby: We need to talk. 12:14 - Baby: Can I come over?

Nobody likes a "we need to talk" text, but cryptic undertones aside, since they started dating all those years ago, Eddie has never once asked for permission to come over.

He tries to brush it off. “It’s probably nothing.” Richie thinks to himself, laughing at his inane ability to jump to the worst possible conclusions, ever. “There’s plenty of shit he could want to talk to me about in person. Maybe he wants a dog, a little Pomeranian or something cute like him, or maybe he wants to move in together, or maybe he’s ready to take our relationship to the next level, or maybe...”

Richie sends back a quick “of course. see u soon” before he forgets, then busies himself with taking a quick shower and making a breakfast smoothie for the two of them.

It's 12:47 when Eddie knocks on his door. Eddie never knocks anymore. Richie gave him a key years ago so that he didn’t have to.

He opens the door warily, stepping back to let Eddie inside. His Eds was wearing a knit cap, and scarf to combat the harsh winds, and Richie was pretty sure that those were mittens on his hands, God his boyfriend was the cutest. “Eds,” Richie greets, going in for a hug and kiss, but Eddie shakes his head, grimacing a little. He steps back to put a little bit of space between himself and Richie.

“Let me start off by saying that I love you.” Eddie mumbles, staring at the carpet.

“Okay?” Richie prompts, confused. His eyes search Eddie’s face. “Eds, come on, my floor isn’t that interesting. Please look at me.”

Eddie does, and his eyes are wet with tears that haven't yet spilled over. ”And I know that you love me,” He continues.

“Yes,” Richie nods emphatically, “more than anything.”

Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath before soldiering on, “But this isn’t working out anymore. We’re,” He gestures between the two of them “not working out.” He doesn't say much more than that, doesn't try to explain himself. Richie wouldn't have wanted to hear it, anyway. “I’m sorry.”

It's one of the rare occasions that Richie Tozier has nothing to say. He nods slowly, mouth agape, like he wants to speak, but no words will come out.

They spend seconds or minutes, Richie has no idea, just looking at each other. Richie’s eyes were desperate and imploring, Eddie’s, glazed and distant. They're only standing a couple of feet apart but Richie's never felt further away.

Eventually, Richie breaks the silence, gesturing towards his kitchen. “Smoothie?” he offers weakly.

Eddie just looks at him some more. His eyes are sad, but his face is determined. He sighs once, and shakes his head ‘no’ before he turns on his heel and leaves. Richie can only stand there and watch, dumbfounded, as the love of his life walks out of his front door, and out of his life.

”But you love pineapple and spinach.” Richie whispers to the empty room.

He doesn't get a response.

Desolation and depression were old friends of Richie’s; in the sense that even if he could find a way to forget about them, ignore them, avoid them all together, all it took was one bad night and they were back in his life with an intensity like they missed him. They were good to him like that.

“ S' good to me. Than' you.” Richie slurs to his empty bedroom. “I missed you guys, too.”

He might’ve had too much to drink. It's been a while since he drank alcohol, and it's just really hard to keep track of how much you've drank when you’re not actually trying to keep track. The only thing Richie knows for sure right now is that he needs a lot more alcohol to make it through the night.

Richie checks his phone for the time, ignoring the unopened text alerts he’s been getting for the last two and a half weeks it’s been since Eddie dumped his ass out of the blue. It reads 1:17am, which means that he has about forty minutes until the dive bar closest to his place starts locking up.

It's a 15 minute walk, but he makes it there in 10.

“Richard.” His bartender (and sorta friend) Monty greets him when he stumbles through the door, limbs awkward and uncoordinated. “This is the fifth time I'm seeing you in as many days... and you look worse every single time I lay eyes on you. Anything you want to talk to me about? I can have this place cleared out in five minutes flat, just say the word.” A couple of people in the bar look up at that, but he pays them no mind.

Richie's touched. If he wasn't so fucking drunk already, he would've sat down and had a heart to heart with Monty about how the man he thought he’d marry someday just up and fucking walked out on him. But alas.

“Monty...Montague...Mont Everest... Mont-pel-er... You know like the capital of Virginia?”

“Vermont, but continue.” Monty corrects playfully, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You say potato. Anyway, as much as I'd love to wax poetic about the five foot six inch cutie that broke my heart, I'd much rather forget that the last two weeks of my life even happened. What’ve you got for that?”

“Prayers, Richie. Lots and lots of prayers. But in the meantime,” he slides two glasses filled with something brown and strong towards Richie.

Had Richie not been such a fuck up, he never would’ve went to the bar that night. Had Richie not been so goddamn stupid, he probably would’ve noticed the group of men lurking in the alleyway across the street early enough to avoid them.

Had the alcohol not effected his judgement and sense of self-preservation, he wouldn’t have felt so tough, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth, he wouldn’t have started that fight.

Had Richie Tozier not been Richie Tozier for once in his life, he wouldn’t be laying on his back in a barely lit alley at 2:30 in the morning with at least a couple of cracked ribs, a possible punctured lung, and a head injury that was bleeding steadily.

Richie doesn't bother calling for help, wouldn’t be able to get the words out anyway.

He can't help thinking that if this is it for him, then there are worse ways to go.

“Worse than bleeding out in alley surrounded by trash and piss and shit and God knows what else? Richie that's disgusting.” a familiar voice in his head reprimands.

“Chill... Edward...Cullen,” Richie rasps, wincing in pain. It’s the last thing he remembers before the darkness overtook him.

Eddie makes the biggest mistake of his life on a Thursday. He never should’ve picked up his phone and texted Richie that morning, stressed off his ass, and mad at the world. He shouldn’t have put on his stupid coat, or got in his stupid car, waited in stupid traffic, to show up at boyfriend’s apartment to break up with him. And for what? Because Eddie was feeling insecure about how Richie felt about him? Because Eddie was worried (for whatever fucking reason) that Richie would get tired of him? He feels so fucking stupid.

People always assumed that Richie was the impulsive one in their relationship, acting before reacting. But Eddie knew firsthand that Richie is, and always has been, more calculated and levelheaded than he could ever dream of being. It took a lot to get Richie riled up, especially since he’d stopped drinking, but Eddie was constantly on a short fuse.

“Such a little ball of fury, you are.” Richie would tell him, pinching his cheeks. “Not enough room in your body to hold all your anger, Eds. So cute.”

“I’m not a little ball of fury and I'm not fucking cute, Richie!” He would yell back. And Richie would just smile at him like Eddie had just proved his point.

Eddie misses him the second he walks out of the door.

He decides to call Bill when he gets to his car.

"Hey Eddie, what's up?" His best friend greets, and the words come pouring out before Eddie has a chance to stop them. He talks until he's out of breath, and then he talks some more. He would've kept talking, too, if—

“I’m sorry,” Bill interrupts, “I must’ve misheard. You did what?”

“I broke up with Richie.” Eddie repeats, irritated.

“That son of a bitch—did he hurt you? Do you need me to—” But Eddie nips that one in the bud real quick.

“No, Bill, he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bill’s voice sounds confused, “Then why?”

Because I’m a mess with chronic anxiety and self esteem issues and twenty-four years worth of emotional baggage and Richie deserves so much better than me? He thinks but doesn’t say.

“I don’t know, Billy. I really fucked up this time.”

Bill doesn't agree nor disagree with that statement. Instead he says, “It’s okay. You just need to figure yourself out, Eddie. Take some time to think about what you want, that's the most important thing. You have to be your first priority, or you'll never really be happy.”

“How’d you get so smart, huh, Big Bill?” Eddie asks, genuinely grateful that he has such a patient and protective best friend.

“Someone in this group has to be.” He chuckles, and Eddie curses him playfully.

They talk for a little while longer; about school, and work, and Bill’s upcoming date with Stan. After saying their goodbyes, Eddie's surprised to see that he feels a little bit better.

Bill's right; Eddie needs to figure himself out, get his head right. He knows it's gonna take a long time but he owes it to himself (and hopefully, someday again, to Richie) to be the best version of himself.

After a couple of days of moping and self-pity, things are starting to look up for Eddie. He isn’t necessarily enjoying “single life” but he's beginning to relish spending time on himself. He even takes a couple of days off from work to focus on his self care. He buys ginger tea and detoxifying face-masks and everything.

It's been two weeks and three days since their break up when a call wakes Eddie up out of a restless sleep.

“What?” he grouses at the unknown heathen who likes to call people at — he squints at his phone screen — 4:16 in the morning.

“Edward Kaspbrak?” A female voice intones.

“Speaking. Who is this?” He asks, immediately more alert.

“Marianne Nelson from Silver Lakes Hospital. There’s been an accident involving a Richard Tozier, and he has you listed as his emergency contact. How soon can you be here?”

Gays can’t drive, my ass Eddie thought as he pulls into a parking spot. He makes it to the hospital in record time and barely breaks any traffic laws to get there. No use to Richie if we both end up in the ER, he reminds himself.

Let it be known that Eddie Kaspbrak hates hospitals. Has ever since he was a kid. It's 100% due to the fact that his mother made him spend more time in emergency rooms and clinics than he did at school or with his friends.

That’s all behind him, though, at least for the moment, because the only thing on his mind right now is getting to Richie quick as possible. Marianne wouldn’t tell him anything over the phone, so he's completely in the dark, has no idea what kind of condition Richie is in.

“Edward Kaspbrak.” He announces when he reaches the receptionist's desk. “I’m here to see Richie Tozier. He’s my b—” Eddie cuts himself off. “I’m his emergency contact.” After his identification is verified, the receptionist politely gives him directions to Richie’s room.

Eddie doesn't exactly jog there, but it's a close thing.

He’s seen Richie sleeping in the past, countless times, but he's never looked so small before. And so pale. Richie's hooked up to all types of IVs and machines, he has cuts and bruises littering his face, and part of his head is shaved—but despite it all, he still looks very much like the boy that Eddie fell in love with so many years ago. He'd be reminiscing if he weren't so fucking scared.

“You can go in.” Calls a kind voice from behind him. Eddie nods without even looking to see who the voice belongs to, before he steps into the room and shuts the door softly behind him.

Eddie’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. Is that even possible? He thinks hysterically, then laughs a little, completely on edge. At least I’m in a hospital and they’ll be able to fix me right up. Good as new.

He makes himself as comfortable as possible, folding like a pretzel in the hospital chair. The room has magazines and a TV—for entertainment or distraction, he isn't sure—and there's coffee right outside the door if he needs it, but Eddie isn't planning on leaving any time soon. He stares at Richie’s sleeping face and hopes to God that he's resting well. “I’ll stay with you forever if you’ll let me." Eddie says, barely loud enough to be heard over the ventilators. “I'm so sorry, I won’t ever leave you again.”

He doesn’t get a response.

The first time Richie wakes up, he notices the lights. Too much, too bright, he thinks. They make his eyes sting and his head hurt, but he's out again before he can say anything about it.

The second time, Richie's more alert. He hears the steady beeping of machinery, smells the overpowering scent of clean, sterile. He can’t turn his head, though, can’t get his eyes to focus on anything, and before he knows it, they're fluttering shut again without his permission.

The third time Richie wakes up, there are big, brown eyes peering down at him. He recognizes those eyes before he can focus on the face they belong to. Eddie. Those heavenly brown eyes blink in surprise before they disappear from his line of sight. Richie vaguely hears yelling, but he can’t make out the words.

Next thing he knew, there're people all around him, nurses and various hospital personnel writing things down, and poking and prodding at him.

“Richard,” a voice that isn’t Eddie’s calls, “You won’t be able to talk just yet, but blink twice if you can hear me.”

Richie blinks twice, confused.

“Good to have you back with us, Richard. Do you know where you are? Blink once for no, twice for yes.”

Richie blinks once.

“You’re in the hospital. I’m Doctor Hasaan. You got pretty banged up the other night, but we’re going to take care of you. You’ve got some broken ribs, a subsequent punctured lung, and a pretty nasty concussion. Do you remember what happened?”

Richie blinks once.

“There was an accident, Richard. A pedestrian found you in an alleyway downtown, and called 911. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it, you hit your head pretty hard and your blood alcohol level was high when you were brought in." And that can't be right, Richie hasn't drank in years.

"Are you in any pain right now?” Dr. Hasaan questions.

It’s almost as if his question brings all of Richie’s sensory neurons back to life, and he's only just began to notice the aching pain in his head, throat, and chest.

Richie blinks twice.

“Alrighty.” The good doctor says, “We’ll give you something to help with that.” One of the nurses puts something in his IV. “Try to rest, Richard. We’ll have that tube out of your throat in no time, and you’ll feel much better once you can breathe properly on your own. Is there anything we can get for you right now? To make you more comfortable?”

Eddie, he thinks, bring him back in.

Richie tries to blink twice but his eyelids are so heavy, and then, in the blink of an eye, he's asleep again.

Richie wakes up with a start. His chest is tight and his throat is on fire and he can’t fucking breathe. He feels like he's drowning. Is he dying? Richie weakly struggles for a minute with the IV in his hand before a soft hand on his arm stops him.

“Richie, calm down.” Comes an angelic voice. He knows that voice. He loves that voice. “You’re panicking, it’s okay, baby.” The angel soothes.

Delicate hands hover around Richie’s face like they want to caress him, but are too afraid. God, what he wouldn’t give to have those hands on his face.

It takes him a second, but Richie is eventually able to come back to himself, focus his eyes on the man standing beside him, focus his ears on the steady beeping and mechanical breathing of the machines surrounding him.

He carefully reaches one trembling hand up to his mouth, onto the uncomfortable tube that was forced down his throat. Eddie gently slaps his hand away from his face.

“Don’t touch it, Richie. Relax, okay? Let me see if I can get your doctor in here.”

A couple of minutes pass before Eddie comes back into the room, smiling widely, while Dr. Hasaan follows a few paces behind him.

“Richard,” greets the doctor when he walks in, “Great news. We’re on pace to get you extubated today. I’m sure that thing must be bothering you, huh? The ventilator’s providing minimal support now, so most of that breathing is all you, kiddo."

Richie gives two shaky thumbs-ups, careful not to jostle the I.V. too much, lest he upset Eddie again.

It's got to be the most uncomfortable moment of Richie Tozier’s existence. The process doesn't take more than a minute or two, but there's a lot of choking, gagging, and saliva sucking—and not even in the fun way. Once the tube is out, though, Richie only feels relief. And a little sore.

“It’s all done, Richard, you did great.” The doctor praises, as he discards some tools onto the table beside him. “Hold still now, I’m going to insert an intranasal cannula, just to be safe...”

Richie lets the doctor do doctorly things while he lets his eyes roam around the room. They settle on Eddie, who’s been hovering anxiously on the other side of the bed. He's wearing a too big hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans. His hair is curly and unkempt, so unlike Eddie. His face looks relieved, but his eyes are so tired. So sweet staying here with me, Richie thinks.

“Alright. Why don’t you try and say a few words for me? It might be uncomfortable at first, but the more you work at it the easier it’ll get.” Dr. Hassan states reassuringly.

“Just like...the first time...I gave you... sloppy top...right, Eds?” Richie croaks, then he threw a wink in his boyfriend’s direction.

Eddie’s face twists in a strange combination of horrified amusement. He looks like he wants to laugh—or maybe cry—but instead he just purses his lips together and shakes his head. Richie grins back.

The doctor rolls his eyes and asks if Richie felt up to answering a few procedural questions.

"What's your full name?"

"Richard Tozier."

"What year is it?"

"2019."

"Who's the president of the United States?"

"I know...but don't make me say it."

“Excellent, Mr. Tozier," Dr. Hasaan chuckles, "you’re well on your way to health. Your lung and ribs should heal on their own in a couple of weeks, but there's no reason for us to hold you hostage here any longer. Your short term memory should come back to you gradually. You're set to be discharged no later than tomorrow afternoon. Because of the severity of your concussion, however, I'm going to ask that you have another adult at your home to monitor you for 48 hours."

"No problem, doc... I got my... Eddie Spaghetti to take care of me." Richie smiles as wide as he can without his lips cracking due to lack of hydration.

He doesn't notice the way Eddie's eyes shift guiltily to the floor.

Eddie might've been driving too cautiously.

"Eds...I know you're worried...but you might actually...be driving in reverse." Richie complains as another car speeds past them.

Eddie ignores him and grips the wheel tighter. I've hurt you enough already, I can't do that to you again Eddie thinks. What he says is, "Yeah, and if I speed up and hit a pothole and your stupid ribs slip and puncture your stupid lung again, then you'll be mad at me."

Richie laughs, but it's bitten off like it hurt him, and Eddie winces. "My Eds...always...so damn dramatic."

They spend the rest of the car ride in relative silence, save for the quiet humming of the radio, and Richie's occasional labored breathing.

"Oh, fuck." Richie voices miserably when they arrive at his complex.

"What?" Eddie asks, worried. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, Eds." Richie reassures, "I just remembered...that I live on the third floor."

Oh, fuck.

"I'm not carrying you up three flights of stairs because your landlord is too cheap to get the elevator fixed." Eddie says, mostly serious.

"You couldn't...carry me up those stairs...to save both of our lives...Spaghetti head." Richie jokes, "Come on...little man...we've got some...climbing to do."

Eddie might not've had asthma when he was younger, but it sure as fuck felt like he did now.

Carrying their bags and about 30% of Richie's body weight feels like a workout, but he feels guilty almost instantaneously when he hears Richie struggling to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, baby." Eddie says, forgetting himself for a moment. He rubs his hands up and down Richie's back soothingly. "You okay?"

"Fine, Eds. Let's keep...going."

They make their way down the hall to Richie's door, where Eddie reaches under the "did you call first?" welcome mat to retrieve the spare key Richie keeps hidden there.

"Where's yours at...Eds? Need me to...get a new one made?" Richie asks, gesturing to the spare key in his hand, and Eddie blanches.

"No? No, I just left mine at my place. I'm an idiot." He lies, and Richie just looks at him kind of odd.

"That you are...Spaghetti Head."

Once they're inside, Eddie helps Richie settle comfortably onto the couch, before going to Richie's bedroom to drop off his bag.

"Bring me...my heating pad, please, Eds?" Richie calls with some difficulty.

"Yeah, sure, Rich!" Eddie calls back, but when he steps into Richie's bedroom, his heart hits the floor.

Now, Richie isn't the tidiest person alive, so Eddie's used to picking up after him a bit; sometimes folding his laundry, but it's never been like this before. There are empty bottles of alcohol littering his floor, half-empty food containers left open, clothes thrown haphazardly over almost every surface. This, Eddie knows, is what depression looks like for Richie. This is what it looks like when he's given up.

"I did this." He gasps quietly to himself, looking around the room in horror. "I did this."

"Eds?" Comes Richie's worried voice from his position on the couch. "You get lost?"

"Just gimme a minute, Richie!" He snaps, way harsher than he intends. Then much softer, "I'm sorry, babe, please just give me a minute, okay?"

Richie doesn't say anything else, and Eddie pulls himself together long enough to go to the supply closet and retrieve Richie's heating pad.

He hands it to Richie wordlessly, and Richie mutters a quiet "thanks". He looks at Eddie like he's a puzzle to be solved, and Eddie can't take it.

"What do you remember from before?' He asks, avoiding Richie's questioning eyes.

"From when?"

"What's the last thing you remember, Rich? Not... not in the hospital, but before that. What's the last memory you have of--of us together?"

There's a pause, and Eddie can see the gears working in Richie's head.

"Oh, I don't...I can't...um...I don't? The movies?" Richie tries. "We went to see that scary movie you wanted to see. The one...with the clowns." He looks so proud of himself, and Eddie's heart just shatters.

Richie's used to his boyfriend being weird; and usually he loves it, but there's something about the way Eddie's been acting since they left the hospital that has his hackles raised.

"Am I...missing something, Eds?" Other than the obvious, he doesn't add, "What's the matter?"

Eddie still looks crestfallen when he answers. "That was over three weeks ago, Rich."

"Yeah?" He asks, and Eddie nods miserably. "Holy fuck. I mean...we knew that there were...holes in my memory. Doc said...things'll come back on their own." He tries to sound reassuring, but Eddie's still frowning hard.

"Yeah, I know but...that's not...it's just that, um, I don't really, um, and—"

"Woah, dude, are you...having a stroke?" Richie interrupts, and Eddie puts his head in his hands and sighs.

"God, shut the fuck up, Richie, this is really hard."

Richie bites his tongue. "What's hard, baby? What's got you...so upset? Eds...whatever it is...it's okay. Talk to me."

"It's us, I mean, you and me, we're um," a pause, "we'renottogetheranymore." He finishes quickly.

That's a silly thing to say, Richie thinks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Eddie starts, "that you and I aren't together anymore. We're broken up."

The sharp pain in Richie's chest has nothing to do with his broken ribs.

"I broke up with you?" He asks dejectedly, "Eds, I'm—" but Eddie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

"No, Richie, I broke up with you."

And there it is. Richie feels it like a punch to the solar plexus. Thats why Eddie's been acting so strange, keeping something like this from him.

"I don't...why?" He demands, chest aching to keep up with the heavy pounding of his heart.

"It doesn't matter, I should've never done it, I'm sorry—"

"It fucking matters!" Richie explodes. With great difficulty, he stands up off of the couch—wincing in pain during the process—so that he's looming over Eddie. "It matters." He tries again.

Eddie just stares up at him from his spot on the sofa. He shakes his head 'no', like he's resolved on keeping his mouth shut, and the anger is drained from Richie as quickly as it came.

"Why are you...here, Eddie?" He asks, exhaustedly. Just Eddie this time. Not Eds, not baby, just Eddie.

"Because you're hurt, and I need to make sure you're okay, and I—"

"Let me...guess. You feel...guilty?" Richie laughs mirthlessly. "Get out."

"No, Rich, c'mon, I'm here to help you."

"Just, go, Eddie. I'm going to go...take a very careful shower...and by the time...I get out...I want you...out of here."

"Rich—"

"Out, Eddie."

He walks carefully to the bathroom without waiting for a response.

Eddie doesn't leave. Fuck that, he thinks. Instead, he takes on the harrowing task of cleaning Richie's bedroom which he's labeled "The Depression Den" in his head. He starts with the clothes: grabbing piles and piles from the floor and Richie's bed and discarding them into their respective hampers. Once he's done with that, he takes care of the disposable trash; putting everything into bags that'll need to be tossed sooner rather than later. Lastly, he works on the beer cans, and liquor pints that are scattered all around the room. God, Richie must've really been on a bender. Eddie swallows his guilt for the time being and gets to working on separating glass from aluminum to recycle.

The shower's still running by the time Richie's room looks presentable. Eddie carefully, quietly places his ear up to the door. He can hear Richie humming softly and takes that as a sign that he's okay in there.

He makes his way to the kitchen to rummage through Richie's cabinets, trying to find something to cook for them, but Richie's cupboards and refrigerator are bare and depressing looking.

Take out doesn't sound so bad, Eddie thinks.

He's just getting off the phone with the Thai place when Richie comes into the living room

"You're still here." Richie croaks. His skin is still pink from his shower, and he's wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Spiderman boxers. He's still a head taller than Eddie, but he looks so small, so young.

"Yeah, Rich, I know you're upset, and I understand its a lot, and I'm s—"

"You're still here...you didn't leave." Richie's voice cracks. "You didn't leave me." He takes a hesitant step towards Eddie, expression vulnerable. And oh, fuck, if Richie starts crying its going to set Eddie off too.

"I promised you I wouldn't." At Richie's confused glance, he elaborates. "When I got the call that you were in the hospital, I was so scared. They wouldn't tell me anything and I-I thought the worst. I thought I'd lost you. But then I went to your room, and you were sleeping. You were cut up and bruised," He eyes the healing bruises across Richie's face, desperately wanting to reach out and touch him "but you were alive. And I thought to myself 'I walked away from the best thing in my life, because I was scared.' Truth is, I didn't know what scared was until I saw you lying there, so still...so pale, machines breathing for you. So that night, I promised myself and you that as long as you'll have me, I'll be here. I won't ever leave you again. As long as I'm welcome in your home, and...and in your life, I'll—"

"Stay."

"What?" Eddie asks, eyes wide.

"Please...even if it's just for tonight...just, stay."

So Eddie does.

Richie does a lot of healing over the next couple of weeks. None of it is easy, but that's to be expected. He gets short tempered, and emotional as his memory clears, which the doctor tells Eddie is a "completely normal response to being concussed," but Eddie thinks it's more than that. Richie slowly begins to ease himself back into daily activities like driving, and grocery shopping for himself, relying on Eddie less and less with each passing day.

Eddie tries not to let that worry him.

It's a fair question, and one that needed to be asked, but it still makes Eddie choke on his coffee when Richie asks "So, why did you break up with me?" one day when they're sitting on the couch, watching TV with the volume down low.

"Um, Richie, I-" Eddie starts, then stops.

"Yeah?" Richie raises his eyebrows expectantly, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Eddie sighs. He owes Richie an explanation, he owes him the truth. "I was scared." Okay...so...baby steps.

"Of...?" Richie prompts, impatient now.

"You leaving me? I know it's so stupid, now, but at the time I thought you would get sick of me, and you didn't l—" he cuts himself off but its too late.

He doesn't miss the way Richie inhales sharply, and flinches like Eddie just slapped him.

"You thought I didn't love you?" Richie sounds so lost.

"No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it. And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never- I'm so sorry."

"You're so fucking stupid." Is all Richie says, then louder, "God, you're so fucking stupid!"

That's fair, Eddie thinks.

Richie puts his hands on Eddie's shoulders, lowering his head until they're eye level. "I have never. Ever." He punctuates each word with a gentle shake to Eddie's shoulders, "Loved anyone the way that I love you. Not even close."

"Richie, I'm so-" Wait. "Love?"

"Yes!" Richie cries, exasperated. "Love, dummy. I love you! I never stopped loving you. Even when I was drowning myself in a bottle," It's Eddie's turn to feel like he just got slapped. "All I could think about was you. You, Eds. You're it for me, I think."

Eddie freezes, feels the tears well in his eyes before he can do anything about it. "You called me Eds." He cries, tearfully.

Richie grins in triumph. "I knew you fucking liked my nicknames!"

"God, I missed this." Richie moans in between kisses. He's got Eddie pinned down on his bed, breathless and panting beneath him.

"Richie, please." Eddie whimpers.

"Please what, baby?" He teases. "You want something from me, you ask for it."

Eddie squirms underneath him, dick already hard and leaking. "Please fuck me. Need it, need you." And Richie groans, grinding his hips down hard, eliciting a shaky moan from Eddie.

"Mmm, not yet, baby. Gonna take care of you. I'm gonna worship every inch of you."

Richie takes his time taking Eddie apart, finding all the spots that drive him crazy, and playing with them until Eddie's a writhing mess underneath him.

"Alright, Eds. Face down, ass up. C'mon chop, chop."

Eddie opens his mouth like he's about to retort—probably to tell Richie to stop ruining the mood or something—before he thinks better of it. He does as he's told, stripping down completely naked before laying face down on the mattress.

Richie hums in approval, kisses his way down Eddie's shoulders, along his spine, feels the tremors that are coursing through him.

"Please, Richie, I need more" Eddie whines, rocking his hips back.

"I know what you need, Eds. Let me give it to you, okay? Gonna make you come so hard. On my tongue and fingers, then on my dick, okay? You just gotta take it." He says it casually, like he's discussing the weather, and not taking Eddie apart piece by piece.

Eddie just whines again, and Richie smirks before he flattens his tongue, licking over Eddie in broad strokes before pressing his tongue inside. Eddie nearly shouts, hole fluttering around Richie's tongue.

There's nothing particularly romantic about the way Richie eats him out. It's wet, and sloppy, and Richie's got spit dripping down his chin as he licks into Eddie until Eddie's trembling at the intensity of it.

When Eddie's whines start getting high and needy, Richie takes pity on him, adding a finger in alongside his tongue, and Eddie groans appreciatively, fucking himself back onto Richie until he adds another.

When Richie crooks his fingers purposefully, searching out Eddie’s prostate, Eddie whimpers pitifully and tries to shift away. “Richie, please…” he begs, but Richie just pulls his mouth away and shushes him, keeping his fingers deep inside.

Richie knows Eddie simultaneously loves and hates getting his prostate fucked. Hates how vulnerable it makes him feel, how it leaves him shaking and non-verbal, even after he's come. Loves it for the exact same reasons.

“Relax, baby,” Richie soothes, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s hip. "I got you."

Eddie forces himself to relax, and soon enough, he’s whining and sobbing, fingers twisting the sheets, begging Richie for more.

"Good boy." Richie praises. He’s careful when he does this, not exactly gentle, but he doesn’t want to go too fast or hard and overwhelm Eddie, so he keeps his strokes long and purposeful, fingers brushing expertly over Eddie’s prostate. Eddie's hips keep shifting, like he’s not sure if he wants to get away from the sensation or get more of it, so Richie tightens his hand on Eddie's hip, effectively stilling him.

He keeps up his methodical torture for minutes, or hours, or days, before Eddie's granted any reprieve. Even if it weren’t for the almost hysterical whines Eddie’s emitting, the way that he’s clenching around Richie’s fingers, shaking like a leaf, would be enough to alert Richie that he’s close. He keeps Eddie hanging there on the verge of orgasm for a long time, drawing it out of him slowly, so slowly, with precise fingers pressing rhythmically against Eddie’s prostate. “Touch yourself, baby, you’re doing so good, make yourself come.” Richie urges, using his free hand to massage Eddie’s perineum when Eddie brings a shaking hand to his own leaking dick. It’s over pretty quickly after that.

Eddie’s uncharacteristically quiet when he comes, and Richie would be worried if not for the way Eddie’s muscles had locked up so tight before he started trembling something fierce.

Eddie had stayed like that for a few long moments, could do nothing but shake and gasp as his orgasm worked through him in a way that looked almost painful.

When it's over, Eddie drops like a stone onto the mattress, still trembling. Richie's quick to gather him in his arms, rearranging them as best he could so that Richie was against the headboard and Eddie’s head was resting on his chest. That's when he notices the tears tracks running down Eddie's cheeks as the man in question struggles to catch his breath. He runs soothing fingers through Eddie’s hair, waits for him to come back to himself.

"Oh my God," Eddie whispers, moments later, once his soul is back in his body.

"Okay, baby?" Richie asks, genuinely concerned, as he wipes at the tears staining his boyfriend's face.

"More than," Eddie gasps, "It's just a lot."

"Hmmm." Richie hums in agreement. He gives Eddie a couple more minutes to recover before he rearranges them again. This time, with Eddie on his back, legs spread wide around Richie's hips. "I'm not done with you yet."

Eddie looks up at him, eyes wide, and Richie grins. "Told you I was gonna make you come on my dick tonight. You want that, baby?"

Eddie nods enthusiastically, then gasps in shock when he feels Richie's open palm connect with his cheek.

"Use your words, Eddie. You want my dick, then beg me for it."

"Please, Richie, oh my God, please I want your dick, please give it to me, I need it." Eddie's shameless now, past the point of caring what comes out of his mouth.

"That's good, baby. I'll give it to you." Richie says, reaching into his nightstand for the box of condoms they never use anymore.

"Rich...what? Why?" Eddie asks, dubiously eyeing the box in his hand.

"Eds..I..if there was any-" But Eddie cuts him off, head clearer than it's been since they started.

"There was no one else, Rich, I swear, I didn't. You're it for me, too."

"Yeah?" Richie asks, tossing the box somewhere in the corner of his room, smiling down at Eddie.

"Yeah, stupid." Eddie promises, and Richie just has to kiss the grin off his lips.

Richie takes his time pushing in, making sure Eddie feels every inch of him until he bottoms out, hips flush against Eddie.

"Gonna make sure you feel how deep my love goes, baby. Never gonna have to worry again." Richie promises.

"Oh, my God." Eddie whimpers, eyes rolling back as Richie starts to fuck into him slowly.

It's so good, too good, and it's not long before Eddie's hard again. Richie takes notice and doubles his efforts, going from thrusting into Eddie to grinding their hips together, dick a constant pressure against Eddie's prostate. It's too much, too fast, and Eddie damn nears screams.

"Feel good, baby?"

Eddie doesn't respond. Just keeps making these little "ah, ah, ah" sounds like he's about to sneeze. "Oh, fuck, Richie, how are you doing this to me?"

He's crying for real now, taking big, sobbing breaths as his hands frantically grip the pillows, the bedsheets, the headboard, his own hair, anything he can to ground himself against the pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm him completely.

"Don't do that, baby, you'll rip your hair out." Richie chides, dropping to his elbows so that he can detangle Eddie's hands from his hair, and twine their fingers together.

He never once breaks stride, going back to fucking into Eddie deep and slow, each thrust bringing Eddie closer and closer to that point of no return.

And surely Eddie's going to explode. Surely, the human body isn't meant to withstand this kind of pleasure.

"You're so fucking good, Eds." Richie's pace is starting to get falter, tell-tale sign that he's close. "Gonna come for me again?"

Eddie nods senselessly, beyond words. He's pretty sure he's drooling.

"Then do it, Eds. C'mon." And Eddie's right there, so close to the edge, back arching completely off the bed as Richie takes him higher and higher and—

"That's it, baby, you're right there, God, I love you so much, Eddie."

"Say it again." Eddie gasps, fresh tears spilling over.

"I love you." Richie repeats.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again, again, again!" Eddie shouts as he starts to come, untouched, across his and Richie's bellies.

"I love you, I love you so much, baby." Richie groans, and tumbles over the edge right alongside of him.

Eddie's nervous as Richie drives them to the restaurant; some overpriced Italian place that Mike wants them to meet at. It's not like he and Richie were avoiding the Losers; they still talked on the phone a couple of times a week, but in the light of recent events they had, admittedly, been spending a lot more time with each other. It's been the best and happiest weeks of Eddie's life, and that makes his decision ten times easier.

Months ago, Bill told Eddie to take some time to think about what he wanted.

He picked out a ring that very same day.

What he wants is Richie, always and forever. He's known that for most of his life.

He just hopes that Richie feels the same way.

The ring is heavy in Richie's back pocket as he and Eddie walk into the restaurant that Mike picked out. The rest of the Losers are already there, talking animatedly amongst each other. The conversation stops when they get to the table.

"Well I'll be damned." Mike says, like he didn't expect them to actually show up, he's grinning though, and Richie smiles back.

"Richie Tozier, back from the dead!" Bev exclaims, jumping out of her seat to hug him. He squeezes her tight, lifting her off her feet as he twirls her around. She laughs brightly, and it hits Richie like a brick to the face how much he loves this group of people. How, since they were kids, their little group of outcasts has been his one constant. Something he could always run to.

Bill and Stan smile at him knowingly, and he winks back.

Richie's always had a hard time holding on to the good things in his life, but as he looks around the table at all of his friends, at the man he hopes says yes tonight, Richie finds himself smiling at the realization that he's there's no way he could ever let this go.

#m writes #god I hope this read more link works for mobile users #back at again gays #writing tag #fic: reddie

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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New Look Sabres: 2019 Training Camp Opens

Hockey is back! This offseason was a little bit slimmer on the back end than last year, phrasing intended; so the gap of time created by Hockey-less August felt much more oppressive. Earlier this week in the blog on the Prospect Tournament I waxed on poetically about how it’s harder to get excited for the Sabres this season. We’re probably looking at a less that 50% chance this team qualifies for the playoffs this season. Between the completion of the Prospect tournament and the arrival of Training Camp, my Sabres heart has come thundering back to life this week. That’s a huge relief considering the aforementioned difficulty seeing this club make the playoffs this season given its current roster construction. More good news: Training Camp narratives are not in short supply! Last year we celebrated competition at Training Camp as a long-awaited sign the team was turning a corner. Perhaps it was still the residual haze of the Jeff Skinner trade washing over us, but something was new about this club going into last year. This year still features a lot of competition for roster spots, Thank God, but this time around it requires a little bit more creative thinking to see how different players raise up the club overall. Last year both of Jeff Skinner and Conor Sheary were upgrades on the left wing no matter how you cut it. In the same way Rasmus Dahlin was a huge upgrade, even as a rookie, on defense. As the players filed into the building for their physicals yesterday and engaged in media day it may be helpful for us to look at Training Camp competition positionally this Preseason. While the new pieces and therefore the tighter competition for fewer roster spots came in the forward corps last year, this go around the change is much more obvious on defense… hopefully.

The big X factor I see in this year’s Training Camp is the guy behind the bench. Ralph Krueger returns to NHL coaching with the Buffalo Sabres six years after an Edmonton Oilers organization in even more chaos than the current version let him go. For someone looking at Krueger’s history for hints at how he’ll coach and deploy players it’s like he’s a super-electable politician: he’s more or less what you want him to be. In other words, he’s something of an empty glass you put your values in. The buzzwords that orbited around him in the early summer when he was hired were communication and flexibility. We were teased about that flexibility a couple days ago when he said this Training Camp will see the players pick what positions they’re fighting for a spot in. More on that later. After firing a Head Coach who was only consistently inconsistent with his roster deployment, General Manager Jason Botterill opted for someone in Krueger who maybe more of a chameleon. The last three coaches of the Sabres, two of which who are still being paid to not coach the team, were problematic in large part because they were too rigid in their systems and didn’t allow the skill players to be skilled in game situations. Phil Housley was moderately better than Dan Blysma on that front but all shit stinks, right? Ralph Krueger is going to let his butterflies fly and rigid is certainly not a word to describe him in anyway. Beyond that however it’s hard to say what exactly his style and decision-making will look like come Opening Night. He’s the biggest wildcard this preseason and maybe also once the games mean something in the regular season.

Unlike in past seasons this year we find ourselves with a rare logjam on the blueline. There are too many good defenseman on the Sabres depth chart! That was such a weird sentence to write! While at least three of Brandon Montour, Marco Scandella, Zach Bogosian and Lawrence Pilut will start the season in the Press Box nursing injuries, only two of those guys will the average Sabres fan be dying to see get back on the ice. Rasmus Ristolainen and Marco Scandella are two players you want off this club pretty soon for very different reasons. Ristolainen is likely traded for just not being up to par in the advanced stats categories the modern game requires of its defenseman. It was hilarious but encouraging to hear Risto acknowledge his defensive game needs some work yesterday. If he is on this roster Opening Night let’s hope we see the effort pay off. Marco Scandella on the other hand is, to put it creatively, a crater full of trash. Those two players, on the right and left sides of defense respectively, are jamming up the pipes for a handful of really awesome pieces fighting for roster spots. Colin Miller was acquired via trade with the hope he could be a good shutdown-defenseman on the second or first pairing depending on how optimistic you are. He probably makes the roster below the pairing he deserves. On the younger side Brandon Montour and Henri Jokiharju are poised for breakout seasons if they’re given the right opportunities. You could argue Montour could single-handedly be the difference maker on whether this club is close to that playoff line or not come April. Then again Jake McCabe and Zach Bogosian still have jobs if they’re not beaten for them this preseason. If Housley were still coach I’d tell you the chances of the kids getting their shot at changing this team, even in preseason action, are slim. Again, Krueger is a huge wildcard here and there’s a lot to be learned in the preseason games coming up next week. Two more dark-horses worth mentioning in any conversation about Buffalo’s defense are Lawrence Pilut and Will Borgen. Pilut was a true rising star in the chances he got last season and it will be very interesting to see what he can do after returning from injury. Will Borgen on the other hand has been developing for what feels like an eternity. The season he finally looks ready to make the jump to the NHL and that’s the season there is this giant logjam. Don’t be surprised to see him really gunning for a look as Training Camp goes on though.

The offense should be an easier discussion. It’s not because Jason Botterill’s weird move of the offseason was bringing back several guys who are or should be on their way out the door. I am totally okay with not buying anyone out, there are few guys that makes sense with and even the ones who it does can be banished in less salary-cap damaging ways. However if we’re going to bring back a fourth line of Zemgus Girgensons, Johan Larsson and Kyle Okposo you minus well just build a wall that says “Stay in Rochester” on it. Guys like Arttu Routsalainen, CJ Smith, Rasmus Asplund and even Victor Olofsson may be staring at the wall wondering if they have any position to gun for. And I’ll be very honest up front: I have no clue what the plan is with Tage Thompson. I’m more patient than the average joe with a guy like that but it’s just too crowded in the forward group. We probably just need to suck it up and ride out Okposo’s albatross of a Tim Murray contract, but those other two guys on the likely fourth line would’ve been very sensible departures given how long they’ve been given second chances. They each brought something to last season’s team but I’m not sure I don’t want their spots taken by the young guns anymore. I suppose there is still time for those young guns to take their spots. It is a new coach after all. As mentioned earlier Krueger wants to have each of these guys fight for the spot of their choosing. Is Zemgus Girgensons better than all of Thompson, Andrew Oglevie and Matej Pekar? Strong maybe I guess? What about Johan Larsson: is he better than all of CJ Smith, Arttu Routsalainen, Rasmus Asplund and Dylan Cozens? Two of those guys are likely sent to their junior teams once camp ends but Smith was an AHL All-Star last year. Competition in the bottom six, at least the fourth line, should be very interesting.

The biggest questions in the forward corps is who will be the second line center and who will be the first line right wing? Both questions have obvious answers that are not necessarily the only options. A top line of Jeff Skinner, Jack Eichel and Sam Reinhart is very on brand for this club but if you use Reinhart at second line right wing you give Casey Mittelstadt some help shoring up that second line center role. Sheary could play on his off-side if it meant tapping in Eichel apples. If Victor Olofsson does indeed arrive as this top six player we’re all expecting, and you put him at 2LW you got a promising second line and a very interesting potential third line of Jimmy Vesey, Evan Rodrigues and Marcus Johansson. Yeah, I opt for the more experienced 28-year-old Johansson to play his off-side because I think he can do it fine on the third line and our good friend E-Rod may be fantastic at center if we give that an extended look. Now you may look at that summation of the top three lines as a pretty upbeat projection outside of the bitching about the fourth line. Where’s the difficulty in this discussion of the offense? Click, Click! In rolls every Sabres fan’s lineup projection grenade Vladimir Sobotka! NHL.com says he’s from the Czech Republic but anyone who watched last season’s Sabres knows he hails from the Kremlin. Wherever Putin hides the illegal chemical weapons, that’s where Sobotka is from because he stinks on ice! He’s not off the roster yet and that alone throws a wrench in the most fun version of the Sabres we could get out of Training Camp. Thompson and Sobotka are the guys that make the most fun version of the forward lines look unlikely but hey… Thompson could surprise me? I know, I wrote that full of doubt. Joking aside, he could be a late bloomer even though he didn’t exactly shine after getting sent down to the Amerks last season. Hmm, we really do have a lot to figure out during Training Camp, don’t we?

So what did I miss… Risto came to Training Camp after he definitely asked for a trade but why would he say that on media day? Eichel wants to score more goals, of course sweet boy. Marcus Johansson thinks Ralph Krueger is *pause for comedic effect* not your average Coach. Kyle Olsen was a Prospect Camp invite who earned an invitation to Sabres Training Camp. He’s probably the darkest of dark horses to make the roster. Uh… I think that’s it for now. When we wrap up Training Camp we’re going to tie all these loose threads together and preview the regular season. Between now and then however we have six preseason games to see how some of the questions get answered. Note: Six is fewer games than last year’s seven thankfully. If you weren’t reading the blog last year those games will be a taste of what the regular season is like here. Game action is much more fun and has a lot more opportunity for humor. Even though they’re meaningless in the standings I hope you’ll read, like and comment for the fun of it. It’s a sprint to regular season hockey from here!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. So it looks like Mitch Marner is going to pull a Will Nylander and miss Training Camp. The drama is better this time around for us Leafs Haters because for some reason Marner is personally offended by an $11 Million contract offer because it’s not as big as Auston Matthews’. Better more he’s much more likely to get traded than Nylander. I’m giddy for that Toronto Meltdown!

#buffalo sabres #hockey #training camp #rochester americans #blog #NHL

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