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pl-panda · 3 years

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To Marry a Vigilante: Part 10

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To Marry a Vigilante: Part 10

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Chloé felt that something was wrong. She knew that the drama would only start with the class kicked out. She tried to enjoy the evening and do what she did at all other galas: be a star. As the daughter of the mayor of Paris and a famous fashion icon, she attracted quite a bit of attention. Now that she was the only reliable source of information on Marinette and Hawkmoth-related stuff, she found herself in the center of attention. Someone even asked her about her time as Queen Bee. She loved it here!

She just finished a small talk with the wife of… someone important, when unmistakable sausage hair flashed in the crowd. She would recognize her anywhere. Lila was still at the gala.

The blonde tried to find someone to tell it to, but she couldn’t do it fast enough. She saw her disappear into a corridor that led to the kitchen. Making a split-second decision, she followed her alone. On her way, she got a bright idea and sent the text to whoever she called last. There was no time to search through the contact list. It better be someone who can help.

The doors to the kitchen were closed and inside buzzed with the work of several hired helpers. They were preparing for the midnight toast. There was no way Lie-la could hide there. The only other doors led to the servants’ staircase.

“Ugh! The sacrifice I make for friendship.” She sighed before entering the tight passage.

This led her to the second floor, where she found the doors already open. It led to a long corridor with several doors on the one side and large windows overlooking the back garden. She realized she was in the west wing, which was the second oldest part of the manor.

“More creepy secret passageways…” She quickly checked her phone to see if somebody answered, but a crashing sound coming from one of the rooms got her attention.

Slowly, she crept toward the only room with lights on. She managed to get a sneaky peek inside before something hit her in the back of her head and everything turned black.

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“So… he really asked you out on the first day?” Allegra starred at Marinette in disbelief.

“Yeah. He was all shy and flustered, almost certain I would reject him.” She giggled. The two girls were standing on the sidelines while Jon got the boys to finally talk their differences out in a safe manner.

“That guy? Flustered?” Allegra giggled. “I think not.”

“And you? I thought Damian had no friends? Well, Jon was more of a family friend from what I heard.”

“My dad is the Gotham Mayor. Probably the only one who stayed in office longer than a week in the last decade.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way.” Allegra nodded. “I met Jon during the interview his mom was doing in Gotham for the Daily Planet. Then, we met at Gotham Academy. Damian was kinda just tagging along. And he still does. Well, I think he actually likes the occasional hanging out with us, but Claude disagrees.” She nodded toward the boys, who seemed to be coming their way. “It’s going to be nice to have a second girl in the pack.”

“I should totally introduce you to Chloé.” Marinette giggled before walking to meet Damian half-way.

“Tt. Felix is not his cousin.”

“And the floor is indeed made of floor.” Jon chuckled.

“I have the dusters…” He threatened, but his friend just laughed.

“Can we dance?” Marinette asked fast. Truth to be told she was waiting for a chance for quite a while, but with the press and then the drama and all the people wishing them well.

Nodding, he led them to the dancing floor and they joined many other couples.

“I just hope I don’t fall over… Or step on…”

“If a man doesn’t come to this thing with reinforced shoes, it’s his fault.” Damian stopped her before she could spiral. Then, his voice softened. “There is nothing to worry about. The only important person today is already dancing with me and the rest can stuff it.”

She blushed bright pink but didn’t respond. Instead, she hugged closer to his chest and allowed him to take the lead. The pair glided seamlessly through the dance floor, moving between other pairs and completely obvious to the stares they received. They melded in perfect harmony, losing the sense of time and space.

Inside Marinette’s head, they were dancing between the stars, bathed in subtle light coming from nowhere and everywhere. In the distance, her imaginary eyes could’ve seen the comet passing by and the full moon glowing in the sky. The music seemed to be coming from everywhere and encompassing them in soothing tones.

For Damian, they were the only constant in the sea of darkness. There was nothing to distract them from dancing. Even the music faded to the background when they moved in perfect harmony. The only source of light seemed to be Marinette. And even her glow was only an aura around her, not illuminating the rest of the place at first. In his imagination, everywhere they stepped, she would leave a small trail of light in the darkness.

Finally, the music stopped. The couple didn’t notice at first until the applause finally broke to them. They both realized they were now in the center of the large circle where people watched. One old lady had a tear in her eye. Marinette blushed at the attention, but did her best not to appear shy. Damian shrugged. He was superior to them, so it was obvious their dance was the center of attention. He bowed slightly to the crowd while Marinette curtsied before rushing away from the prying eyes.

“That was something…” Allegra smiled at her. “You two looked amazing. I really love how your dress reflected the light.”

“Thanks. I ma… nevermind.” She stopped herself. She wanted to reveal she made it, but Allegra was still unknown to her and she wasn’t comfortable with revealing that she is MDC so soon. Even if Jon vouched for her.

“Mari-bear!” Chloé rushed to the pair. “Quick! You need to come with me!”

“What’s going on Chlo?”

“It’s Lila!” The blonde motioned. The reaction was immediate. Marinette’s eyes narrowed and her whole body tensed. She nodded and followed the blonde, who led her toward the kitchen and servants’ staircase.

A saner part of Marinette’s mind noted that Chloé had no problem with the tight passage used only by ‘peasants’ but the majority of her focused solely on stopping whatever evil scheme Lila concocted.

On the second floor, the blonde led Marinette toward Bruce’s private office. Blood started to run cold in her veins. Did Rossi discover the entrance to the batcave? But no, Chloé would be calling the whole Batfam then. She was probably just scoping around and now awaits inside. Or maybe she just broke something in rage?

When they got close, Chloé opened the doors. Inside was in perfect order, except the chair was turned back. As it rotated slowly, Marinette managed to see disheveled blonde hair before pain exploded from the back of her head and she collapsed into the embrace of darkness.

Nobody noticed one more person in the corridor when Marinette left the office alone.

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Damian was ‘enjoying’ the small talk with some rich snob, doing his best to appear as the perfect son and heir to Bruce Wayne. Inside, he was cursing Allegra for stealing his angel so close to midnight. He could see the waiters hired for the evening spreading the champagne already.

“Hi. You’re Damian Wayne, right?” A girl asked him. Her blonde hair was let loose to form a large mane around her head. She looked maybe a year younger. What attracted attention were her eyes. One was bright pink and the other was brown to the point it was almost black.

“Tt. I need to get a better mask.”

“It’s the eyes. They give you away.” She smiled.

“What is it?” He scoffed. “I’m looking for someone so if you excu…”

She grabbed his wrist in a strong grip. “I’ve got a message for Damian Wayne. You will listen to what I have to say.” Her hand squeezed his wrist to the point it started to sting. “You’re far from victory yet.”

She then let go of his hand and disappeared into the crowd. She was small enough for him not to be able to track her. He took a sip of his (non-alcoholic) champagne and returned to his search, promising to check on the cameras later. Finding his beloved was now even more important.

Cursing under his breath, he turned. Marinette was just coming back from where Chloé dragged her. As soon as she saw him, she rushed toward him. A small smile ghosted his face when they met. Except something was wrong. She looked ashamed and scared.

“Damian… I… I think… I must confess something…” She said loudly, attracting the crowd. “I’m so sorry. I really am! It… I never wanted to push it that far! I just wanted a bit of the fame…” Tears welled in her eyes.

“What are you…” He started.

“They were right! I was just a filthy gold digger! But your family was so kind and you’re so precious and smart and I feel so bad for manipulating you! I can’t continue like that! It’s over between us. For your own good!”

A sword was suddenly pressed into her neck to the point it drew blood. Nobody was sure where Damian got the sword , but by now the guests were used to the fact that he could get the sword at any point in the Manor.

“Who are you, harlot, and what did you do to my Angel?” He seethed. People around quickly made a space for them, not wanting to accidentally find themselves on the business end of the sword.

“I’m sorry Damian. I know it must be hard but…”

“You are definitely not Habibti and you can drop the act. She would not act like this. You don’t even know her well enough to realize that this gold digging crap is laughable,” he accused. His voice was full of cold fury.

“You must let go. I… I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t even tie someone correctly.” A new voice joined the discussion as another Marinette pushed her way through the crowd. “Or check if someone sees you change. You’re pretty amateurish for a villain.”

“But… but…! Impostor!” The Marinette at the end of the sword screamed. People were already too confused for that to have any real effect.

“Tt. You’re the only impostor.”

“She wants to get the hands on your fortune!” The girl tried. “I’m so sorry!”

“For the love of god shut up. You sound like a broken record.” Marinette snapped. “And for your information, I don’t need to try and attach myself to someone. I have my own source of income.” Marinette hesitated. Even if the impostor, whoever they were, was dealt with, the media would still keep accusing her of trying to marry into wealth. And at school it would be even worse. She would not give Lila more lie material. “After all, I made my dress for today’s evening.”

Murmurs immediately broke. So far, everyone assumed that it was an MDC original. Very few smarter ones caught up on that, but the majority was scratching their heads. Slowly, the small intelligent percent explained to their oblivious colleagues what that meant.

“Yes, I’m MDC. It used to stand for Marinette Dupain-Cheng before I switched to Marinette Désign et Création.” She gazed over the crowd. “You can ask uncle Jagged if you see him.” She grinned. “Or Tim Drake. He has a signed CD. In fact…” She pulled her phone and made a quick tweet about the Wayne Gala on her MDC account.

“No…” The other Marinette starred in disbelief.

“Yes. I wanted to keep it a secret until I graduate, but someone forced me to unmask a bit earlier…” She glared at the impostor.

“No!” They screamed. Black bubbling energy covered them. Damian tried to stab with his sword and fell right through it, with his suit burning in several places. When it stabilized again, A teenager stood there. She looked mostly human, except her hair was fluorescent orange and her dress was torn in several places now. She had no accessories and her feet were bare. “You ruined everything! This was supposed to be my trip!”

Marinette took a battle stance, mentally giving herself a pat on the back for making her dress combat-ready. She didn’t bring the rope dart this evening since it would clash with her look, but she did put a small, almost unnoticeable sheethe with a knife on her left thigh. She quickly drew the blade and got ready.

“I will not be denied again!” The villain charged at Marinette. The girl tried to strike with her knife, but the blade broke on the first contact, shattering into small pieces that flew everywhere. Several cut her arm. In retaliation, the criminal delivered a punch that pushed all the air from her lungs and made her tumble.

Impostor was just preparing to deliver a final strike when suddenly a blade cut off her right hand before being stabbed through her calf, making her fall one one knee and pinning her to the ground.

Sabine was there, with fury on her face that would make demons run for cover and saints pray to God.

“No one.” She delivered a spin-kick at the downed enemy’s head. She tumbled down and spread like a run-over frog “Hurts.” Before the villain could catch the second wind, she pulled the sword from her calf and stabbed it deep into her left palm, pinning her into the ground. There was no blood whatsoever. “My daughter.” She spat on the impostor and stepped on her head with enough strength to knock out any normal human.

Just as her leg was supposed to give the villain a concussion, she turned into purple bubbling energy and moved. Sabine’s leg passed through the energy and her leg started to smoke a bit and turn red.

“That hurt!” The villain screamed once she reformed, all wounds gone like they were never there. A purple butterfly-shaped mask appeared over her face and the few people that knew what happened in Paris gasped. “Ugh! Fine!” She tried to lunge at Marinette, but a chair smashed into her head and batted her away like a baseball ball.

“Run!” Tom screamed at her daughter and charged with the chair. Marinette looked at her mother and Damian and all three nodded at the same time. Using the panic and people running away, they ducked into an empty corridor and locked the door.

“Tikki! Spots on!”

“Plagg! Claws out!”

“Roaar! Prowl!”

The light of three transformations was blinding. When it died, Sabine looked over the couple and noticed that she was the only one that had an unchanged outfit.

Damian’s outfit consisted of what were dark gray linen pants, a linen shirt with long sleeves and a hood with two folds on the top of his head that resembled cat ears. Over the shirt, he wore a black vest with dark-green finishes. On his left breast was a cat symbol. His forearms were wrapped with gray straps, over which he wore green armguards that reached a bit over the back of his hand. His dark-gray gloves had sharp claws at the end of each finger. His feet were covered with soft shoes that would make no sound as he moved. Behind him, a loose sash of gray imitated cat’s tail. The final touch was the black mask almost identical to what he wore as Robin, except the white eyes were green in this case. His baton was safely attached to his right thigh for easy access.

Marinette now wore a much more stealthy outfit. The core of it was black with dark-red accents. The boots that reached beyond mid-thigh had a single black spot on each vamp, knee, and at the top. There were dark red spots on each of her hips that doubled as some protection. Over her shoulders she wore a dark-red bolero with a black spot near her neck. The sleeves of her bolero ended just below her elbot and on each end was another black spot. She had an additional, very large black spot, on her back. A simple red mask covered her eyes. Her dark hair, which she wore loose these days, was tied into low twin ponytails with red ribbons. On each hand, she wore a red fingerless glove with a single spot on the wrists.

Sabine looked over the two of them. She immediately noted that Damian’s outfit was much more assassin-esque than the leather tights Chat Noir wore. Her daughter also looked more mature now.

“What happened to your outfit?” She asked, curious why the change happened now.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir are connected. Since I’ve got a new cat, I have a new outfit.” She smiled.

“Black Cat. In the outfit, I’m Black Cat. Chat Noir was a bastard.”

“Um… Akuma?” Ladybug waved her hand toward the main room.

The three jumped out of the corridor to the pandemonium that was happening there.

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frankiefellinlove · 3 years

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THE STEVIE FILES PROUDLY PRESENTS - THE AMAZING ROCK & ROLL ODYSSEY OF STEVEN VAN ZANDT

From The Source to Soulfire via Springsteen and Sam & Dave

Recorded, transcribed, edited, written, produced, mixed and mastered by MIKE SAUNDERS

SIDE TWO (1975-1983)

Track 6: Miami Steve, The Asbury Jukes, Tenth Avenue and Hammersmith

In early 1975, Steven returned to New Jersey from Florida, inappropriately dressed for the winter weather. “I came back with the flowered shirts and the Sam Snead hat and continued wearing them in the snow.” For the next seven years, he was known as Miami Steve. He joined Southside in the Blackberry Booze Band and within weeks they’d altered and expanded its line-up (adding keyboard player Kevin Kavanaugh from Middletown and bass player Alan Berger from The Dovells’ backing band), transformed its musical direction, changed its name to Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes (referencing their mutual hero Little Walter’s band and first single release) and established a successful three-nights-a-week, five-sets-a-night residency at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park.

“Just before that, me, Southside, Bruce and Garry went to see Sam & Dave. A life-changing moment. So me and Southside basically decided we were gonna be the white Sam & Dave, with rock guitar. So the horns came in and although we didn’t know it, we would change the entire concept of what a bar band sounded like and the respect a bar band would get by making it creative, soul meets rock. ‘Bar band’ was an insult. ‘You’re a bar band,’ which means you can’t make it in the real music world. After the Jukes, they started using ‘bar band’ in reviews and they meant it as a compliment, with Graham Parker and Elvis Costello and Mink DeVille. We changed the way people thought about these things.”

The Miami Horns were a vital component of the new band. Steven composed the horn arrangements, but although he’s always possessed a natural ability to imagine horn parts, he doesn’t read or write music (“never have”) and has always required a little help from his friends to transcribe them. “I have people write ‘em down, to this day. I like that actually. You have to do a lotta things yourself so any excuse I find to collaborate I do it. I find other people will bring something to the party usually. That’s why [I’ve] used Eddie Manion for I don’t know how many years. He knows how I like to voice things. Once I think of something and create the parts, I get bored if I have to voice every part, exactly right. If I hear a voicing I don’t like, I will change it, but I get bored by the mechanics of everything.”

While the Jukes were building their reputation and growing their audience, Bruce invited Steven to hang out at the Born To Run sessions in New York, where he was working on “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” David Sanborn and The Brecker Brothers had been hired to play the horn parts, but Steven created a spontaneous new arrangement. He’s told this anecdote countless times, but I ask him to repeat it because it provides perfect examples of his innate musical talents in action (“I can hear the parts, who knows why?”), the nature of his friendship with Bruce (“I still am the only human being not afraid of him”), and his no-bullshit attitude (“I didn’t know anything about diplomacy”).

“So he says, ‘Whaddya think?’ I said, ‘It sucks, that’s what I think!’ I didn’t know how uptight everybody was. I didn’t give a fuck either. The managers and producers were all afraid of him already. He asked me a question, I’m gonna be honest. I’m trying to help my friend here, not make points with some fucking record company guy. Moment of silence. ‘He just said it sucks, which means we all suck.’ Bruce [says] ‘Alright then, go in and fucking fix it.’ So I did. I went in and sang the [new] parts. I didn’t know they were the most famous [session] guys in New York. It wasn’t insulting them, the chart was ridiculous. That was my thing, just from the Jukes being around maybe six months.”

“I wasn’t really feeling the pressure that Bruce was at the time. I didn’t realise his life depended on this album. His first two records hadn’t done very well. They wanted to drop him. I don’t know how aware I was of any of that. He invited me into the session and I’m laying on the floor. All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Soon after making his instinctive artistic contribution (and singing backing vocals on “Thunder Road”), Steven was invited to join the E Street Band. It was a chance to complete the circle, play with his old friend again and settle any unfinished business from three summers earlier, when he’d been sent packing at the Greetings sessions. He made his live debut on the opening night of the Born To Run tour, which ran until New Year’s Eve. His input and influence over the next decade, onstage and off, would prove invaluable. (Bruce even began playing The Dovells’ “You Can’t Sit Down” as an occasional encore). In the fall, the tour took everyone to Europe for the first time, where the culture shock was off the charts. “There was no hamburgers, no peanut butter. The only place you could get a hamburger in the whole of Europe was the newly-opened first Hard Rock Café. There was a line around the block even then.”

Culinary deficiencies aside, Bruce also had to endure the overblown hype surrounding his first UK gigs at London’s Hammersmith Odeon, where Columbia had displayed the legend “Finally London Is Ready For Bruce Springsteen” on every available surface prior to his arrival. “[It was] completely obnoxious,” says Steven. “[Bruce] spent half the time ripping down posters. It was an embarrassing time for him, between that and Time and Newsweek. He didn’t like that stuff. You wanna be in charge of your life, that’s why we get into rock ‘n’ roll. Suddenly it was slipping out of his control. We made the mistake of playing a place with seats. It just made the show that much harder. But by the end, we got ‘em outta the seats. We went to Amsterdam, Stockholm, and back to London. The second one was a bit easier.” The experience had a prolonged effect on Bruce. “He was uptight in those days and would remain so through Darkness into The River, until he asked me to produce the record and we found a way to have some fun.”

Track 7: Epic Records, Steve Popovich and The Stone Pony

Back on the shore, Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes continued the Stone Pony residency throughout 1975, gradually consolidating their line-up. For the next three years, between Springsteen commitments, Steven worked as their producer, arranger, manager, part-time guitarist and principal songwriter. In early 1976, after circulating a demo tape, they signed a recording deal with Epic, with assistance from Steve Popovich, the label’s Vice-President of A&R. “I Don’t Want To Go Home,” the song that Steven had kept in his back pocket since his days on the oldies circuit, became the title track of their debut album and their first single. Ben E King’s loss was Southside’s gain.

“I produced [the song] in a way which was appropriate for the Jukes. They didn’t have a big background vocal thing going on,” explains Steven. “I was very conscious of being able to try and do most of it live, although I put strings on it, on my very first production! There was no synthesiser in those days that could play strings. That’s why I re-cut it [on Soulfire] the original way I pictured it, with the singer and background vocals answering. That idea of writing for someone else is extremely important, critical and essential. It changes the way you write completely, from when you think of writing for yourself, which is extraordinarily complicated and confusing. It’s not easy, but easier, to write for someone else. There’s their identity in your mind at least. I’m writing them a song. That’s a wonderful exercise for songwriters.” I Don’t Want To Go Home was released in the summer of 1976 (“I’ve never received one penny of royalties, but whatever!”). The Jukes later began their first national tour and made their European debut in 1977.

Recommended by Bruce, Steve Popovich was one of a kind. “The last of the real music guys in the business. The only other person I can compare him to would be Lance Freed on the publishing side, who’s unique. He’s actually into music and songwriting and the things you’re supposed to be into when you have a job description like that. And Frank Barsalona, the only agent who really did his job and would set the standard for everybody to follow. Those three guys, really quite historic. [It was] Popovich’s idea to launch the record with a broadcast from the Stone Pony. Never been done before. Popovich loved the local scene idea and he largely made it happen. It never would have been recognised nationally, I don’t think, if it hadn’t been for Popovich, who had the vision to say it’s cool if you’re not from New York. Rather than being embarrassed if you’re not from New York, LA or Nashville, it’s actually cool.”

Track 8: Production Credits and Political Awakening

Steven developed his talents as a producer and songwriter with the Jukes in the late 70s, following I Don’t Want To Go Home with This Time It’s For Real and Hearts Of Stone. Successive releases featured greater quantities of his original material, which included “I Played The Fool,” “This Time Baby’s Gone For Good,” “Take It Inside” and “Some Things Just Don’t Change,” apparently written for another of his heroes, David Ruffin of The Temptations. During this period, he also produced the “Say Goodbye To Hollywood” single for Ronnie Spector and the E Street Band and provided production assistance on Darkness On The Edge Of Town. His relationship with the Jukes ended when they left Epic for Mercury in 1979 and he went on to co-produce The River and two comeback albums for Gary US Bonds, Dedication and On The Line. It was an impressive fast-track apprenticeship. Steven had no production experience when he began. He acquired the skills and learned from his mistakes in the studio. “That’s why all three Jukes albums are different,” he says. “By the time we did The River, I knew what I wanted to do. I got it all down by then. That’s how I tend to do things. I can picture what I want. Jump in, do it, let’s see what happens.”

Steven also kept his promise to himself to bring his musical heroes out of obscurity, initially as guests on the first two Jukes albums. “I did what I could, but I wanted to do so much more,” he admits. “First time I get in a studio, got Lee Dorsey out from under a car, where he’s a mechanic. Got Ronnie Spector out of retirement. Second album, we reunited The Coasters, Drifters and Five Satins. Me and Bruce worked with Gary Bonds. We got Ben E King and Chuck Jackson on that record. Those artists had a talent level noticeably above everybody that followed. I wish I’d been insistent on doing more of them. In those [early] days, you actually had to have talent to make records. You had to be able to sing a song, beginning to end, perfectly in tune, perfectly the right melody, and if you fuck up one word, you gotta do the whole thing again. Couldn’t do enough for those people, they were so much fun to produce.”

In addition to his studio accomplishments, Steven played more than 300 shows with Bruce and the E Street Band between 1976 and 1981, primarily on the Darkness On The Edge Of Town and River tours. The majority took place in North America, but the River tour included a European leg that took the band away from home and out of their comfort zone for nine weeks. Much longer than their previous visit in 1975, it was their first significant experience of foreign countries, languages, cultures and political perspectives. They received rave reviews wherever they played, but Steven gradually became aware that not all Europeans viewed the United States in a favourable light.

One particular encounter was pivotal in dramatically reshaping Steven’s worldview. “A kid asked me, ‘Why are you putting missiles in my country?’ I said, ‘I’m not, I’m a guitar player.’ I realised, for the first time in my life, at the age of 30 I’m embarrassed to say, that I’m an American. What the fuck does that mean? I managed to grow up in the middle of civil rights, the Vietnam War, demonstrations about every fucking thing and had no interest in any of it. Amazing when you think about it. Redefining tunnel vision. Suddenly, the tunnel is gone. We’re now successful. Who would have ever figured that would happen, right? Now it’s like, uh-oh, what did I miss, the last 20 years?”

Track 9: Men Without Women, Motown and Mixing In Mono

This revelation accelerated Steven’s growing political awareness, one of two important developments in 1981 that would change the course of his life forever. The second came when he returned from Europe and was approached by EMI America about making a solo album. Having spent six years producing and writing for others, he welcomed the opportunity to have his own creative outlet, which soon expanded into a separate career. In the fall, he enlisted musicians from the E Street Band and the Asbury Jukes to record most of the material for his debut album, Men Without Women, using his established rock-meets-soul sonic blueprint. Including “Lyin’ In A Bed Of Fire,” “Princess Of Little Italy,” “Angel Eyes” and “Until The Good Is Gone,” it remains an undisputed career highlight for Van Zandt devotees, but Steven feels that an outside producer might have helped him make a more commercial record.

“Conventional wisdom is you never should produce yourself and I have to say that’s correct. The only exception I can think of in the history of the business was Prince, who was an extraordinary genius, but other than him, I don’t know anybody who successfully produces themselves.” Describing himself as “extremely schizophrenic, I’m twelve different people, never mind two,” Steven explains how his inner producer failed to control the whims of his inner artist. “Without knowing it, the artist takes over. I was into this extreme naturalism, no logical reason why. I did the whole album live in one day. Came back the second day, did it again, beginning to end. Couple overdubs, that was it. There’s one guitar. The horns aren’t doubled. Nothing’s doubled. Bruce did all the harmony on that record but we couldn’t use his name. We [did] a similar thing with Born In The USA, where we just recorded live in the studio.”

“I made Bob Clearmountain mix ‘Forever’ in mono, to try and achieve the perfect Motown record. It’s never gonna be exact and it shouldn’t be exact, why should it be, but I wanted to capture a Smokey Robinson Motown record. The only way I could do that in my mind was to make it completely mono. He was so good in those days. I mean Bob’s still the best, but in those days he was beyond the best. He was something else when it came down to that Neve board that wasn’t automated, and he’s feelin’ those faders. I made him do something he’d never done before, which requires a whole different way of thinking. You’re now thinking depth-wise and vertically, not horizontally.”

“That’s where my head was at. Can I achieve the emotional communication that my heroes had provided me? My heroes being Motown in general, 10 acts there. Or my heroes at Chess, another 10 acts. Sam Phillips did ‘Rocket 88’ for Ike Turner (Jackie Brenston) and ‘How Many More Years’ for Howlin’ Wolf, three years before Elvis Presley. Unbelievable genius. [I’m] trying to achieve that level of quality in my own world, in my own little bubble, which has these ridiculously high standards. I’m absorbing the 50s and 60s and then trying to integrate them in my head and reproduce them in my own way, not the least bit interested in what’s going on in the 70s or 80s certainly, because it was shit to me, comparatively. An interesting moment here and there. Punk was certainly interesting. But mostly it’s all coming from what I call the renaissance period, ‘51 to ‘71, where it all was created. And that’s true to this day. That’s all I was interested in and that was enough for 10 lifetimes. I didn’t need another bit of input after 1972.”

Track 10: Little Steven, Little Richard and Bob Dylan

In 1982, after recording with Bruce and Gary US Bonds, Steven completed his album, formed the Disciples of Soul (which included Dino Danelli from The Rascals on drums, Jean Beauvoir on bass and Eddie Manion, Mark Pender, Stan Harrison and La Bamba on horns) and played a debut concert at New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Released in October, a month after Nebraska, Men Without Women preceded his first national tour and was credited to his new professional name of Little Steven, which would be used for all future solo activities. “I just wanted separation [from] being the sideman,” he explains. “Each of my personalities required a different name, in order to keep it straight in people’s heads and my own head.” The name referenced his early heroes Little Walter, Little Anthony and Little Richard. In his role as an ordained minister, the latter officiated at Steven’s wedding to Maureen Santoro in New York on New Year’s Eve. Percy Sledge sang “When A Man Loves A Woman” as they walked down the aisle and the reception included performances from Gary US Bonds, Little Milton, The Chambers Brothers and the wedding band from The Godfather. “Little Anthony was doing a cruise at the time or he would have been there.”

“All I can think is, we’ve been hoping to get into recording our whole lives, I’m listening to this and it sounds fucking terrible. Not just the horn charts, everything. It was the worst period of recording in history. Virtually every record from the 50s and 60s sounded great, virtually every record from the early 70s sounded terrible. Because engineers took over, started close miking, padding the walls. Separation, separation, separation, all the things that make rock ‘n’ roll suck. The idea was, you isolate everything and make it sound exciting in the mix. Which they managed to do, miraculously, with the Born To Run album. Because it was pieced together in a bizarre way. Bruce made that record 100% out of willpower, he willed that into existence!”

Steven toured internationally in 1983, then dropped the horns, adopted a more contemporary rock sound and made his second album, Voice Of America. It was an explicitly political record that featured “Solidarity,” “I Am A Patriot,” “Out Of The Darkness,” “Los Desaparecidos” and “Undefeated.” Triggered by his River tour experiences in Europe, this radical transformation was completed with a long period of self-education. “I read every book about post World War Two [US] foreign policy. [It was] shocking how often we were on the wrong side. All of these bad things were happening behind the scenes and nobody was talking about them. No political consciousness whatsoever in the country. I decided I have an obligation to say something about this stuff that we’re all paying for with our taxes.”

“Being conscious of the fact that everybody needs their own identity, I figured who the hell needs another love song from a fucking sideman? I’ll be the political guy. Nobody else is doing it. There were people demonstrating of course. Jackson Browne, John Hall, Bonnie Raitt, Graham Nash, those guys. The Grateful Dead were doing a benefit every week, but rarely did it end up in the work. In general, people weren’t putting much politics into the lyrics of their songs.” For artists with commercial aspirations, he concedes, that’s a smart move. “Jefferson Airplane being an exception with ‘Volunteers.’ Big exception, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Neil Young’s ‘Ohio.’”

Steven contends that Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” introduced the idea of political consciousness in rock ‘n’ roll. “His first electric song. It’s not given enough credit. The first sentence from Bob Dylan’s electric period, ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ What? You’re doing what? You’re thinking about the government? Excuse me? Who does that? Whoever did that before, in a song, no less? There in that one sentence, Bob Dylan communicated what his entire career was gonna be about, which was having fun with language, with inference, symbolism, metaphor and nonsense lyrics that rhymed. ‘Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine,’ what does that mean? It means whatever you want it to mean, right? Then ‘I’m on the pavement thinking about the government.’ Holy shit! You mean we’re supposed to figure out the government? That, to me, is the most important sentence in all the history of rock ‘n’ roll, right there.”

All photos below by Mike Saunders

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musette22 · 4 years

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As it's Chris' birthday today, what's your Evanstan headcon for how they are spending it? We don't know if Chris is still in LA (as far as I know), do you think he might be back in Boston to be with his family? That would mean Seb could easily visit him now that the lockdown in NYC is over. Or would he fly to LA to celebrate with his bf? (He hasn't been seen in NYC in the last couple of days either, right?) Or will the only hang out virtually? I would love to know what you are imagining 😊

Hello darling!! So yesterday, I said I probably wasn’t going to write any Evanstan for a while, but then I woke up this morning and had a lovely little Evanstan headcanon fantasy about Chris’s birthday - as you do - and then I thought screw it, let’s write this thing. So here’s a little drabble (well, it should’ve been a drabble) about how Chris might have spent his birthday 😘

A/N: This is just a nonsensical little fantasy scenario that doesn’t actually make any sense, but the idea made me happy, so I hope it’ll make you guys happy too! Don’t look too closely, please, there’s some overlap with previous fics and this was all written very quickly and hasn’t been edited properly because it’s late where I am and I need to sleep lmao 🙈 Sorry about that!

Happy birthday, Mr. America

*********

Chris likes surprises, generally speaking.

Not the nasty kind, like when a part unexpectedly falls through, or someone gets angry at him out of the blue and he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. But he likes it when exciting things happen and shake things up a bit, like when he’s having a lazy day alone at home, and a friend suddenly shows up on his doorstep to tell him, change of plans, we’re going bungee jumping. When that happens, Chris will happily drop whatever he’s doing and jump in the car, because that’s the kind of thing that makes him feel alive.

So when he arrives at the Evans’ family house today, on his birthday, and is greeted by a chorus of Surprise! and Happy Birthdays from a bunch of people he hasn’t seen ages - literal years, in some cases - Chris is delighted and touched; excited to see familiar faces and catch up with his friends and family.

That excited feeling lasts for a solid few hours, until his Aunt Melanie corners him and starts telling Chris about her Pilates instructor. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to set Chris up with whichever wonderful girl she’s most recently met and feels would be perfect for Chris, but this time she’s really hammering on about how she just can’t understand why a good-looking, successful young man like him hasn’t found a wife yet. She no doubt means well, but that doesn’t mean Chris is about to go on a blind date with her Pilates instructor.

When he’s finally managed to excuse himself under the pretense of needing a bathroom break, he sneaks off to the back of the house, to his dad’s old study. As soon as the door closes behind him, he lets out a sigh of relief and leans back against it for a moment, catching his breath. He loves his family to bits, but there’s no denying they’re a lot. There’s a sofa in the study, a wide, navy blue one, and Chris lies down on it, stretching himself to his full length. He closes his eyes, hoping to nap for a couple of minutes, but no dice. His aunt’s comments play in his head on a loop, causing something uneasy to stir in his stomach.

The thing is, she’s right. He should already be married and have a couple of cute kids to dote on. He’s wanted to have a family and settle down for a long time, ever since he got done with sowing his wild oats and calmed down a little. He’s the long-term relationship kind, and there had been a few girlfriends with whom he thought he definitely could see a future.

That had been Before, though. Before Sebastian Stan had waltzed into his life and upended everything Chris thought he knew for certain, complicating everything in the best and worst possible way. After the initial shock of developing feelings for another guy wore off, Chris had simply accepted his infatuation as a fact of life, and it had become something he carried with him always, but never acted on or even spoke of. He wouldn’t know where to start. It was clear there was something between them, though. The way Sebastian looked at him sometimes… It had to mean something. For the longest time, they’d danced around each other, always just shy of outright flirting, and there had been a few times when Chris really thought something might finally happen between them. But it never did.

And now it never would. They’ve hardly even seen each other, over the past year, after they stopped working together. Sure, they kept in touch from time to time, but there is only so much keeping in touch two work friends can plausibly do before it gets weird or necessarily has to turn into something else. And Chris thought he’d accepted that, more or less.

But then last week, he and Scott had gotten drunk together – like really, stupidly drunk. At around 3 in the morning, Scott had put on The First Avenger so he could make fun of Chris in his skin tight leggings, and then suddenly Sebastian’s face had been right there on his TV screen: larger than life, young and handsome like he’d been when Chris first felt that tug in his gut when he’d looked at him.

And Chris, whose brain-to-mouth filter unfortunately ceases to exist entirely whenever he’s had too much to drink, had just blurted out, “I think I’m in love with him.”

Initially, Scott had thought Chris meant that Steve was in love with Bucky.

“Well, clearly,” he’d slurred. “They’re soooo gay, oh my god.”

And instead of using the misunderstanding to cover up for his unfortunate drunken slip-up, Chris had slowly shook his head and corrected, “No, with Sebastian. ‘M in love with Sebastian. Have been for a long time, I think.”

He’d passed out not long after, possibly his subconscious’ way of trying to protect himself against the barrage of questions from Scott that Chris had been in no state to answer in that moment. Inevitably, Scott had tried to talk to him about it the next day, but Chris – hungover, embarrassed and annoyed with himself for opening his big mouth and spilling this secret that he’d managed to keep for close to a decade – had told Scott to leave it and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Nothing was ever going to come of this now anyway, so it was much better if they could all just forget it ever happened.

Scott and he had gone to dinner at their mom’s that night, and of course, Lisa had instantly sensed something was off. Unfortunately, Chris never did stand a chance in hell against his mother, so when she took him to aside after dinner and outright asked him what was wrong, he’d had no choice but to spill the beans. Besides, if he didn’t, Scott would probably have found a way to guilt him into telling Lisa, eventually - they’d always shared everything with her, after all.

Lisa had been so loving and understanding, just like Chris knew she would, and despite the aching in his chest, he was grateful and a little bit relieved to know he wasn’t keeping something this significant from her any longer. But in the end, it didn’t change anything. Of course, Lisa had asked him why he didn’t just go for it, told him to just go for it, call Sebastian and ask him out for dinner, but Chris had dismissed all her suggestions. It just wasn’t going to happen. Certainly not now, not anymore.

She’d dropped it, eventually, but Chris is under no illusions that he’s heard the last of it.

Since then, he’d tried to put the whole fiasco out of his mind, but then Aunt Melanie started badgering him about his marital status and it had all come rushing back again.

Just when Chris about to give up on trying to nap and head outside to get some fresh air instead, there’s a knock at the door.

Chris sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Come in,” he calls, not bothering to get up because it’s probably his mom coming to check on him. “Hey, mom,” he says, when Lisa’s head does appear around the door.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she replies, smiling. She opens the door a little wider. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh?” Chris says, sitting up a little straighter for whatever friend or family member his mom wants him to meet so urgently, but then Lisa steps aside to reveal –

Sebastian.

Sebastian is here. In his mom’s house. Standing right there, looking a little apprehensive and unsure, but still so fucking gorgeous it makes Chris’s heart stop for a moment inside his chest, before it starts up again at double speed.

“Hey, Chris,” Sebastian says, and it’s his voice, he’s really here, in Chris’s dad’s old study, speaking actual words at him.

What the fuck.

Chris gets to his feet so fast he feels a bit lightheaded, lightly swaying on his feet before he manages to get some semblance of a reply. "Hi. What- Sebastian. What are you doing here?"

Sebastian’s eyes flicker to Lisa for a moment, looking at her a little uncertainly. She gives him an encouraging nod.

“Um,” Sebastian starts, turning his eyes back to Chris again. “Lisa, your mom, invited me to your surprise birthday party.” He licks his lips nervously. “So, yeah, happy birthday. And, um. Surprise.” The last word is accompanied by a dorky little wave, and Chris is just. Speechless.

Literally, can’t form any words speechless, which is highly unusual for him. When he just keeps standing there, staring a Sebastian like he’s some kind of fata morgana, Lisa rolls her eyes and nudges Sebastian with her elbow.

“Well, go on, then,” she prompts, nodding in Chris’s direction. “He won’t bite.” Then, the look in her eyes turns mischievous, and Chris has half a second to think oh no, before she adds, “Unless you like that sort of thing, of course, but then he'd ask first. I raised him well.”

Sebastian makes a strangled sound, but starts towards him nonetheless, and before he really knows what’s happening, Chris is holding Sebastian in his arms. Holding him in his arms and burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. Sebastian’s arms go around him, too, a little tentative at first, but growing tighter, more secure, the longer the hug lasts.

And it lasts, much longer than a casual happy birthday hug between friends is supposed to last, but Chris can’t for the life of him bring himself to let go. He knows he’s clinging, that he’s got his nose pressed to the spot below Sebastian’s ear and that’s probably far too intimate, but Sebastian’s arms around are wound tightly around Chris’s waist and his cheek is presses to the side of Chris’s face, and he’s not letting go either.

Finally, after what feels simultaneously like forever and the blink of an eye, Sebastian inhales shakily, his chest expanding against Chris’s. With Herculean effort, Chris makes himself pull away. But, of course, that brings with it the complication of being able to see Sebastian’s face, flustered and glowing, eyes shining with something unnameable. They’re so close then, their faces only an inch or so apart, and when Sebastian’s eyes flicker down to Chris’s mouth for a split second, Chris’s restraint breaks.

He lunges forward, and Sebastian does the same, and their mouths crash together awkwardly and suddenly, they’re kissing. Really, actually kissing.

Chris’s hands fly to Sebastian’s face, holding it like it’s something precious, causing Sebastian to make a small, desperate sound that reverberates throughout Chris’s entire body. When he licks at the seam of Sebastian’s lips, Sebastian parts them immediately, letting him in, and Chris is drowning. Drowning in the kiss, in Sebastian’s taste, his smell, the little sighs he’s making against Chris’s lips, like he’s just as overwhelmed and stupefied and happy as Chris is, while they cling to each other like they’re each scared the other’s going to disappear if they dare to let up for just one second.

Eventually, though, they have to break apart for air. Chris presses their foreheads together, unwilling to put any more distance between them than is strictly necessary, still breathing the same air. When Chris eventually opens his eyes, he finds Sebastian looking back at him in a way that makes his knees feel suddenly weak.

"Hi," Seb says, voice low and husky.

"Hey," Chris replies, his hands on either side of Sebastian’s face, thumbs idly caressing his cheekbones.

Sebastian giggles, a light, happy sound that makes his nose do that scrunchy thing it does, and Chris wants to die. He groans, pulling Sebastian back in by the back of his neck –

And then Lisa clears her throat. Sebastian startles; he’d evidently forgotten she was still there, or maybe assumed she’d have left to give them their privacy, but that just goes to show Sebastian doesn’t know Lisa very well – yet.

"Well,” Lisa says, a grin in her voice. “I'll leave you two to it then, let me know if you need anything.” She pauses, before cheekily adding, “Anything at all."

“Yes, thank you, mom,” Chris says quickly, keen to spare Sebastian any further embarrassment. Sebastian’s hiding his face in Chris’s chest as it is, arms still wound around his waist, and Chris is literally about to pass out from how fucking cute that is.

Holding up a placating hand, Lisa finally retreats, closing the door behind her.

Once they’re alone, Chris steers Sebastian towards the couch, sitting down and pulling him into his lap. Sebastian lets himself be guided, straddling Chris’s thighs and giving him a coy look through his eyelashes. Chris blows out a slow breath to center himself a little, bringing up his hands to settle on Sebastian’s waist.

He knows they’ll need to talk about this at some point, but right now he can’t think of a single way to express what he’s feeling, and what this means to him. Right now, all he can do is stare at Sebastian in wonder, relishing finally getting to look at him the way he’s always wanted to: unabashedly, fondly, and very appreciative of exactly how tempting Sebastian’s lips look – especially after having been thoroughly kissed. By him.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes, overwhelmed, leaning in again to catch those pretty pink lips in another kiss.

Sebastian responds beautifully, opening up right away, melting into him. His arms wind around Chris’s shoulders, fingers scratching gently through the hair on the back of Chris’s head, making him shiver.

It’s sweet, at first; lips sliding together lazily, slow and lush, but eventually, the kisses turn a little dirtier, with nipping teeth and teasing tongues. When Sebastian bites Chris’s bottom lip a bit too hard, pulling on it, Chris literally goes cross-eyed for a second. The hand that found its way into Sebastian’s hair tightens instinctively, pulling his head back just a little.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, eyelids fluttering, and Chris instantly feels all his blood rushing south.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe he has Sebastian here, in his lap, looking like innocence and sin wrapped into one, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes like it’s Chris who’s something to be desired. And Chris wants. He wants so bad, with every fiber of his being, to have Sebastian right there and then, but he has just enough presence of mind left to know that they can’t rush this, can’t make any rash decisions they might later regret if they don’t talk about what’s happening first.

Words still seem impossible, however, so instead, Chris takes one of Sebastian’s hands in his and presses a kiss to the center his palm, hoping to convey with that one gesture everything he wants to say but can’t.

When he looks back up, Sebastian blinks at him, his eyes wide and stunned, before he suddenly grabs Chris’s face between his hands and starts planting breathless kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and even his nose. Chris lets himself be kissed, basks in it, feeling like his heart might burst, and when Sebastian finally presses his lips to his mouth, Chris seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Despite Chris’s best intentions, it turns heated again in no time. Without his permission, his hands slide under Sebastian’s shirt, stroking the smooth, warm skin of his back, while Sebastian mouths at Chris’s jaw, then trails a path of kisses down the column of his neck.

“Seb,” Chris groans, hands tightening convulsively on Sebastian’s waist. “Sebastian, wait.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Sebastian pants, lifting his head to look down at him. He’s disheveled, his hair a mess, pupils blown, his lips red and a little raw from mouthing at Chris’s beard. He looks stunning.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” Chris says honestly, touching Sebastian’s left cheek.

Sebastian ducks his head turning his face into Chris’s palm, but he’s smiling, which makes Chris smile, too, then they’re just smiling at each other like a couple of dorks.

Chris shifts their positions to get more comfortable, tugging at Sebastian until they’re both lying on the couch on their sides, face to face. Pulling him closer, into his chest, Chris swings a leg over both of Sebastian’s, and Sebastian takes the hint immediately, snuggling into Chris and tucking his head under his chin so they’re full on cuddling.

“Best fucking birthday present ever,” Chris mutters into Sebastian’s hair, his hand tracing idle patters on Sebastian’s upper arm. In reply, Sebastian presses a kiss to Chris’s chest, over his heart.

Somehow, they snooze for a little while, just drifting in and out of consciousness, neither of them seeming to want to untangle themselves from the other, until after an indeterminate amount of time, there’s a soft knock at the door.

Chris hums questioningly in reply, not wanting to wake Sebastian, and the door opens cautiously. Lisa pokes her head in again, and the moment she sees them, all wrapped around each other like that, she covers her mouth with her hands, cooing softly.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” she whispers, her eyes shining with affection and pride.

“Thanks, mom,” Chris whispers back, blinking back tears. “Love you.”

From where he’s half asleep on Chris’s chest, Sebastian murmurs, “Love you, too.”

#evanstan #rpf #my fic #or something like it #don't know what this is #happy birthday chris #Anonymous #the keep reading tag is ducked #sorry about that guys #:((

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laynemorgan · 3 years

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I'm sure you've already provided it, but I'd be curious to hear your road to becoming a staffed writer. What first got you interested in it? Does it go back to school days?

Man it goes back far. I mean, I guess in some ways it doesn't. Since you asked more about what got me interested in where it goes back to, I'll give you the lest technical and more biographicl explanatin. My first goal was just to become a writer. I've been writing since I was a really little kid. I actually recently found journals from like the elementary and middle school days just filled with them. And it was never small scale, I'd always be planning out the whole fucking setting, how all the characters were connected, full universes. I made a fake fantasy. land in my backyard because my parents live on a lot of land. I called it Teleterania. I remember very little about it besides that that was the name hahah but I did do it!!! Everything I read only made me want to write. Everything I watched made me want to write.

Sometime around late middle school and early high school, I started watching more TV. I found soap operas and was OBSESSSED with their flare for drama. I found BTVS, Charmed, Smallville, Veronica Mars, OTH, etc. And all of those shows really got me actually looking at TV in a way I had never before. I got obsessed with their worlds and into their fandoms. I became the liek TV guy in my high school. There was even a group of girls I never got to really hang out with that would always call me over to their table to ask about what I knew about OTH stuff hahaha and 17 year old me thought that was awesome. Before my sister passed away, she and I took a road trip down to North Carolina to tour the One Tree Hill set. OTH was like the one thing that she and I agreed on. And it was so awesome. For me it was a first look at what the industry actually looked like, to see the sets and what went into it and all of that.

But I don't think my eyes really opened to actually WORKING in tv until college. I went to school for English Lit and Creative Writing in New Hampshire. My school had a great writing program and I was right at home there. i still credit my first writing professor who was only a grad student for really teaching me what I know about writing and editing and reading my own work for error and she passed me on to her favorite professor which was a hugely flattering moment for me. AND THEN -- I fell in love with PLL. And for me, that was really where shit started. I didn't realize it at the time and it wasn't even the show that did it it was what the show showed me. Through my tumblr at the time which had very little to do with fandom, I actually wound up running into Patrick Adams and Troian Bellisario. We all were always sharing each other's posts and at the time I was working for a journalist covering random TV out of a shitty free magazine in Boston doing work for peanuts. But I was going out to LA to meet up with a friend and we all decided to meet for lunch and they let me interview them for my magazine and stayed really rad people. They also helped boost my PLL photo recaps which I was doing at the time and those got the attention of the Director, Normal Buckley who asked me out to coffee and talked to me about my goals and what I was doing. He was the person who first really helped me understand that there's an approachability to the TV world that to me had always been this like magical hollywood bubble I didn't understand.

I went home THRILLED about LA, dropped out of college and set out to go to film school. From there, I hated film school because it was too technical adjacent, dropped out again, spent all the money I had on that move twice, and went home to boston broke and lost. I spent two years after that maybe more saving money, working in fandom, and waitressing while I went back to college online. That era wasn't super writing focused but it's where I found myself. I realized I was queer, I came out, I got into tumblr rpg, I met my fandom friends, I found tumblr fandom in a way I hadn't before. And then a couple years later I found tl100.

From there, the rest is kind of wonky. I had a big fan blog for the show and talked a lot about it on my twitter which lead me to many interactions with the writers who then invited me to dinner at comic con one year. I had a long talk with Shumway abut my goals and what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to be in TV somehow. I knew I wanted to be in writing somehow but I couldn't figure out how those two things aligned. I was doing a lot of journalism and critic stuff because that felt like the clsoest way to be both a fan and workin in the world I loved but it was really Kim and Shawna that opened my eyes to the ability to just .... be a TV writer. Film school had made me terrified of the wrtiing side but I think it was because film school was so much more about writing for film which I learned isn't my thing. But TV is a writers' medium, unlike film which is more fo a directors medium and suddenly I was like -- MIND BLOWN. It was everything I wanted in a career and married all of the things I loved. It was something that had previously felt like unattainable but they made it seem human and approachable.

They helped me get my first WPA job, I saved up 3 grand working and with the help of some friends and moved to LA to start that. And suddenly I was in a whirlwind of catching up on everything I felt like I had missed. I was reading scripts, learning what the process looked like, doing everything I coudl to figure out what being a TV writer looked like. After that job, I got another WPA job at Millar Gough on Into the Badlands and later Shannara.

THEN I got hired on Daybreak which I can fully credit with being a huge stepping stone for me and changing my life in a lot of ways. Aron was the best showrunner. He was educational and he taught us shit, he let us in the room, he let us write stuff, he let us pitch and try and fall on our faces and never judged us for it. My second season there he moved me up to writers assitant and patiently walked me through all the stuff I didn't know yet because he had faith in me and my voice and my ideas. He let me writ e afreelance episode that year and pitch it in the room and do all the things that real w riters get to do.

So after Daybreak season 2 got cancelled I was pretty ready to spend my next year or two just writing, finding an agent and moving forawrd. And then I got an email to go and work for Moira Walley Beckett. She was looking for an assistant with serious room experience to help develop something in a small room and stay on with her later. I took the job becuase she's MOIRA and I was stoked to learn from her and work for a woman for once. I ernded up very fortunate becuase a month later we were all surprised by the covid mess and I was fully employed that whole year while many people weren't which was a huge help. Moira was a STELLAR boss. I had thought I was ready and what she taught me was that ther's always so much more to learn. She walked me through the process of applying notes and taking notes and changing draft after draft of your story. SHe walked me through breaking a whole season of television. We had a great partnership for the year and I'm so grateful. And then that project didn't end up seeing hte light of day and we our separate ways as well.

Cut to a few months ago, I was still at home in Boston, post-covid, having been sick for most of january. My friend Rachel dared me to write a spec in a weekend for the Warner Bros fellowship deadline. So I did. It was a Legacies Spec. Given that we didn't have access to the WGA library because of the pandemic, Legacies was an easy and obvious choice. I had already seen it inside and out and didn't need as much access to learning a show from scratch. So I wrote what I loved, wrote a season 2 legacies spec that embraced my favorite things about legacies: the high school soap of one tree hill, Lizzie doing wild dialogue, buffy-esque monsters, and themes of grief and humanity.

AND THE REST you know.

Here we are. I'm still lost as fuck. I'm still running full speed through a world I don't always feel like I"m ready for. I'm still a perfectionist and an obsessive overworker. I still take notes I don't need to take and do work at 10pm and come in early and stare at the story boards. There's a whole journey in all of this about representation and coming to find myself and queer media and wanting to make more of it but that's one I don't feel like I can fully get into until I'm decades out of it and the world is truly made better. But I'm here. And it feels like the end of a journey and liek I'm standing at the edge of a brand new clif because I've only just started.

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atruththatyoudeny · 4 years

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Monthly Reads | September 2020

Happy 28th! All the love for all the authors in this fandom. Thank you for making my days better with your work! ♥ Here are all the fics I read and loved this month: 🍂 Remember Me Fondly | kiddle | enemies to friends to lovers - 1990s - historical - angst - humor - closets - 74k “You’ve told the beginning of the story so many times. I want to hear the end.” Louis laughed, scratching at his chin. “I can’t say I really know when the end happened.” “How about the tour of ninety-five?” “Alright.” Louis took a deep breath. “But it took a few steps to get there. What would you like to know?” Penny cleared her throat. “How did you first meet Harry Styles?” Grunge legends Fearless Doe topped the rock charts in the ‘90s, but they spent the decade kicking Smudge off their heels. From lawsuits to jaw-dropping scandals and a surprising joint world tour, the two bands share a complicated history. Twenty-five years later, frontmen Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles are finally ready to sit down and tell the world their two sides of the same story. Truth may vary.

🍂 you came into my life | disgruntledkittenface | Queer Eye AU - american AU - closeted character - Coming Out - pining - fluff - angst - implied/referenced homophobia - 57k They stand around talking for a minute and then Jonathan starts to ramble, “Has there ever been, like, an unrequited gay love story in here? Like a Brokeback Mountain moment where, like, someone just fell in love and they didn’t mean to?” Louis feels bile rise in his throat as Jonathan’s eyes sparkle, pleading for a yes. He manages to look around and see thoughtful looks on his coworkers’ faces before their heads shake no. “Not here,” Liam says finally. When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

🍂 Everything I need I get from you | jaerie | a/b/o - mpreg - strangers to lovers - emotional/ psychological abuse - sexism - unplanned pregnancy - 10k In a world where music and sound are just as vital to health as food, Harry is stuck in a town that thinks professional music is a scam and a relationship he never wanted. One chance event changes his life.

🍂 at last, at last | suspendrs | post-apocalypse - dystopia - cult - mentions of violence - mentions of death - homophobia - internalized homophobia - 41k “Come with us,” Tommo says, stopping at the other end of the gymnasium, near the doors. “Don’t let them make you suffer any longer. Come with us, and be human.” Before Harry has even finished thinking it through, he’s on his feet, gaining the attention of every single person in the gymnasium. What has he got to lose, anyway? Or, Harry is born into a cult in a post-apocalyptic world, and Louis is the leader of the rebel group tasked with the mission of shutting them down. Together, they make a rather effective team.

🍂 give me love | falsegoodnight and soldouthaz | a/b/o - past relationship trauma - past abusive relationship - slow burn - touch deprivation - touch starvation - nesting - angst - fluff - 41k Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas. - Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

🍂 You, Who Never Arrived | abrighteryellow | Only You AU - strangers to lovers - 90s AU - world travel - soulmates - fluff - angst - Fate & Destiny - 42k “That was him, Niall.” He claps a hand over a disbelieving laugh. “My soulmate – the person I’ve been waiting for since I was nine years old. That was him on the other end of the phone.” “But it can’t–” Niall stutters, unsure of what to do, how to put a stop to this. “That wasn’t real.” “Wasn’t it?” Louis rushes past him, zipping up his fly. He grabs a black denim jacket from a hook near the door. “Then who did I just talk to?” “Where are you going?” Niall demands as Louis pockets his keys and swings his front door open. “I just have to get a look at him. I just have to see, that’s all!” “You’re not serious. Louis, it’s already late.” “He’s at the airport. Fifteen years I’ve been expecting him around every corner, and now he’s half an hour away. I can’t just sit here.” “Bu–” “I’m not going to do anything crazy, I promise. I just–I have to see him. This is my chance. Maybe my only chance.” Louis Tomlinson is days away from marrying a perfectly nice podiatrist when he gets a phone call that changes everything. Or, the Only You AU in which Louis has a soulmate and it's definitely not Harry Styles.

🍂 Shall we sleep, my love? | givelourrylove | angst - emotional hurt/comfort - kid fic - 15k There is so much sincerity in Harry’s voice. So much that says you, Louis, I look forward to seeing you, you and your soft eyes and your petite body, just you, you, you, but Louis forces himself to ignore that. To gulp it down again, sizing up the lump that had formed beneath his lungs, possibly reappearing any time and choking him with everything he decided not to think about for the past year. or Louis loses his job as a teacher, has to move out and find somewhere to live. A certain someone named Harry offers his home to Louis and his son. Pining, crying and reading bedtime stories involved.

🍂 so much I could live for I could die | louisnights | dystopia - trans character - sexual harrassment - friends to lovers - strangers to friends to lovers - no smut - 15k “Sometimes I wonder what’s out there,” Louis confesses, tucking into his second biscuit. “I wonder if what they’re saying is true, about the Thieves, about the other compounds. Why are we not allowed to leave? Go to other compounds?” Lottie gets up, letting out a sigh as she squeezes his shoulder. “You shouldn’t think like that, Lou, it will get you killed.” “They can’t take away my thoughts,” Louis answers defiantly. Lottie pats his shoulder before she disappears to her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. or: Louis is a transgender man who escapes his compound after extenuating circumstances, and meets the Thieves, who show him what freedom really is.

🍂 A Road To Hope | he_wants_to_write | historical - World War II - 1940s - farm/ranch - PTSD - emotional hurt - hurt/comfort - angst - mental instability - internalized homophobia - 18k “We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.” It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch. or In the heat of April, 1944, an escapee soldier lost in a dirt-road stumbles upon a small farm and finds himself recovering from the traumas of World War II in the simplicity of a frugal life, with the help of a little boy's innocent soul, and a farmer's hopeful green eyes.

🍂 With Love's Light Wings | 4ureyesonly28 and reminiscingintherain | Rome and Juliet AU - a/b/o - 1920s - marriage proposals - 12k Two households, both alike in dignity, / In fair London town, where we lay our scene... — Or something like that, anyway. On either side of the River Thames live Louis Montague and Harry Capulet, their noble packs entangled in a feud so old, nobody even remembers what caused it. As fate will have it, against all odds, they fall in love. Harder than the bricks that make up their families’ estates and faster than a Duesenberg car. AKA The 1920s ABO Romeo & Juliet AU that we desperately wanted to write.

🍂 The Very First Words of a Lifelong Love Letter | LiveLaughLoveLarry | first meetings - friends to lovers - weddings - no smut - 9.5k The prompt I picked was (lightly edited): "Harry and Louis have been best friends ever since they met through fandom (I picked Critical Role) twitter. Person A (I picked Louis) lives in New York City and Person B (Harry) lives in the UK. They’ve never met in person but they FaceTime and text daily. Person B’s cousin is getting married to a rich American who’s paying for the entire family to travel to The Hamptons for a summer wedding. Are Harry and Louis ready to meet?" ~*~ Harry thought he was just imagining things when the flower girl looked like one of the twins, but -- he’s almost certain that groomsman is Louis. The pictures he's seen haven't been the best quality, granted, but he knows Louis. He does. Harry stares wide-eyed as he walks down the aisle in step with the bridesmaid, taking their places on either side of the stage. As they turn to look out into the audience, Harry’s strong suspicion solidifies into certainty. That’s Louis. He’d bet his life on it. But Louis doesn’t look at him, and it’s not like Harry can wave. He can only stare, mouth still hanging half-open. Suddenly, as much as he loves weddings, he can’t wait for this one to be over.

🍂 promise you'll remember (when the sky is grey) | Anonymous | american AU - summer - 33k "Once you come to this town, you find that it's not so easy to leave," Niall spoke with a fond tone in his voice. "Canyon isn't a place that one leaves behind easily." "I guess we'll be able to test your theory come August," Harry spoke with a small grin, "because I'm set to leave on the twenty-ninth to get back to work in LA." Niall smirked back in reply, "I guess we will, but mark my words, you'll end up finding something to make you stay. We all did." Harry laughed, surprised at the man’s unwavering confidence in his statement. "We'll see." - a summer spent in small town Maine, filled with trips to the farmer’s market, lemonade tailgating, taylor swift, and falling in love at quite possibly the most inconvenient time ever (not necessarily in that order).

#28th appreciation #fic rec #monthly reads #monthly fic rec #my reads #my fic rec #completed fics #larry fics

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youngnari · 4 years

Text

Thicker Than Water // Ten

—Notes : t had been a long while since I started writing anything (pardon if this sucks), and I have a lot of things in my drafts right now that I have to continue. Uni had been overwhelming and recently my internship ended, hopefully I can write more before my next term starts. Overall, enjoy this short scenario I made and have a nice day ahead :)

—Wc : 7831 words

—Warning : honestly, none... I just wanted to write about Ten cause I love Ten, well we all love Ten.

—Pairing : childhood best-friend!Ten x female!reader

—Genre : a cup of fluff + a few dashes of angst

—Summary : Two childhood best-friends found it hard to confront their feelings for one another, until they grew apart;

When distance grew and time spent apart, love became stronger. After all, it is thicker than water.

“I love you, Ten”

Love is thicker than water. Your feelings wouldn’t easily be dissolved even after a few years of not seeing him.

And that’s when you knew, love is true.

Life decisions often come knocking on your door when you least expect them to. They are often buried in the form of steps, growth, and changes.

The life decisions you chose rarely caused any big changes in your life, although you were partially to blame for often wanting to play it too safe. Your life always revolved around the same people, all located in a similar environment. Your so-called childhood best-friend who lived just around the corner of your block, a brief five-minute walk. He played a big role in your life, similarly to your parents. You had known him since you were three, possibly longer; from bathing and swimming together naked in his kiddy pool his parents had set up in his backyard during summer time when you guys were four, to him freaking out when he noticed blood stains on your pajamas pants that you discarded into the laundry basket when you first hit puberty thinking you were dying due to some chronic disease, to the so-called first love and first heartbreak you ever received when you were in high school. The same person was always by your side.

Yes, you had chosen to fall in love with your childhood best-friend. And that was the first time you realized: sometimes the safest choice, isn’t so safe after all.

Cue – Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, more commonly known as Ten.

You have seen Ten when he was doing his best, while Ten has seen you when you are doing your absolute worst. He often got straight A’s, a few A-‘s for Chemistry and Physics, and he was chosen as the lead dancer of the school’s dance team – mastering traditional and modern styles so goddamn well, yet you still thought he was the dumbest kid alive. Ten may be seen by many as the epitome of how every Asian kid should be, molded by their parent since young to be nothing but perfect. Ten was often envied by other parents, they hid it well in the form of praises thrown towards his parents, but they shrugged it off saying Ten always tried to do his best.

They weren’t wrong. You had seen Ten studying until late at night for mid-terms and finals, often resulting in the consumption of an unhealthy amount of energy drinks and coffee as he reached a certain limit. He usually started his homework and projects early to enable freedom in the last few days before the due date, giving him the leisure to not cram things up the night before, but late-night video games. He was simply organized, well prepared, and perfect.

You had known Ten for your entire life, and it didn’t seem like the end of high school would be the end of your friendship. Until one night when he came barging into your room straight from the graduation party his friend Kun had thrown, celebrating freedom as they broke the chain of education by graduating from high school.

You still remembered how your heart skipped a beat when he came in, his lean figure stood elegantly in your door frame. Ten looked at your figure buried under your blanket, your nightstand occupied with snacks and water, laptop on your lap, the screen the main source of light in the dimly lit room. He caught the sound of the actors speaking from your laptop, heavy Spanish and gunshots ringing heavily from the speakers. He smiled knowing you probably rejected Kun’s invitation to settle down at home and binge watch Netflix instead, once again hiding yourself from socializing with people.

He let himself in as his hand closed the door slowly, striding over across the room in large step, he took his seat beside you before snuggling into the blankets to watch the show with you. You swore you felt hot, trying your best to fight the blush creeping across your cheeks. It seemed okay at first, knowing the room was quite dark and the only source of light was from the changing scenes of La Casa de Papel that was playing in your laptop. You thought he might hear your loud heartbeat, yet the sound of gunshots and screaming thankfully covered the sound of the erotic thumps of your heart.

He let out a sigh.

You could smell his musky cologne mixed with a little of his sweat, the stench of alcohol from his breath, the smell of cigarettes from his clothes filling your room. You hummed a little, catching his attention in the process.

“Can you believe we graduated?” He began to speak, giving you a question that similarly went along the line of what now.

You smiled a little and nodded.

“It’s only high school, Ten. We still have a long way to go.” You said.

“No, you still have a long way to go.” He said, his eyes glinting, proud of your achievements in life.

Ten remembered the talk both of you had, the plans you hoped to complete once both of you graduated from high school. You had told him you wanted to pursue studying in engineering or food science, while him – Ten wanted to be an artist, a singer or performer on stage.

He noticed your eyes dim a little and he sighed. His arms circled around your shoulders, bringing your figure closer towards him. You felt his warmth almost immediately, suddenly craving for more and you found yourself scooching towards him. Ten didn’t mind; you had curled up next to each other every movie night since you were young. He felt your head leaning towards him, smelling the hint of vanilla and mint from the shampoo and conditioner you always used. He smiled.

“Are you still not going to tell me who’s the guy you fell for?” He asked you again.

Ten felt your body tense up for a while before slowly loosening up again. You swallowed a lump in your throat as your eyes shook despite trying your best to focus on your laptop screen.

You had told Ten regarding your discovery of love after he kept pestering you to start finding a match, to the point he asked his handful of friends to introduce new people for you and set you up on a blind date. You had yelled at him in frustration, revealing that the reason you didn’t want to find a guy to date was due to you having feelings for someone already. Never once did you explicitly tell him who the person was, in fear that an outcome you didn’t want may occur.

Ten believed in you and respected your privacy, opting to stay silent most of the time. That didn’t keep him from pestering you with questions about the so-called crush, although he didn’t expect you to answer.

“You’re still on about it?” You snapped back. He gave you that annoying grin of his and nodded.

“Are you still in love with that crush of yours then?” He persisted. This time, you smiled knowing he wasn’t going to back down.

“I am, since forever probably.” You answered.

One of the fears you had since you were young was the fear of being rejected; you were sure everyone had a similar fear like yours, deep down inside of them. You weren’t necessarily scared of the rejection; you were more scared of the aftermath from the rejection. You knew Ten liked you, but you weren’t so sure if he wanted you like you wanted him. your refusal to confess stemmed from one of two possible outcomes if you did; one – he accepts you and you start dating, which meant the best of both worlds. Two – you are rejected, resulting both of you drifting apart and becoming strangers despite having a friendship almost reaching two decades.

Ten, your best-friend who recently broke up with his ex-lover. Confessing to him this early would only be a suicidal move. His past lover, whom he broke up a few weeks before graduation. The reasoning behind it was quite simple, none of his lovers liked seeing him with you.

The way he looked at you dotingly, laughed at every dumb joke you gave, the way he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear, and dropping everything that he was doing to be around you. You were confident to say that you were his number one, and you withstood the pain that came with every one of his relationships.

Because you knew that Ten would always come back to you, back into your arms.

But you are still scared of confessing to him, unaware of what exactly is going on in his mind. You didn’t want to lose Ten just like that, you fear of not having him in your life when you were already so used to seeing him around you, being with him 24/7.

Other than that, you were confused with Ten. He was unpredictable at times: most of the time. You didn’t know if he was giving you hints regarding his approach towards you. Because many told you that he treated you differently from how he treated others, you could see that.

Ten wasn’t so touchy around people he considered friends or close friends, but when it came to you, things from linking arms around one another, hugging in public, cuddling during movie nights, and him giving you a peck on the cheek at random moments. All obvious signs he favored you more compared to others. You carried it like a medal, knowing probably no one could ever replace your spot next to Ten.

But the other thing that bothered you so dearly was that he was your first kiss. Yes, Ten was your first kiss.

Enter: prom night, 3 days after graduation.

Ten ‘proposed’ to you a month before prom, getting you a bouquet of a single sunflower and peperoni pizza with extra cheese from your favorite pizzeria downtown during one of your Netflix marathons. You were surprised by his grand entrance, nevertheless you ignored it due to his unexpected behavior at times. You accepted the flower thinking it was nothing but a gift for your mother and eagerly took the warm pizza from his hands before going into your room. Just as you opened the pizza box, excited to reveal the greasy cheesy goodness from heaven above – you were left in shock, with your eyebrows shooting upwards, eyes widened, and mouth forming an big ‘O’ as you read the note plastered on the lid.

P R O M?

Others may think it was stupid or too cheesy to be considered a good plan; to you it was stupidly cheesy and you loved it. Even though the note was speckled with grease, you kept it to this day. You turned around to give your response, only to be faced with ten kneeling on one knee holding a sunflower corsage sitting comfortably in a clear plastic box surrounded by white baby’s breath, all tied with a black bow on top, his signature wrapping.

You stood there frozen, not knowing how to react to his sudden act. He grinned madly and laughed at your reaction, snapping you out from your trace.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, hopeful.

You laughed and nodded at him, knowing you would rather go to prom alone if it wasn’t with Ten.

“Great, I was scared you had a date with your crush.” Ten joked.

You thought about your answer for a while. You didn’t necessarily have anyone in mind to ask out as your prom date, as the only person who always came to mind was none other than Ten himself. You rejected a few people who came and asked you out, stating you had someone in mind as you looked at them sadly.

Ten on the other hand was the same, he didn’t have anyone in mind but you. Thinking to himself it was better to spend prom with someone who truly meant something to him rather than a random person he didn’t even know.

Hence, the proposal for prom.

“I think my crush has a date already, so it’s fine.” You shrugged off coolly. Ten smiled at you and nodded, relieved by the answer before he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aren’t you sad that another person is their partner for prom?” He asked again, this time curious.

“A little, but I feel like I don’t stand a chance with him.” You said, smiling sheepishly at the end.

“Then, we’ll show him what he’s missing out on then.” Ten stated proudly as he sent a wink towards you.

You smiled softly at him and nodded. He’s not going to miss out on much, you thought, losing your train of thought as Ten buried himself under your blanket, urging you to hurry up.

Prom rolled out faster than you expected it to. One morning you woke up in your old t-shirt and oversized loose cotton pants, lazing out in your bed till late afternoon. The next, you were up, showered and off to do your hair, pick up your prom dress, and pamper yourself for the whole day.

The once loose old t-shirt and oversized long cotton pants changed to an elegant long black dress which hugged your curves and showed off your figure. Your once messy hair was styled and smelled amazing, a simple long gold necklace draped across your collar bones, and the most dreaded part: the heels.

At 8PM sharp you heard the doorbell ring, signaling Ten’s arrival.

He came in looking like a prince. Ten was dressed in a black dress shirt, paired with formal pants that enhanced his long legs, his neck constricted with a black tie, it seemed like he was glowing under the dark fabric. You held your breath, noticing him grow more charming the more you laid your eyes at him.

Ten smiled when he saw your figure from the top of the stairs, reaching out a hand for you to take. Slowly you went down like the girls you often see in the cliché romcom series, taking his hand that was fully extended towards you.

Instantly you felt the rush of electricity, the warm skin embracing your cold hands. It felt right.

“You look amazing.” He said, smiling giddily like a child.

“And so do you.” You said back.

He slowly took out the corsage, slipping it on your wrist. You stared in awe at the contrast of the bright yellow flora wrapped around your wrist with a black ribbon between the black clothing you wore. You did the same for him, taking his part of the corsage and pinning it on the pocket near his chest, giving a bigger contrast against his pale skin and his black formal.

It seemed surreal but that night, you thought both of you were meant to be.

“Ready?” he asked.

You smiled, linking your arm with his as you hug his figure close to yours, wanting nothing but to savor the moment between the both of you.

That night, it was the first time you felt fairytales could be translated into real life.

It took you approximately two hours for your feet to completely die on you. You sat down on the row of empty chairs beside the long table filled with glorious food, a red cup of artificially flavored punch in your hand. You played around with it, occasionally your head bopped around to the music being played.

When the lights suddenly dimmed, you raised your head upwards to meet Ten’s. His forehead gleamed with sweat, hair disheveled, yet he ginned wider like nothing mattered.

“One last dance?” He asked, his hand extending for an invite, encouraging you to take it.

You knew your feet were dead, pierced under the heels. Yet you still smiled like it was nothing, nodding and taking his hand. He pulled you further into the crowd, taking your figure into his embrace. He turned around when he found a space, instinctively his hands circled around your waist. You could feel the warmth that radiated from his hand, the blast of the AC was nothing compared to his touch. You returned his grin with a smile, your hand circling around his neck.

That was enough for Ten to know you were comfortable, pulling you closer to him, closing the gap in between. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart beating rapidly, seemingly wanting to break free from your ribcages and attack Ten. You smiled to yourself, fairytales can be real.

“I’ll get you Shake Shack if you let me in that head of yours.” You snapped your eyes open, looking at Ten’s gleaming ones.

“My thoughts are worth more than Shake Shack.” You snapped at him, he laughed.

“You’re thinking about that crush of yours?” He asked, tone soft as he gazed at you sadly.

“No.” you said without much thought.

“No?”

“My crush isn’t here” You lied. Ten hummed, nodding at your answer.

“Are you sad that your crush isn’t here?” He asked again. You shook your head, giving him a smile.

Ten leaned closer towards you. Your heart drummed to the point you could barely hear the music booming on the speakers, or the crowd chattering to oblivion. You closed your eyes, anticipating what he might do after. He placed a delicate kiss on your forehead, sighing silently at the end. You never knew what the meaning behind that sigh was, whether it was good or bad.

When he pulled away, Ten seemed fine. There weren’t any hidden emotions being spilled, there was only a wide goofy grin plastered on his feature. You had your hope in him confessing, but it seemed unlikely knowing Ten probably saw you as nothing but a dear friend.

It didn’t take him too long to snap out of his own world, pulling you away from the crowd towards the cool midnight air.

“Where are we going?” You blurted out.

Ten turned his head to face you, feet still pacing towards his parked car. His eyes squinted at yours, eyebrows furrowed. You knew he was silently judging you, especially since Ten was never a master in concealing his expressions.

“Midnight drive.”

You remembered the silence of the road during that ungodly late hour. No traffic jams, smooth ride, it went well. The night was dark, the only given light from the moon. You often found yourself glancing at Ten, amazed by his features.

You felt the car halt during a red light, its man-made neon lights flashing across his face, sculpting his features. You gazed in admiration at the result, thinking that he could be an exhibit displayed in an art museum.

“Stop staring or I’ll poke your eyes out.” He said. You turned away instantly, acted as if you weren’t ogling him.

Ten laughed at your behavior, he said nothing and proceeded to drive. He made a turn, and you found yourself in the drive-thru of McDonalds. It was still Prom and having McDonalds with a flashy tux and a bedazzled dress was a perfect way to end it.

Then Ten parked his car alongside the river, letting you eat whilst staring at the breathtaking view; you couldn’t ask for more. He rolled down the window and turned off the engine. You could feel the harsh rumble slowed down to nothing, allowing the soft rippling of the waves to replace it. Ten rummaged through the paper bag, taking out the food. He passed you your order and you quickly munched on one of the fries. Ten opened his mouth, making some random sounds to get your attention. You took one of the fries and put it in his gaping mouth. He hummed in satisfaction.

“I want the Mcflurry!” You demanded

Ten rolled his eyes at you but still he complied, giving you the dessert. You smiled at the melting dessert, taking a fry and dipping it inside the cup. You moaned at the taste; how you loved the contrasting taste of salty with the sweetness.

“Give me one!” Ten stated. You nodded, scooping some of the sweet flurry on the fry. Passing it to Ten, you could only hope it didn’t spill anywhere. You felt a little of it drip on your hand, yet you paid no attention towards it. Ten bit down and chewed.

You were about to pull your hand away and wipe the spilled ice cream, but Ten held you in place. Taking your hand in his, he latched his lips on your hand. You could feel him giving little kitten licks, cleaning the marked area. You felt yourself grow hot, blushing at the sudden intimacy from him. When Ten raised his head, he noticed the color of your face turning a few shades of pink and smiled to himself.

“Are you flustered?” He asked

You wanted to slap him. Before you could do much, you felt his grip on your wrist tighten. Ten pulled you closer towards him, the impact enough to send you toppling towards him. You yelped in surprised, Ten smiling at your confused state.

Both of your faces were inches from one another, just one nudge was enough to send your lips flying towards his. You felt your face grow hotter; his smirk prominent on his face. You knew Ten was doing nothing but tease, but a small part of you did hope he would lean forward. You saw the glint of mischief glimmer in his pupils, his hot breaths hitting your cheeks, but he was still as composed as ever.

“Did you expect anything?” He asked with a smirk on his face.

“Screw you, Ten.” You hissed out, stumbling on your words.

He let out a small chuckle, amused by your choice of comeback. Ten leaned forwards, finally closing the gap in between. You felt your heart leap when his lips touched yours, delicate at first before it became more needy. You sighed a little into the kiss, it was enough for Ten to continue. He pressed himself towards you, deepening the kiss. When he pulled away, he stared at you in awe. Your hazy eyes and your flustered face, accompanied by your whole body gasping for air, he thought you looked breathtaking.

He licked his lips, tasting the artificial cherry lip gloss you wore. He hummed in content, bliss even.

The next thing happened in a snap. The words that you always kept to yourself, never once slipping out. They were always deep inside, locked in a chest, key thrown into oblivion. In a snap, everything stumbled out without your control.

“I love you, Ten” And his eyes widen by your confession.

***

That happened 2 years ago.

You had always been safe in your life choices, in hope to ensure the safest outcome in the future. You tried your best to succeed in school, got into a decent college, and managed to find an average part time job as a librarian on your campus ground. You had thought if you choose your path wisely, it was easier for you to survive in life.

Ten proved you wrong.

You had always thought falling for Ten would eventually lead you to another stage in life, to finally settle down. You envisioned him not only as your life-long best friend, but also had the hope to be a potential lover.

You loved Ten, truly. But he made you realize that sometimes the safest decisions weren’t so safe after all.

After Prom, he drove you back home without a second thought. He walked you to the door, let you settle in the house before leaving. You had thoughts that Ten might leave you after the whole kiss situation, but he didn’t.

The next morning, he texted you again, to check up if you were feeling okay or up for another day out. You remembered declining, stating you were too tired from coming back so late – which was true. It was still fine, perfect.

You had always thought Ten would realize how head over heels you were for him. It seemed impossible for anyone to be that dense, moreover he was always there around you. You remembered smiling rigidly when you noticed his expression.

His eyes widened; mouth slightly agape like a fish on the surface. You felt his hands shake a little, you felt it on your skin. Ten stuttered out his words, stumbling here and there not being able to fully form a complete sentence.

You had never seen him like that.

Ten called you the next morning, and you still had your hopes for your feelings to be reciprocated. Instead, he only replied you with—

“I am sorry, for everything. It was the heat of the moment, I got carried away”

You didn’t know what hurt more. A rejection; it was cruel, and it hurt, but you knew Ten wouldn’t lie to you even if his life depended on it. Or the fact he disappeared straight after; Ten wasn’t there the next time you tried to contact him, no calls, no texts, nothing.

You knew Ten’s dreams; he spoke about them countless time during your high school days. He wanted to perform in front of thousands, to show his passion and love for his art. You supported him; you knew his potential.

You had seen him practicing, dancing and singing till late at night. Often mad at him for not taking care of himself, being that friend who helped him to pass all his subjects, to a mother who always brought him meds and food to ensure he was eating well.

You cared for Ten, too much sometimes.

The moment he told you he didn’t want to go to university, you didn’t know how to react. Ten brushed your expression off and stated that going to university together or not, he would still be the same Ten you know and grew up with.

He didn’t keep his promise.

You cried a few times, feeling lost for the sudden loss in your life. You heard from your parents that you would meet people like Ten once you entered university; you wanted to believe them. They meant no harm, not wanting to see you cry. But you knew you couldn’t possibly believe every word they said.

Ten was one of a kind, and you still loved him.

Each day dragged on longer than before. You had never felt the overwhelming emptiness, the lack of notifications from him. It felt empty.

You had never felt the loss and emptiness, until you felt him slip out of your life.

He left no traces. His room still the same, sheets still tucked neatly. But his scent was weak, it wasn’t him. It took you quite a while before you could finally accept his absence in your life, Ten had his own life now.

Yet, even after all of that—you were still in love with him.

It was another typical day for you. Finishing classes on campus you ran to the library to start your shift. You went to check your attendance on the board and proceeded to the main desk to settle down. You sighed a little, calming down your racing heart from the small sprint you did.

You took one of the books on the desk, looking at the books to be returned and due for the day. You hummed in acknowledgement before placing it back down. Taking your laptop and papers from earlier lectures, you started doing your own work. It was a few hours of silence in the library. People came and went, coming up to ask for books, information, or just to return and borrow books for the remaining days. It wasn’t a hassle, as in only took you a short while to complete each task, then you were back doing your work once again.

It was a few minutes to closing time. You started packing up your things, putting each chair back in its original position, checking the remaining books that had been returned for the day or for any remaining people who were still roaming around the area. You were about to switch off the power and call it a day until the door opened, calling for your attention. You lifted your head to confront the new incomer, slightly annoyed to see people still dared to come in despite it was already closing time.

“I’m sorry, the library is closed for the—” You halted. It was as if the words stopped forming, your voice stopped functioning.

The familiar figure who had been beside you your entire life. From when he was a literal infant, growing to a rowdy teenager, and now a grown man. He remained the same, only a few changes. His skin was still as pale as ever, a real-life interpretation of Snow White. His dark locks and orbs, the pair of eyes you would let yourself get drawn into. You noticed he was a little skinnier, his eyes a little sunken. But his smile, his smile was still as bright as ever.

“T-Ten” You stuttered his name. Feeling odd by the sudden familiar yet unfamiliar name that had to roll out of your tongue.

“I’m back, love” Your heart swooned.

***

You bit down on the fries, feeling the familiar taste of salt hitting your taste buds. You sighed in bliss, knowing this was all you need after ending your campus and work life.

You turned your head, looking at Ten who was still rummaging through the paper bag for his designated order. He pulled out a burger, unwrapped it, and dug in. You chuckled a little at his hunger, especially when he left out a small moan.

“Did they not feed you?” You laughed.

Ten tried not to talk, chewing faster to swallow and answer your question.

“I had to go through a diet woman, let me enjoy the love of my life.” He said.

You were back at the same place after prom two years ago. In his car, takeout on both of your laps. The only thing that made it different was where the takeout was from. Instead of going through Mcdonalds, Ten got both of you Shake Shack. The promise he made two years ago but was never fulfilled because he was a broke high schooler.

You dipped the fries in one of your milkshakes, munching and groaning in bliss. Ten opened his mouth, whining a little to gain your attention. Like usual, you dipped the salty grease in the sweet dairy, delivering it to his mouth.

“How’s life now?” You asked him. His hand offered out the bitten burger in his hand and you took it, taking bites from it as you waited for him to answer.

“It was hard. But I survived, I’m here.” He said, laughing in the process.

There was a small moment of silence, neither of you spoke. You took small sips from your milkshake while Ten was munching away on his burger. You kept on glancing at Ten, a distant gaze in your eyes. There were a lot of questions in your mind, still spinning and left unanswered. Ten noticed the glances you threw at him, noticed how you gazed upon him with concern and curiosity, but also fear as if he might disintegrate once your eyes leave him.

“Are you staying?” You asked. Ten stopped, ears ringing a little.

You didn’t hear from him for a moment. Nervously, he would divert his attention from his food towards the view. He cleared his throat, looking at you a little before placing his unfinished food back in the paper bag.

“Let’s… go to your place. Netflix like usual?” He said.

You froze, not knowing how to process the whole situation. Lost without much thought, you mindlessly nodded at him. Just like that, he pulled back and drove to your apartment. Ten followed the GPS as it led him further into your neighborhood. You had no idea what was running through his mind, his facial expressions impossible to read, consumed in his deep thoughts.

Ten never realized how two years could change someone so drastically. You were out from your parents’ house, renting a decent apartment near your campus, filling your empty time with part time jobs. He had seen the way you interacted with people, the way you would smile or sometimes joke with them caught him off guard. Especially since he knew how socially awkward and shy you used to be with strangers; he found it amusing.

When you unlocked the door, opening it wide to welcome him into your personal space, Ten silently went in. You rushed to the kitchen and took a glass of water, gulping it down to quench the dryness of your throat. Ten helped himself, taking a new glass and filled it. You directed him towards your room, taking the historical laptop you’ve had since high school, allowing him to start the show as you washed up.

Ten heard the small noise from the closing door. His eyes glued at your retreating figure, sighing when he saw you being swallowed by the other room.

He hadn’t meant to ignore and go missing, he had dreams. Ten would always feel guilty for suddenly disappearing without any context, it was all due to his own contract within his company. Ten had spent the last few years locked up, practicing in order to achieve his dreams of becoming a successful performer. Other than that, Ten’s mind wandered towards you.

He thought about the kiss.

Remembering every single luscious moment of it, playing in his mind like a broken record. He still felt his heart beating like crazy, thinking he lost his chances when you exposed your crush around him but never once telling him who the crush was. He thought it was a stage in life where he was losing you, seeing you slip away between his fingertips. Hence, he restrained. Ten opted to be more cautious around you, fearing his attachment might go wilder.

The growing distance taught him a lot of things. How much more capable you were in life, how you were okay without him in your life. He thought he didn’t have the chance, he lost you during the process.

Ten was in love with his best-friend, with you, since forever.

He had his fair share of stages when he fell in love. The problem was he failed to realize that he had already been in love with you since you were young. Ten was in denial, opting to run away from you. Thinking how impossible it was to fall for his own best-friend, someone who was always there, and someone who was always there to look after him despite how he came back into your life so abruptly.

Ten ran away. He thought if he dated someone else, the feeling would go away. He thought wrong.

Every single person he dated had been nothing but odd. They never gave him the same joy, rush of adrenaline whenever he was around you. Their touch felt foreign on his skin, he found himself wanting to feel your touch on him forever, longing for it every time you pulled away from him. He didn’t feel butterflies from his given nicknames from his past ex-lovers, but the butterflies swarmed him when you called him an idiot or plainly by his name. You had made him crazy, and he wasn’t hating you for it.

Ten was in love, but he was scared to admit it. He opted to run away, thinking the feelings would go away eventually. He thought it was simple, he was only too attached to you, to the point he could only think about you. He went missing, gone without giving any news of his departure towards you.

But the more he ran, the more he felt the longing feelings reaching out towards you. Wanting nothing but to be enveloped in your embrace, dumb conversations late at night, random movie nights till dawn. But he also had the idea of having you as his partner, his lover, his partner in crime, his everything. He wanted you in his life, yet he feared losing you might be easier if it happened.

The growing distance only made him want you more, miss you more. He noticed love wasn’t so simple, it wasn’t easy to get rid of. Unlike water where you can wipe it off without leaving any stain—love, is thicker than water.

“Hey.” He called out when you walked out of the bathroom, hair damp from your shower. You perked up at his voice, snapping your head towards him, fully giving him your attention.

“Let’s hang out after your class, tomorrow.” Ten stated, or more like demanded. You nodded.

A month since you last saw him, Ten started entering your life once again. He made it seem like nothing ever happened, as if the two years was nothing but a short two weeks break.

Ten didn’t show you any sign of awkwardness or hesitation, he straight up jumped right in.

It was becoming more frequent. Meeting him after class or after work, getting dinner together, him accompanying you during tests weeks, bringing you coffee or sending you off to campus in the morning.

Desperation, exhaustion, and longing.

He felt as if he was always there, as if he never had left. But that two-year gap would never be filled. It was an endless void, consuming both of you, testing you, and pushing both of you to see who would break first.

Both of you broke at the same time.

“Was it really the heat of the moment that led you to kiss me?” You started the conversation. He had brought you to the nearest coffee shop in hopes of accompanying you in finishing your assignment. You, on the other hand, had other things in mind than the given project.

It had bugged you the moment Ten came back, the moment he came into your life once again as if he was never away.

You took your eyes away from your laptop, gazing at Ten who was avoiding your gaze. His eyes wandered around the small café, memorizing the minimal interior, enjoying the warm vibe the space portrayed, then he finally rested his eyes on yours.

“No.” He said.

“You lied.” You said. For the first time in his life, Ten lied to you.

Ten smiled sheepishly, shaking his head a little, amused by your unending questions. You waited for his answer, patiently you waited for him to speak first, continuing to type away on your laptop.

“I’m sorry for disappearing.” Ten spoke out. You hummed at his answer, letting him know none of it mattered. You were more than ecstatic seeing him back, those two years was erased or seemed like they ceased to exist.

“Were you afraid of something, Ten?” You asked him again. Ten didn’t voice out his answer, but from the look of shock in his eyes, you knew.

“It’s me.” You said as your eyes gazed at him sadly.

Ten felt his heart hammer, how it plummeted when he noticed the hurt in your eyes. He groaned internally; everything, it was all his fault.

“You were running away from me.” You stated. Ten didn’t answer, he swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling how dry it had gotten.

“You knew, I like you. That I’m in love with you.” You said. He winced at the confession, felt the desperation in your voice as you spoke.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you but I was scared.” He whispered out, soft and only audible towards you.

You abruptly stood up, taking all your belongings into your hand. Hugging all of them desperately, struggling to fit them all in the small space of your arms. You rushed your movements, dashing out of the café, you were sure you probably had made a scene, especially with Ten running out straight after to catch you.

“Listen, please.” He said desperately, heart drumming louder in fear.

You pulled away from him, causing your books and papers to fly out of your hands and land on the ground. You crouched down quickly, stuffing them sloppily into your bag. You knew Ten was still there, crouched to help you gather your stuff. You could feel his gaze run around from the ground to you, most likely with concern and fear.

“I’m sorry.” You snapped your head upwards and look at him.

Ten could feel his heart shatter. The red eyes, puffy and ready to cry, your whole body was already shaking due to the rush of emotions and adrenaline. The mixed-up feelings and longing were consuming you, never had you felt alone in a room filled with people, where all eyes were trained on you and Ten.

“Cut the crap, Ten.” You hissed out, tears streaming down your face, dropping to the ground.

“I should’ve told you—”

“You should’ve stayed! You left me, alone for two years without telling! Two years, Ten!” You snapped, feeling the tears flow down. One then another, it was a continuum by now.

“I was selfish, I didn’t know what was going through my mind. I’m truly sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“Ten.” You choked out, stopping him abruptly.

“Why?” He asked. You looked at him, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you like me?” He asked again. You shook your head a little, a little in disbelief at his pushy behaviour by now.

“Because of you!” You snapped out and ran.

You didn’t care if Ten was tailing you from behind, trying to stop you. All you wanted was to run away from him, be alone for once. Ten didn’t have the right to pry into your life, not knowing how much you had sacrificed for him, and he decided to come back as if nothing even mattered.

His calls and texts were constant, coming into your phone with no end. You were bombarded with his spams, words of concern, plead for forgiveness, everything. You shunned away from Ten, afraid to meet him after the whole incident, fearing you might hate him if you did see him once again.

It took him another month before he showed up, on your front door of your apartment. You had the thought of him barging in, like those scenes from romcom movies where the guy fight for the girls’ love. Instead, Ten had his hands on the spare keys you gave him when he came back, easily slipping in without making any damage. Like the night after graduation, he stood around the doorframe elegantly. Tall and lean figure leaning on the sleek wood, eyes piercing around yours, lips pressed into a thin line as he was unsure of his next act.

“Do you want to get lunch?” He asked. You could hear his voice shake, causing it to come out like a mere whisper.

You wanted to throw him off, lock yourself further into your apartment, you did none of those. Instead you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough for him to pull you out of your own bubble once again.

***

“A rebound.” You said.

Your gaze rested on your food in your hand, playing with it with your utensils as you listened to his blabbering. Ten sighed a little and shook his head softly, both finding it hard to eat. He brought takeout once again, both of you locked in his car facing the Han river once again, but in broad daylight with his AC blasting.

“I didn’t want you to be a rebound, I was confused.” He said.

“I thought it was impossible if I fell in love with my own best-friend, you were there since…everything! And I thought if we did date, things will fell and I will lose you far easily!”

“Have you ever thought what I wanted?” You asked him, turning your body to face his direction. Ten swallowed a lump on his throat, shakes his head a little.

“Ten, I love you. I still do and that night I thought we had something.”

“I was scared, I was a coward. I didn’t realise that I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I chose not to acknowledge it!” He said, frustrated at this point. You stayed silent, listening to him this time.

“I thought liking you wasn’t going to work out, it scared me. And I chose to run away dating these people I don’t even feel much, thinking that my feelings will change. But oh wow, you are so fucking addicting.” He groaned; a hand ran up his face to his hair in frustration.

“You got me crazy, thirsting for you every single time you weren’t there. Everything wasn’t the same without you around me, Y/N. I came to realise that all too late.” You smiled a little.

Ten caught that small grin of yours, not knowing fully if it’s a bad or good reaction. Your smile widens more, breaking into a Cheshire grin and then you proceeded to laugh. At this rate, Ten was either scared or confused, but he waited patiently until you finished.

“I guess that two years long break was enough for us to clear our mind up” You stated.

Ten didn’t say much first, thinking about it for a while. When he caught the small gaze you direct at him, he knew he had to say something.

“Like what people said, distance makes the heart grows fonder. They weren’t wrong, it was odd not having you around me, and it made me realise a lot of things.” He said.

“And what are those things?”

“That no one can replace you, that you will be that only person I’ll truly love and long for.” Ten said, softly gaze upon you.

Two years. As distance grow and both of you grew older, maturing into adults, those were enough to make both of you realise how despite distance can change a lot of things, both still longs for the similar person. The touch they had lingering around, the smile that will light up your day, the voice which rang around your ears, the name that was enough to give you a surge of butterflies.

The growing time and distance weren’t enough to pull both of your feelings away. He kissed you that day, with meaning. Soft and delicate, afraid he might break you if he put more pressure. You could feel his tears running from his eyes, knowing too well he was tired, emotionally drained. You smiled in the kiss, pulled him in for more, wanting more. You loved him, he loved you.

And for the first time, both of you thought the whole world revolves around you. That was enough to make things official.

Two years, as time passed and distance grew.

Both of your feelings still remained the same, after all love is thicker than water.

82 notes · View notes

shwazzberryswriting · 3 years

Text

Queen of the Grind

Pairing: Jungwoo x Original Female Character|Reader

Genre: Meet-Cute, Fluff, AU - Pro Skater Taeyong

Word count: 1.9k

Rating/Warnings: No Rating/Jungwoo gets hurt at one point but nothing serious outside of a few scrapes

Prompt: *Must be about Jungwoo *Use these words (random word generator): -judgement -therapist -benefit

Author’s Note: When I was trying to think of what to write with this prompt, an image of Jungwoo flirting with a skater really took off in my head so this is the result. Thanks for reading!

---------

“Please, Queen of the Grind, can I skate here?” Taeyong asked in a defeated tone, running his hand through his neon blue colored hair. He squinted his eyes as he took his sunglasses off, the rays from the morning sun blinding him for a moment.

He stopped in his tracks as a woman stood beside the entrance gate at Westchester Skate Plaza, her arms crossed over her chest. He was at the mercy of the girl he’d dumped in middle school. Keona was standing before him, stone faced. Her lip ring had a diamond stud in it that dangled at the corner of her bottom left lip, and she’d grown her hair long enough to have a thick braid down her back.

“We don’t do things like that anymore,” she replied, her violet colored lips breaking out into a smile. “No judgment, all love. I’m excited to see you!”

He gave a relieved smile. “Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

They hugged each other, and he picked her up into his arms as he spun her around for a few moments. Despite having not seen each other for half a decade, Keona and Taeyong interacted like siblings, teasing each other all the while laughing together.

“Is it true that you’re the biggest deal in Asia? Or just in Japan?”

“I’m a big deal in Korea!” he said, shoving her hand away since she’d begun to pinch his cheek. “Let’s not talk business? I want to skate. I miss LA.”

“Taeyong!” a guy Keona had never seen before shouted as he ran over to the entrance with a couple skateboards in his arms. He was tall with long limbs, and a bright smile that radiated with warmth.

“Your assistant?” she asked Taeyong.

“My friend.” Taeyong threw his neon green sunglasses on and began stretching.

“On flow?”

She did jumping jacks before copying Taeyong’s stretches. He looked like he had picked up on some good stretches, like an actual pro. She groaned as she stretched her arms out and felt her shoulder blades cracking and popping.

“He’s a newbie. Fast learner.”

“His limbs probably go flying everywhere.”

Taeyong’s friend turned his head over to look at her, and gave her a gentle smile. He tilted his head before breaking eye contact to turn his head over to watch the group of middle school age skaters nearby working on their kickflips. She grinned as he began cheering the skaters on by shouting, “Yeah!” when one of the kids landed a perfect kickflip.

“He’s really taken a liking to it.”

“Taeyong!” his friend called out his name again as he approached them. “Are we going to meet your Cutie Pie?”

“Cutie Pie?” Keona laughed. Taeyong gave a guffaw, rushing over to ruffle his friend’s light brown hair. His friend smiled, and glanced at Keona, his big brown eyes and slightly vacant expression reminded her of a puppy.

“Keona,” Taeyong said, throwing his arm over her shoulder, “this is Jungwoo. Jungwoo, this is Keona. She is not named Cutie Pie.”

“I’m so happy to meet you,” Jungwoo said to Keona. “Taeyong said you knew all the best spots when you were kids.”

“Honestly, we only found out about the good skate spots because Taeyong was so good.”

“She was grinding rails all the time!” Taeyong threw out, grabbing his board and riding off to the half pipe. “You’ll benefit from hanging out with Keona! Teach him how to ollie, Ke!”

This wasn’t the first time Taeyong had found a new student for Keona to take under her wing. She didn’t mind it, but she did wish he’d give her a head’s up. Jungwoo seemed comfortable as they walked together.

“Jungwoo, you can’t ollie?”

“I did it once,” he replied, suddenly looking shy as he avoided her eye contact. His voice had turned a little soft. “The fall hurt too much. I’ll never do it again.”

Keona got on her board and watched Jungwoo skate. He had good control as he glided around obstacles with ease. He didn’t do many tricks but riding on a board seemed enough for him. He built up speed and greeted people as he rode past them. She went along with him, not too bothered about turning their hangout into a training lesson. As they approached some teens working on grinding onto a ledge, Keona cheered them on.

“Great build up, Sulia!” She clapped as the 17-year-old jumped with her board to slide it onto a ledge. Sulia’s landing was a little rough and she slipped off her board. She jumped aside to avoid falling and hurting herself. Her friends cheered and encouraged her to give it another go. Jungwoo and Keona joined in on the clapping before skating past the teens. She jumped in the air with her board, showing off a basic ollie trick.

“Are you sure you don’t want to learn how to ollie?” she asked.

She looked over her shoulder to see Jungwoo brushing his hair out of his eyes. He tried mimicking her by kicking down on the nose of his board with his back leg to help catapult the board into the air, but failed his landing. He fell forward as his board slid away from him. Keona stepped off her board, and walked over to help Jungwoo up.

“Let me clean up your hands,” she said immediately.

Both of his palms were skinned with bits of rubble digging deep enough to draw blood and he groaned. He winced as he stood up straight. She made no comment at his cheeks flushing pink, and instead asked him if he wanted to go to 7-11 for slushie and nachos. He seemed incapable of speaking, and she patted his arm as they sat down on the blue plastic picnic table under the shade of a large palm tree.

“I busted my knee open and I had to hobble around for about 2 weeks the first time I tried to ollie,” she said, carefully removing the loose rubble and cleaning Jungwoo’s palms with a Wet Wipe. “If you want to see, I still have a scar on my left knee. I also learned that day that I need to carry a First Aid Kit with me at all times. I’m always like the first person to help people clean up their injuries. Last week there was a group of kids who all kept scraping their knees and shins I almost ran out of bandaids.”

She sprayed his palms with an antiseptic spray to help numb the pain and kill germs. Bending over slightly as she held his wrists in her hands, she blew onto his palms gently to speed up the drying. He cleared his throat and she glanced up to make eye contact with him. His lips were curved up slightly, and his eyes shifted down to her neck. She smiled to herself, feeling herself blush as she began ripping bandaids out of their package.

“Do you think people get hurt just to get a moment to be with you?” he asked as she placed clear plastic bandaids over his cuts.

She looked up at him, and returned the sweet smile he was giving her. His eyes seemed incapable of leaving her lips as he kept looking at her. If he wanted to flirt, she was down. She placed her legs on either side of the bench they were seated on, mirroring him, and slid forward closer to Jungwoo. Their knees touched, and he gave a soft, shy chuckle.

“You want to hang out with just you and me?” she asked, throwing her arms over his shoulders, leaning forward so that her face was less than an inch away from his. “Let’s get some nachos.”

Given that 7-11 was only a couple blocks away, they walked to 7-11 together, and got some of the cheap nachos with the hot melted cheese and lots of jalapeños. They were going to eat in the parking lot but Jungwoo saw a KFC nearby and asked to get some fried chicken.

“Thank you for treating me to this food,” Jungwoo said as they sat next to each other at a booth in the KFC. He’d hooked a finger onto the belt loop of her jeans and tugged on it gently when she had tried to walk over to sit across from him.

“I want to make sure you’re happy after that awful fall,” she said as she sidled closer to him. His finger still hooked onto her jeans indicated that she wasn’t close enough. Once her leg was pressed against his, he seemed satisfied and released her jeans.

“This does make me feel better, thank you,” he said before taking a sip from his drink.

“Allow me?” she offered, picking up a cheese covered chip and directing it to Jungwoo’s mouth. “I don’t want you to get your hands dirty. I’ll feed you.”

“You’re taking such good care of me,” he said softly after she fed him a chicken tender.

He kept tilting his head and changing up the ways he’d glance at her. Sometimes his eyes would go big and he’d smile brightly, but most times he was looking at her with his eyes half closed and smirked, like he had a few dirty secrets just on the tip of his tongue. He was waiting for the right time to reveal those dirty words.

When they’d left the park, she’d been hungry, but she could barely drink her strawberry slushie sitting next to Jungwoo. Her insides were squirming around as he reached over and wiped the corners of her lips with a napkin.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he said, taking note that her tray of nachos was still nearly full. “You should eat. It’s all very good.”

She smiled as she blushed. It was sweet that he noticed that she hadn’t been eating. Though she struggled to have any sort of appetite, she ate most of her food since Jungwoo kept encouraging her to eat with him. She refused to let Jungwoo feed himself, but he didn’t seem to object much. They took their time eating, and talking.

“So why did Taeyong dump you?” he asked when he was nearly finished with his fried chicken. She chuckled.

“We were 12. I didn’t understand what it meant to have a boyfriend. All I knew was that Taeyong asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said yes. When I told him that he didn’t have to be my boyfriend to skate with me we agreed just to be friends. He likes stretching the truth.”

“How come you didn’t go pro with him?”

“I love to skate, but I always wanted to teach kids how to read and write so being a teacher’s always been my dream. Taeyong would sleep in the parks with his board in the summers. Skating has always been like Taeyong’s therapist, or something on that level. How did you become friends with Taeyong? Neither of you have told me.”

“We did a campaign together for Nike.”

“So are you an athlete or a model?”

“Fashion model. Taeyong taught me how to skate during our shoot.”

“And you’ve been skating since?”

He nodded and gave her a side glance, the corner of his lips curving slightly. Feeling her cheeks turn warm, she took a sip of her slushie.

Once they made it back to the park, Jungwoo threw his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. They were seated next to each other, and she threw her hand up to touch his hair.

“You’re so comfortable, Keona,” he said, rubbing his cheek against her shoulder.

“Get too comfortable and you might not be able to let me go,” she warned before kissing his cheek. He laughed and she saw him blush before returning to rest his head on her shoulder.

#nct scenarios #nct au #nct fanfic #nct jungwoo #nct taeyong #jungwoo #taeyong #meetcute #nct fluff #fluff #writing prompt #drabble

7 notes · View notes

chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Devotions - WWDITS Fanfic - Nandor x Guillermo

Sequel to: Maybe One Day, My Love

WWDITS Masterlist

A/N: Quick note to let you guys know that I have been writing up a storm, but I’ve posted many fics exclusively to AO3. It is just so much work to format every story for Tumblr. AO3 is such a superior place to read and write. So, check that out to see what you’ve missed. Thanks to @sinaesthete for beta reading this fic for me!

Summary: Following a death in the family, Guillermo goes to the park for his weekly "visit" with his ex-master. After two decades of distance and one-sided conversation, Nandor finally steps out of the shadows.

Warnings: Smut, Religious References, Parent Death

---

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.” -Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

It’s nightfall once again.

Guillermo de la Cruz clutches a prayer card in his fist as he strides down the familiar path for the appointment he never misses. Not even tonight.

Puddles dot the paved lane; he carefully avoids them, not wishing to ruin his patent leather shoes. He’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to the funeral: a dark suit and tie that make him look somehow older and younger at the same time. Like a little boy dressed up in his father’s clothes. His rigid soles scuff against the cement. The scraping sound grounds him in time and place, pulling him back from the vision of the gleaming white casket heaped with flowers.

It’s early spring. The night is still chilly, but the park has begun to transform with the new season. Green shoots of grass peek out between moldy fallen leaves. Crocuses emerge in the flower beds that line the walk. The branches hanging overhead are heavy with verdant leaves whispering in the light breeze. Guillermo breathes in the damp, mildewy scent of new growth. Idly, he wonders if the funeral arrangements have started to wilt.

He rounds the well-known turn in the path, finally arriving at his forgotten little alcove with its dilapidated bench. The wooden slats of the seat give way to his weight as he sits; the wood is soft and worn. He recalls the hard, polished church pews and decides that this is a much more suitable place for worship. The laminated prayer card bites into the tender flesh of his palm and he releases it, taking his hands from his pockets and letting them rest on the well-loved bench.

Night sounds fill his ears: crickets murmuring in the grass, distant traffic rushing on the highway, gentle wind blowing through the trees. No matter how carefully he listens, holding his breath and keeping perfectly still, Guillermo will never hear his master’s approach until Nandor wishes it. Instead he begins his vigil, communing with the night, with this place, the setting for his devotions.

“Let us pray...

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever live and believe in me shall never die.”

The priest’s words float back to him as if conjured by the night wind. Guillermo’s thoughts fix upon his lord. The one he’s worshiped since he was nineteen-years-old. He calls up Nandor’s image with ease, despite the years that have passed since actually seeing the vampire. Dark eyes ringed in fire, bottomless pits into which Guillermo has been falling for the last thirty-seven years. A body as cold and lethal as a winter’s night. Fangs that reap bloody sacrifices from his victims. Guillermo closes his eyes and Nandor is there before him--skin warm in the candlelight, lips relaxed in a rare smile, holding out his hand and beckoning Guillermo to come forward. In his vision, Nandor places his palm on the crest of Guillermo’s head in a blessing.

“Blessed are those who mourn,

For they will be comforted.”

The snap of a twig announces him. Guillermo eyes snap open; he stares straight ahead into the trees on the other side of the nook. He senses Nandor in the darkness behind him, a guardian or a devil. Both. But he doesn’t turn to look, though every fiber of his being is attuned to his master’s cold presence; though he longs to lunge at him and hold him and never let him leave this place. That is not their arrangement.

Just this once, though, he wishes it could be different.

Guillermo tries to speak; tries to perform their ritual as usual. But the words stick in his throat, congealing into a heavy lump that suffocates him. A shaky breath passes through his parted lips and becomes a sob. Suddenly there are tears spilling down his cheeks. He reaches into his pocket, removes the prayer card with Silvia de la Cruz’s beautiful portrait on it, and sets it on the seat beside him.

“She… died,” he explains in a shattered whisper, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his fists. “Mi mam á . She’s gone, Nandor.”

For an instant the rest of the words stick in his throat: Guillermo’s not supposed to address him directly. That’s not part of their ritual. Now Nandor will leave; now he’ll never come back. But the grief soon scours away the fear of breaking their rules and Guillermo collapses down to his elbows, hanging his head and sobbing out his heartache and pain.

“It happened so s-suddenly, Nandor. I didn’t get to say good-bye or tell her I’m sorry.”

Guillermo crosses his arms over his chest, hugging and rocking himself in a pitiful attempt to self-soothe. His sinuses are blocked; his face is flushed; his mouth tastes like bile and communion wafers and his t í a’s buñuelos. He’s desperate to get a hold himself, to salvage this evening somehow, but every time he nearly has the crying controlled his mind supplies him with a new torture. The stricken look on his amá’s face when he left home to work for Nandor. The smell of eggs and fresh tortillas in the morning. The sound of her clambering in the kitchen, cursing under breath. Her smile. Her hugs. The way she took him in, without questions, when he came back home covered in blood and hysterical after a decade of being a bad son.

Guillermo is so lost in memories, he almost misses the soft, hesitant touch on his shoulder. A hand--solid, strong, cold--closes around his shoulder and squeezes gently. Their first touch in twenty-six years. Guillermo’s breath stutters from his lungs. He freezes, terrified of breaking the fragile sanctity of this moment. He wavers on the threshold of action. Before he can summon the courage to cross it himself , Nandor does so for him. The vampire’s hands are suddenly clutching, pawing at his shoulders and chest; clawed fingers dig into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket and haul him over the bench. He’s dragged through the spider-riddled bush and then all at once he’s in his master’s embrace. As if it hasn’t been decades since the last and first time they held each other. As if a whole lifetime of experience--sadness, joy, yearning, hope--hasn’t slipped through Guillermo’s mortal fingers.

Nandor wraps Guillermo up in his cape, the rich fabric and gold embroidery are clean and well-maintained. Guillermo finds himself wondering if Nandor has himself a new familiar, quickly deciding he doesn’t want to know. He buries his face in Nandor’s strong, broad chest and breathes him in. He smells like rose water, argan oil, and Tide To-Go Pens. He smells like warm candle wax and brassy, spilled blood. He smells like dust and animal pelts and frozen decay. He smells like home.

“And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”

Guillermo never really left him, did he? Two decades spent building a human life, and with one simple embrace he is back on Staten Island, a nineteen-year-old boy knocking on a pagan god’s front door and offering himself in sacrifice.

“Nandor,” he cries. It’s a plea, a demand, a tribute, a prayer. Once the name falls from his lips he can’t stop. “Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nan--”

The vampire shushes him, bringing his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head against his chest. That voice, rich and deep, rumbles through the fabric of the leather vest and into Guillermo’s tear-streaked cheek. “I am sorry, my Guillermo. Your mama… she was a good lady. She took care of you, kept you safe and happy after…” he trails off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His arms tighten around Guillermo. “I am so very sorry.”

Guillermo clings to him, hands fisting in the cape, tugging at the material until Nandor is forced to stoop down. Guillermo closes his eyes, terrified of opening them to find that this is all a dream. Some kind of religious vision that will dissipate in a cloud of smoke if he breaks the spell. Nandor’s face is so close, he can feel the vampire’s cool breath on his cheeks. Guillermo presses forward, nuzzling his face into the whiskers of Nandor’s beard, gasping at the soft caress of long hair against his face.

“Is this real?” Guillermo whispers; his words are fragile, like moth’s wings fluttering through the air between them. “Master, is it really you?”

“Who else would it be, Guillermo?” Nandor chides in the same old amused tone that Guillermo has preserved in his heart like dried flower petals between the pages of the family bible. “Who else but me? It’s always me, Guillermo.”

Thumbs wipe away the salty, stinging tears from Guillermo’s cheeks and the human huffs out a sound that’s a laugh, a sob and a cry of joy all at once.

“It’s always you, master,” he agrees and seconds later he feels the cool, miraculous brush of Nandor’s lips on his.

“Almighty God, cleanse my heart and my lips that I may worthily proclaim your Gospel.”

Guillermo’s eyes fly open. Dark hair and pale, luminous skin fill his vision. Arms--powerful, undeniable--wrap around his soft little human form. He melts into Nandor, all the strength in his limbs bleeding away until the vampire’s strong grip is the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. He’s resplendent, overjoyed to give himself up to the predatory angel before him.

The grief--a hollow, aching hole in his chest--is still there. But with it is a new sensation, at once well-known and utterly novel: ecstasy, fulfillment, completion. To be united with Nandor finally, after decades of pining, feels unreal and yet meant to be. It’s everything he’s dreamed of and denied dreaming of for so long.

Nandor’s lips slide against his own, cool to the touch yet soft and welcoming. Nothing like the hard and forbidding marble he’d always imagined. Nandor’s mouth is pliant and giving; it’s not unlike kissing a mortal man… as if Nandor isn’t the untouchable celestial being of his dark dreams, but flesh and--yes--blood. Guillermo flicks out his tongue and traces his master’s full, pouting lower lip. Nandor opens his mouth at once, granting him the entry he seeks. How can this be happening? After a lifetime of longing and supplication?

“Guillermo,” Nandor says his name like a plea, his lips brushing, the syllables melting into their kiss. “My Guillermo. You’re mine, still, aren’t you? Will you be mine?”

Guillermo mouth molds to his master’s. Nandor’s beard drags against the soft skin of his chin and cheeks. He pulls himself away long enough to answer. “Yes, Nandor. I’m still yours. If you’ll still be mine. Oh, God , please tell me you’re mine, Nandor!”

God. For the first time in eight centuries, Nandor feels no pain at the holy word. Instead it dribbles from Guillermo’s lips, melting into their kiss and tasting like sweet honey. Yes, he thinks, finally allowing his hands to roam down his human supplicant’s body. Yes, I am your god, little mortal. And you are mine.

The words spark in the night air, a spell that will keep them safe so long as they don’t stop touching. “I’m yours, Guillermo. Forever.”

They tumble to the earth, a tangle of grasping limbs, rolling hips and desperate, longing kisses. Nandor breaks their fall, landing in the dewy grass with a soft grunt and clutching Guillermo to his chest with reverent care. Guillermo is alight with sensation. Prayers fall from his lips, holy words that once would have sent his master hissing and flinching, but which now seem to feed him.

“Nandor, my god!” He pulses his pelvis with every repetition of the name. “God, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Love . A word that should bring Nandor as much pain as the other and yet… Guillermo’s heartache, his abandon, his devotion have unlocked something inside of him. He lets himself free. His hands clench Guillermo’s backside and squeeze; he grinds their pelvises together in fervent desperation. Guillermo settles heavily on his chest, sinking his fingers into the vampire’s soft hair and raining kisses on his face.

“You will give yourself to me, won’t you?” Nandor whispers, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Finally?”

The weight of ecstasy and sorrow on Guillermo’s soul leaves no room for the exasperation that he should rightfully feel at those words. As if Guillermo has not given himself to Nandor every day for his entire adult life. As if he wouldn’t have gladly killed to be in this position decades before. But here, in this holy place, in the communion of their bodies and souls, Guillermo doesn’t scoff. He presses a gentle, wet, lingering kiss to Nandor’s lips before answering.

“You already have me, Master.”

“ Take this... and eat of it, for this is my Body, which will be given up for you.”

They lay Nandor’s cape out on the grass like a blanket. It’s almost completely dark in the shadowy undergrowth, but Guillermo still blushes as he shrugs off his suit coat and begins unbuttoning his shirt, aware of the vampire’s heightened senses. The darkness presses up against Guillermo’s eyeballs; he strains to see merely the faintest outline of Nandor’s powerful frame. His face is a dark blur except for his eyes. Nandor’s predator eyes drink in every bit of ambient light and reflect it back at Guillermo. They glow. Hallowed, fiery rings in the night.

Guillermo is no longer a virgin. He feels a small, pitiful pang at the knowledge that he can’t give Nandor that part of himself. He’s slept with a few men over the years. But he’s never truly offered himself to any of them like he’s doing now. Guillermo takes off his shirt, his undershirt. He toes off his shoes and socks and undoes his belt. It’s cold and the cape is starting to absorb the dew and chill from the solid earth beneath, but he doesn’t shiver as he removes his pants and underwear. He lays on his back, nude, flushed, panting and achingly hard. He doesn’t feel the icy wind that raises goosebumps on his arms and hardens the pink tips of his nipples to little nubs. He is a sacrifice; an offering; a tribute. The cold can’t touch him now. Not with the fire of his lord’s eyes keeping him warm.

Nandor’s hands paint ribbons of freezing flame on his skin. They brush lightly, teasingly across his belly, his chest, his thighs. The vampire drapes himself over Guillermo and the human realizes that he’s also undressed. They both gasp as their rigid, leaking erections bump against each other. Guillermo bucks his hips in uncontrolled desire and he feels Nandor sink his fingers into the ample flesh of his thighs to hold him still. A huff of breathy amusement falls from the vampire’s lips. He grabs Guillermo up in another passionate kiss, nipping and licking his lips. A keening, vulnerable moan bubbles up from the vampire’s throat. He clutches Guillermo’s tender body against his cold,, cadaverous frame. Tears--frigid and laced with blood-- fall down his cheeks and mingle with Guillermo’s.

“Guillermo!” Nandor gasps, pulling back. His hands trace patterns on the pulsing hot skin of Guillermo’s neck. The human waits and listens to his master’s labored breathing. A plea hangs in the air between them. “Will you give me this as well, Guillermo? Your blood?”

“With faith in your love and mercy I eat your Body and drink your Blood.”

For the first time, Guillermo wonders if Nandor comes here every week with the intention of offering worship just as he does.

“Take it, Nandor,” he commands. His voice is strong, unwavering, loud in the solitude of their secluded grove. He reaches up blindly and takes Nandor’s face between his hands, guiding him down to the cradle of his neck until the vampire’s cool lips press against his skin. “Drink.”

Nandor whispers something against Guillermo’s neck before biting down. The words are an unintelligible susurrous. He recognizes them as Al Quolanudarese. And though he’s incapable of parsing them, they feel like secret magic words. Words that finally pulverize the last brick in the wall between them. Guillermo knows their meaning in his bones, in his heart, in his soul.

Nandor’s fangs pierce and bruise. His bite is brutal and honest. This is Nandor; no hiding, no subterfuge. He is violence and blood and frozen kisses. He is also the tender stroking of fingers along Guillermo’s tear-stained cheeks and the broken sob he makes an instant before the blood begins to flow. Guillermo’s eyes flutter shut and he fists his hands in the cape beneath him. Take me, take me, take me , he begs.

Blood and body.

He buries his hands in Nandor’s hair, cupping the crown of his head as nonsense prayers fall from his lips. He invokes every sacred symbol he knows. Nandor’s mouth; his tongue; his hands; his cock. The bedroom under the stairs. The candlelit crypt. The parking lot at the immigration office. The blood-stained robe from Celeste’s orgy. The ancestry reports. Wooden stakes and crucifixes. The claw-foot bathtub. Nandor’s hair oils. His coffin. Bubble gum and mason jars and flashcards and feather dusters and boot polish and ice chips and a portrait made from glitter: two men, impossibly hopeful, naive and in love.

When Nandor finally retracts his fangs from Guillermo’s neck, he laps at the spilled blood, kissing the soft, torn skin with a grateful, remorseful, worshipful reverence.

“My Guillermo,” he cries over and over again, rocking his hips subconsciously and panting as their cocks slide against one another. When he draws up on his elbows Guillermo can see his blood marring those perfectly cruel lips and staining his full beard. His voice is thick with tears. “Your blood, Guillermo. It’s…”

Guillermo nods, wiping Nandor’s cheeks even as his own tears fall into his hairline. “I know, Nandor. You’re mine now. Always.”

The vampire bows his head, pressing his lips to Guillermo’s soft chest directly over his rapidly beating heart. “Your blood is rushing, Guillermo. So eager to give me your life.”

Guillermo sighs, running his hands down the length of Nandor’s sides, squeezing his soft flanks and raising his hips to grind against him.

“And what are you eager to give me, Nandor?”

Nandor brings his hand up to Guillermo’s neck and catches the blood that still flows there. He hovers over Guillermo, balancing on one elbow as he moves his other hand between them and slides his wet, bloody fingers into the cleft of Guillermo’s backside. Guillermo feels the slick of his lifeblood against his sensitive skin as Nandor’s fingers probe and press into his entrance. A shiver wracks his frame at the utter indecency, the absolute sacrilege.

“Fuck,” Guillermo hisses as the first finger breaches the tight ring of muscle and enters him. “God! Nandor, yes.”

Nandor whimpers in gratitude at his human’s praise. He speaks absently, in the grips of religious ecstasy, “Let me show you, Guillermo. Please, let me show you.”

Guillermo writhes and nods his head, arching his back as another finger joins the first. “Show me you love me, Nandor. Show me you fucking worship me.”

A strangled growl fills the little grove and Nandor picks up the pace of his thrusting fingers, subtly rocking his erection against the tender skin of Guillermo’s thigh as he goes. His breath mingles with Guillermo’s as he leans in and presses their lips together in a slow, aching kiss. He inserts a third finger, stretching Guillermo out and swallowing the man’s groan.

“Now, Nandor,” an echo of desperation and sorrow tinges his voice. Nandor scrambles to comply. He removes his fingers, kneeling between Guillermo’s spread legs and placing shaking hands on the insides of his generous thighs, steadying himself.

Nandor doesn’t speak, but the sound of his breathing might as well be a love letter. He’s panting, there’s a hitch in his breath, a tremor in his fingers. Guillermo feels the tip of him against his hole and he nearly sobs with relief and joy and loss and guilt and exasperation. Why now? After all these years? Why on the night of his mother’s funeral when he is ragged and raw? Why couldn’t they have had this when Guillermo was still young and so pitifully in love with Nandor that he was willing to tarnish his soul for the vampire’s convenience? He thinks these things with regret, with melancholy longing and wistfulness; but never with anger.

This is his Nandor and Guillermo will take him and cherish him until he is buried in the ground. Nandor presses forward, entering him inch by inch. Stars burst in Guillermo’s eyes and amidst the furious physical sensations, a feverish thought flits through his head. When Guillermo is dead he wants to be buried in this very spot, in the soil beneath their naked bodies, on the site of their long-delayed consummation. The idea should repulse him, or sadden him, but instead it just feels right. He pictures Nandor visiting his grave every Sunday for the rest of the time and cants his hips, taking the vampire deeper as the blood trickles from his neck and his cock smears precum onto his belly.

Their bodies move together in a rhythm that’s both familiar and wonderfully new. They cling, claw, grab and stroke. Nandor’s length fills Guillermo; the vampire’s fingers wrap around Guillermo’s rigid cock and pump him as he thrusts. The words that fall from their lips are a heady, nonsensical, sacred blend of Spanish, Al Quolanudarese and English. Love is only the beginning. This is yearning, devotion, allegiance, becoming, undoing, transforming. Nandor is god is Guillermo is Nandor. They are whole for the first time in their lives.

The climax takes them both at the same time. Guillermo sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as Nandor roars above him. Nandor spills his plentiful vampiric seed inside of him as Guillermo’s cum shoots out in hot ropes that paint his and Nandor’s bellies. He lets his softening cock fall from Guillermo’s body as he collapses down, pillowing his head on Guillermo’s chest and gasping for air that he doesn’t need. Guillermo cards his fingers through his hair and weeps.

He’s crying for the boy he once was. The one who loved his amá and wanted to make her proud. The boy who fell in love with a demon. The boy who dreamed and hoped and prayed and was disappointed. He’s crying for Nandor, too, who has lived for centuries without ever allowing himself to acknowledge the soft animal of his own emotions. And he’s crying for his amá, whose heart he broke for a decade and who never, ever stopped believing in him even when he came home at the age of 30, jobless, soulless, and ruined.

Nandor nuzzles his cheek against Guillermo’s sparsely-haired chest, pressing kisses into his sweat-slick skin and tracing patterns over his stomach with long, elegant fingers.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Guillermo,” he whispers. “Did you know I could always hear your heartbeat? It’s not usual. I mean, yes, of course vampires have super hearing, but we learn to tune all that out, you know? But never with you, my Guillermo. I listened to every beat of your little heart for eleven years. I was so afraid one day it would stop…”

In the soft, sacred dark Guillermo can finally ask the question, “Then why didn’t you ever turn me? You could’ve had me forever, immortal. Why, Nandor?”

Nandor sits up and his eyes glow as he looks down at Guillermo, a frown in his voice, “I didn’t want it to stop, Guillermo. I didn’t want to be the one to...make it stop.”

Guillermo shuts his eyes and they are quiet for a long, long time. He holds Nandor in his arms. The chill of the night air finally affects him and he shivers once. Nandor grabs the edge of the cape and pulls it over Guillermo to shield him. They lay beside each other, touching, breathing, listening. Guillermo traces the outline of Nandor’s lips, letting his finger dip inside his mouth and feeling the sharp edge of his fangs. Nandor allows it. Of course he does. He could not deny Guillermo anything. Not in this place. Not anywhere else, either. The knowledge settles in his veins, flows through him like Guillermo’s blood.

“Guillermo,” Nandor begins, drawing out the last syllable like he used to. “It is not too late…”

It’s a statement and a question. Guillermo holds his breath, waiting for the vampire to elaborate, but Nandor remains silent. A moment later he feels Nandor’s cold skin pressed to his lips. There’s warmth there, too, borrowed from his body. He tastes blood as Nandor presses his wrist firmly to Guillermo’s mouth.

“It’s not too late,” he repeats.

“May this mingling of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, bring eternal life to us who receive it.”

#wwdits fanfic #nandor x guillermo #nandermo #guillermo x nandor #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #smut #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fanfic

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1237tnb · 3 years

Text

If I Rewrote (Blackwater)

The wind blew over the cliff that the Quileute boys used to jump off of when they were young. Things were quiet now. The town was quiet. A lot of the elders had grown ill from the coronavirus, and a lot of the residents in the neighboring town of La Push had moved away because of the rampant forest fires.

Leah kicked her feet over the cliff that she was comfortably perched atop. She loosely held a book in her hands ‘Breaking Dawn’. She had finally finished the whole series. The only thing left to read was ‘Midnight Sun’ and Leah could not care less.

She heard Jacob’s soft but firm footsteps come up behind her. They paid homage to who he was: strong but gently; large but kind. He plopped down on the cliff next to Leah and let his legs swing like hers did.

“How are you Lebron?” Leah joked, before she nuzzled her best friend and alpha in a sincere hug. She was always happy to see him when he got a moment away from the Cullens.

“You know, I’m two inches shorter than Lebron, and I don’t play basketball.” Jacob smiled his warm goofy smile that made Leah’s heart flutter without hesitation.

“What are you reading?” Jacob asked as he leaned in for the book. Leah teasingly moved it away from him, but being nine inches taller than her, her easily leaned across her and took it.

“Breaking Dawn? What’s it about?” Jacob looked at the cover quizzically.

“It’s about us.” Leah spoke honestly with a shrug. “Really, it’s about the Cullen’s. We are more of supporting characters in their story.”

Jacob raised his brow in surprise, but not as much surprise as she expected him to have.

“So… She’s like one of the Fates to us?” He pressed for further clarification. “Wow, I am impressed ‘almighty alpha’. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Edward if you know about the Fates from Greek Mythology…”

“But yeah,” Leah spoke somewhat somberly. “She is like a Fate to us. Either that or she’s a really creepy stalker who’s obsessed with vampires and shapeshifters…. I’m actually hoping that she’s a Fate.”

Jake’s eyes widened, and he looked into his best friend’s stunning hazel eyes.

“Why…?” Jacob shook his head.

“Because the way our lives have turned out… I would rather believe that unbeknownst to us, someone altered our lives on pen and paper, then that we made these decisions on our own.”

Jacob’s frown deepened even further.

“I still do not understand… Wouldn’t it be better if we were making our own choices. Shouldn’t the real joy be in that?”

“Yes and no, because now that we know that our story is written up until the point that we all were about twenty years old, we also now know that we have the power to write our own stories going forward.”

Leah took the book back from Jacob and chucked it off the cliff.

“I don’t like that story.” Leah smiled thoughtfully, before she gently interwove her fingers with Jacob’s. “That story wasn’t fair to us. It wasn’t fair to you, me, Seth, Sam, Emily, your dad, my dad or the Quileute tribe.”

Jacob wondered if Leah still wanted to be with Sam. She hadn’t given any indication that she did for almost a decade now, and Sam and Emily now had teenage kids, but…

“Not only do I not like that story, but I think if that story was written today at the end of 2020, that it would be so immutably politically incorrect.”

“I mean a book about vampires and werewolves. In which, the only people of color (indigenous people, I might add), are known for turning into giant dogs. The whole story is revolved around a white girl falling in love with a vampire, as you are so desperately in love with her, only for you and your whole back to become subservient to her entire family forever.”

“I mean… that sounds a little…”

Leah paused. She could feel Jacob tensing beside her, and she feared that he was becoming pissed. Though Leah’s attitude had larger changed for the better over the last decade and a half, a lot of people gave Leah a lot of flack about being outspoken about both the reservation and the Cullen’s. Aside from Leah’s brother Seth, Jacob was the only one she could confide in.

“Archaic, white savior, dripping with white privilege and a colonist mentality…” Jacob answered.

Leah’s eyes widened, and Jacob gently kissed the back of her hand and looked at her lovingly.

“Alice gave me all four of the books to read back in 2015. She told me that she felt that I deserved to know. When I first read the books, I was taken aback for a few years. With Trump being president, I decided not to tell anybody, because I wondered if we could ever live in a better world than this.” He pulled out the book ‘New Moon’ from his drawstring bag.

“However, when Kamala Harris became the first Indian American woman to be elected to the Vice Presidency of the United States of America and all of those indigenous women were elected to congress…” Tears brimmed at Jacob’s eyes. “I had to believe that better was possible. And you’re so outspoken, that you were the first and only person I wanted to share this with.”

“You left me the books to find.” Leah’s eyes widened in amazement. Jacob warmly nodded.

“And you’re right.” Jacob agreed. “I hate this story.” He laughed as he took ‘New Moon’ and chucked it off the cliff with ‘Breaking Dawn’.

“I love Renesmee. I love the Cullens. I love being a wolf, and I love being alpha. However, the Cullen’s and other white people come and go because this is not their home. But this is our home, and this is my life. So, we cannot be driven out by vampires or forest fires. I want to believe in and build a better world for my sons and daughters and my brothers’ sons and daughters. I want to believe that I am in control of my own life, and our want to be someone that our children look up to.”

“I don’t want these books…” Jacob pulled out ‘Twilight’ and ‘Eclipse’ “To define who we can be…” Jacob shook his head ‘no’. “I don’t want to be broken hearted and I don’t want to follow the Cullens around the world. I don’t want to be the guy in that damned book. I mean I would never have left you all, my pack, my family to die when the Vulture attacked just to save Nessie. I would have found another way to save Nessie, but I wouldn’t not sacrifice the people I love who love me.” Jacob threw ‘Eclipse’ off the cliff even though he knew that fight with the Vulture was in ‘Breaking Dawn’

“I want to make change right here and right now, and I also want to have a family of my own. I’m done putting my life on the backburner….”

“With Renesmee…?” Leah asked.

Jacob lost his concentration and raised his brow before he realized what Leah meant. He smiled and laughed his big, beautiful laugh that had the power to make Leah’s heart break.

“With you.” Jacob spoke with the utmost certainty. “If you will have me…”

Suddenly, Leah became more aware of Jacob’s hand in her own.

“I love you Leah Clearwater.” He smiled, “And if I could rewrite ‘Breaking Dawn’, I would rewrite it being married to you.”

Leah’s heart skipped a beat and tears came to her eyes. Her cheeks flushed red and she covered her mouth in surprise.

“I love you too Jacob. I love you so much.”

“If you could rewrite ‘Breaking Dawn’, how would you rewrite it?” Jacob laughed.

Leah took ‘Twilight’ out of Jacob’s hands and look at it one last time, before she tossed off the cliff with the other books where it belonged.

“Being married to you.” Leah breathed.

With those final words, the two tenderly embraced and kissed.

#Jacob Black #leah clearwater #bella swan #edward cullen #the cullens #cullens #Breaking Dawn #Twilight #Stephanie Meyers #New Moon #Eclipse #Alice Cullen #quileute #shapeshifter #warewolf #blackwater

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brideylee · 4 years

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Chateau Quarantine

Sophia Coppola smokes a cigarette while she waits for an omelette she has no intention of eating. It’s a gloomy marine layered morning, you can barely see across Sunset. She’s been in lock down for three weeks and while she normally loves the moody, brooding decadence of the Chateau Marmont, its elite solitude is giving her a bit too much time to reflect. She thinks about the concept of crying as she watches a long torso-ed model skinny dip in the pool from the penthouse. There are no rules anymore, not that there were many in the first place. The hotel was shuttered to the public as of three weeks ago, and those who were already there could stay indefinitely. Sophia lives alone in the tower suite with the three bedrooms and the wrap around porch, known by some as “the Deniro”, but Robert himself couldn’t tell you why. Any legends or gossip about the Chateau were just bread crumbs to keep the public hungry and mystified. The real Chateau for the privileged few who used it, was an unceremonious respite for excessive loneliness, addiction, and often not great sex. The Chateau had a reputation: look but don’t fuck. Everyone’s genitals were rendered useless from anti-depressants.

She thought she would be filming by now. Her cast is stranded too, with little guidance other than “we’ll wait it out.” The film she wanted to make stars Hugh Grant and Ewan McGregor as two estranged brothers coming together for their father’s funeral. Iman was set to the play the mysterious woman who shows up at the funeral who they then realize was their father’s mistress. It was going to be a slow movie about the brothers coming to terms with their father’s death and equally so falling in love with the woman he hid from them. All this would be suggested through intimate long takes, and funny, stylish, improvised montages. Always subtle and romantic without the sap, this was the tight rope Sophia liked to balance on. At the end of the movie, both brothers are mildly changed, but not entirely. She has a sweet spot for the immovability of people’s psyches, particularly men.

Sophia watches impartially, as the naked model floats on her back in the calm pool. It is so cold and early to swim, is she on drugs or is everyone at this place even more numb than they think? She wondered if her film was too male, too disembodied from her personally to mean anything. Tapping into the male gaze, was an ability she was born with. Her father’s point of view was all she interacted with as a kid, and the underside of his specialties became her focus: the lost parts of men when they are too weak to hold up the heavy crown of their egos, who they were when they could let themselves feel outside of their work. But given the state of the world, and the molasses nature of time during lock down, Sophia started to question if what she always found to be her strength was just simply trauma. Was her whole profession a way to resolve some genetic creative stifling that took place in the shadow of her dad? Surely her body of work contains more than that. It’s not all a selfish attempt at repair. Is any art not selfish? "Maybe I should make a different movie, something that everyones gonna like for once.” She thinks to herself. Thank God, her goat cheese omelette has arrived.

Later on, the gothic lobby is empty besides the cast of her film and the elegant model behind the reception desk standing like a hollow sculpture, frightened by the chaos that lurks outside. Ewan McGregor, drunk off of five Marmont Mules, is showing Hugh Grant an app that maps the stars and constellations. Ewan has gone on and on about a camping trip he took around Scotland and how amazing the stars were, but when pressed for details about where exactly he was or what he saw or what year he did this, he can’t seem to remember anything at all.But that doesn’t dampen his excitement about the app. “See, that, there is Orion’s belt!” Ewan enthusiastically points out, his cute smirk displaying his bottom row of sweet corn kernel teeth. Ewan just recently learned about the stars. Until the age of 47, Ewan had been referring to them as “night freckles.” Many think this is why he didn’t have a fun time acting in Star Wars, space simply befuddled him. Hugh and Ewan are dressed exactly the same: navy blue beanie, black jeans, a tight blue thermal, and desert boots- the actor man uniform they give you after you play opposite Nicole Kidman or Renee Zellweger.

“That’s brilliant,” says Hugh Grant completely perplexed by the app and confused at Ewan’s rambling. Hugh sticks a handkerchief up his nostril with his pointer finger and wiggles it around somewhat violently. Iman clocks this with a blink of disgust, her silk, gold blouse glistens with god-like royalty in the amber glow. “Can you turn your face away? That’s how the virus is spreading.” Her voice is deep and she rarely uses it because it changes the direction of the wind and messes with the tides. “Aw, fuck me. That’s right, isn’t it?” Hugh Grant turns away and starting blowing his nose and coughing obnoxiously. Hugh is acting like a resentful brat because he knows he wont be able to have Iman. He decides he’s gonna pick a fight with Sandra Bullock via face time later to blow off steam. Iman is thinking she was right all along, she should never have agreed to this. She was already sick of the “beanie twins”.

Hugh had been rattling on about how the movie needed a sex scene or at least a sexy scene and went on to say that Sophia had some sort of block. Iman felt that both Ewan and Hugh, however innocently, were exploiting their acting roles to gain real life experience, and there was no way in hell, she was going to kiss either of them. Her kiss would make them immortal and Iman knew their souls needed more lifetimes to grow. Plus, she liked the script the way it was- underwritten and open for interpretation. Her character is symbolic of the side of their dad they didn’t get to meet- spiritual, graceful, embodied. It was a soulful choice not to show any nudity or sex, one that could lead Americans to try to use whats left of their iPhone stolen imaginations.

Meanwhile Michael Cain, who was supposed to play the dead father, is staring at the beautiful Victorian tapestry hanging behind her. “It’s like it’s right out of the Cloister’s.” Michael says under his breath. Michael is sweet, Iman thinks as she watches him stare at the tapestry with wonder, his mouth agape, and a lil warm milk spilling out of his left eye. Iman and him have known each other for years and he always reminded her of her husband: his fierce devotion to his craft, his rigorous intellectuality that does a bad job hiding an animalistic sexuality. Both men contained so much and no one can handle a man like that besides a mystical siren like Iman.

Hugh and Ewan’s chatter dies as their drinks empty. “If I were to be honest with myself…” Hugh begins. “Better later than never…” Michael Cain interrupts without cracking a smile, a dryness a la Maggie Smith. In fact, fuck, this was Maggie Smith. No one had realized. Hugh winks at Michael/ Maggie and continues. “ I don’t think were going to be filming any time soon, folks. I think we are being held hostage a bit by Miss Coppola.” Ewan stares off with a thinking face like no one has ever had a deeper thought before. “That is interesting to think about. There is some kind of bratty assumption that all this will fade away soon enough. And we’ll be back on set. But what if it’s not for another year or so?” Ewan is really getting worked up “What if we live here for the rest of our lives!!” His eyes are big and dazzling, it’s like he’s thinking of the most ideal outcome for the rest of his life.

Suddenly, Sophia joins them at the table. “There they are, my little hunchbacks!” This is what Sophia affectionately calls her actors, the origin is unknown. Sophia has a strange new confidence around her. Usually, when she walked into places, she would feel like a Nat Sherman cigarette, like only some select tall New Yorkers in the back would still appreciate her. “Hello, love! Someone slept well.” Maggie Smith as Michael Caine chirped. Even when Maggie-Michael said something sweet, it still felt like someone was aggressively tickling your ribcage.

“I have news.” Sophia sits down, and smiled large and toothy, a stark contrast to her usual chic, despondent stare, a look only afforded to artists born with trust funds. “We’re not making the movie.” Hugh taps the table. “Well, I believe I won that bet.” Ewan’s jaw drops, destroyed. “You mean we cant live here together forever?” He runs his hands through his hair, petrified. Iman is quiet, which can mean many different things and all things at once, she is eternally the glory of God, a forgotten pyramid at the bottom of the ocean that if unearthed would explode us into 5D ascension.

“We are making a better movie! A super hero movie!!” Sophia exclaims. Sophia gets up close in the faces of her cast, pitching them on her new idea. “It’ll be a real heroes journey- good guys versus evil! Fun CGI! Sexy starlets and fun on trend jokes!” She turns to Michael Maggie, her mouth inches away from their milky eye, and says- “And much much more!” Sophia climbs up on the table now. “The adults will love it, as well as the little ones!” She does an Irish jig and starts spinning around and then poses with her arms up as though at the end of a musical. It was not fun to watch. Iman cuts her off-“I don’t trust what is happening.This is not reality. This is delusion. A karmic spell.” The power of Iman’s words blows the power out of the Chateau, pipes burst, the fire alarm goes off, and Joel Madden of Good Charlotte in room 304 stops jerking off for a second. Sophia is still catching her breath from her presentation, her sweating, arms stretched to the ceiling. She gulps as her eyes meet Iman’s. “Why don’t you just write from my character’s point of view?” Iman says as softly as she can without causing chaos. Sophia freezes. Her whole body calcifies and turns to ice, then crumbles onto the table. Ewan and Hugh watch in absolute horror as Iman drops some of the ice into her water. She knows she shouldn’t have said yes to this project and looks on lovingly at Michael/ Maggie who has dozed off.

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daddy-d0brik · 4 years

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the best thing

person: Ilya requested: yes (I changed it a little I hope that's ok) -He could be dating someone who’s a new member of the squad. They hide it from everyone but they each fly to each other to spend time with each other. When y/n pops up over Christmas break Ilya surprises everyone for New Years and tells them about Y/N, David gets pissed because he didn’t know genre: fluff, angst cw: nope

“God, I wish we could spend New Years together, but I promised Dave that I would be at his party,” I said to the screen.

“Hiding this from David has been so hard. I just want to be able to see you all the time and talk about you all the time. David texted me ‘what's up?’ the other day and I just wanted to tell him,” Ilya said running a hand through his hair.

He looked so cute. I wished that I could kiss him or even just hold him.

I started hanging out with the vlog squad only a few months ago. We met through a mutual friend and we just all got along so well. I didn’t go into my friendship with David expecting to fall for his best friend, but that is what ended up happening. The moment I met Ilya Fedorovich, I knew I was in trouble.

His presence can light up any room. He has the cutest smile I’ve ever seen and he never fails to make me laugh harder than anyone I know. I liked him immediately.

So, what do you do when you really like someone, and you don’t feel close enough to the person who introduced you two to tell them? I decided that you say nothing. I didn’t want to make anything awkward with my new friends. Plus, I knew that if I were to pursue Ilya, it would be long distance, since I live in LA and he lives in Chicago.

The night I met Ilya, we kissed and exchanged numbers. We talked every day since that moment. We didn’t put a label on anything, but it was very clear that we were feeling the same feelings for each other. We never really talked about it, but we were confident that the other wasn’t seeing someone else. The lack of time together in person, though, made things difficult. I felt like he could end things at any moment because it’s been so hard, but then, he calls me and I’m immediately at ease.

Members of our friend group were getting curious about where I was disappearing to when I said I’d be gone for the weekend. I switched off between “visiting a friend” or “visiting family” every trip. In reality, I was going to Chicago (sometimes only for a day) just to spend at least a moment with Ilya.

I wanted to invite Ilya home to my family for the Holidays. Apparently he wanted to invite me to meet his family too. Neither of us felt brave enough to say anything. We thought it may be too soon. Then we realized that every relationship goes at its own pace. We may be moving a bit fast, but we are only doing what feels right for us.

It was getting close to New Years. I was sitting on David’s couch with Jason and I was seconds away from buying plane tickets to Chicago. David then came up behind me and I quickly switched tabs.

“Y/N,” David said grabbing my shoulders.

“Yes, my son,” I said craning my neck to look at him.

“You’re coming to my party on New Years Eve, right?” He said with a bright smile on his face.

“Of course, Dave,” I said placing my hand on his. David’s childlike qualities made it hard to say ‘no’ to him.

After he walked away, I wen’t back to the tab on my computer with flights from LA to Chicago. I lingered there for a second and then closed the tab.

“Change of plans, Y/N?” Jason said nodding to my computer.

“Jason, were you looking over my shoulder?” I said slightly annoyed.

“I glanced and saw flights open and got curious!” Jason said being defensive.

“Well, I was going to visit my friend for New Years, but then I remembered that I had already told David that I would spend New Years in LA.”

“And, your friend is in Chicago?” Jason said raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“What's your friends name?”

I stayed silent. Jason was on to me and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to blatantly lie to him, but I didn’t think I could trust Jason to not tell David.

“H-his-her name is...” I stammered.

“Ilya?” Jason said as if he knew something.

I was silent again. I chose to ignore him and go back to my computer.

“Ilya told me last night. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Jason tapped my knee in a fatherly manner and walked away.

I did wonder why Ilya chose Jason, of all people, to be the keeper of our secret. I ultimately decided to trust that if Ilya trusted Jase then I can too.

New Years Eve came. It was the big day. The end of a decade, and I had no one to kiss at midnight.

I went over to David’s place early to help Natalie and Taylor set up. David just sat there and watched, of course. As I hung up streamers and signs, the only thing that was on my mind was Ilya. What was he doing tonight? Is he thinking of me too?

As my mind started to race, I heard my name called. It sounded like Erin.

“Y/N?!” The voice said.

I saw Erin come into view with a bottle of champagne in hand and a large smile on her face.

“Jason needs you outside,” Erin said once she found me.

“Why?” I said laughing as I walked to the door.

“He has a gift for everyone!” Erin said pushing me outside.

I walked to Jason’s car slightly nervous. I didn’t know what to expect in that car. To be completely honest, Jason scared me, and I was worried about what was to come.

I sat down in the passenger seat, waiting to hear what Jason had to say.

“So, as you know, I told David that I wanted to plan a vacation to Hawaii for the whole friend group and I wanted to formally invite you and-” Jason started to explain.

Suddenly, a masked figure appeared from the back seat of Jason’s car and screamed in my face. The person took their mask off and the face of a person I loved so dearly appeared.

“Ilya,” I almost whispered while covering my mouth.

“Hi there,” Ilya said; his smile was bright as the sun.

“It’s so good to see you,” I said going to hug him. “I missed you so much,” I said in his ear so only he could hear.

“I missed you too,” he whispered back.

“I’m going to preemptively say that I will cut whatever happens next, so if you want to kiss then do it now,” Jason said with a smile.

I gave Ilya a quick kiss to his lips, just to remember what it felt like.

“I hope there will be more later,” He said with a wink.

As the party was underway, Ilya was trying his best to keep his hands off of me. He was really a surprise for David, so he had to spend time with him, but Jason told me that he was secretly a surprise for me too, being that he knew something the others didn't.

There was a moment in the party where I saw David pull Ilya aside. Ilya was smiling. Then he looked nervous and was staring at his feet. The smile that was on David’s face fell. Two pairs of bright eyes can turn to dark so quickly.

The two men started to walk my way. Ilya looked guilty while David looked hurt.

“You’ve been dating my best friend behind my back?” David said angrily.

“I mean... I just...” I started, not knowing how to make it sound okay, “Ilya and I just hit it off so quickly and... I was just so nervous to tell you because I enjoy filming with you and didn’t want you to throw me out of the squad,” I said looking at my feet.

“She was just afraid of telling you, Dave,” Ilya said pleading with his best friend.

“Why?” David said almost yelling. “When did I make it seem like hooking up with my friend would make me not want to film with you?”

“I didn’t want it to be just content! Plus, Ilya and I are long distance and it’s just... It’s not just hooking up because we’re not... not really anyway, since I never see him... I just wanted to have him to myself!” I said on the verge of tears. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’m so scared of losing him. I didn’t want any outside factors that could deter him from wanting me.”

“Y/N,” Ilya said, blocking out the fact that David was there. “Nothing could deter me from wanting you. You are the best thing about my 2019. You are the best thing about my decade. Don’t be scared of losing me because all I really want is to be with you.”

“Are you serious?” I said walking towards Ilya.

“Would you like to go into 2020 being my girlfriend?” Ilya said taking my hands.

“1000% yes,” I said pulling him in for a hug.

“You guys are pretty cute together,” David said easing up.

“Thanks, man,” Ilya said clasping a hand on Dave’s shoulder.

“I just want you to know that you can tell me things, Y/N,” David said earnestly. “I’m not just your boyfriend’s best friend. I’d like to think that we are friends too and I do not judge. I’m happy that you are with Ilya. It gives him a reason to come to LA more,” David said with a genuine smile.

“Thanks, Dave,” I said pulling him in for a hug. “I love you, bro.”

“I love you too, dude,” David said pulling away.

He gave me a light nudge towards Ilya. “Treat him well,” David said chuckling while walking away.

“I will!” I called after him.

“Ten!” The party crowd started to cheer.

“Oh, it’s almost time,” Ilya said inching towards me.

“Eight!”

“We better prepare ourselves then,” I said putting my arms around Ilya’s waist.

“Five, Four, Three, Two, One.”

“Happy New Year, Baby,” Ilya said before placing a sweet kiss on my lips.

I have never felt happier to start a new year. I was ready to go into this next decade with a bang.

;)

#ilya fedorovich #ilya #vlog squad #vlog squad imagine #vlogsquad #vlogsquad imagine #ilya feddy #ilya fedorovich imagine #imagines

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the-starsabove-you · 4 years

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The Spotlight

Chapter 17- City Lovers A/N: A very long chapter! I hope you guys enjoy and thanks for liking this story! I really love writing this story and have no clue when it will end. But there is gonna be moments where you’re gonna wanna strangle me. But we got lots to cover! Reviews are welcomed! Any certain things wanted in the story? Suggestions are welcomed!

A phone went off and Michelle groaned when she opened her eyes as she was very tired. She reached over the phone but she felt an arm around her waist pulling her closer until her back as against a bare chest. She looked over and saw Mat’s eyes were half open and he had a face on as he clearly was annoyed with the alarm clock. “Morning skate” Mat muttered before Michelle reached over to the phone to turn it off but Mat shook his head “Snooze it, I’ll get up in a couple” He said as he snuggled more into her and she chuckled before hitting snooze and she placed the phone near her pillow as Mat rested his forehead on her bare back and was relaxing. The two were enjoying the silence and both were starting to fall back asleep until the phone went off again. Mat groaned and he reached over to get the phone and he snoozed it. Michelle turned over to see Mat looking at her. She smiled and he sighed “I’m not ready to get up, you just got back yesterday” He muttered and she pushed his hair out of his face and she smiled “You didn’t have to come pick me up, I was perfectly fine taking an uber to your house” “Well I couldn’t wait to see you and what boyfriend would I be if I couldn’t pick up my girlfriend at the airport” Mat grinned and Michelle chuckled and they intertwined their fingers together. After the dance and they stayed at the hotel, Michelle had to go to LA for an interview and photoshoot before rushing back to New York so she could be with Mat. “I know I usually stay around and go be a tourist. But I had a reason to come back to New York sooner” Michelle said and Mat narrowed his eyes playfully “You’re cheesy” “Besides, I’m not going to spend New Years Eve without you.” Michelle said and Mat nodded “It sucks that we can’t go back to Canada for today. But I’m excited to spend it with you” “Let’s go, Wilson and Barzal Adventure!” Michelle said and Mat nodded and looked at her “Do you mind if Tito joins? He’s bummed that Emily stayed in LA to be with her family but he’s happy for her” “Tito can join! It’s about time we have an adventure with the three of us” She said and suddenly her phone rang and she turned around away from Mat to get her phone before she looked over at his phone “Alarm is gonna go off soon” She said and he nodded “I’ll get up soon” She saw it was Marie, her agent and she picked up “Hi Marie! How’s everything?” “Michelle, I just wanted to call you wish you a Happy New Years Eve” Her agent greeted and Michelle smiled at that. No matter how many people have said Marie was harsh or cold. She cared about her clients and had a soft spot for Michelle. “Thank you Marie, any plans for today?” She asked and Marie sighed “I’m here in the office. I need to book things for you and the other girls for the future. I can sense we are gonna have a good year” She said and Michelle grinned “I’m sure looking forward to it” “Plans for you today Sweetheart?” Marie asked and Michelle sighed “Um.. Going to spend the day with Mat and his friend Tito” Marie was silent, Michelle swore that she thought Marie had hung up on her. It wasn’t until Marie spoke “We’re going to have a talk about this Mat, sooner or later.” She said and Michelle was silent and Mat could tell something was wrong so he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her towards him. “Yeah.. Okay” Michelle said and Marie sighed “I don’t want to be the bad guy, Michelle. You know I hate that” “I’ll talk to you later Marie, I’ll call you after midnight” She said and Marie sighed “Alright, remember to call your family too. I know your mother must be wondering what you’ve been doing” “I will” Michelle muttered before she said her farewells with Marie before Mat started kissing her shoulder “We’ll go out and have a great night. Promise” He said and she grinned before the alarm went off and he sighed “Well, that’s my cue to get up and get ready” He said and he got up and Michelle couldn’t help but admire his body and he saw that and laughed “You know I see you looking” “Does it look like I care?” Michelle said and Mat narrowed his eyes playfully “Don’t follow me into the shower because I will get yelled at for being late.” He gave her a pointed look and she pretended to look innocent before she went on her phone. Mat came out of the shower after a while and he was drying his hair with a towel, sweatpants and a sweatshirt on him and he looked at her “You’re staying here? Or heading back to your apartment?” “Going home, I need to find a dress for tonight. Gotta dress to impress” She winked and Mat grinned “Oh yeah, who are you trying to impress?” He asked and she looked at him with a smirk “Just Ryan Seacrest” “Oh you’re so full of it” Mat laughed before she broke into laughter too and he shook his head before she quickly went into her suitcase and hopped in to take a quick shower. She quickly placed a hoodie over her head and finished putting on her jeans before Mat was grabbing his keys and they walked out of his apartment. Mat was walking towards his car “I’ll see you later, I’ll come pick you up” “Tell Tito to come meet us as well” She said and Mat nodded before he leaned forward to kiss Michelle who was smiling into the kiss before she broke it “Okay I’m not trying to get your coach to murder me. Go!” She said before he chuckled and got into his car while Michelle had called an uber to get home. It had been a couple of hours and Michelle was looking into the mirror, finishing her make-up before she heard a knock and she was looking at her dress which was black and had some sparkles in it. She thought it would be nice for a New Years party. She made her way towards the door and saw it was Tito and she opened the door and grinned “Woah look at you Tito!” Tito narrowed his eyes playfully “Yes, I look hot. We all know this” He said and Michelle hit his shoulder with her hand and he chuckled. “You look stunning as always” Tito said and Michelle had bowed “Thank you, I’m trying to look cute for my date tonight.” She said and Tito laughed “Mat would think you’re hot in a potato bag” “Oh, I wasn’t walking about Mat” She sand Tito raised an eyebrow “Whose the lucky man that’s not Mat?” He asked and Michelle looked at him proudly “Chris Evans” Tito laughed at that and shook his head “You’re crazy” He said and she grinned “Thanks, I’m trying” “So where’s my hot date tonight?” She asked and Tito looked at the phone “Coming in a few, he’s stuck in traffic. So we’ll just meet him downstairs” He said and she nodded before smiling “I’m really happy with him Tito, never been this happy before”She said and Tito couldn’t help but smile “Trust me, I haven’t seen him this happy either. The man adores you” He said and she blushed and looked down before her phone rang and saw it was Mat “Speaking of the devil. He’s probably downstairs” “Ugh, I’m gonna be third wheeling tonight” Tito said and Michelle shook her head “If anything I’m going to be third wheeling you guys” She said and Tito sighed “I already miss my girlfriend!” “Okay Romeo, she’ll be back tomorrow. You gotta deal with us!” She said and Tito looked at her “I’m expecting to be dead then” They made their way downstairs and Mat was waiting in the lobby and his eyes widen at Michelle “Oh my god, you’re stunning” “I’m stunning too Mat!” Tito said pretending to be dramatic and Mat narrowed his eyes playfully before he held out his arm and Michelle took it as they were walking towards the city “Hopefully we don’t get jumped by fans.” Tito said as they were rushing through the streets. Mat and Michelle were hand in hand before they made it near Times Square. They found the building and Tito whistled “Ladies and Gentlemen. Here we are!” Michelle didn’t really know who was hosting this party, it was some famous person that Mat and Tito knew. But, she was happy to spend time with her boyfriend and best friend. Tito and Mat had said their hellos to the host and they took pictures with her. Michelle was on the sidelines and was even taking pictures on her phone of them. Mat saw her and took her hand and pulled her towards him so she could join the pictures. She knew Marie would be having a word with her after this. Once the three of them had gotten inside, Mat had an arm around Michelle’s waist as all three of them were talking. Michelle asking Tito about stories of Mat when the two guys were younger. Tito giving all the stories despite Mat’s pleas. Michelle and Mat were looking outside and into the city. Tito smirked and he made sure to get a couple of good pictures of the couple from the back. Mat wrapping an arm around her waist until she had rested her head on his chest. The three were having a fun night with the food. Michelle found a chocolate fountain and had ran towards it. She somehow got Mat to eat something with the chocolate fountain and Mat pretended to look annoyed but he was happy with the sweet treat. Michelle also got Tito to eat something too and they were literally laughing when Michelle grabbed a couple of Strawberries on the way out. It was half an hour until midnight and the start of a new year and new decade. Michelle had grabbed Mat and Tito’s hands and led them through the crowd. There was a certain closed off space for the party. They could see the ball and Michelle was literally bouncing with excitement. Michelle turned to see that Mat and Tito were taking a picture and she grinned. She was happy that she was able to spend the day with Mat and Tito. Soon Michelle was taking pictures with Tito and Mat and all three were pulling funny faces before having nice ones. Mat taking pictures of Tito and Michelle and Tito taking pictures of Mat and Michelle. “The ball is gonna drop soon” Michelle said as she saw that Post Malone was finished with his performance and she saw the time. Mat was grinning “Anything you want for the new year?” “Many more adventures with you and in general. That you have an amazing season and we’ll last long” She said and Mat smiled at that before leaning down to kiss her “Same, I want those countless adventures with you too” “Ball is gonna drop” Tito said as he had an arm around Michelle’s shoulder and Mat having his arm around her waist. Both of Michelle’s arms around each guy as they were looking on, excited and all three of them screamed when the ball began to drop. They were counting down, it felt like it took forever. Mat turned her towards him and they were both smiling. “To a new year of adventures and happiness” Mat said and Michelle grinned before she leaned in and kissed him, he smiled and melted into the kiss and suddenly they heard the cheers and the screaming of the ball had finally dropped and they had entered the new year. Michelle and Mat broke the kiss and they were both smiling at each other as the confetti had covered the streets and both of them looked up and were smiling before they both turned and were hugging Tito. Tito grinning and hugging his friends back before all three of them watched everything happening around them. It was going to be quite a year for everyone.

#mathew barzal #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines

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bubbyleh · 4 years

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I See La Vie en Rose - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Meet the Family

Out of all the other Gods, Tommy's gotta say, his friendship with Gordon is the most unique. Which isn't a bad thing, necessarily! It's simply that the context in which Gordon knows Tommy is, comparatively, different than the others.

After all, excluding Joshua, Gordon's the only one who's younger than Tommy. And Tommy’s not sure if Gordon remembers this, but he was the one who took care of Gordon before his ascension was complete. Sure, it was mostly babysitting a glowing orb, but he also had to protect it from Benrey! Who, uh… was not doing so good back then.

Things were good between them. Out of everyone else, Tommy thinks he trusts Gordon the most to be honest with him. At least he knows that Gordon isn't hiding some dark, unholy experience that could threaten their lives!

It's a nice morning. Tommy had been texting on and off with Darnold when he got a message from Gordon, asking if he could come over to take a break. Well, Tommy isn’t one to deny Gordon a break! Which is how Gordon ends up sitting in Tommy’s kitchen with him.

“You know what I miss most?” Gordon asks. “Coffee.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “You can- you can still drink coffee.”

That clearly hits a sore spot, because Gordon sighs and slumps over the table. “It’s not… it isn’t the same. I don’t get the same kinda energy anymore.”

“I get energy from most food.”

“But not like you’d get with coffee,” Gordon explains. “You weren’t ever mortal, so coffee never affected you like it’s supposed to. It...” He waves his hand around, trying to find the words. “Regular food keeps you moving, sure, but coffee wakes you up. Energizes. Kinda wish it still worked on me, these days.”

Dang, that sounds good. Tommy lets his shoulders sag. “No- no kidding.”

“But, hey! Speaking of mortality…” Gordon nudges Tommy with an elbow.

“Oh no,” Tommy groans. “Not you too.”

Gordon raises his hands. Or well, his hand and magical substitute for a hand. “I’m just curious! Tell me about him.”

Tommy gives Gordon a look. Gordon smiles back.

“Alright,” Tommy relents. “But you- you can’t go around telling everyone, okay? Promise?”

“I promise not to tell everybody,” Gordon says, and Tommy, like an idiot, trusts him.

Tommy takes a deep breath. “So, um. His name is Darnold.”

☆○☆○☆

It turns out, Gordon takes the first loophole he can find and runs with it. Tommy doesn’t realize until Coomer pokes fun at him for “texting Darnold” that, perhaps, some information has been leaked. So Tommy heads to confront the source, finding Gordon sitting in his home with Benrey and Joshua, the latter of whom are waving cowboy toys at each other on the floor.

“Uh, hey guys,” Tommy says, but he’s quick to get to the point. “Gordon?”

“Hey Tommy, what’s up?” Gordon asks, in a tone that’s a little bit too casual.

“Do you re-remember the thing I told you not to talk about?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Did you- did you talk about it?”

Gordon nods once. “Yeah.”

Tommy feels all the unease in his chest fall away into annoyance. “Why did you do that? You- you promised not to tell anybody!”

“I promised not to tell everybody,” Gordon counters, and he holds up a finger. “I only told Benrey.”

Benrey pipes up. “I told everyone.”

“Great,” Tommy says, but he’s so annoyed he wants to bury Gordon alive for a decade.

Gordon raises his hands in front of himself. “They all kept asking me, man! I figured if I only told Benrey, then you couldn’t really blame me.”

Tommy shoots a glance towards Benrey. Benrey currently has a small toy cowboy hat in his mouth.

“I- I can totally blame you for this,” Tommy concludes, holding the same tone as a teenager who found their younger sibling had stolen their clothes.

☆○☆○☆

If it had ended with a little bit more knowledgeable teasing, then maybe Tommy would have gotten over it quicker. Or at least, gotten used to it, since he doubted either his crush on Darnold or his family’s relentlessness would be disappearing anytime soon. Tommy can deal with a few jokes and headlocks, he’s been at this for five-hundred years!

But, when accounting for everything they’ve ever done, Bubby and Coomer knock it out of the ballpark when they unexpectedly show up in the middle of Tommy’s walk with Darnold.

Which! Is not! A romantic walk! Tommy just mentioned that he was taking Sunkist on a walk soon, and well, Darnold asked to come along! It’s not romantic if Sunkist is there.

"Hello there, Tommy!" Coomer says, acting as though their meeting were complete happenstance.

"Uh, he-hello Mr. Coomer. Mr. Bubby." Tommy has a feeling he would be a little more coherent if it weren't for the fact Coomer and Bubby have gone planetside for social reasons for the first time in what must be three hundred years.

Coomer continues on despite Tommy’s lost expression. “I must say, it’s quite the coincidence to run into you today! We had no idea you were about.”

“None at all,” Bubby echoes, the lie seeping into the edge of his voice.

“Er, Tommy?” Darnold asks, and it’s enough for Tommy to realize he has to do damage control now.

“Oh! Darnold this- these are my-” Tommy stumbles over his words. “They’re… I’ve known them my-my whole life?”

“You must be Darnold!” Coomer exclaims, as though he didn’t already know that. He holds out a hand, obviously distracting Darnold from some sort of mental calculation he was doing. “Tommy’s spoken so much about you! I’m Coomer, and this is my husband, Bubby.”

Darnold nervously shakes Coomer’s hand, only to feel every single bone in his own be crushed. “It’s… nice to meet you,” Darnold says, trying to play off his pained wince. “Tommy talks about me?”

Tommy can feel his heart rate go through the roof.

“Not with us, really,” Bubby quips. “We’re the old folk. He doesn’t talk to us about this sort of stuff.” He looks right at Tommy as he talks. Before anyone else has a chance to respond, he starts again. “You’re an alchemist, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” Darnold awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve made quite a few interesting potions!”

Bubby rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. It isn’t real magic, though.”

“Bubby!” Coomer chides.

“I’m just saying!” Bubby says. “As something of a pyromancer, alchemy’s too physical. Too grounded.”

Darnold’s eye twitches. “Too… grounded? Who are you to say my potions aren’t magic enough!?”

Great! Perfect! The ideal scenario that Tommy always knew would happen!

“Me?” Bubby raises an eyebrow. “I’m the greatest pyromancer who ever lived! So, of course, I know a thing or two about magic.”

“You can’t be that good. I’ve never heard of you!”

Bubby cackles. “I’m sure you have.”

Okay, the active antagonizing was one thing, but now Bubby’s getting way too close to the truth for comfort! Not even thinking, Tommy grabs Darnold’s wrist with his free hand and drags him past the old men.

“It was nice seeing you Mr. Bubby and Mr. Coomer but we- we really have to go now bye!” Tommy shouts behind him.

Only after they round the street corner does Darnold look at Tommy and say, “What a rude person.”

Tommy shrugs, falling back into a slower pace. “He’s- he’s always been like that. I think it means he likes you?”

Darnold has that look on his face again, like he’s puzzling something out. Then, he looks back up at Tommy. “So your family likes me?”

☆○☆○☆

All the Gods quickly become common sights whenever Tommy heads down to see Darnold. So far, all the appearances they’ve made have been fairly innocuous, such as “bumping into” Gordon at the coffee shop or “passing by” Benrey on the sidewalk. Darnold’s met all of them, by now, not that Tommy had much of a say in the matter. Well, all but one.

“Hello, Tommy.”

Tommy had been so focused on petting Sunkist, whose head rested in his lap, that he hadn’t heard the footsteps approach him. He smiles as his father sits down next to him.

“H-hey, Dad,” Tommy says.

It’s a pleasant evening. The three of them sit together on the edge of the cloud, and for a moment, Tommy thinks about when he was younger and scenes like this were more common. When the world was a little less scary, or at least, scary in ways that it isn’t now.

They don’t get time like this anymore. Ironic, considering Gman is the God of Time, but true nonetheless. Tommy’s about to lean against him, but his father suddenly speaks up.

“You’ve been. Heading down, to Earth. Recently,” he says, and immediately, Tommy gets what he’s implying.

Tommy sighs. “You… Benrey told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” He pauses. “Tommy, I. Trust you to, make… good decisions.”

Here it comes. You can’t, you shouldn’t. He’s a mortal and he’ll die. He could be a cultist and you wouldn’t even know. Don’t give out special treatment, you’re above that.

But the way Tommy’s heart races when the light catches Darnold’s eyes. Or when he realizes how close the two of them are standing and he can’t breathe. Or Darnold’s smile! The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen!

“What you, do with him is. Up to you, but. I will be there, for you, no matter what, you choose.”

Some invisible weight lifts itself from Tommy’s shoulders, because of course Gman wants him to be happy. Even though they’re both so busy right now, his father loves him. Always has.

Tommy rests his head on Gman’s shoulder. He can’t help but feel that, whatever has them all worried, it can’t be too bad.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #god au #sodashipping #tommy coolatta #darnold #my writing #i see la vie en rose #hlvrai gods au

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better-be-reddie · 4 years

Text

Absconding, Aberrations, & Alligators

'It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title. He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of. Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.'

Richie takes an impromptu trip to Florida, somehow it all works out.

Hey! So I posted this fic to ao3 awhile ago but now that I have a blog I’m porting it here too. Rated T for language I guess No warnings, just 11,000 words feat. Richie’s gay crisis.

It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title . He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of.

Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.

Apparently Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier was never really off his bullshit. It's just, the nearly nonexistent filter he did manage to keep was corroding faster than he could keep track. And if he's being honest, it didn't actually start on that meager lounge stage in LA.It didn't even start three months ago when answering a knock at his front door forced him face to face with one Edward Kaspbrak, fresh from serving his now ex wife-mother monstrosity divorce papers.

"Just looking for a place to lie low for a bit." Eddie had shrugged in front of his small mountain of suitcases.

"What and they ran out of fucking housing in New York?" Richie had come back with.

"Fuck you, man! You said if I ever needed-"

"Yeah yeah," Richie made sure to cut off the would-be rant, "Get in here then." He'd said, throwing the door open and stepping aside, letting Eddie into his sorry excuse of living quarters.

He quipped and sassed his best in order to keep the fact that he was internally screaming hidden. Especially when he noticed all of Eddie's little facial ticks giving away just how abysmal he found Richie's standard of living. The thing was, when they had parted ways in Derry, Richie had been ready to let go, to push down his feelings and the impossible level of affection he'd held for his friend. Afterall he had lived twenty-something odd years of his life without Eddie, so he reasoned that he could keep on living without him.

That's what he had told himself anyway, over, and over, and over in the month it took Eddie to just show up unannounced. Richie didn't want to admit just how awful his pining had gotten those four weeks alone, but it had been bad. Somehow being reacquainted with the man had set off his aching heart almost more than he could care to control. But no, this shitstorm he was about to set off didn't start that day three months ago, nor any of the subsequent days after wherein Eddie settled in and became an integral part of Richie's daily routine. It didn't even start those four months ago when Richie walked into that damn Chinese restaurant and saw Eddie for the first time in decades, which had him falling dick-first into one hell of a sexuality crisis. Again. It didn't start when they were awkward, gangly thirteen year olds and Richie was stabbing his hands full of splinters in order to carve an embarrassing hommage to his dear first love on the rails of the Kissing Bridge. If Richie was being honest with himself, which he rarely ever was, he would admit that it all started a good thirty-four years or so ago when Richie was fresh into the first grade. Sometime after he'd mastered his ABC's but before he got his glasses that would magnify his eyes and really solidify his place as a loser; early enough that Richie would brag about being a master of mud-pies but back before anyone knew he was certifiably blind, except for Stan and Bill who worked as mediocre guide-dogs while everyone else just labeled him as a clumsy kid.

It was a cool fall day when Stan and Bill hadn't been around which left Richie particularly vulnerable to his "clumsiness", this time to the result of him tripping and scraping his hands up. Richie had huffed and tried to wipe the mud off his palms and onto his pants when a pair of sneakers entered his bleary vision.

"You should really clean off that dirt." The newcomer spoke.

"What?" Richie had asked dumbly.

The smaller boy sighed and readjusted the fanny pack strapped to his waist before replying, "If you don't wash the dirt out and patch up your cuts they'll get infected and you'll die."

Richie had been startled but also bemused. He got cuts and scrapes all the time, and was almost always covered in dirt from playing.

"I won't die!"

The boy shook his head, "my mommy told me that if you keep dirt in a cut it'll go bad. You don't want to have to go to the doctor and sit in the awful rooms just to make sure they don't need to cut anything off."

Richie laughed, "That sounds fake, why would they cut anything off?"

"If the cut goes bad they might have to!" The boy spoke, growing irritable, "Know what? Forget it, I might have something in my pack." The boy dug around in his overly stuffed fanny pack making Richie smile."Got it, now hold still and let me fix your gross hands." The boy said, followed with, "I'm Eddie, by the way."

Richie's smile grew at how the boys- how Eddie's voice turned shy as he introduced himself.

"I'm Richie."

It was that moment, decades ago on a school playground, that had started the chain of events that would build, and build, and build until Richie was so unbelievably in love that he would never really be able to move past it. It was the first domino in a series of ridiculous and probably ill advised life decisions that would leave him standing on a small stage in LA about to segue into his next joke featuring the infamous "girlfriend" character his writers just loved him to bitch about. It was a bit that he had rehashed over and over in his different routines, this new variation he had mastered last week before ever setting foot in the small lounge.

That was probably why his mind was elsewhere as he began, he was debating in the back of his head what Eddie would like for dinner later, whether he should pick up take out on his way home or it took him a moment to realize that the next words out of his mouth were not exactly what he'd practiced from his script,

"So, my boyfriend Eddie and I decided to try and -" Richie stumbled on the sentence, his brain kicking in a moment too late as a couple surprised noises came from the audience, and a few claps and hollers rang out.

Thirty- something odd years of pining and daydreams of the day he'd finally get to call Eddie his had finally broken through his shitty barrier and merged his fantasies with reality. Boom. Domino effect.

Richie began to realize not only had he just come out, unscripted onstage, but also that this show was being streamed online...live.

He also knew that he couldn't afford to fuck this up, or make it look like he'd fucked up again so he stumbled his way through through rest of the sentence and ad-libbed the joke with alarming grace considering he felt like he was about to throw up.

His manager was going to kill him.

He knew taking it back would have only ruined the show made it even more impossibly awkward, so he pushed on until the act was complete, rushing off the stage a little more quickly than he normally would, if only so he could hide behind the scenes and panic good and proper.

If Richie's manager didn't take him out in the next five minutes, Eddie surely would.

---

Richie had less than five minutes alone to panic in the dingy back hallway that lead to the club's emergency exit before his manager was marching up to him.

"You had one job!"

"I-I know!" Richie said, voice possibly a tad strained.

"Rich, what the hell."

"I know !"

"You're single handedly making me go grey! Okay calm down- we can- we can roll with this- see online opinion polls and then come up with a strategy. God we might have to renegotiate-"

But Richie wasn't listening to him anymore, he didn't have the brain capacity to listen or be grateful to the man who had, once again, watched as Richie doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. He should have felt bad for the guy, and maybe when his own panic died down he would, his manager was only trying to offer an extinguisher. He definitely felt like he was on fire- and not in the good way of speaking. Sweat dripped off his brow and his skin prickled as his stomach churned, twisting and writhing itself into knots. All he seemed to be aware of was the near constant vibration against his thigh that his phone was giving off, as it blew up with notifications.

Richie's hands shook as he reached for his device, the finger scanner refusing to work due to the alarming dampness of his hands. He unlocked the phone using his code instead and balked at the notifications. He could see Bev’s name pop up next a bold 10 to indicate how many messages she alone had sent so far, and the little numbers over his text app were steadily going up as the rest of the losers blasted him.

Great.

Good to know he had an audience.

His heart seized as the screen changed suddenly and Eddie's picture took over, blocking his home screen. It was a great picture, a wonderful candid Richie had taken of Eddie in one of his full blown road rage meltdowns. Richie had laughed heartily when he'd seen how the picture turned out; Eddie, on the other hand, had been less pleased and demanded he delete it. Naturally Richie made it the man's profile picture instead. The photo always managed to get a giggle or smile out of him as if he were some schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn't laughing now. His eyes darted between Eddie's comically angry face and the green answer call button. Richie felt frozen unable to respond as the tightness in his chest grew, he felt dizzy as the walls closed in around him. The vibration of the phone stopped and the screen flipped back to his home page. A new notification for another missed call appeared, followed seconds later by a notification for a new voicemail.

Richie gasped and began to move quickly towards the exit door shouting an excuse to his manager who called out in alarm behind him. He all but fell against the metal door and staggered out into the hot LA sun, the thick air and humidity nowhere near the relief he wanted against his already flushed skin.

His phone jumped to life once more, vibrating in his hands as Eddie's familiar picture flashed onto the screen once more. Richie gulped and swiped over the green answer button and brought the device up to his ear with shaking hands.

"Richie? Fucking finally- what the hell?"

Richie's eyes widened and he quickly hung up, nearly dropping the phone in order to do so. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream, an uncanny hysteria bubbled in his chest and everything just felt like too much. Eddie must hate him. There was no way he couldn't. His phone alerted him to text another text.

Eddie.

'You better have been disconnected.'

Richie's phone rang again. Richie swiped to ignore.

'Pick up. We need to talk.'

Panic seized him. There was literally no good reasoning behind the phrase ' We need to talk.' God, he even added a period at the end. His phone rang. The panic boiled, crested in a mind blanking peak.

Richie blinked owlishly at the broken remains of his phone. Shattered against the dirty pavement of the alley. Great.

"Hey...Rich?"

Richie definitely did not jump. He turned to see his manager behind him, peeking out from the door.

"You good bud?"

He was definitely not good.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

"Okay, okay, you sure? Cause you sort of seem not good?"

Richie had a strong sense of deja vu all of the sudden. He shook his head. His mind was coming back online and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just stroll into his house like nothing was wrong, Eddie was waiting for him at home and Richie liked his dick attached to him thanks. He looked back to the shattered phone.

"Hey can I borrow your phone?" His manager side-eyed him dubiously, cautiously and then the broken phone on the ground.

"I guess- as long as it isn't going to end up like that."

Richie's first instinct had been to call Bill, he was closest afterall, and he was the man with a plan; but that would have been his most obvious move. Eddie would no doubt storm the place in the midst of a rage so deep Richie didn't even want to picture it. So Bill had been mentally crossed off his list. Stan, Richie loved , as much as he could platonically love someone, but that would be obvious too. Plus he and Patty had been on somewhat of a retreat. Something about doing something relaxing and therapeutic after nearly dying and Richie really didn't feel like intruding on that. Beverly would have his back. She would laugh in his fucking face, but she would also give him one of her hugs after and let him mope. The problem with Bev though, is that she came with Ben. Now Richie adored Ben, it was literally impossible not to, however all it would take was one angry look from Eddie and the man would crumble faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. He couldn't lie for shit, especially when emotions were high. And that really left Richie with one last alternative. Which is how he found himself stepping off a plane, with no more than his wallet and the clothes on his back, half way across the god damn country, in fucking Florida. Richie looked around the airport as if it had personally offended him, and honestly it sort of did simply for being located in such a subpar fucking state. He really didn't see what the hell Mike saw in the place. He really didn't get it. Speaking of Mike.

"Richie!"

Richie looked up and saw the man of the hour waving him over. Mike beamed at him and greeted him with arms wide open.

"It's good to see you man!" Mike said,

"Yeah, yeah you too." Richie agreed.

It was good to see Mike again, they'd stayed in contact the same way they all had; through group chats and Skype calls mostly but this was the first time since they all separated in Derry that Richie had seen Mike in person. He really wished it was for better reasons. And not in Florida.

"Alright, let's get your bags and then we can head out. There's a good diner not far from my place, I think you'll enjoy it."

Richie shuffled awkwardly, "I'm all here man!"

Mike looked confused for a moment then somewhat incredulous."You- you're all-? Did you not bring anything with you?"

"I said it was an impromptu trip didn't I?" Richie said.

The look Mike shot him appeared as if he were waiting for Richie to crack a joke, when none were forthcoming his brows raised.

"Alright man. I guess we can stop and pick you up some stuff you'll need. I have an extra toothbrush at home you can-"

"You were always the most prepared outta us!" Richie cheered possibly putting too much energy into a...toothbrush.

Richie knew it was weird, the whole situation was weird. He knew it was weird, and he knew Mike now knew it was weird. He could only hope that his fake enthusiasm could be obnoxiously distracting enough that Mike would let it slide unquestioned.

"Uh-huh." Mike said still eyeing him up, "Well, follow me I guess."

Richie breathed out a sigh that at least they weren't going to have this conversation in the middle of the Arrivals gate.

Mike's home was small but cozy, it had the foundations of something older with character that had maybe been remodeled sometime in its recent history. The living areas were clean but cluttered; books, and notebooks, and loose leaf were strewn around in somewhat organized heaps that probably made sense to Mike and Mike alone. The home was nestled amongst a forest of tall trees and brush that gave a sense of privacy, and to the side was a barely visible trail which Mike had pointed to when they pulled up and told him went straight to a little beach. Richie had eyed it dubiously, on one hand, beach day but on the other hand, he didn't feel like running into any gators, or snakes, or whatever the fuck else lived in this hellscape of a state. If he wanted to die that badly he would've stayed in LA thank you.

The first night the two of them had enjoyed boxes of take out which were supplemented by maybe a bit too much alcohol. They talked into the night, catching up in a roundabout way that dodged the elephant in the room. Of course that was mostly in part to the way Richie would circle the conversation back around to another of Mike's many research projects whenever the man looked like he was readying himself to broach the subject on what the real reason for Richie's visit was. Apparently Mike had been in an out of service area at the time of Richie's show and either hadn't yet heard about the disaster that it was or was too polite to corner him about it. Still, it sort of left Richie feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fact that he was still without a phone and thus had no clue how extensive the damage he caused actually was. Well, he had a tiny idea. He'd already ruined the best damn thing in his pathetic life, what did the rest of it matter? Richie ended up taking the bottle of vodka to bed with him that night.

The next day Mike took them both into town to pick up some more things for Richie under the disguise of grocery shopping. During which, Mike casually asked if Richie was thinking of replacing his phone.

"You said it broke right?"

"Yeah," he sighed, " Yeah, okay I guess I should get on that."

Before his manager had a full on aneurysm. He was sure his publicists were already dead from shock or stress.

After spending way too long in a small outlet shop in a nearby strip mall Richie finally had a new phone set up. Richie played with the device as Mike drove them back towards his house. He hadn't turned it on yet, he simply passed the phone from hand to hand, it gave him something to do. He got the same model as the one he'd broken so that he could keep using his old SIM card. He told himself that he would turn it on once he got inside, face the music. Of course once the two made it back Richie went about the rest of his day doing anything but set up his phone. Richie even let Mike lead him down the death trail to the small beach, which would have been really nice had it not been in Florida.

"And not a gator in sight!" Richie said enthusiastically as he sat on the sandy shore.

"You joke, but that pic I sent you guys last week was only a twenty minute walk from here, in a river that a-ways." Mike gestured behind and to the left of where they sat and Richie shot him a dirty look.

"I came here to try and relax."

Mike only laughed.

That night, after the sun had set in a myriad of colors much less impressive than the ones which shone in good ol' Cali. Richie found himself curled on a deck chair Mike had on his front stoop, watching the moths and other bugs circle the porch lights with an intense fixation, the darker it got the more of them had appeared. His phone was once again in his hands. It had been charging all afternoon, face down on the coffee table. He sighed and finally stopped his fidgeting to turn his attention to the device. He waited for it to load up after he turned it on. Before long he was staring at the familiar screen, there was only about a second of silence before the phone jumped to life and loaded the-

Jesus Christ -over a hundred notifications. He felt a little bad as he skimmed over the list of people vying for his attention, mostly he had messages from the Losers. Maybe it had been a kind of dick move to drop off the face of the earth for two days. He quickly turned to his email. He winced at the couple he had from sponsors. Well, former sponsors he assumed without having to open them.

He instead concentrated on the email from his manager.

'Alright Rich, I'm assuming you still have access to email, despite your sudden vacation but please make sure you tell me when you have a reliable phone, I'd like to discuss some things further. Good news: Your live-stream is trending, and there's been a lot of supportive interest within a whole new demographic. With a little work-shopping we can pull this all back together and make something out of it. Bad news: we lost a few sponsors, some of the higher ups weren't happy with your unpredictability. Also there's been some negative press from some previous demographics, as well as some confusion on whether you were serious in your bit. After hashing things out with the team we think you should start forming more of an online presence, we are working on getting your Twitter verified. Make a statement, control the flow of rumors, if you would like I can talk to the writers about coming up with a statement for you. We need to encourage support from this new demographic by reassuring people your coming out bit wasn't just a bad joke. Call me once you've read this, and get your ass back to LA.'

Richie let out a shuddering breath. A bit of the hysteria he had felt back in LA had begun to crawl up his spine. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of taking to social media, especially to what? Tell everyone he's gay? Again? Hadn't the first time been horrific and awkward enough?

His teeth clenched together as he worked his jaw until it ached, his breath seemed to burn his nostrils and tightly wound throat with every motion. Emotion thick and cloying wrapped around him until he felt as if he were drowning. He felt the sudden urge to jump up and run. As if he had anywhere to go in fucking Florida that wouldn't end with him in the jaws of some ugly reptile.

He placed his phone to the side and rubbed his hands together, feeling inexplicably dirty suddenly. He had run half way across the country and he still felt just as bad as he had in LA. All the gross intrusive thoughts were still there, the voices telling him how disgusting he was, how he'd disappointed his friends, driven them off. That he'd wind up sad and alone again. Behind that overwhelming fear was shame, shame that he had been lying for so fucking long, and yet behind that was the fear of anyone finding out, which circled back to more shame over his feelings to begin with. He shot his phone a scathing look. His manager wanted a statement? What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the actual hell was he supposed to Tweet out? ' Hi guys, it's true, I love cock but don't worry I hate myself more than any of you ever could!' ? Yeah, like that would go over well. Richie tried to amuse himself by picturing the look on his publicists face. God, it was suddenly even more tempting. Though he really couldn't afford to lose another one, especially while dealing with this latest fuck up. He wondered if he should finally face the music, open up all of the Losers unread messages. He opened his messenger app and immediately felt even more overwhelmed. His thumb hovering over the list of names. His eyes fixated on 'Eds '. Still, he hesitated. Terrified by what he'd see.

A small part of him tried to hold onto the sliver of optimistic news his manager had relayed, however it seemed slippery and hard to keep hold of it lieu of all the other shit. He pressed down over Eddie's contact name and held until it highlighted and with shaking hands he quickly deleted the message thread, erasing all of their previous conversations as well as the slew of unread messages. Almost immediately he felt as if his stomach had fallen into his gut. Regret and fear churned in him and he felt more strongly than ever as if he'd lost something. Richie startled as his phone buzzed obnoxiously; he looked down, heart in his throat, expecting to see Eddie's picture and was surprised to instead see Stan's.

He swallowed thickly before accepting the call.

"Hello?" Richie winced at how tepid his voice sounded.

"So, he is alive." Said Stan, dryly.

Richie groaned and slumped even lower in his chair, covering his face with one hand as if blocking his vision could also block out his embarrassment. There was a beat of silence before Stan asked,"So, what's going on Rich?"

And Richie couldn't help it, all the stress and emotional upheaval- that fact he was in Florida of all places - hit him all at once and bubbled up. First as a near silent giggle, then falling apart into gasping, full bodied laughs. Tears tracked down from his cheeks and Richie honestly couldn't tell what sort of emotion was behind them. Stan, bless his heart, waited patiently for him to gather his wits and calm himself down before prompting him again with a: "Yeah?"

Richie nodded despite knowing no one could see him, "Yeah." He agreed.

"The groups been pretty worried." Stan pushed gently.

"I- I don't know what to say." Richie admitted, feeling his guts churn with unease.

"Well, that really is something isn't it?" Stan said, "not everyday we find something that shuts you up."

And Richie can't help the startled laugh that escapes his throat. Despite his unease, his fear, the smile doesn't leave right away."It's been an eventful few days." He finally agrees.

"And how do you feel?"

Richie pulled a face, "Who are you? My therapist?"

"Pretty much except the pay is shit. Now answer the question."

Richie sighed, "I feel-" he cut himself off trying to discern a word he could use, "bad."

Surprisingly Stan didn't mock him for his eloquence, or lack thereof.

Richie tried again. "I'm…"

His guts continued to knot and squirm until he had to physically draw up his long legs to his chest, hoping for a respite, "I feel kinda sick."

"You always did get queasy when your nerves were high. You threw up on the first day of school."

"How the fuck do you remember that?"

"Like I'd ever let you forget. You threw up all over Greta Keene's light up shoes."

Richie groaned, "I mean, she kinda ended up deserving it?"

"True." There was another beat of silence, but this one was much less awkward.

Richie looked out into the dark foliage, lost in thoughts. "I can feel you thinking." Stan said softly.

"I fucked up."

"A bit, but probably not as much as you fear."

"I-I doubt that. Did you- Did you see it? The show?" Richie asked tentatively.

"Yes," Stan said after a moment's pause, "not while it was live...but afterwards."

"Then you know I fucked up."

"Yes, but as I said-"

"I don't know what to do." Richie interrupted Richie could hear Stan sigh through the phone.

It didn't sound like a noise made out of frustration but Richie's own self doubt was making him question everything.

"It's okay to be scared."

Richie felt his throat constrict at the words and he had to close his eyes against their sudden burning. He suddenly really wished Stan was here with him.

"I- I am. Scared." He said, haltingly.

"That's okay. You're not alone though, you know that right? You don't need to be alone."

"What if- what if they hate me?” ‘What if he hates me?’

“They could never. There's no way you're getting rid of any of us that easy."

Richie let out a humorless chuckle.

"Why do you think they would hate you?" Stan asked softly, though the question felt more like a prompt than asked out of genuine curiosity.

Stan always had a way of sounding older than he was, like he already knew the answers he was trying to make you understand as well. Richie felt suddenly off kilter as he wondered if Stan had somehow already known.

"Because-- Because I'm- Gay." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise up. He had never said it before. Not out loud and never to anyone else.

There was a pause as Stan waited to make sure Richie had said all he was going to before answering.

"Richie." He said, "None of us think any differently about you. You need to know that."

"How- how do you know- I mean what if-"

"None of us think any less of you. I'm not going to say this isn't a big deal, because to you it is. This is, well, it's obviously been something eating away at you. And sure, maybe you decided to come out in somewhat of a dramatic fashion and freaked yourself out, but you don't have to face all of this alone. We are going to be here to support you one hundred percent."

Richie sniffed back a few wayward tears that threatened to escape.

"Are you...are you sure?"

"Have you read any of the messages they've sent you?"

"No- I- no."

"You should. I think it will help. Also everyone was super worried when you went AWOL. You are...safe aren't you?"

Richie felt a pang of guilt at the hint of unease that marred Stan's voice.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm safe." He eyed the bushes warily, "as safe as I can be."

"Good. But...I could be in LA in just over a day you know."

Richie felt his heart swell and he wiped away a stubborn tear that refused to be pushed down. "Thanks, but I'm okay...plus I'm...not exactly in LA right now."

"You're not?" Stan said sounding a bit alarmed.

"Nah, taking a small vacation."

"Have you told Eddie? He's been-"

"We haven't spoken."

"Richie." Stan sounded tired now.

"I - I can't, okay? You saw the fucking show. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him now? 'Hey! So I told the whole world about my big gay crush on you! Oh, by the way, I have a big-'"

"Richard!"

"What!"

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Whatever happens, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

"Fine." Richie said begrudgingly followed closely by a put upon huff.

"Thank you. Now, will you be okay?"

"Yeah," he said, and though it was with little confidence, a little was still more than he'd felt previously.

"Good. Call me anytime if you need to talk. But you should try messaging the others, I know they'd like to hear from you and...they'll understand Richie. Losers gotta stick together."

Richie smiled despite himself. "Losers gotta stick together."

He parroted back.

"And call Eddie."

"Okay mom."

"I'm being serious Richie."

"Goodnight Stanley!"

Stan sighed but gave in, "Goodnight."

Richie took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He sat staring at the screen until it flipped automatically back to his homepage. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his messaging app. He clicked on the first name on his timeline list and began to scroll, eyes darting over the string of texts, a small smile making its way into his face as he took in the words of, yes shock but also support. Once caught up, he moved on to the next Loser until he had read through them all. And no he definitely didn't cry.

Well, maybe only a little. He felt another pang of loss when he remembered just why Eddie's name wasn't on his messaging list. He quickly opened up a new message draft and selected Eddie's name off his favourites list and then froze.

Stan's words played over in his head, encouraging him. All Of his friends show of support warmed him to his core, he could do this- A loud rustle from the underbrush sent Richie's heart jack-hammering in his chest. He froze, wide-eyed as he stared into the dark. A loud snap of a twig sent Richie vaulting over the side of the deck chair and nearly ripping the screen door off its hinges in his haste to get inside. 'Not today Satan', he thought as he slammed the front door closed behind him and slid the deadbolt into place. Richie huffed and wandered over to the pullout bed that had become his new home and collapsed onto it. He looked at his phone once more, and the opened draft before he deleted it and turned the device off. He'd message Eddie tomorrow.

Richie did not message Eddie the next day, nor the day after that.However, in his defense, he had been busy. Richie helped Mike with odd jobs around his property and was becoming more and more convinced that there was a large reptilian monster of some sort living on the grounds. Mike could roll his eyes all he wanted but the truth of the matter was that one day Richie swore he saw scales moving slowly through the brush.

Richie had also taken up his managers challenge and started trying to revamp his online presence. Now that he was officially verified he began, as the young ones would say, shitposting. His first order of conduct being a small tweet which read:

Richie Tozier @OfficialTrashmouth 'Turns out my biggest joke was pretending I was straight.' It had taken him a good three hours of nervous sweating before he had finally been able to post the tweet but he had also felt an immense sense of relief after receiving a screenshot of his own tweet from Bev minutes later followed by some words of love and way too many emojis. The rest of the losers had also sent their love and support through the group chat and private messages. He mostly ignored his twitter feed though, he had made the mistake of checking up on the tweet and its relevance earlier and had immediately felt overwhelmed. Not to say that most of the feedback was bad or anything, however as someone who had spent such a long time clinging to a carefully constructed persona, suddenly being unmasked and thrust into the spotlight was...scary. it was hard not to feel the shame and frustration he had been fighting off all his life.

Later, Mike had proven that he wasn't as much of an internet phobic recluse as Richie had begun to believe him to be, when over dinner that night he had clapped Richie on the back and told him only a little awkwardly that he was happy for him and that he hoped he could live the rest of his life with more confidence in who he was. Which? Okay, damn.

Richie had simply nodded, taken aback from how touched he'd been, luckily Mike had not seemed to be expecting anything back from him and the rest of the night flowed into something more familiar. Before they split for the night to retreat to their own sleeping arrangements, Mike asked if he had spoken to Eddie yet.

"Bill said Eddie was sounding pretty worried about you."

Richie had felt the swirl of something related to guilt settle over him, leaving him feeling restless with a negative energy he couldn't quite shake off.

"Eddie's a big boy, he'll be fine." Richie said, mind already wandering and worrying.

Mike sighed but let it drop before wishing Richie a good night. Another day another battle.

Richie lay awake well into the night, going over all the little dominoes that had fallen over and lead him to where he now was. Which of course meant that, mostly, he thought of Eddie. He reminisced about hot summer days spent by the quarry, of nights spent tempting Eddie out of his bedroom window to go look at the stars, he remembered the nights when they would talk about all the things they wanted to do with their lives, about how much they wanted to leave Derry behind but never each other. Their pinky fingers interlocking in quiet promises that extended far beyond the reaches of Derry.

He wondered a little bitterly how he could have kept his feelings contained even as long as he had, when there had been so many moments, so many times when he felt ready to explode with them. All the times he felt the need to pull Eddie’s metaphorical pigtails because he just couldn’t stand not being the center of his attention any longer. God, had he gotten good at it though. He couldn’t help but smile as memories washed over him, so precious for how long he’d gone without them. A chasm opened up in his gut though as his thoughts drifted back to his future, and its shaky foundations- hell, it didn’t even have foundations to be built upon. All Richie had was an email from his manager and the knowledge that Eddie must hate him. The thought of moving on with his life without Eddie by his side somehow seemed so improbable, so completely terrifying that Richie’s chest seized considering it. He wondered angrily where his conviction he’d had just over a month ago had gone. When he’d been so ready to keep lumbering onward. Maybe he had succeeded simply through lack of foresight. By waking up each new morning with a heavy despair in his chest and starting his day by pushing it down, down, down, before he could find the curiosity to examine it. By busying himself with distraction after distraction.

He wondered why his patented technique wasn’t working now.

Eddie had stepped into Richie’s apartment and scrubbed it until it sparkled and he must have done something to Richie himself as well. It was like the moment Eddie had stepped back into his life he’d swept away all of his previous coping mechanisms. Richie felt a wave of irrational anger suddenly. Anger at Eddie for throwing his life off its axis by his mere presence, at himself for growing comfortable with it so damn quick that he’d tricked himself into believing it was permanent.

Richie stewed in his tumultuous emotions in the darkened living room of Mike’s Florida home with nothing to distract him from his circling thoughts and growing loneliness except the obnoxious singing of the swamp insects that inhabited the area.

“It’s not a swamp.” Mike said, shaking his head and fixing Richie with a tired look.

“Listen, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a-”

“It’s a floodplain.”

“It smells like shit and is full of fucking snakes and gators Mikey.” Richie argued sometime during the next afternoon.

He’d gotten a somewhat fuzzy photo of a snake curled up next to a tree by the water and had uploaded it to his Twitter account with a “ Get out of my swamp!” caption and had been arguing with Mike on and off ever since. Honestly Richie had been on a roll with creating a new Twitter, uploading mostly photos and quips but he wasn't really in the mind to be too serious while on the platform. His manager was still thrilled.

“What is with you and the alligators?” Mike questioned with a shake of his head, “You haven’t seen one since you got here and you’re still somehow obsessed.”

“Do you know how old those things are Mike? They are nature's perfect killing machine. Evolution fucking stopped cause it got it right on like the first go, it just just paused long enough to make them a little smaller. They were here before us and will probably outlive us.”

“Eddie tell ya all that?”

Richie scoffed and made a bit of looking awfully offended. Mike laughed so he counted it as a win. Sort of.

“...speaking of-” Mike began.

Richie’s gazer darted to Mike, eyes narrowed.“He called this morning.” Mike continued.

Richie felt his heart rocket into his throat and his stomach drop into his gut so quickly he had to swallow down the urge to dry heave onto the sand.

“What?”

“He’s looking for you. Did you honestly not tell him where you were going?”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Richie gasped.

“Hey now- calm down Richie. He just sounded really worried.”

“Did you tell him?” Richie demanded. Mike sighed then replied, “I told him I’d get you to call if you popped up.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed but he wasn’t such a dick that he would call Mike out for lying without proof. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Why not? I mean, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“I saw the video.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Richie threw his arms up, “Isn’t privacy a thing anymore?”

“You live streamed the show Rich, I don’t think privacy was a concern at the time.”

Richie folded his arms and scowled.

“Listen, just, call Eddie. Before he drives Stan and Bill crazy.”

That made Richie pause, “Stan and Bill?”

“If you would go into the group chat instead of hiding you’d know what I mean.”

“The moment I go on everyone will be able to see, including Eddie, so.” Richie shrugged, “No group chat.”

“Full offense, bud, but you’re treating this whole thing like a child would.You won’t be able to avoid Eddie forever.”

“Watch me.” Richie muttered, knowing full well that he was only reaffirming Mike’s accusations. Mike rolled his eyes but seemed to give up the argument and left the porch to retreat back inside to let Richie mope in peace. Not long later Richie heard the shrill ring of Mike's home phone. Why the man bothered to have a home phone instead of working off a cellphone like a normal person Richie would never know, regardless, he couldn't pick up what was said from where he sat. A few minutes later Mike was back out on the porch.

"I'm going into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. Why don't you relax and think about what I said? Maybe call Stan." Mike suggested, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly.

Richie took in the man's tense posture and shifting eyes. Mike was usually the type to stand strong, make eye contact as he spoke. Richie started to feel a little bad, thinking perhaps he'd been a bit too much of an ass today.

"Sure, okay." He said agreeably in an effort to make up for his earlier prickliness.

"Need me to pick you up anything?" Mike asked as he circled around his truck.

"No," Richie said, already feeling like he'd put Mike out enough for crashing at his abode for so long.

Mike shrugged and tossed his keys with almost a nervous energy before nodding and saying "Alright, well, I'll just, uh, be going then."

Richie nodded and waved him away, "if I'm not here by the time you get back, assume the gators got me."

Mike huffed but there was a smile on his face as he hopped into the cab of the truck and started it up. He waved to Richie again as he circled around and started down the long drive to the main road. Richie was bored by then end of the hour. There was very little to do while in the boonies that didn't run the risk of being eaten by the local wildlife, especially without Mike there to help spot potential risks and watch his back.

Richie wandered about Mike's home, exploring and generally being a nosy little shit. He was able to amuse himself for a good thirty minutes after he found an honest to God banjo tucked away in the attic. He brought it down to the porch ready to strum like mad and make a damn good nuisance of himself when Mike got back. However, as the minutes ticked by Richie's attention wandered and he poked around some more, flipping through Mike's extremely niche and weird collection of books, his notes, examining his bits and bobs. He took pictures of things he found particularly weird and bizarre, he was busy going through his photos and trying to think up anything that might have been considered funny to Tweet about, because that was really a concern now apparently, when Richie finally heard the telltale roar of Mike’s truck engine coming up the drive. He sort of hated the flash of excitement he got from the sound, he was a grown adult who should be in enough control over his life that he didn't rely on others to bring him amusement; of course that being said, if Richie had any semblance of control he wouldn't have even been in Florida, would he?

Richie stood up from the deck chair and raised a hand in greeting when the truck came into view, the banjo resting behind him ready to go. However, as the truck moved closer and the sun reflecting on the glass of the windshield shifted Richie began to become aware that Mike wasn't alone in the cab of the truck. Richie walked off the porch and into the front yard to try and get a better look but it wasn't until Mike was all but pulling onto the property that Richie's eyes locked onto none other than Eddie fucking Kaspbrak glaring daggers at him through the glass.

Now, Richie had experience many terrifying things in his life, the variety of traumas he had locked up would be enough to personally fund some lucky psychologist for years if he felt so inclined to go. So it's with great authority and experience that Richie swears that seeing Eddie fuming in the passenger seat of Mike's god damn car, in fucking Florida, was the second scariest occurrence he had ever witnessed. Only being trumped by the horrifying reality he'd been forced to watch in the deadlights. He knew he must have made one hell of a picture, still slightly hungover, hair unbrushed, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Richie felt frozen in shock at the sight, Eddie, his Eddie in fucking Florida. The truck had barely finished rolling to a stop before the passenger door was being thrown open and Eddie was bursting out of it like a mini tornado of rage.

Richie couldn’t help but note the state Eddie seemed to be in, hair usually perfectly groomed looked knotted and windswept, his skin pale despite having tanned in the LA sun and his eyes looked haggard, dark bruises from sleepless nights weighing heavily, even his usually ironed shirts and slacks looked wrinkled; his rough appearance did little to take away from the bright angry sheen in his eyes as he fixed Richie with a sharp look and began to march over. Richie had known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with him, what, with his seemingly perfect ability to self destruct at every possible turn, however the point was really hammered into his head when the only thought that seemed to penetrate his shocked and empty brain was ‘My God he’s fucking gorgeous.’

That was until of course Eddie’s sneer picked up a notch and he opened his mouth to let out a scathing,

“You fucker!”

Richie took a giant step back shaking his head eyes fixed so solely on the short angry demon marching up to him that he didn’t even see Mike get out of the truck afterwards.

“I can’t believe you! ” Eddie continued, “Don’t you dare take another step Richard, I swear to God!”

And all at once, all of Richie’s survival instincts were kickstarted back online.

“Nope!” Richie said, voice a little higher pitch in his fear, and he turned and ran.

“RICHIE!”

Richie didn’t turn to look back, he just went for it, dodging past Mike’s small home and straight into the Floridian woods. There wasn’t any logic to his actions, he didn’t even bother to stick to the trail, Richie simply pushed his way through the trees and grasses. He had no destination in mind, just the strong urge to run, much like the one he felt during all of his life's most uncomfortable moments. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could no longer hear the sounds of Eddie and Mike calling after him. It was only when he felt like his chest was about to explode that he stopped to wheeze against a tree, he clutched at his side as he sputtered pathetically at the ground and silently cursed the decades he’d spent mostly ignoring his physical health.

“Jesus fuck” He grumbled once he’d finally remembered how to properly pull air into his lungs and breathe.

He took a moment to look around only to realize that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Mike had to have, like, neighbors somewhere, right? Richie groaned he knew this was stupid, he had nowhere to go except further into the Florida wilderness and that was one stupid way to die. Sighing, and mentally preparing himself, Richie turned to go back the way he thought he had come from.

He snarled as he pushed his way through the thick bushes and trees grumbling at the sticks that caught the fabric of his clothes and scratched at his skin, he was going to look like he’d come out of a fight with a pissed off alley cat after this shit. God Eddie was going to be so incomprehensibly furious at him. He cried out in victory as he pushed through some particularly thick bushes, only for his cries to turn almost immediately alarmed when the ground under his feet seemed to disappear and sent him careening down a muddy, slick embankment and face first into green tinged waters.

Richie resurfaced with a loud gasp as he flailed and coughed out a mouthful of disgusting water, swearing profusely. He splashed until he was able to finally get his feet somewhat stable on the thick muddy bottom of the riverway he seemed to have fallen into. The water luckily seemed to be slow moving without too much of a current. It was however, quite deep, reaching up to his chest. He glanced around and cursed his luck, the river was narrow but he definitely didn’t recognize it. Which meant he had most definitely been moving in the wrong direction. He cursed again, this stupid shit wouldn’t have happened to him back in LA.

All at once Richie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his whole body erupted into a strong shudder that had more to do with instinct than the cool waters. He turned, eyes darting back and forth along the murky water when movement locked his attention to the opposite embankment. Richie felt ice cold terror grip him as he watched a huge alligator pull itself down the muddy shore and slip gracefully into the slow moving water. Panic seized him and he spun around to begin clawing at the shoreline desperately, uselessly, his hands coming away with chunks of mud and grass, doing nothing to pull him out of the water. A noise he wasn’t proud of escaped from his throat as his mind whirled. This was not how he wanted to die, not in some fucking swamp water, not to a fucking alligator and certainly not in fucking Florida.

He pulled himself along the shore trying to get to a narrower portion he could climb up when he heard a splash behind him. Richie didn’t turn to look though everything in him wanted to, but right in front of him was a tree, and Richie wasted no goddamn time pulling himself up. Thinking back, he had no idea how he found the strength to climb all the way into a tree when he could barely make it up two flights of stairs without needing to pause for air, but one moment he was in the water with certain death and the next, he was curled up in the branches looking down. Richie looked over the water and shouted out a relieved cry at the pair of reptilian eyes he could swear were staring at him, no more than ten feet away,

“Yeah, fuck you! Not getting any of this today pal!” Richie laughed and felt himself sag against the scratchy bark, “Now just, go fuck off so I can leave.”

He finished with a grumble. And then waited.

And waited

And-

Richie was going insane, every time he would begin to think that stupid animal had finally buggered off, there would be a ripple in the water or he’d catch sight of a pair of eyes bobbing above the waters surface. He had no way to call for help, his phone abandoned somewhere back on Mike’s porch, and even if he had had it with him Richie wasn't sure the device would have survived his impromptu bath. He had tried calling out for help a few times but had gone completely unanswered. He was totally alone.

Besides from stressful, being stuck in a tree because of a potentially murderous gator was beyond boring and extremely uncomfortable. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied and distracted enough from re-analyzing the series of events that had him stuck here in the first place, and the hot humidity in the air made it so he never really dried off from the water and instead just became more and more itchy and cranky.

As the minutes dragged on into hours, he had taken to singing, badly, to himself when another sound caught his attention. Richie paused his singing to listen, ears perked for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment there was nothing, and then all at once he heard it again. His name, distant but there.

“HEY!” Richie shouted as loud as he could, “OVER HERE!”

Richie felt an intense burst of relief as his cries were immediately answered by another shout of his voice and a barely heard: “ Where?”

“HERE!” He shouted again,

“Richie?!” Mike’s voice.

“BY THE RIVER!” He called out hoping Mike was familiar enough with the land that he knew what that meant.

“ARE YOU HURT?” Eddie’s voice rang out, so much closer.

Eddie.

Richie’s chest tightened but he would willing sit through whatever lecture Eddie had as long as he got away from this stupid- oh god.

“WAIT!” He shouted, “BE CAREFUL! GATOR!”

“WHERE?” Mike again

“RIGHT FUCKING UNDER ME!” Richie yelled glaring spitefully at the large reptile that had decided to make camp on the sand, less than a body's length away from his tree. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and Richie knew they were close,

“You’re close, I can hear you, be careful!”

Moment’s later Mike and Eddie burst through the thick bushes with a swing of a long machete Mike was wielding.

“Jesus, Rich-” Mike cursed when he got a good look at the precarious situation Richie had gotten himself into.

Next to him Eddie wasn't doing much better.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck Richie! Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me? Can you go literally nowhere without pissing shit off? That's a fucking alligator!” Eddie began screeching and pointing.

“I fell into the water!” Richie tried to defend,

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hang tight Richie, I’ll call the animal control or something I guess,” Mike said, taking out his phone.

Even as he did though, Eddie was bending down to pick up a large rock from the ground, eyes wild and half-mad looking. The smaller man grunted as he winded up and threw the huge stone, hitting the alligator right in the side with a thunk.

“FUCK OFF!”

“Eddie! Shit , Stop!” Mike cursed, phone half way to his ear.

Eddie wasn’t listening as he picked up a large branch and threw that next, the gator made a loud hissing noise and thrashed it’s tail to the side, spraying sand into the air. Richie’s jaw dropped at the sight of Eddie attacking a fucking alligator, it honestly would have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen if he wasn’t so instantly terrified that it would end with Eddie dead.

“Eddie, Eddie fucking stop it, I swear to god!” Richie said, even as he began calculating how he could throw himself onto the damn thing if it decided to charge his friends.

Eddie picked up another large stone and threw it, cursing the gator out as it sailed through the air and hit the large beast right in the eye. The animal recoiled and Richie felt his stomach drop thinking that it was going to retaliate for sure and that he was going to have to die to try and stop it, but for once in his miserable life luck seemed to be on his side. The alligator pushed itself quickly away, sliding into the water and making a B-line for the other side of the river.

Eddie barely took the time to breathe before he was yelling at Richie further,“Get down! Get down right now, or I swear to god Richie, I’ll use Mike’s fucking machete to cut the tree down with you in it and leave you to the swamp!”

Richie was only scrambling to obey, and after nearly falling twice, his feet finally touched the ground.

“Phew,” Richie said and whistled, “That was sure an adventure, huh guys? And you said this place wasn’t a swamp, I swear it almost smells as bad as-”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike said, looking too exhausted.

Richie’s mouth snapped shut and he felt a little guilty for causing the man so much stress. He sighed as he walked over to the other two,

“Look, I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eddie said, cutting him off.

Richie looked at him and frowned, Eddie appeared more stony faced than he had been since he’d shown up hours before.

“Mike, lead us back.” Eddie demanded.

Mike took a moment to look between the two before he nodded, “Sure, follow close and watch your step.”

The walk back to Mike’s house was spent in mostly weighted silence that had Richie growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took. It was of immediate relief when they made it back to the small abode, Richie’s eyes were trained on the door as he made a B-line for it, he couldn’t be out of the open air fast enough, he needed a shower and maybe to sleep for like a week. He carefully wasn’t looking at either Mike or Eddie when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his sleeve.

“Go on ahead Mike, we’ll be in in a minute.”

Richie gulped nervously as he sent a silent plea for Mike to save him. Mike, though, barely took the time to glance at them before he was nodding and heading into the safety of the house.

Richie took a deep breath and knowing that he couldn’t possibly run anymore turned to face Eddie. Eddie for his part seemed to be working himself up again, there was a deep furrow between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie would speak first, before he decided to just get it over with himself, he had barely parted his lips to speak when the silence of the early evening air was broken.

“Florida Richie? Fucking really?”

Richie’s snapped his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just took off like that! You didn’t even text me! Do you have any idea what that was like? You just disappeared! Once I realized you weren’t camping out at Bill’s or Stan’s or-or the others, I freaked! I thought you were fucking dead, man! What the fuck!”

“Wow, breathe Eds.” tried to deflect, noticing just how red Eddie’s face was getting.

“FUCK YOU!” Richie winced and looked to the ground.

There was a beat of silence.

“I looked everywhere for you, I was so worried,” Eddie continued, softer this time, “I even went through your phone numbers and called your manager, but he told me he couldn’t divulge any information about clients and-” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and said, “You can’t ever do this again.”

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s heart was thumping in his chest.

Eddie’s face twisted, “Why the hell did you take off like that?”

“I-”

Richie didn’t even know where to begin, all of the past weeks emotions were battling it out in his chest and abdomen, made somehow even more striking with Eddie standing right in front of him, his fist still clenched around Richie’s sleeve as if he were afraid that Richie would bolt again if he let him go. Eddie was looking up at him, eyes cleared of the anger that had been burning so bright since he’d shown up, he looked confused, worried, and maybe something else that Richie couldn’t quite name. But he was looking at Richie with all of his attention, and god, Richie almost wished he’d never stop, never stop looking at him, holding him, it terrified him how much he wanted Eddie.

He almost cracked a joke, because of course he would, but he held back, swallowing it down at the last moment. The thought of lying to Eddie, was causing him even worse discomfort than he was already in. So, for the first time in a long time Richie decided to be brave.

“I was scared.”

Eddie’s brow creased again.

Richie took a shaking breath, “I was scared and I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do-”

“So you ran to fucking Florida?”

Richie sighed and shot Eddie an annoyed look.

Eddie snapped his mouth closed and motioned for him to continue, “I panicked, and yeah, I ran to fucking Florida because-because even this god damn swamp was less terrifying than going home and having to- having to lose you and-”

“Lose me?” Eddie interrupted again looking impossibly more bewildered.

“You-You saw the show. I fucked up- I know I did but-”

“Did you mean it?” Eddie said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“In the show, was that- was that some sort of joke to you? Were you jerking me around or did you fucking mean it?”

Richie was sweating, he was sure of it, his wide eyes burned from how much he wanted to just blink, but he was frozen, everything around him seemed to have stopped, his field of vision narrowed down to Eddie. The rest of the world could have evaporated and Richie wouldn’t have known the difference. In the stillness, he knew that the next words out of his mouth were important, more important than anything else he has ever said. He could feel another one of his life’s dominoes tipping.

“Every word.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a joke, I hadn’t even meant to say it, but I did mean it, every damn word. I- I like you Eds, I have for years. Almost as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t remember- it was always you.”

The silence was deafening. All at once Eddie’s hand which had been holding his sleeve was gone and Richie felt as if his heart was going to shatter. He tried to prepare himself, for the rejection or disgust, but even so he wasn’t sure how he could possibly survive it. Suddenly, he felt hands clench at the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his center of balance, he barely had the mind to stop himself from falling before everything went blank and he died.

Or at least, Richie was assuming that’s what happened because there was no way that Eddie would be kissing him otherwise, he had to have died. It took his brain a second more to realize that no, this was happening, Eddie was kissing him, and that he needed to fucking respond before he ruined it.

Richie brought his hands up, one to grip Eddie’s hip and pull him closer, and the other to gently cup his cheek as he finally began to kiss him back. All at once Richie felt himself settle, all of the turbulence and anxieties that had plagued him for as far back as he could remember finally dissipated, his head felt light as the elation hit him even as the heat coiled in his belly, grounding him. Richie could scarcely believe this was happening, he sighed into the kiss as he felt one of Eddie’s hands trail up to tangle in his curls.

Eddie was the first to pull away, only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. Richie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Eddie kept his hands on him, leaning up to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Richie opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d even closed, and took in everything he could. The slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks, the small upturn of his lips that hinted at a smile, Richie wanted to kiss him all over again- and then keep kissing him. But before he could, Eddie was backing away.

“God I can’t believe I did that.”

Richie had a brief flash of anxiety as he suddenly worried he was about to lose it all.

“You were practically swimming in that swamp , god you’re filthy! Uhg, no, no more, go inside and shower right now! I’m not kissing you again until you do.”

Richie’s face broke out into a huge grin, he didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, the suddenness of it felt like getting whiplash.

“But Eds-”

“No, absolutely not! And that’s not my name!”

Richie’s grin grew impossibly large as he opened up his arms and went in for a hug, delighting when Eddie screeched and tried to dodge him. The two of them chased each other up the porch and into the house, Richie giving up the game and instead taking Eddie’s hand in his, his stomach swooping pleasantly when Eddie not only allowed it but gave him a reaffirming squeeze.

Yeah, they still had a lot to talk about but Richie had never felt more excited to do so.

It ends with Richie walking out onto a large stage in LA, his palms sweaty as he smiles and waves at the cheering crowd. There was a nervousness clawing at his chest as he made it to center-stage, but with it also a giddy sort of anticipation. He picked up the microphone and stared out over the audience, not seeing much due to the bright lights shining over him, but still the silhouettes carried a touch of intimidation. He breathes, smile growing as he greets his audience, his voice steady and loud, cheers rise up in accordance and he plants his feet, grounding himself, readying. Yet despite that, the usual pres-show dread that Richie is used to feeling crawl in his stomach is absent, in its stead is a right sort of deliberateness that he’s never felt while walking out in front of a sold out crowd- or any crowd for that matter, not since being picked up decades ago in LA. There’s something peaceful about the steadfastness of his conviction, about knowing however the audience takes this new show will be a drop in the bucket compared to the opinions of the people he’s already shared the script with. Eddie’s approval meant more to him than any of these fuckers combined. So it was easier for him now, more than any other time in his life to recite the words from his script- words he himself had written.

Yes, he was nervous. But he was also resolute as he turned to look into the camera and the audience and say:

“So, my boyfriend moved in recently, like officially and-”

The smile that broadens Richie’s face is more genuine than any one he’d given on stage before as his audience hoots and cheers. Maybe he’d really send that fruit basket he’d been considering over to his publicist, or his manager for convincing him to take to Twitter to improve his fan-base. Fuck it, he’d send his whole team fruit baskets. A thank you to everyone who had been supportive of him, who continued to back him while he figured his shit out. People who gave him the opportunity to stand on stage and feel the pride that ballooned in his chest at each laugh and holler each of his jokes got. Pride was a feeling he’d had very little of in his life, it was hard to grasp when you’d spent most of your life in hiding. There were moments even now, despite everything, that had him instinctively wanting to curl up and slink away, because having pride in oneself is a learned behavior and one Richie was working on still. It got easier though, with every smile from his friends, any and every little touch Eddie blessed him with, and every morning he got to wake up and have Eddie right there next to him- everyday was full of little moments, little opportunities for him to feel so fucking lucky. So, yeah, walking out on that stage was an ending. A metaphorical book closing on a life lived in hiding and in shame- and he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Richie was starting a whole new novel, one composed of all those little and big moments worth holding onto, even if they were scary, maybe especially so; because for the first time in as far back as he could remember Richie wasn’t running away. He was pushing forward with the strength of more than just himself, and he was making a conscious decision to finally make his leap of faith, because even if he fell, he had six great people waiting to catch him. Richie pushed onward, because even though this was an ending, it was also the start of something so much greater. -

#IT #reddie #fanfic #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #stan uris #fanfiction #fandom

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