#can you imagine the goddamn confusion and terror
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fangs | g.jaegerjaquez
chapter one: shit | chapter two (tba) | chapter three (tba)
▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: dark content, 18+! a/b/o stuff (pheromones, fangs, alpha-omega, animalistic tendencies), blood (a LOT), biting, drugs, gangs, fighting, (more to be added as chapters progress)
▸ ▸ ▸ wordcount: 3k+
▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: this has been in the works for a while but i finally have a bit of energy to put into it, so that's fun! also ive taken parts of omegaverse lore and made it my own, so if things get confusing, feel free to ask questions! thanks for reading!! ♡
“Shit,” he hisses, tongue running over the split in his lower lip. His glare intensifies as he shoots it over his shoulder, landing on the little turd shaking in his boots, wooden baseball bat held tight in two white-knuckled fists.
“I didn’t even do that! Y-you bit your lip with those freakish fricken fangs!” The kid argues, blue eyes wide with terror, that distinct childish whine caught in his throat.
“Right, so you swinging that bat at me had no impact on the state of my face at all?” He turns his body towards the boy, cracks his neck as he rolls his shoulders. “Sounds like a crock a’ shit, squirt.”
“Uncle will be mad if you hit me!” He reasons, knees knocking together.
“Oh, but you can hit me?” Grimmjow raises his brows, wiping the blood with a knuckle as he stalks towards the kid.
“You’re the gang’s Mad Dog! You’re supposed to be too good for me to hit!” He frowns, stepping back as the predator steps forward.
Grimmjow grins then, his hulking canines pressing uncomfortably into his lower lip, the one on the left shining with blood. “Maybe I wanted a reason to discipline the young master.”
“Jaegerjaquez,” Tousen appears out of nowhere, like usual. “Boss has a job for you.” Is all he says before turning to the kid. “You know how your mother feels about you using that bat for violence, young master.”
The kid’s pouting, obviously happy to have been spared, but upset that he’s being scolded and losing his babysitter-slash-impromptu-martial-arts-instructor all in one fell swoop.
“Where’s he want me?” Grimmjow straightens, rubs the sweat from his hands down the thighs of his faded blue jeans, re-pops the collar of his barely buttoned Hawaiian shirt. Tousen regards him coldly through the lenses of ridiculously priced glasses, as usual, like Grimmjow is worse than the dirt beneath his stupid black leather loafers.
“The usual place.” Tousen turns his nose up at Grimmjow, and gestures back to the kid. “You need to stop sneaking out of the house when Starrk falls asleep; let’s go.” He orders, heading towards the winding forest path that leads back to the main house.
“We were training.” The kid argues back, pouting. “Everyone always talks about how strong the Mad Dog is, and I’m gonna be stronger.”
“Strength isn’t necessarily how hard you hit, or how many bones you break, Kaiden. Remember that.” Tousen sends Grimmjow one last look before the pair disappear behind the yellowing Japanese Maples, the young master waving frantically and promising to return.
This makes Grimmjow grin, smirk elongating as he heads back into his shack, imagining how Aizen’s prissy bitch of a left hand man has to listen to the kid praise him. What makes the young master’s idolisation of him that much sweeter is the fact that the little brat hasn’t presented yet; Tousen can’t blame the kid on being affected by Grimmjow’s Ridiculously Potent Dominant Alpha Pheromones, has to accept that he just likes the way he is. Thinks he’s fucking cool.
Betas, as a rule, tend to harbour a little bit of hatred towards alphas or omegas, especially in their line of work, but Tousen takes the goddamn cake.
With a spring in his step, Grimmjow packs a duffel. His little house— if you can call it that— is a bit of a mess, so finding what he needs is a pain in the ass, but he manages. Ten year old Motorola Razr (in ice blue), wallet, and switchblade are all on his bed, still there from being dumped out early this morning when he got home from a job. His first aid kit, pheromone patches, and inhibitors are all in the stall he calls a bathroom, and— he checks the package— he’s running low on patches. The last thing on his mental list— his knuckle dusters— are in the kitchen sink, still caked in dried blood, but he throws them in the bag anyway.
He leaves his leather jacket and just opts for his keys; the summer’s been long and hot, and he loves the way the air feels on his skin as he speeds the streets of Karakura.
+
Ichimaru’s Ikeman Fantasy is a front that even the blind can see, yet it’s been untouched by the law for years. Grimmjow parks his bike in its usual spot, holds the duffle by the handle and tosses it over his shoulder, before strolling past Yammy and the other bouncers, and in through the front door.
Smells like easy omega in here.
“Afternoon, Jaegerjaquez!” Nel hollers, tits bouncing as she waves from her spot behind the bar. They never used to get along, but the years of living and working in close proximity forced them into a friendship of sorts. Now they dye each other’s hair.
“Nel,” he nods, duffle landing on the bar with a thud. “Aizen here?”
“‘Course he is,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “He’s always here.”
“Like you.” He grins. “You’re part of the furniture, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, nodding back towards the kitchen. “Someone’s gotta keep Nnoitra in place. I do miss you being here, though.” Her nose scrunches up. “All the new boys are boring.” There’s a bit of bite behind her bark, and usually that’s what he looks for in a woman, but she’s never affected him. He can’t get hard for other alphas; all part and parcel of being a dominant himself. Omegas or nothing.
“Maybe if I was better at lip service.” He shrugs, tossing his feline stare over his shoulder to sus out the place.
“Or if you were worse at brawling,” she leans on the bar, those too big breasts pushing up and together in a way that makes them look like they might pop out of her shirt. “They’ve started calling you The Grim around here, you know? You come and go, then someone shows up dead.”
“That’s dramatic; I don’t kill people.” Always.
“Keep your secrets, Jaegerjaquez, I don’t want them.” Nel shakes her head, perks up a bit when someone else comes in.
It’s too early to open, and Grimmjow has no idea who this girl is. She’s cute, nervous-looking. Undoubtedly omega with her candy-apple scent.
“You’re getting girls in here now?” He asks when the candy apple omega is escorted through the lounge and into the back rooms.
“Yeah, Gin’s wanting to expand with the beauties.” She whispers, leaning close. “But you know Aizen: don't fix it if it ain’t broke.”
“Fox face wants to bring girls in here?” Grimmjow balks, a little too loud. “To work?” He questions, voice dropping.
“Yeah, for the back room stuff.” Nel looks undoubtedly uncomfortable. The main draw for the club is that it’s catered to women; less violent outbursts, less brawling, less police attention.
“Huh, never would’a picked it.” Grimmjow sighs, brows raising. “Matsumoto’s surely against it.”
“Yeah, so’s Ai—“
“You’re here,” Aizen’s voice isn’t loud, but it's commanding. There’s a quiet cruelty there that keeps people on their toes, a suppressed dominance that he’s master at concealing. “Come, Grimmjow, I have a task for you.” He’s across the lounge, standing in front of his office, the door right next to the one the candy apple omega disappeared behind.
“Sure thing,” he nods, suddenly professional. He gives Nel one last look before grabbing his duffel and slinking off towards his boss— The Boss.
+
Aizen’s office is the epitome of old European money; velvet chaise, dark filigree wallpaper, gold accents, cherry stained hardwood. Grimmjow feels like a stray dog attempting domestication each time he stalks into the room, can’t bear to sit lest he destroy or dirty something. The Boss doesn’t even offer him a seat anymore, just places a lowball of whiskey in his hand and starts on the task at hand.
“There’s a small motorcycle gang that’s started to sell on our turf,” he says, opening a beige folder and tossing its contents on his desk. “Need you to rough ‘em up a bit before they get too big for their boots.”
“Kids?” Grimmjow scowls, picking up the pile of photos and tossing them back to the desk as he looks at them. They’re in their late teens to early twenties, with their black leather jackets and little white baggies. “You’re sending me to deal with kids?”
Aizen sighs and sits down in his polished leather chair, taking a sip of his own whiskey. “You’re right.” He nods, leaning over the table and picking up one of the photos Grimmjow’s tossed down. “Normally, I’d send Yammy, or even Tousen— if I wanted to deal with it diplomatically— but this kid,” he holds up the picture of a blonde, his head tossed back in laughter, canine-like fangs protruding out of his mouth. “Is a dominant like you.”
He takes the photo from Aizen and looks it over, then goes through the ones he tossed and picks up a clearer one of his face. “He’s not even wearing patches,” Grimmjow shakes his head, glaring at the glossy photos. “Just swinging his dick around like he owns the place.”
“Exactly,” Aizen stands and gathers the photos, holds his hand out for the ones Grimmjow’s still scrutinising. “I’ll send the lot of them to your phone.”
“Boss, I can’t see shit on my phone,”
“I told you to buy a new one.”
“Why fix something if it ain’t broke? Besides, I got the little fucker’s face memorised, don’t sweat it.”
“They hang around by the train station at the end of the street most nights. Rough them up a bit, feel free to knock some teeth out.” Aizen smiles then, golden eyes shining as he shows his own fangs.
To the naked eye, he looks like a beta or omega with his average-sized canines, but Grimmjow knows better. Knows he’s had them filed down; that he does so on the regular.
Dangerous fucker he is.
+
After sticking around for a couple more drinks with Nel, he pockets a knuckleduster and leaves her with the rest of his shit. "I'll come get it when I'm done with the job." He drawls, tapping his scent blockers to test their saying power— excellent, considering he replaced them after Aizen dismissed him.
"Don't kill too many, Grim." She calls a little too loud, smiles a little too broadly. It draws attention from the other patrons, the few older women sitting at and around the bar suddenly interested in him.
"Don't lose my shit." He glares back, fang grinding on the still fresh wound from this morning when he tenses his jaw.
Undeterred, she waves him off with a smile, before undoubtedly weaving tales about his murderous escapades to the nosey hags asking too many questions. He doesn’t stick around long enough to confirm or deny his own suspicions.
The damp heat of early summer clings to Grimmjow like a second skin; seeing others unaffected— still dressing in light layers and boots, some with scarves and gloves— makes him feel a little claustrophobic, even outside in the streets. He knows it’s him who’s wrong, knows his medication has side effects and his second gender has drawbacks as well as perks, but still it’s enough to plaster that scowl to his face. At least it makes people avoid him, gives him a little bubble when it’s crowded, even in rush hour.
Hands shoved deep in his pockets, that glare is set straight ahead. He’s on a mission, and it’s something he’s not too happy about. Sure, he’s used to cleaning up Aizen’s messes, used to brawling, bleeding, biting, and bitching; but dealing with pups never ends well. These kids probably think they’re kings, think that their blonde ringleader is gonna make them rich or famous, or both.
Probably both.
Flashing fangs like that around here, though… that’s gonna get you killed.
Grimmjow’s nothing if not morally grey, however, so seeing the little posse down an alley on the way to his destination brings a rush of excitement. The sooner he can get this over with, the better.
“Oi,” he calls, entering the alley. “Heard you’re selling.”
“Who’s askin’?” One steps away from the wall— not the blonde— and tilts his chin up at Grimmjow. It takes all the willpower in the world not to match that snarl with one of his own, but he just shrugs and tries to act innocent, keeps his shoulders hunched so he seems smaller than his six-four frame.
“Just some guy,” he drawls, keeping his fangs concealed. “Why, you discriminate?”
The kid snarls at him again, infuriated, “Discrimin—”
“Cool it, Tetsu,” the blonde finally steps forward, and his pheromones are no joke. It’s been a hot minute since Grimmjow’s come across a dominant who doesn’t conceal what he is, and he has to physically stop the warning growl that wants to vibrate up his throat. “This old man just needs a hit, don’tcha grandpa?” He grins, condescending lilt to his brow.
“Nah, you got me all wrong, kiddo,” Grimmjow stands tall— taller than the blonde by at least five inches— and cracks his knuckles, apathetic grin turned evil. “I just need to relay a message to you little fuckers about who’s turf you’re selling on.”
The blonde postures, baring his fangs as his pupils blow wide, “Bring it on, old man!” He yells, pheromones turning the alley sour and crippling his friends.
Grimmjow says nothing, just mirrors the young alpha, and roars.
His pals throw up, one passes out, and the blonde’s pupils revert before his fight or flight kicks in, and he launches himself at Grimmjow. He knows the fight would be over if he just removed his scent patches, but where’s the fun in that? What kind of Grim Reaper would he be if he let it end at that?
Blondie lands a hit to Grimmjow’s jaw, and he feels it crack his bone. Adrenaline and anger mask the pain, and in an instant he’s above the kid, landing blow after blow after blow to his face with his bare knuckles, colouring his face crimson in a matter of seconds.
“Old man?” Grimmjow grunts sarcastically, the adrenaline subsiding with each moment of non-resistance. “This old man better not see you on this side of the tracks with intent to sell again, or I’ll rip those useless canines straight outta your face, got it?” He finishes, holding the blonde up by the front of his bloodied leather jacket and glaring down at his swollen, weepy face. Blondie can only groan in pain before going limp in Grimmjow’s grasp.
He drops him to the cement and glances up at the rest of the gang. With both alphas done with their brawl, the pheromones in the air have thinned, and the rest of the kids are in the process of regaining their composure.
“I fucking mean it,” Grimmjow continues with his warning. “I know you think you’re fucking invinci—”
He’s frozen by a sharp stinging sensation in the side of his neck, and when he swipes at it, something small, cylindrical, and plastic hits the ground next to his knee and rolls away from him.
A syringe.
They’ve drugged him.
“Run!” Someone screams from behind him, lurching with speed and strength Grimmjow knows wouldn’t be possible from anyone other than another dominant alpha. He grabs for Blondie, tosses his limp body over his shoulder and takes off down the alley as the rest of the gang scatters.
Grimmjow stumbles as he attempts to give chase, his vision swimming and heart pounding. He stops and crouches there in the alley behind a dumpster, closing his eyes and trying his goddamn hardest to regulate himself, to pinpoint the problem. His limbs are fine, and there’s no numbness, so that’s a plus, but he’s dizzy as all hell, and—
Slap.
He opens his eyes to see one of his scent blockers— a shriveled-looking skin-toned bandaid— lying there on the cement like it’d been used more than a few times. But he knows that’s not the case, knows that was a brand new fucking blocker and that it should’ve lasted him until at least tomorrow morning even if he wanted to sleep with it on.
He reaches for the one at the other side of his neck, and that one, too, slides off, looking a little more than worse for wear.
His pheromones have sweat the patches off.
This hasn’t happened to Grimmjow since he was going through goddamn puberty and the doctors couldn’t find the right dosage of inhibitors for him. He’s early thirties now, has been on the same goddamn pills since, and has never missed a dose. If there’s one thing Grimmjow cannot fucking stand, it’s an alpha who can’t control his fucking ruts.
And now he’s one of them.
Those shifty little fuckers have thrown him into rut.
“Motherfuckers!” He roars, knuckles meeting cement out of pure frustration, the pain that’s supposed to come with maiming oneself simply not present.
Grimmjow gets up and braces himself against the wall, breathing heavily and glancing between the mouth of the alley and the direction in which those little shits ran off. It’d be absolutely insane for them to want to stick around and try jump him, especially considering Blondie wasn’t using blockers, so there’s no doubt the end of the alley isn’t a completely dead end. Heading towards the street would only end in mayhem, so he stumbles deeper into the alley, using the brick wall for support when the cramping takes over and he needs a moment to breathe.
Fuck, he’s forgotten how this felt; forgotten just how base he goes when his hormones are running rampant, forgot how primal he is. He’s hungry. For food, for sex, for a good fucking fight.
His cock aches.
Still, he fights it. He’s not completely gone yet, but he can feel it pulling at him, irritating him, can feel it tickling his brain like a loose thread; one tug of it, and he’ll be feral. He’s exhausted, fighting the urge to pull the string, finds himself panting as he clutches at the spray paint covered brick with a bloodied hand, sweat dripping into his eyes, plastering powder blue hair to his forehead.
He briefly wonders if Aizen knew that they had this little ace up their sleeve, before deciding— with a baleful chuckle he didn’t know he still had in him— that he doesn’t even wanna know.
The last thing he sees before the world goes black is his own reflection in a shiny metal baseball bat
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Misc Marvel Fic Recs (Part 6)
mistake on the part of nature by idiopathicsmile
Steve takes in Bucky's betrayed look and Sam's confusion, follows Sam's gaze to the pile of mangled fruit in the trash can. Sudden comprehension fills his face.
"Oh," he says. "Bucky found out about bananas."
In which an American icon is mourned. But probably not the one you're thinking of.
-
The Ding Dong War by icewhisper
The year Hostess releases their limited edition Star Spangled Ding Dongs, they all suffer.
(AKA no one should let Tony Stark have a credit card and history books never covered just how much of an asshole Steve Rogers really is.)
-
Look the Devil in the Face by prettybirdy979
It's increasingly becoming a world where the unbelievable happens every day. The Avengers team includes a defrosted World War Two solider, a giant green rage monster and a man who might be a God; and they battle aliens and magic on a regular basis. It's not too far fetched to believe the Devil walks Hell's Kitchen.
Matt, on the other hand, hasn't realised exactly why his new battle buddies seem terrified of him. It's not like they've even heard the rumors about him being the Devil... right?
-
Not Easily Conquered by dropdeaddream, WhatAreFears
In 1945, Steve Rogers jumps from a nosediving plane and swims through miles of Arctic Ocean to a frozen shore.
In 1947, Steve Rogers marries Peggy Carter.
In 1966, the New York Times finds the lost letters of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.
-
the stone's in the midst of it all by tognia
Sarah Rogers was born to fight an unwinnable war. She wonders how it could be, sometimes, that she gives birth to a boy who does not understand defeat.
-
and there will be music despite everything (sw/mcu au) by QueenWithaBeeThrone
She imagines it--waking up alone, scared, disoriented, not knowing who or where she is, terrified at every little thing. She imagines never knowing for sure. “Yeah, real lucky,” she echoes.
“Wish I felt that way,” says Foster.
or: Darcy Lewis, intern to Anakin Skywalker, not that either of them know that last part, and the time before they hit a man with their van.
-
Barnes and Rogers and the Goddamn Truth by orphan_account
There are three well-known facts at Shield High:
1. The history teacher Mr. Barnes is a stone-cold terror, and it’s not even because he only has one arm.
2. The other history teacher, Mr. Rogers, is a mysterious enigma, and it’s something to do with the body of a Greek God and contradicting stories of his past. (They’re all rumours, anyway.)
3. Mr Barnes and Mr Rogers hate each other.
Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.
-
How to Woo the Winter Soldier by writeonclara
“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.
“What,” Natasha said.
“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.
“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.
Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.
-
Embrace the Fire: The Avenger Games by lorata
Trust me, and I'll give you something better than a Mockingjay. I'll give you the Avengers."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Trust me, and you'll see."
Non-powered alternate universe fusion: the Avengers in Panem.
-
devil's gonna follow me (wherever i go) by Lyaka
The man who used to be Bucky Barnes lined up his shot. His finger twitched, only once, very precisely.
Help me, the bullet sang.
Ninety-eight floors below him, the bullet glanced off a vibranium shield with a musical ping.
And Steve Rogers looked up.
-
the sirens and the thunder by letege
“Hide that,” he says, forcing the words out past every instinct. “As well as you can, all right? Before morning.”
Steve stares at him blankly, like he needs a moment to work this out, then swallows once, sharply. "What's your name?" he asks at last—asks as he stands there with the pelt in his hands.
And oh, he thinks suddenly, what is his name? He can’t speak it, not with this mouth, he can’t sing it into the air like he can in the ocean. He just shakes his head; like his nakedness, it’s something he can't explain. Steve nods, just nods, his eye swelling shut and blood drying on his shirt collar, and says "we’ll figure it out."
(An AU where Bucky is a young selkie who is accidentally called to Steve and ends up staying around to help this poor, wretched kid not die.)
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SORRY BUT review pt 2 because i CANT drop this chapter and I NEED to scream about the parts I can’t stop thinking about. hollow people is currently living in my head rent free homie and i freak the fuck out every time if i even THINK ABOUT THINKING about this chapter
god gOD GOD the way you sell adams spiral is just so painful. he doesn’t want to feel this way, so helpless and afraid and hurt as his worldview continually shatters right in front of him. it’s just siwnwoahnsndowjbskxu
also Blake’s hands hanging by thread made me SEVERELY uncomfortable. (in a good way!!) like. FUCKING OW.
> "I did love you, Adam."
>He paused. Glanced at her. "Your love was a lie."
LIKE he really truly believes that in that moment and it’s just DUMBASS PLEASE STOP.
> Was he just afraid?
> But he was so angry.
> Killing Blake was supposed to set things right. It was supposed to erase the cracks spiraling through his foundations. It was supposed to fix him. How could this be wrong? How could it—no. Why was it just making things worse?
duuUUUUDDDE my heart HURTS reading his anger and confusion. fuck I can FEEL it. that burning sensation and spiraling mind and frustration and its just. no words. no fucking words
> Good gods, he was unwell.
BITCH i be saying that this WHOLE DAMN TIME. YES YOU ARE VERY UNWELL.
> Something that, for years, everyone had left to fight its fear alone.
AGHHGGAHHHHHHH GOD that just STINGS
> She drew in a breath—
> And the ceiling caved in.
JESUS FUCK you are NOT forgiven for that. FUCKING HELL IT WAS SOWNSNALZWONAIS DJW
> "No, Yang," she strangled the urge to cough again, "you need to stop. I was getting through to him."
> "Blake. He was going to kill you."
LMAOOO honestly take a shot every time yang tells her stubborn as fuck gf to stop heading into situations that’ll kill her. or at least stop being blind to the goddamn high ass probability????? legit you’ll get alcohol poisoning.
and that little ruby vs Adam bit??? i LOVE how you write rubys combat. it’s so fluid
> Adam took most on Wilt and pushed against the last with a fierce grin and his hair aglow. She froze, terror she couldn't control locking her muscles and preventing her from dodging.
FUCKING CALL BACK FUCK YEAH
> Blood dripped from the new wound on his forehead.
serious moment but bloody Adam?? thank you 😋
and blake apologizing to him and he just can’t believe it DAMN IT that hurts. AHGH GOD those two.
Also homie DO NOT thank me for screaming at you about your fic because IT IS A PRIVILEGE TO READ. seriously this is absolutely amazing thank you.
(im too much of a dumbass to pick up the heavy foreshadowing you’re blatantly putting down IM SORRRYYYYYY)
cannot believe you just and hit me with a part two lmao and I will thank you as much as I damn well please. I get so few reviews that I cherish the ones you send in 😊
I'm so glad that your reaction to everything Adam did in this chapter was along the lines of, "You absolute idiot, please stop." Like we can all see that he's about as lost as a person can be but all he can see is the purpose he's so desperately clinging to. It takes Blake putting her whole life on the line solely to refuse him - not to win the fight, but to say he's wrong - for him to realize it.
And yeah, Blake's injuries are a bit graphic if you bother to imagine them. But if Weiss can be de-impaled, then Blake will probably be fine. Probably.
#anon#unofficial adam answers#hollow people spoilers#adam taurus#blake belladonna#hollow people#happy tag#long post#hollow people reviews
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leap of faith — sano manjiro x reader.
word count — 1.3k.
genre — fluff fluff fluff, i love sweet mikey.
contains — cursing, timeskip SPOILERS present, reader is gender neutral.
description — sano manjiro is in love with you, and he realizes how much he loves you at the ass crack of fuckin' dawn.
author's note — hey besties, this is my first published fic here, kinda short but mikey brain rot is heavy. i hope you enjoy this cute fic before i rip your hearts out with some angst in a few days :^) reblogs and likes are always appreciated! and please give me feedback in my inbox! hehe, enjoy.
“it’s late.”
you know. but you still wanted to hear the sound of his voice before bed.
“mm… i missed ya’, is that a crime?” your voice echos through the receiver, the sound of your duvet crinkling in the background as you shift in place. sano manjiro was a busy man. always has been, always will be. being the leader of a biker gang was never easy—let alone some “new age” criminal organization.
you didn’t understand why manjiro persisted to play this game of russian roulette with his life. but it was never your place to overstep, especially since this was his life. it was all he knew, all he understood. you’re not sure what he’s doing, or if he’s even allowed to talk on the phone at this hour, but you still wanted to hear him. just so you know he’s alive and well.
you hear him chuckle, the sound of his feet scurrying against whatever floor his sandals were clacking against. the background noise that accompanied him earlier has dissipated; you realized he probably went outside to hear you better.
“your crime is loving a fool like me way too much. don’t think you’re sane.” he’s right. you’re actually crazy for even pursuing him. there was a lot of push and shove in the beginning, both parties scared of being hurt and getting hurt. but you were always there, even when manjiro went through whatever darkness was eating at his soul.
“crazy for you.”
“corny.”
“you love me.”
a pause. eerie enough to send shivers down your spine. why wasn’t he responding? did something happen? did you smother him too much? is he regretting—
“marry me.”
… not what you were expecting. especially not over the phone.
“sano manjiro, did you just propose over the phone? what kind of shitty rom-com are we in?”
“is that a no?”
“... never said that.” you wanted to marry him. but you wanted him to put that lifestyle behind, for the sake of the family you might have in the future. kids, dogs, cats, etcetera. you wanted him to be in, one hundred percent. but you knew he was too deep into this world to run now—especially since he’s so well-known as the ‘invincible mikey.’ you still longed for a happy home with manjiro, and a normal life.
“maybe you’re right. it’s not my style to ask you this over the phone.”
“try again later. when you’re really ready.”
the gag is, he is ready.
manjiro hurries home, blond locks hidden underneath a thin, black hoodie. he’s shaking, like a pomeranian in the presence of fireworks. his hand meets the left side of his chest, back pressed up against the grey colored wall of your shared apartment as he slides down to sit on the floor. it was four in the morning, and manjiro was about to shit himself.
he gulps, eyes peering around for you, double checking that you were fast asleep before he makes a phone call. his fingers tapped the back of his iphone, impatiently waiting for the other caller to answer. though it was the crack of dawn, he still needed some moral support.
“mikey? fuck you callin’ for at this hour? haven’t heard from you in mo—”
“ken-chin. i’m proposing.”
a loud ‘flop’ rang through the receiver, accompanied by the bedsheets seemingly slipping underneath draken’s feet. it was a huge bomb to drop, especially when the duo has been separated for months on end. manjiro hears more shuffling, followed by a few curses. “you’re fucking lying. the one you’ve been one since—?”
“yeah. i’m crazy as hell. but i love them. head over heels. i’m a goddamn simp.”
“why the hell am i the first to know, man?”
“you’re m’best friend, even if i need to stay away from you. and, also… you’re not the first to know. i asked them already.”
“you WHAT? don’t fuckin’ tell me you did it some dumb way like over the pho— you did. you’re impulsive enough to do it like that, too.” regardless of how long it’s been, draken still knows and understands manjiro like nothing ever happened.
“yeah… not romantic. but i can’t see myself with anyone else. i trust no one else. but i… am…”
“scared? man, you’re the head of a criminal organization. ‘course you’re scared. you don’t want the love of your life… to get hurt…” his voice trails off and manjiro’s heart tenses even more. the memories of the past still felt fresh. all the people they lost in tokyo manji… could never be replaced. not in a million years.
but the living must live.
“i love y/n. never felt like this before. i’d quit everything. but i would have to make sure they’re safe and whatever future we have together is secure. i know i promised takemichi that i’d protect everyone and that future he worked so hard to save… but what about mine?”
manjiro really did sacrifice everything for his friends. being the type of person who carries everyone else’s burdens takes a toll on his mental. he felt selfish for wanting to leave it all behind. but maybe being selfish was beneficial once in a while.
“listen—”
“do you think i’m stupid?”
“mikey. you’re not stupid,” draken sighs, shuffling again in place. “you just want to love someone and be loved in return. nothin’ stupid about that. what is stupid though, is you proposing over the damn phone.”
he’s not wrong. it was a spur of the moment decision that could drastically change his life forever. but with you, he doesn’t care. as long as you’re his, forever.
“how do you think i should do it?”
“well. i guess, tell me some sappy shit. how do you feel about them, and whatnot.”
“i don’t think i could ever imagine me with anyone else. a lot of people have tried to grab my attention but i only have eyes for y/n. sometimes when shit gets real hard…” manjiro takes a deep sigh, fingers threading through his hair, tilting back the hood to let it fall onto his back. “i think of y/n and i remember that even in this shit world, someone is here for me. someone cares about me. they make me feel like i’m not alone anymore.
i have dreams ‘bout us, y’know? me and y/n… kids running around. a little mikey clone. pissin’ them off because we want little flags on our meals. going to the park and letting kids be kids. maybe i’ll teach ‘em at a dojo like gramps did for me and my siblings. maybe i’ll teach ‘em about bikes—with your help, of course.”
draken laughs, letting his friend continue his little speech as he gets comfortable in bed again. don’t think i’ve ever seen mikey like this, ever, draken muses.
“man, we can own a whole zoo if we wanted. chifuyu could hook us up, in secret, of course. still have to protect everyone,” manjiro is grinning from ear to ear, head resting against the wall. “i wanna grow old with them. honestly, i didn’t think i’d make it to my twenties. more so, i didn’t want to live past twenty-something. but now… things are different. wanna be old and gray. see grandkids terrorize our children. die together.”
the tension in manjiro’s chest has faded away, only left with warmth that only you could bring him. his free hand reaches into his pocket to fumble with a small box, snapping it open to reveal the engagement ring his grandfather handed down to him.
he wasn’t the marrying type. but for you, he was.
“that all? you sound good like that, man. make an exception and let us come to the wedding.”
manjiro wants that more than anything. his friends, you... all safe. all happy. but again, the fear creeps up. he doesn’t know what to do with himself if any of you get hurt.
“... how do i tell y/n that?”
“you already have.” your voice makes him jump, knocking the velvet box out of his fingers and onto the hardwood floor. his face pales, followed by a huge lump forming at his throat when he sees your figure emerge from your shared bedroom.
“i-uh… i thought you were a-asleep.” manjiro mumbles, earning a huge laugh from draken on the other side. he hears him say something along the lines of ‘my cue to leave. good luck. send me an invite.’
“i was waiting for you.”
he’s sweating now, a small bead forming at the base of his neck. his phone is now at his side, the screen flashing from draken’s caller id to the lockscreen photo of you on your first date together, a few years back. your eyes zone into the box, though.
“i was going to do this… better. god, i fucked up, huh?”
you’re laughing now, rubbing your tired eyes before you join him near the wall, picking up the box. “what makes you think that, dummy?”
now he’s confused. you wanted him to ask when he was serious, but in his head, serious meant rose petals, candles, someone singing celine dion in the distance.
without a word, you slip the ring onto its appropriate finger, holding up to the small rays of sunlight that peaked through the window from the approaching sunrise. manjiro’s hands fly up to your face, holding his whole world in his hands. his eyes are shiny, on the brink of tears. you nudge your noses together, foreheads connecting tenderly. your hands hooked onto the hem of his hoodie, bringing his frame closer as you whisper a soft ‘yes.’
“yes?”
“yes, i’ll marry you.”
manjiro’s lips curl up into the silliest grin you’ve ever seen him sport, before he presses a soft kiss to your lips. now he’s kissing you quite desperately. as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real, that this isn’t a dream. you feel his words vibrate against your lips, “gonna make you so happy, i promise. i love you. i love you so, so much.”
“forevermore.”
“forever yours.”
#tokyo revengers x reader#mikey x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers imagines#mikey imagines#🌧 — cloudwrites.#bro i love mikey sm please
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“Dean, just go book a massage already.” Sam griped as Dean let out another groan, his muscle roller brutally pressing over the knots in his shoulder. “Campus offers sessions at the health center.”
In all honesty, Dean had been trying to do everything except go get a massage. He didn’t like the idea of strange people touching him, and it certainly didn’t help that he’d seen a lot of erotic massage porn in his day. He didn’t want to get a goddamn boner in the middle of the session and get stuck in an awkward predicament with some poor girl just making minimum wage.
“I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, wincing again as the roller bumped over the aching knot he had had since he was a teenager.
“Your appointment is on Friday at 2.” Sam replied flatly. Dean turned to stare at him, incredulous as Sam showed him the confirmation page on his laptop. He scowled.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
——————
Dean mentally cursed Sam as he sat in the relax room in nothing but a fluffy towel around his hips, anxiously waiting for the masseuse to come get him (despite the room’s literal purpose being to relax). He had tried to cancel his appointment, but Sam had done something to it so the cancellation page was guarded by a passcode. He had clearly gone lengths to get Dean’s muscles loosen up, but he also suspected this was payback for every time Sam had been forced out of their apartment so Dean could hook up with whatever chick he happened to woo at the bar.
“Mr. Winchester?”
Dean jerked his head up, startled by the low pitch of the voice. Holy fucking shitbags, was he getting rubbed up by a dude? He had been expecting some hot chick with curvy hips and big tits with soft hands that could melt him to butter—
He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head.
You’re confusing reality with porn again.
Dean nearly choked on his words, his anxiety only increased when he realized what was about to happen.
“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracked at the end. He only just started taking in the guy’s features and felt his shoulders stiffen even more—fuck. This guy was gorgeous. Not only did he have the voice of a goddamn erotic storyteller, but he looked the part too. Glossy black hair that was unfairly messy in the most attractive way (Dean’s horny mind unhelpfully suggested his hair looked like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked), a strong jawline darkened by a five o clock shadow that was so defined Dean felt the strangest urge to bite it. His lips were a little chapped, but they were plush and pink—
All train of thought came to a screeching halt when their eyes met. Jesus Christ, did this guy inject the fucking ocean into his eyeballs? No one has eyes that blue—Dean could make out the color from across the room. They shown bright and soft, a shocking contrast from the sharp defined features of a young man in his prime.
“If you’ll come with me, we can start your session.” The guy said. Dean nearly stumbled on his goddamn feet as he stood up. He had never had a problem with guys before, so why was this one throwing him off kilter?
It’s just because he’s gonna have his hands all over you in a minute. Dean reasoned to himself, anything to stop the feeling of panic fluttering in his chest. He silently followed the guy into one of the rooms, once again distracted by how fucking good the guy smelled. Maybe it was just the aromatherapy mentioned on the center’s website, but this guy smelled deeper, like almond extract and honey mixed with pine and campfires. Woodsy but sweet and Dean felt his shoulders relaxing involuntarily—until the sharp scent of lavender hit his nose and the guy’s scent was wiped out. The lavender immediately brought him back to the present, and he snapped out of his daze to realize the guy was standing patiently by the massage table—right. Dean was supposed to lay down on it.
“Have you ever had a massage here before?” The guy asked as Dean laid down and self consciously adjusted the towel now unwound from his waist and spread out on his pelvis.
“N-No.” Dean managed in a somewhat level voice.
“Well, welcome.” The guy gave him a small smile. Somehow, it made him feel better. “I’m just going to go through the standard procedure you ordered before we begin, alright?”
“Kay.” Dean squeaked, immediately making up for the embarrassing noise with a low grunt as he cleared his throat.
The guy started to calmly inform Dean of the places he would be putting his hands, all while pouring sharply sweet smelling oil on them. While he talked, Dean’s gaze somehow latched themselves onto the now-shiny hands that were about to be on him. They were nice hands—really nice hands. The knuckles were defined and his fingers were slender and strong. Dean could see the veins and tendons rolling under tan skin as he worked the oil around.
“—is that alright?”
He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the dude’s hands and back to that too blue gaze.
“Yep.” He said, all without really hearing a word the guy had said. It was an automatic response, one that the panicking part of Dean was screaming to take back.
“Your form says your problems areas are your shoulders and upper thighs.” The guy said casually. Dean felt the tips of his ears burn—his thighs were just fine, Sam knew that.
Fuck. Sam had done it on purpose, hadn’t he? To fuck up Dean’s world in cruel retaliation.
“Please turn on your back so we can begin.”
Dean tensed up the moment he was in position and the guy’s warm, slick hands touched his shoulders. His masseuse didn’t seem fazed, because he immediately went to work, strong fingers pressing into his skin as they work down his upper shoulders.
It took him a moment, when he felt Dean relaxing under his ministrations, to really begin. Dean bit back a groan as the hands suddenly became brutal, zeroing in on the knots and forcing them down with accurate strength. Dean tried to breath through the agonizing pain as he felt his muscles get pinched between strong fingers and pulled on the harsh rub downwards.
The guy worked diligently even though he had to know how much Dean was struggling. His body was both encouraging and protesting his actions, because while the knots hurt, Dean found himself floundering whenever the hands disappeared from his skin for more oil.
He felt himself sinking into the cushy table, melting like wax under this guy’s hands. As the pressure of fingers stayed on Dean’s upper shoulder and neck, there wasn’t even a buzz of arousal that he had expected. Porn lied to him, clearly, because this was perfectly okay and clinical—
And unmanly whimper escaped Dean’s clamped lips as he felt the hands slid downward without warning and suddenly there was warmth shooting down his pelvis—oh no…
The hands never stopped, traveling further down his spine and sides, pausing here and there to work out kinks. Dean did his best not to squirm, to think of disgusting things if only to dispel the chubby he probably had. The hands were nearly at his hips, pressing on either side of his tailbone and jesus fucking christ surely the towel was covering him up?
The hands disappeared, and immediately, Dean despised the loss. All his panicking vanished, replaced by a yearning to feel the touch again. He nearly jumped when the hands suddenly pressed into the back of his thighs, just below the crease of his ass. Another spike of hot arousal shot down his spine, and Dean sincerely prayed he wouldn’t be asked to turn over.
But jesus, this guy was working magic. He found knots that Dean didn’t even know he had, nearly making him cry when he worked out a particularly harsh one in his calf.
He was there for nearly an hour, fighting between states of arousal and panic in complete silence while this poor (but very hot) guy did his job in total blissful ignorance of Dean’s internal war.
“If there are any areas on your front you would like me to work on—“
“No!” Dean said a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Just—“ While panicking, his shoulders had tensed up again. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to leave just yet. “Can you work on my shoulders a little more? I’m always tensing them.”
“Of course.” Came a rumbling reply, and those glorious hands were back on his shoulders, carefully pressing out the knots trying to form again. Dean immediately melted again, his shoulders slumping against the pressure.
He thought that would be the end of it. Dean had gone to the massage like Sam wanted (maybe he was thinking about going back, because he hadn’t felt that relaxed and loose in years), and now Dean could get back to classes and the garage. And if maybe he jerked off to a massage porn video imagining his masseuse instead of the faceless guy in the flick, if maybe Dean started having wet dreams about him basically every night, if maybe Dean was starting to question is already questionable sexuality all because this guy gave him a massage, it was no one’s business but his. Not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again anyway, because how could he go back now that he’s jerked off to the guy? That’s just rude.
So imagine his shock, terror, and panic when he walked into the first day of his tech class to see Mr. Massage sitting at a nearby work table, talking quietly with the professor. Mr. Magic Hands is Castiel Novak, Dean’s TA…and his lab partner for the year.
#cas is a smexy masseuse#gets all the lads and ladies but doesnt want any of them#just dean#because dean got turned on at that massage and cas fell in love at that massage#dean is going through a little bi panic#because his smexy masseuse smells good and looks good and has really nice hands#supernatural#spn cast#spn#cas#castiel#destiel#casdean#dean is bi#dean winchester#misha#spn fanfiction#spnfandom#ficlet#destiel fanfic#destiel fandom#fandom#spn fic#spnprideweek#spncreatorsdaily
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Deep End - Chapter 2: Birthday Boy
…in which Harry gets the birthday surprise he didn’t ask for.
Word count: 4.7k
AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.
WARNING: MATURE THEMES
All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist
Wattpad link
A/N: Thank you for all the love for Harry and Ezi after chapter 1. Please let me know what you think about each chapter so I can be motivated to write faster 😆
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“Humans are so funny. You make up false stories about us and refuse to believe anything that isn’t the same as your imagination,” the siren said.
Harry tossed his head back and laughed. He held out a finger at her. “No, mermaids aren’t supposed to exist. You’re not supposed to exist.”
The siren narrowed her sharp gaze, and Harry quickly moved back a bit in fear of her grabbing his leg and pulling him into the water. To his surprise, she said, “And who are you to decide that? A useless human with a useless tail–”
“Okay, enough with the tail joke.”
“–can’t even survive the drowning deep. You don’t want to believe we exist, so you won’t have to carry the guilt of trashing our homes and murdering our kind.”
Baffled, Harry worked his jaw while silently cursing himself for never taking part in those debate classes back in school. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that one day he would have to debate with a deadly siren in a cave on his goddamn birthday!
He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Look, lady. I’m only one small human, with a bigger than average human tail, FYI.” The siren eyed at his crotch in disbelief, so he quickly crossed his legs. “But that’s beside the point! What I was trying to say was that, if you’re seeking revenge, I can’t satisfy you because I’m not responsible for trashing the ocean or shit like that. I’m a singer, alright? And I don’t even live here. I’m from London. A land far away. If you wanna murder a human, I suggest looking for Elon Musk.”
The siren stared at him like he was the mythical creature. “I’m not familiar with all the names you mentioned,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, which had been a big distraction for him. Good to know that he could still get horny while facing death.
“Don’t you guys have fish Wikipedia?” he asked, and she tilted her head, looking rather confused. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you should know all the facts about humans. That sounded like discrimination against sirens.”
For the first time since Harry met this siren, she actually smiled at him. “You have a lot of funny words, you strange creature,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in fascination.
“You know what?” Harry exhaled sharply. “Since you’re my kidnapper, I’m gonna stop arguing with you in case you still wanna kill me. But today is my birthday, so I can’t be kidnapped. I haven’t posted a thank you message on Twitter yet, and I might get cancelled for that. Celebrities get cancelled for literally anything nowadays. It’s annoying.” The siren blinked at him, her pink lips slightly parted. “Right,” he breathed. “You don’t have a Twitter account.”
“You said you were a singer.”
“That’s all you got from my long speech?”
“What is it? Singer.”
Harry bit his dry lip and frustratedly combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I sing. Use my voice to entertain other people.”
“Oh, like sirens.”
“I guess.”
“Except that we use our voice to kill people.”
“What?”
“Sing for me,” said the siren despite Harry’s horrified look. She seemed excited as she rested her folded arms on a boulder and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her crystal clear blue eyes. “Let’s hear it. I didn’t know humans could sing. Let’s see if it’s good.”
“Fine.” Harry blew out his cheeks and cleared his throat.
He began to sing.
“Walk in your rainbow paradise–”
“What’s a rainbow paradise?” the siren asked, but he didn’t stop singing to answer her.
“–brown skin and lemon over ice.”
“Why are you singing nonsense words?”
Once again, he ignored her, this time, closing his eyes. “I get so lost inside your eyes. Don’t you believe it? You don’t have to say you love me.”
“Love,” the siren repeated the word as if she had never heard of it in her whole life.
Harry opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him as if she could see right through him. He went on, “You don’t have to say you’re mine. Oh honey, I-i-i-i walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you.”
“Why would you walk through fire for someone?” the siren wondered out loud as she stared off into the distance, her strong brows knitted. “That's stupid. Fire is hot. I saw the humans on the boats use it one night. I almost burned my fingers trying to touch it.”
“Yeah, don’t play with fire.”
“Then why would you walk through it?”
The siren pouted, and Harry caught himself smiling at her naivety. “It’s supposed to mean that you’d do anything for the person you love. Even risking your life.”
“That’s stupid,” the siren repeated her earlier remark. For a second, Harry saw a curious little girl and not a dangerous sea creature from earlier.
“Well, it’s just a song,” Harry told her. “I personally wouldn’t do that for anyone, either, but some people do love with all they have, and would sacrifice everything for the one they love.”
An angry frown had replaced the siren’s previous perplexed expression. “Some humans murder the ones they claim to love,” she said in a cold voice. Harry felt a chill running down his spine, but then the siren went on with a softened expression. “Sirens are not supposed to love. Love is a weakness for my kind.”
Harry nodded. “Bet you don’t even have a heart.”
The siren cocked her head; a corner of her mouth raised subtly. “Every living and breathing thing has a heart. Sometimes it’s valuable. Sometimes it's not.”
“Only valuable if it’s the heart that you want,” replied Harry.
For a long moment, the siren looked into his eyes as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Could she do that? Read his thoughts?
Beads of sweat were trickling down his back as his heart began to race; he could hear it in his ears. Suddenly, the siren was pulled beneath the water. Harry stiffened at once. The ocean was still for a moment, then two sparkling tails burst through the surface. Harry’s jaw fell slack with a soundless scream when he saw another siren sinking her fangs into the first one's neck.
The other siren had bright red hair and a silver tail. There were visible scars all across her pale, lanky arms, and he couldn’t see her face. Legs too stiff to run and hide, he stood on the edge and watched in absolute terror. The scene in front of him was madness as the sirens screeched, their tails flapping, creating violent waves as they sank their claws and teeth into each other’s flesh. Harry could see blood. The first siren was not as strong as the one that was attacking her. He must save her. Maybe a part of him knew that she wasn’t entirely evil. Maybe because she was the only hope for him to get home. Either way, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her die.
Before Harry could even think of a way, a bony hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sea.
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Harry’s dreams were thick with blood and haunted by the siren’s face. He’d been in the dark water, drowning, and the last thing he’d seen was her sapphire eyes glowing with the sunlight above as she’d stretched out her arm to grab him before he sank deeper. He woke up gasping, still feeling the saltiness of the ocean on his tongue and the pressure of water on his lungs.
He found himself lying on his bed, fully naked under the covers. Had he been dreaming?
Kneading his temple to chase away the headache, Harry scanned his sore eyes around the room and screamed when he saw her sitting in the corner. Naked. He looked away as soon as he caught her ocean blue eyes staring back.
The siren was in his room. And she had legs!
“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.
He heard her standing up but couldn’t bring himself to look. She sat down on the edge of his bed, smelling like the ocean. Not the fishy kind of smell; one that was unique, and Harry liked it even though he shouldn’t.
“This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” he mumbled to himself while clutching the duvet to his chest.
The siren, now a human girl, let out a sigh. “It’s not. This is real. I’m real.”
“You’re not.”
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You’re...naked.”
Even though Harry wasn’t looking, he could feel her questioning gaze pinning on him. He grabbed the covers and shoved them at her. “Cover yourself.”
“Oh...okay.” The siren did as she was told as Harry quickly placed a pillow on his private part. He finally looked at her, and she smiled while covering her upper body and the area between her legs with the duvet.
Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Better. Okay, why are you here?”
The siren’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”
Harry shook his head.
“We were talking when my sister attacked me, then dragged you into the water. You were lucky I saved you twice and brought you back to where I’d found you. This is the only palace on this beach, so I assumed it was yours.”
Harry sat and stared her face, trying to detect a lie but failed.
The siren rolled her eyes. She seemed disappointed as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, exposing the huge bite mark on her long pale neck. The skin had healed, and the blood had dried, but the area was still bruised. Harry fought the urge to touch it. There was no way this was really happening.
The siren shot a glance at his ankle. And that was when Harry noticed the red claw mark around it. He shivered at the flashbacks of a siren with red hair and a silver tail charging straight at him with her mouth wide open, her sharp teeth ready to tear off his flesh.
“Sorry about my sister. She could be very...deadly,” the siren in front of him said, looking remorseful.
Harry eyed her up and down once again. Finally, he broke his silence, “What happened to your tail?”
The siren refused to look him in the eye as she said, “My mother found out that I saved you, a human, so she cursed me.”
“Cursed you?”
The siren said nothing; the corners of her mouth lowered as she stared down sadly at her legs.
What kind of The Little Mermaid plot is this? Harry thought to himself, yet didn’t say it because it shouldn’t be a joke. She’d lost her tail, which meant she couldn’t go back to the ocean. Ariel from The Little Mermaid had wished to become a human. This girl had been cursed with the life she never wanted just to save him twice.
Harry buried his face into his palms. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“It is your fault.”
His head whipped up at her honest response. “You always say what you think, don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
Harry sighed and ran his palm over his face. “Never mind. How...how do I get you back to your mermaid form?”
“Siren.”
“Sorry, siren. How do I help turn you back?”
“I don’t know,” she said sadly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “But I need a place to stay until I figure it out.”
Harry thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll pay for your hotel room.”
“What’s a hotel?” the siren asked, her eyes round. “And why can’t I stay here in your palace? It’s big and you live alone.”
“This is a house, not a palace,” Harry said. “But I’m going back to London tomorrow, and I can’t take you with me.”
“Where is London? I want to see London.”
Seeing her so excited made Harry laugh. “No, you don’t; trust me. It’s not sunny there. Always dark and gloomy and raining.”
“It’s not sunny underwater, either.”
Harry held up a finger and kept his mouth open for a moment as he pondered over what she’d said. “Good point. But I’m still not taking you to London. That’s not a good idea.”
The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “It was your fault I’m in this situation.”
Harry gasped. “You’re so manipulative!”
“I don’t know what it means.”
“It means you say things like that to get me to feel sorry for you, and so I have to help you.”
“Oh, then, yeah, I’m manipulative,” the siren said. “Take me to London with you, or I’ll find you in London and make your life hell.”
Harry tossed his head back and groaned. As if he hadn’t been traumatised enough by all the events that had happened today, now he had to take responsibility for the life of a mythical creature. If he had been a bad guy, he would have just let the government have her and keep her in a lab like that Oscar-winning movie about the dead girl and her fish lover. But Harry wasn’t a villain. Sure, he could be an asshole, but he couldn’t betray someone who’d risked her life to save his. Twice.
Maybe if he’d just say yes and then leave quickly in the morning, he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He’d ask someone to take care of her, pay for a place for her to stay and her food. Her mother would have to take her back eventually. He didn’t know about sirens, but even in the animal kingdom, mothers never abandoned their children.
“Fine, I’ll take you to London,” he said. Seeing the smile on her face, he was lowkey thankful that he was so good at lying. “First, you have to put some clothes on. Wait here.”
Carefully, he slipped out of bed, holding a pillow in front of his crotch and one behind him to cover his butt, then padded awkwardly to his closet to change and get her something to wear. When he returned, she was still sitting on his bed, humming a familiar song and kicking her feet as if testing out her new body parts. He found it endearing, but of course, he wouldn’t tell her.
He handed her a bathrobe. “Put this on. I’ll find some real clothes for you later.”
The siren accepted the bathrobe and stared at it as if she’d been told to put it in her mouth and chew. She glanced up at him. “I don’t understand the purpose of this.”
“To cover up your private parts.”
Suddenly, she seemed sad. “I think I’m broken.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
She looked at him again, pouting. “I don’t have a tail.”
“I can see that.”
“No, I mean, a tail like yours.”
When Harry realised what she meant, his face burned, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “You’re not supposed to,” he said awkwardly. “You’re...a female. I bet male sirens don’t look the same as you, right?”
“There’s no male sirens,” she told him.
Harry cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes. “Huh? Then how do you guys...you know?”
She blinked innocently at him. She didn’t know.
“Mate.” The word made Harry cringe. “How do you mate?”
“Sirens mate with mermen. We only need them for children.”
“Okay, that’s...new…”
Harry would be glad to find out more, but this was definitely not the right time. He waved his hand, urging her to hurry up. Clumsily, the siren got to her feet. Harry didn’t intend to stay here while she changed, but since she could barely keep her balance, she had to hold onto his arms. He stood there, staring at the ceiling as the duvet dropped. She was completely naked in front of him now and so dangerously close. The voice inside his head was telling him not to peek. Fuck. Why did she have to be sexy?
“Do you...um...do you need help?” he asked as she seemed to be struggling with the bathrobe.
“No, thanks. I got it!” she said between ragged breaths, then, “Hey your tail is growing!”
Harry’s eyes dropped to the front of his boxers, his face heating at the sight of his erection. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and rushed to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” she shouted after him. “I need to see it in its full form!”
“This is its full form!”
“It’s still small.”
“Shut up! It’s not!”
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.
Ezili felt bad for lying to this human.
Well, lying was the whole point of her mission, but he had been so nice to her when he found out she couldn’t return to the ocean. She blamed her new human heart for these emotions. Siren Ezili would never feel sorry for this ugly creature. No, wait, this one wasn’t ugly. The mermen were ugly. As much as she despised humans, she must admit that most of them were beautiful.
When this human wasn’t looking, Ezili would regard him with as much curiosity as he had regarded her in secret. The way his brown curls swept back messily. His defined jawlines. The deep dimples in his cheeks. The look of wonder in his eyes. He looked about her age, but his eyes were innocent, greener than seaweed.
She looked away as he caught her gawking. They were sitting at a small table on the floor. The room was darkly lit by the light in the corner. On the table was a mushy pile with little fire sticks on top.
“What is this?” Ezili asked, inspecting the object.
The human smiled at her, the firelight dancing in his leaf-green eyes as he said, “It’s a cake. We’re celebrating my birthday.”
“You told me not to play with fire.”
“We’re gonna put it out anyway.” He winked at her. “A little fire won’t hurt.” Ezili watched the human take out a little black thing and flick his thumb. Fire flared out, making Ezili flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled and the fire vanished. “This is called a lighter. It makes fire. This is a cake. These are candles.”
“What do we do with the cake?”
“We eat it.”
“You eat fire?”
The human laughed at Ezili’s distressed look. “No, silly. We blow out the candles, then eat the cake.”
“Oh,” she said, making him laugh harder. She found it disrespectful and annoying. Was this creature making fun of her? “What’s so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.
The human stopped laughing, yet his dimples were still visible. “I can’t believe I’m celebrating my twenty-fourth with a siren,” he said.
“Who do you usually celebrate with?” Ezili asked.
“My friends or family,” the human said. “My friends were supposed to be here but their flight got cancelled due to bad weather.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared as he gave a dismissive wave and laughed. “Oh well, it’s not bad being alone. In fact, I’ve been alone my whole life.”
“That’s sad,” Ezili murmured, mesmerized by the candles.
“It’s not,” replied the human. “Some people live their whole life surrounded by others, and yet, they’re still lonely.”
As he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out the candles, Ezili sat there and pondered over his last words.
They didn’t eat the cake right away, because the humans said they ought to eat it after dinner. Apparently, humans ate three main meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirens ate when they were hungry, so this was very new to Ezili. She picked up the small shiny thing that shaped like her mother’s trident and pushed around the foods on her plate. “What is this?”
“Fish,” the human said with a smile.
“Dead?”
“You expect me to eat alive fish?”
Ezili scowled at him. “That’s what we eat.”
“You’re human now. Try cooked fish.”
When she didn’t do anything but stare at the plate, the human nudged her hand with his knuckles. “Come on. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you the raw fish in the fridge.”
Ezili doubted that this imbecile creature would poison her with these colourful foods to get away with his responsibility, but at the same time, nothing was impossible.
However, she would probably faint if she didn’t eat. This dinner actually smelled good, and her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. And so she stabbed the fish’s burned flesh with her little trident, closed her eyes and put it into her mouth. It was soft, salty and a bit spicy, and...surprisingly delicious. She quickly took another bite, and another, and another.
“Wow, you’re really hungry, huh?” The human chuckled. “You like it?”
Ezili nodded fast, unable to answer because her mouth was full.
The human seemed satisfied. “Good. Means I’m a great cook.”
Ezili chewed fast and swallowed as the human began to eat. She tried to copy the way he held the little trident and the knife, and felt like she’d changed. Her mother would hate her so much for enjoying this. And Koa would make sure everyone in their kingdom knew and turn her into a laughing stock.
“Do you have any questions for me?” she said, breaking the silence, mostly to distract herself from thinking about the mission and her family.
The human thought for a second. “Hmmm, I have a bunch so I don’t know where to start.” Then, after a pause, “Why did your mum do this to you? Doesn’t she love you?”
Ezili wished she could stab him for bringing up the topic she’d been trying to avoid. Instead, she sucked in a breath. “She does. It’s just...the way sirens show love is different from humans. We teach our children to be strong from the moment they are born. Sirens live dependent on one another to survive, and so we always have to look out for one another. I guess that’s love for us. My mother is the Sea Queen. She’s very powerful, and so she has high hopes for my sister and I. My sister is better than me, though. I’ve always envied her.”
“Your sister is scary as hell,” the human remarked. “But if your mum is the Queen, you must be a princess.”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, so does that make me Prince Eric?”
“Your name is Eric?”
“No,” the human chuckled. “It’s a reference from The Little Mermaid. You should watch that film. You’d probably hate it though. Anyway, it’s so weird that we don’t know each other’s name. I’m Harry.” The human, well, Harry, put his hand across the table. Ezili didn’t know what to do with it so she just stared.
“I’m Ezili.”
Harry smiled, picked up her right hand and shook it. His hand was bigger than her and warm. She liked it.
“Cool name. Can I call you Ezi?”
Ezili instantly pulled her hand back. “No, you filthy creature. That’s not my name!”
“Ezi is short for Ezili.”
“What?”
Harry ignored the look of confusion she was giving him. “Or I could call you Bubbles. That’s a cute nickname.”
“Why Bubbles?”
“Because…” He tossed his head back and groaned. “Damn, woman, you gotta read the story, too. I can’t make these jokes if you don’t get the references.”
Ezili had so many questions. Just as she was about to ask, the black thing on the table lit up and started playing a song that startled Ezili.
“Sorry. My mum’s calling,” Harry said as he picked up the thing and swiped his fingers across it. “Right on time.”
“Is your mother trapped in that thing?” Ezili asked, clutching the hem of the shirt Harry had told her to wear. It was too big on her but she loved that it was comfortable and kept her warm.
“No, this is a phone,” Harry said, shaking the magical device with light coming out of it. “So my mum’s in London, and when she calls me on the phone, her voice gets transferred through it, and I can hear what she says.” He pushed himself up and told Ezili, “I’ll be right back.”
Once Harry was gone, Ezili sat there and tried her best to process all the new information. It was only her first night on land and she was already going through it. This mission was harder than she thought. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She must have that heart, and her mother would be so proud.
.
.
.
When Harry woke up this time, he was on his private jet.
“Hey.”
He screamed, causing Ezi to fall back into her seat in front of him. He whipped his head around and saw that they were the only two people in this cabin. Before he could even come up with a question, Ezi got up, her hand resting on either side of his seat as she leaned forward, until her face was so close to his that he could smell the vanilla scent of the cake in her breath.
Her eyes sharpened at once. “I know you were trying to get rid of me.”
“No...I didn’t.”
“You did, Harry. You were going to leave me at your beach house. I heard you talking on the phone last night with someone else after talking to your mum. You mentioned a hotel room.”
Harry had booked a room for her on the phone last night. He should have done it on the website.
“But guess what?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I might not have the ability to control tides anymore, but I still have my voice. And so I can control humans with it. I sang you to sleep last night. Then when your servants came to take you to this metal bird, I made him carry you to the magic black carriage and I came here with you. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re wrong. Try that again. I dare you.”
Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his thighs. “Okay, I’m sorry for that,” he said. “But you can’t control people like that. If someone found out what you’re capable of...what you are...you’d be in big trouble.”
Ezi arched an eyebrow as she slowly backed away and stood straight with her arms across her chest. Thank God, Harry’s mother called just in time. He immediately got up and excused himself to answer the phone. He left a pouty Ezili in the cabin and went to the exit to talk to his mother.
“My precious boy, are you on the plane right now?”
“Yes, Mum,” Harry sighed.
“Good. I just need the name of your date for the seat arrangement.”
Harry stiffened for a second then quickly glanced over his shoulder to check if Ezi was eavesdropping. Fortunately, she was distracted by a magazine.
“Like now?” he asked his mum.
“Yes. Last night you told me you found one.”
Yes, Harry remembered that part, but he’d only said that so his mum would stop pestering him.
He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did.”
“Her name?”
He hesitated before saying, “Ezili Hans.”
Hans as in Hans Christian Andersen. The writer of The Little Mermaid. If he had the energy to be happy, he’d give himself a pat on the back for the creativity.
“Great,” his mother said, sounding as if he’d just told her he was getting married. “I’m so excited to meet this girl.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, dear?”
“I-I said ‘Well, of course’,” Harry said and covered it up with a nervous laugh.
When he got off the phone with his mum, he felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around to see Ezi. Shit, had she listened to–
“I promise I won’t use my singing voice to control you again,” she said, to his surprise. "Please. I cannot survive on my own." She twisted the hem of his band-tee uneasily. Even though she looked super cute in his t-shirt and joggers, she was still too underdressed for someone that was travelling on a private jet.
“Fine. You can stay,” he heard himself say while trying to imagine her with actual clothes that fit her.
Ezi’s blue eyes lit up, and the smile that rarely showed up on her face caught Harry off guard. He almost forgot what was happening.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “But we need to set up some rules.”
#harry styles#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles imagines#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#harry smut#harry styles wrting#harry styles writing#harry styles x oc#harry styles series#harry styles one shot#harry styles one shots
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I Am Once Again Giving You London Gang!Jekyll Content
Okay but AU where Jekyll accidentally starts a gang though. He just helped people on the street way too often and then one day someone who opposes the Society just.. gets absolutely destroyed by a carriage out of nowhere. Jekyll gets a box with money and a note that refers to him as 'boss'. There are three routes this could then go.
Route 1: Jekyll is HORRIFIED, he did not want to start a GANG, he does not want to be a gang BOSS, but he can't tell them off because firstly, he doesn't know how he'd even do that, and secondly, they just KILLED SOMEONE, who's to say they won't kill him, too?? Jekyll must now try and figure out a way to solve this problem while Hyde has way too much fun (until he realizes the gang wants him dead for lighting their boss's building on fire).
Route 2: Jekyll is the most oblivious man on earth. He thinks one of the Lodgers gave him money as an apology. People who oppose the Society keep dropping dead and Jekyll keeps patching up the same people over and over who really like him for some reason, it is business as usual with how weird everything in his life already is. Someone (maybe your Crawford guy??) keeps trying to point out all the murders and link them to Jekyll but life hates this man specifically and nothing ever gets looked into because of the most ungodly amount of coincidences ever.
Route 3: Fuck it, he needs the money. He'll just wear a mask whenever he's duking it out in gang fights. He is surprisingly good at fighting, or maybe this could tie into the idea of Jekyll having been in a Scottish gang as a kid, but either way he mops the cobblestone streets with his opponents. He becomes one of the most feared and notorious gang leaders in London, and has a habit of targeting aristocracy that he knows are corrupt and abusive from meeting them as Dr. Jekyll at fancy events. Everything is all fine and well until Brokenshire approaches him saying they need to protect the doctor because clearly those in his social circles are being targeted. Sitcom level hijinks ensue.
(Bonus because I know you love your crackships: Jekyll gets challenged to a gang fight and meets a man in a tophat. He struggles a bit more than usual, but ultimately beats him. He is then held at gunpoint by this guy's sister demanding to know how he bested a trained assassin and whoa wait despite this guy having a bruised face now courtesy of himself he is actually very handsome haha ummm wait a minute did he just say that out loud and maybe invited him to get drinks as an apology for nearly kicking his teeth in uMMM- (bi disaster Dr. Jekyll strikes again!!))
Jeks. Jeks, my guy, thank you for making me laugh so hard, this is just... glorious. I love it all. Oh my god.
I don't know that route is best-- I honestly love the oblivious route bc of all the hijinx and Crawford wanting to rip his hair out in frustration and especially if it is a Syndicate au and it's the Crawford Starrick I based him off (which would make a lil less sense since he is gang leader tycoon and probably could have Jekyll killed but sssuuusshhhh) but I also love Henry just... Getting a goddamn Phantom Of The Opera-esque mask, deciding to go absolutely bonkers, painting entire alleyways red with the blood of his enemies, etc etc, and I absolutely love the idea of Brokenshire directly or indirectly approaching him asking him to protect himself, like they know that Jekyll's persona is well feared and a gang leader but they don't know that it is his gang that is targeting people so now Jekyll is the one sending assassins after abusive and corrupt aristocrats but also has a mission to protect himself from himself. Nice. I absolutely love it. I love it all. And I just... Hyde being do giddy until he realises that the gang wants him dead??? Fuck yes. Give me it all. I just love it so fucking much jfc i cant put it inTO WORDS.
Ok. Ok can we please combine the oblivious route with the masked gangleader phantom being the terror of london route??? Henry at first being completely oblivious, not realising why everyone that has ever insulted him and his work are suddenly disappearing one by one, Crawford wanting to rip his hair out in frustration bc "GUYS IT'S FUCKING JEKYLL HOW IS NO ONE SEEING IT" And jekyll just goes "ahah don't be silly Ricky, I'm not a gangleader lol". Henry being completely oblivious as the Lodgers suddenly get stalked by the gang members, only to be protected by them from other gangs or anti-sciences dudes, the Lodgers retelling the story to Jekyll who just goes like "oh wow man. Huh aren't those the people I have been patching up a lot lately. Strange. What a strange coincidence :)" but then a gang member gets really injured and Henry saves them from death and the gangmember is just... going like "wow, you are the best gang leader I have ever had, you are so much better than everyone else." and henry is just like "ahaha i'm a WHAT NOW"
Cue Henry deciding that, fuck it, if they already think of him as a gangleader why not take advantage of it. He has already been in gangs as a kid so he knows how they work. Quickly becomes a gangleader Tycoon, the lodgers/Rachel/Robert are all confused as to why people suddenly have stopped targeting them for robberies and shit and as to why Henry suddenly has a lot of money he spends on the Society and the bills. Henry telling them not to worry about it. He hears about a dude who suddenly has been swiping through all the ot her London gangs like a hot knife through butter, suddenly his gang is targeted so they are challenged to a gangfight. Henry beats the absolute shit out of him, he has him pinned to the ground when he hears a gun loading and he feels the hilt against his back. He is too busy staring into the beaten up guy's eyes to really care, wow he is so hot, the gangleaders demand that he takes off his mask or he gets shot. He instead lets go of the guy and just... Stands up, brushes himself off, tells them "ahaahh thanks but no thanks. also please stop destorying my gang we literally have not done anything provoking to you."
Anyways they agree to have their gangs work together (oh my god what would Henry's gang be called??? I imagine them wearing the colour blue bc the Rooks are green and the Blighters are red (since it's a specifically a syndicate au lol) but they probably would wear red if it's just tgs anyways off topic hehe). Henry invites them to a drink, his tab, they agree, they find out about all the accidental bullshit that Henry accidentally started and just... Yes pls. Also Jacob and Henry getting drunk and flirting like nobody's business, maybe Henry asking if Jacob likes guys and if he doesn't, is his sister single? Evie almost kicking his teeth in, Jacob laughing his ass off. Yes please.
ALso almost completely forgot the absolute scooby doo mystery of the twins trying to figure out who Henry is since he wears a mask and disguises his identity. Imagine them just being like... Who’s that pokemon? It’s dr. henry jekyll-- WAIT IT’S DR. HENRY JEKYLL????
#Gimme the twins giving Henry a hidden blade. Gimme them giving him a cane sword.#Gimme Henry's and the twins' gang beating the shit out of blighters#Man I really want to know about all the sitcom hijinx in all of this#since the twins work with Sergeant Abberline i can imagine abberline and Brokenshire being pals and colleagues#Brokenshire secretly working with Henry (who he doesn't know is Henry) to eradicate corrupt nobles#Abberline working with the twins to break up gangs and to bounty hunt and shit#so much sitcom hijinx with abberline and brokenshire trying to hide that they are working with their respective gangs#until they are going to meet the twins/Henry respectively. All five ends up being at the same place at teh same time#its the pointing spiderman meme. Henry and the twins are laughing their asses off#banshees faves#banshees au#ask#thejeksburyguy#syndicate crossover au#gang au
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Violet – Chapter Four (5/7)
When Sean finally meets his daughter, you wonder why you ever left him in the first place.
Sean Wallace x fem!reader
Chapter Four: 1991 words
Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three
A/N: Hi! This chapter became longer than I ever planned it to be lol and as a result this series is now going to be seven parts instead of six! Low-key excited about what’s coming up but for now, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🧡🧡
Taglist: @ysmmsy @prettyinpayne @the-a-word-2214 @peakywitch @danceyreagan @ella1grace03 @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series!
You wipe your hands on a tea towel when you hear the front door open, signalling Violet and Sean’s return. You then hear Violet’s footsteps pitter-patter down the hallway, immediately followed by Sean telling her to come back and take her shoes off first. Smiling to yourself, you leave the kitchen and head over to greet them, finding Sean knelt down and helping your daughter out of the aforementioned shoes.
“We’re back mum!” Violet says happily when she sees you.
“Yes, I can see that, love,” You smile before giving her a look. “Vi, you know how to take off your own shoes.”
“It’s fine,” Sean assures you, leaning over to place them neatly off to the side.
He had been visiting frequently ever since you and Vi moved into your new place - an arrangement you both had agreed on not long after everything had been dealt with. He wanted to be an active part of Violet’s life and you were more than willing to let that happen, knowing how much it would mean not only to him but to Violet, too. She still didn’t know the truth about Sean but it was clear she’d grown attached nonetheless, her eyes never failing to light up every time you told her Sean was coming over. Today, she had been particularly excited because he promised he would take her to a park.
“There was a pond at the park, mum!” Violet exclaims excitedly, practically bouncing where she stood. “And we saw so many ducks! And swans. And gooses! One got angry at Sean.”
She’s giggling as she tells you the latter and you look at Sean with an amused expression on your face. Still crouched before your daughter, he glances up to give you a deadpan look as if to say don’t even ask, which makes you snort.
You both miss the way Violet’s gaze flits between the both of you curiously, a happy smile forming on her face. She then throws her arms around Sean, hugging him farewell.
“Bye Sean.”
He sways a little at the force with which she throws herself at him but manages to steady himself, chuckling as he hugs her back.
“So eager to be rid of me, hm?”
Violet pulls away with a sheepish look on her face, “I’m going to watch TV now.”
“Go on then,” He taps her nose. “I’ll see you later.”
She grins at him and then she’s gone, energetically sprinting past you and down the hallway, making a quick beeline for the living room.
“You don’t need to run!” You call out to her but it’s futile, she’d already disappeared into the other room. Behind you, you hear Sean chuckle.
“You’re such a mum,” He teases, getting up onto his feet.
You let out an amused scoff in response, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t even start, she'll be a little terror if I don’t give her some rules to adhere to.”
Sean smiles fondly, thinking about his little terror of a daughter. While you were mostly joking, Sean knew there was a bit of truth to your statement. It was a task and a half to wrangle Violet sometimes, the headstrong little thing that she was. Unsurprising, Sean thinks amusedly, considering who her parents were.
But as difficult as she could be sometimes, Sean had seen first-hand all the good values you’d managed to instill in her. You’d definitely raised a sweet kid, one who was wonderfully earnest and full of kindness, and he tells you just as much, with a genuine sincerity in his tone that catches you off guard.
“You’ve raised her well, y/n,” He says sincerely, leaving you speechless for a moment. You didn’t expect to hear that from him at all.
“Thanks, Sean. I feel like I’m a terrible mum sometimes,” You confess quietly. “So that’s… that means a lot.”
He smiles and you’re sure your heart skips a beat.
You didn’t want to admit it but you enjoyed Sean's visits just as much as Violet did. The more time you spent around him, the more you found yourself falling for him all over again. You’d forgotten how well the two of you could get along and on top of that, watching him and Violet spend time together made you melt. You had no real inkling as to how he felt about you but moments like these definitely didn’t help your growing feelings.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?”
It comes out of your mouth before you could even think to stop yourself and when you see the surprise and hesitation on his face, you immediately regret asking.
“You don’t have to, obviously,” You assure him, trying to backtrack. “You probably have things to do.”
He winces apologetically, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go back to the office tonight, unfortunately. Take care of some things.”
“That’s fine!” You reply almost too quickly, embarrassed at the fact that you might’ve been too forward by asking him in the first place. “No worries.”
There’s an awkward pause where neither you nor Sean know what to say next and you sigh, feeling like you’d just ruined a perfectly good moment between you two.
“Well I won’t keep you then,” You continue as nonchalantly as you could, hoping he didn’t notice how mortified you were. “I hope you have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.”
He gives you one last parting smile and you watch as he heads out the door, hating how disappointed and embarrassed you feel after it clicks shut behind him.
You stand there for a moment before letting out an agonised groan and heading back to the kitchen, trying to forget that conversation ever happened.
The rest of your night is filled with your usual routine - dinner, dishes and then giving Violet a bath before bed - but no matter how hard you try, you can't help but keep dwelling on the exchange, ruminating on what it might have meant.
You were starting to feel foolish for thinking that maybe things were changing between you and Sean. That’s what led you to ask him to stay for dinner to begin with, thinking you were both at a place where that could happen without any tension or awkwardness. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t have stayed even if he didn’t have business to attend to.
You shake your head, trying to stop yourself from going further down that rabbit hole. You were going to drive yourself crazy if you kept thinking about it. The fact of the matter was that you had no idea how Sean felt about you but he was here nonetheless because he cared about Violet. You just had to live with that and forget your feelings.
Easier said than done, you think sourly. When the mere sight of him makes my goddamn heart race.
"Mummy?" Violet asks while you shampoo her hair, bringing you out of your spiral of thoughts.
"Hm?"
"You and Sean should get married."
You nearly choke on the air you breathe. Pausing your actions, you look at her in bewilderment but her eyes are on her hands as she glides them through the soapy water.
“Why do you say that, Vi?” You pry gently.
You wonder if you’d been that obvious with your feelings or if maybe Sean had said something, but she just shrugs like it was simply a passing thought she decided to say out loud.
“Sean and I are friends, darling,” You say to her, though you were starting to wonder if maybe that label was a stretch. “Usually people who get married are dating each other."
Violet makes a contemplative face, “Will you and Sean do that?”
“What, date?”
She nods, leaving you more confused than ever.
“I doubt it, Vi,” You sigh.
I burned that bridge a long time ago.
You massage her scalp gently, lathering up the shampoo as you watch her continue to play with the water, your own mind racing.
“Did you want us to date?” You ask her, still trying to figure out where this was coming from.
She nods again.
“Why?”
Violet looks sheepish now, patting away at the bubbles that surrounded her, and she says shyly, “So then I can have a dad.”
~
You sit against your headboard with your head in your hands, thinking about everything that had transpired since the late afternoon. Not only were you dealing with your reemerging feelings for Sean - who most likely did not reciprocate them - you were also dealing with a daughter who suggested you marry the man because that was the only way she thought she could get a dad.
Letting out a frustrated groan, you press your head against your forearms. You were acutely aware that you would not be dealing with any of this if you’d never left Sean in the first place. You sit there despairingly for a long while before a persistent buzz from your phone starts to fill the air. Lifting your head, you blink in surprise at the caller ID before answering it.
“Sean?”
“Hi,” His voice comes through the speaker, making your heart involuntarily skip a beat. “Sorry, I know it’s late.”
“It’s fine,” You assure him, shifting the phone to a more comfortable position. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, I just… I wanted to apologise again for not being able to stay for dinner. I should have taken you up on it, the meeting I went to instead was the dullest shit imaginable.”
You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles out of your throat at the grouchy tone his voice takes on as he tells you about how dull it was, “Sorry to hear that.”
He hums in response and you could just imagine the amused smirk on his face. “You don’t sound very sorry.”
“Well, I don’t know,” You reply. “Violet spent all of dinner telling me about every animal you saw at the pond today. Not sure if you would prefer a play-by-play of your own day over the meeting.”
“You underestimate how boring the meeting was.”
“No,” You laugh. “I’ll take your word for it.”
There’s a natural lull in the conversation and you know you have to take the opportunity to clear the air, for the sake of your own sanity.
“Sean,” You start, steeling yourself with an inhale. “I hope I didn’t overstep earlier, asking you to stay for dinner.”
“Overstep?”
“I… I worried you might’ve thought it was a bit much. The three of us have never properly spent time all together so I realise that it might have been a big ask and-”
“It was fine, y/n,” He says softly, quelling your worries. “I was surprised you asked but it wasn’t a problem. I would’ve liked it, the three of us together.”
After all that time you’d spent ruminating earlier, the statement is more than you ever expected from him. So much so that you’re rendered speechless, your heart in your throat.
“That’s why I called, actually,” He continues. “I wanted to ask if you and Vi wanted to come over for dinner next weekend. To make up for the fact that I couldn’t tonight.”
You don’t even have to think twice about your answer.
“Yes, of course. We’d love to.”
“Great,” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you both then.”
You can’t help but smile in return, “Looking forward to it.”
“Me too. Goodnight y/n.”
“Night, Sean.”
You’re giddy as you place your phone on your bedside table and settle into bed for the night, Sean’s call single-handedly flipping your entire mood. Maybe it was silly to feel that way after just one phone call but you couldn’t help it, not when it came to Sean. Against all your better judgement, you feel a little spark of hope in your chest as you drift off to sleep.
Maybe there was something there after all.
#sean wallace#sean wallace x reader#gangs of london fanfiction#violet series#*writing#gangs of london imagines#sean wallace imagine#sean wallace fanfic
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*Cackling* Now rank your ot3's!
*long sigh*
SECTION 1:
Yes, there are sections, this is a list of 20 things. I like to be organized. These ones I seek out. I like them. I actively enjoy them on purpose.
1. Roloceit: My BOYS. Are these my 3 favorites? perhaps. You can't prove anything (you sure can, just look at my goddamn Ao3). Something about the dynamics here is just...so good for me? The combination of fluff/angst/multi-talented braincells is wonderful. I need these three to watch a documentary and tear it to absolute pieces. Also they would be so good at...actually having methods of supporting each other??? I love them.
2. Analogince: in the same vein, the SNARK. THE SASS. THE GROUPCHAT THAT WE ALL KNOW EXISTS THAT IS SOO OVERLOADED WITH SALT THAT IT'S A DEHYDRATION RISK. Also healthy communication??? supportive signifs??? good shit
3. Anxcietmus: The Dark Sides™. Again, I think these three just get each other. That means great fluff and great angst possibilities ABOUND and especially when it comes to being a menace in the rest of the mindscape. Yes. Good. Have fun.
4. Intruloceit: Someone please make this nerd take a fucking break for once. The chaos of leading what you THINK is a stuck-up buttoned-up nerd only to feel such an odd mixture of pride and mortal terror at discovering a TRUE mad scientist. Yes. Logan deserves to go ape-shit. Let him.
5. Analoceit: Did someone ask for some amused gay judgement? You got the whole scale here, Distinguished, Functional, and Disaster. They don't need the group chat because they can do it with just a look. Perfect. Wonderful.
6. Intruloxiety: slightly less snark, which is why it's ranked lower, but I don't think it would be any less supportive. Between the three of them I think they'd have a conversation about boundaries right up front and constantly be checking in with each other. Which is good!! Please do this!!
7. Loroyality (am i making up some of these names as I go? yes): The Light Sides™! The reason this is ranked lower is because I think they've got some in-canon struggles that would take some time and effort (from errybody) to sort out before I would consider this relationship healthy, but after that? Forget it. We vomiting sushine and rainbows and our teeth hurt from how sweet they are. I have faith in them.
8. Royaliceit: *sniff sniff* did someone say ANGST??? This is the only one I put up here that I mainly look for to get angst because BOY HOWDY. Especially post-POF? Roman you poor thing why do I project so strongly onto you, my god. This is a MESS and they need to do WORK to FIX IT but it's all about the misunderstanding and the healing and oh my god please someone tell Roman his worth is not based on how well his work is received please. Also if you're like me and you subscribe to the headcanon that the last time Patton and Janus agreed on something it was to stay in the closet as long as possible...*choo choo bitches angst town here we come*
SECTION 2:
These ones I don't actively seek out but you know?? For a headcanon post? They seem pretty chill. Haven't devoted a lot of brainpower to 'em, just think they're neat.
9. Moloceit (my keyboard is so confused you guys): Now THIS. THIS is the obnoxious trio of philosophy majors that ALWAYS hog the good library table. Someone will say ONE GODDAMN thing and they'll be talking about ontology and subjectivity for hours. It's impossible to tell whether or not they're being serious when they do it. As a most-definitely-not-a-philosophy-student, no. I mean, yes but no.
10. Anaroceit: you know those fucking divas that strut into the mall like they own the goddamn place? These bastards. They are the Heathers (except actually decent people) and you will not get between them and their purchases. If you come after one of them the other will overprotective the fuck out of them and rip you to shreds. You might be worried sometimes that they're hurting each other but they do actually talk about their boundaries. solid 7/10.
11. Analogicality: (whoa, we're halfway there...): These three just seem like they'd be super domestic. Not that it wouldn't also be adorable, but just kinda...routine? Virgil doesn't like new shit, Logan likes a schedule, and Patton enjoys doing things together in 'traditions.' Some spice but they're all fairly level-headed so...the most they get is screaming out songs with the windows down (WHOA LIVIN' ON A PRAYER)
12: Intrulogicality: You know those scenarios where you got Person A who runs headlong into crazy bullshit, Person B who likes to pretend they're not as into the crazy bullshit as Person A but is, and Person C who gets dragged into shit? There you go.
13: Anxmoceit: I think once they all sat down and had a conversation they might actually be decent??? But I can't stop seeing Patton and Janus coparenting Virgil so it stays platonic in my head. (listen i don't kinkshame but i am aroace, that does limit me a bit when it comes to this bag of nonsense)
14. Intrumoceit: Again, LONG conversation, but it's better to have one crazy dumbass whom you both love but please stop giving up heart attacks every two seconds bb we can't deal with these palpitations. I think this would require SO much work on Patton's end to make this healthy that I can't see it very clearly.
15. Intrumoxiety: This one I put down here because while Janus isn't the best at being straightforward (or straight) he DOES understand himself enough to actually have a productive conversation when he has to. I think Virgil would be too caught up between the dynamic of Patton and Remus for it to be healthy for him, especially at the beginning. It would end up dumping too much of the conflict resolution into his court and uh...no. No thanks. Do I think they COULD make it work? Yes, of course, but I wouldn't seek it out.
16. Anaroyality: Uhhh yeah they exist. Y'all gotta do some work to establish good boundaries but yeah, I think you could do it. Have a makeup day where everybody just fucks shit UP at a Sephora or an Ulta and try crazy looks on each other. You could do it. I believe in you.
SECTION 3:
These are the ones I will actively avoid, more often than not. If they're not handled carefully--which is not the responsibility of other creators, I take full blame, this is just how I personally interpret them--they can squick me out. The ones with Roman and Remus are down here, and as a disclaimer, this isn't because I view poly relationships where not all parties are dating each other as inherently inferior, not at all. I just think that within a relationship where both Roman and Remus are dating the same person, that has the potential to go REAL bad REAL quick.
17. Intrulogince: Do I want to see Roman and Remus playfully competing to win the favor of our favorite nerd? yes. Do I think it would end up aggravating the rivalry they already had to really bad places? Also yes. Either with Roman backing off and internalizing the idea that he's not good enough or by exploding on both of them. It's a bad time. No. That being said, I have seen things where Logan is just spoiled by incredible things made in the Imagination and those are very sweet. a good time.
18. Intruprinxiety (that looks so weird when it's spelled out, oh my god it sounded so much better in my head): Again, exacerbating a pre-existing rivalry, oh dear me, and this time poor Virgil's caught in the middle? a mess. There is also the potential for them to be childhood friends to lovers which would be very sweet but the overlap with all of their combined histories are...a lot of baggage. Like so much.
19. Intruroceit: The only way I can see this happening is Roman's inadequacy issues and abandonment issues going THROUGH THE FUCKING ROOF and it would force Remus into being a pseudo-therapist for them and Janus your habit of messing with Roman needs to gtfo right the fuck now.
20. Intruroyality: is anyone surprised that this one is my least favorite? Between the squicks I get from Patton as a character, the relationship between Patton and both of the twins in canon, and how much baggage Roman and Remus have...no. Absolutely not. I have horrible memories of some very toxic relationships that I can absolutely see here and no.
*phew* that was a long one. you're welcome.
EDIT: thank you @shinekittenace for names seriously this post is a mess
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What if after the party Hawk decided to get revenge by sharing Demetri's secrets as well. Demetri's mom let's him in when he's not home and he finds his journal. What he wasn't expecting was all of the pages about he regrets saying all of those things and he's pretty sure he's in love with him
Oof ouch there goes my goddamn HEART I didn’t need it anyway
I can honestly totally see this happening though??? Like Hawk slipping into “Eli mode” the same way he does to fool the school counselor and using that to break into Demetri’s house because he’s counting on Demetri not being able to bear to tell his mom the full extent of how bad things have gotten with “good old Eli”...and Hawk’s absolutely right. The most Demetri has mentioned to his mom is that there’s been a “bit of tension” and “Eli and I have been arguing a lot.” So of course Hawk gleefully goes up to his room to find the most embarrassing dirt he can and get the most epic vengeance.
And, sure enough, there’s Demetri’s goddamn diary. Of course he would keep a diary, the lame fucking nerd. Who the hell even keeps diaries anymore??? And he reads it from the beginning, and realizing the first half or so is from when they were still best friends. It’s a lot of geek nonsense, rants about video games and Lord of the Rings and what have you, sometimes drawing parallels between scenes from his own life being harassed by Kyler and the plight of Middle Earth being ruled by Sauron. All typical nerdy Demetri. But...there’s also a lot about Eli. About some present he got for Eli that he’d been especially excited about. About how proud he was of Eli for winning that coding competition with him. About how frustrated he was that he couldn’t stand up for Eli more against the bullies. About how much he hated that Eli felt like he needed to constantly cover the scar above his lip. How grateful he really was to have Eli around because “at least someone will listen to my ingenious insight!!!”
And then comes the fateful school year everything changed. Hawk reads through Demetri’s confused delight at Miguel befriending them and seeming to genuinely enjoy having them both around. He reads through Demetri’s bafflement at the emergence of Hawk, and his barely-concealed terror that his best friend would decide he didn’t want someone like Demetri around anymore, now that more people liked him. He reads through Demetri’s concern at Eli’s anger slowly boiling up into something violent and unnerving. He reads through Demetri’s betrayal at Eli blowing him off after Demetri was assaulted by Kreese, and his worry at having his two best friends training with a man who has no issue beating up random high schoolers off the street. He reads through how lost Demetri was after Eli jumped him in the mall, desolate and spiraling and feeling like he’d never quite feel whole again. How broken Demetri had felt looking at Eli’s nearly-unconscious body on the food court floor.
And then comes a long ramble about the latest season of Doctor Who, and--Hawk notes with an oddly painful twinge--how much Eli would love it. “He’s all about badassery now, he’d be SO into this if I could get him to watch it.” And then a long, giddy ramble about how maybe this is how he’s finally going to get through to Eli--how he’s going to get his Eli back. How he missed him so much he barely knows how to function anymore.
And then come the pages after that fateful party, the one where things almost went right and then everything went so very wrong. It’s just line after line of things to the gist of “Oh, god. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up SO fucking bad. I’m a piece of shit.” Even after everything that’s happened between them, Eli feels himself getting...alarmed. Demetri is never this...concise. Or vulgar. He prides himself on being wordy and pretentious, and not having to curse to make a point. Now it’s like he can’t stop swearing, can’t stop repeating what a piece of shit he is. Which can really only mean he’s gotten so emotional and fallen so deep into devastation that it’s somehow temporarily overridden one of the most prominent parts of his personality.
The last line in the journal is “I never even fucking told him I’m in love with him. He’d fucking kill me if he knew. He’d be so disgusted. But I wish I’d said something anyways. Is that fucking stupid?” Hawk just...slams the journal shut and sits there for several minutes, having no clue what the fuck to do now.
Okay bUT IMAGINE THIS ISN’T EVEN AN AU AND HAWK ACTUALLY READS ALL THIS AND STILL HUNTS DOWN DEMETRI AT THE SCHOOL FIGHT AND LATER BREAKS HIS ARM, HOW UPSETTING WOULD THAT BE
The fucked part is I could SEE it, like this kid already projects all the “pussy nerd shit” he hates about himself onto poor Demetri, like imagine the internalized homophobia??? This kid who wants to seem like the most macho tough guy ALIVE must have??? And imagine he has/had a crush on Demetri and has been suppressing it like there’s no tomorrow and now oh god oh FUCK he has to be reminded of it??? And these feelings are just yet ANOTHER part of his past self that Hawk hates, and with the love Demetri feels for him...well, how could Demetri more PERFECTLY and COMPLETELY represent the “weak” parts of himself that Hawk now despises??? And Demetri becomes Hawk’s absolute prime target after that, because he HATES what he sees of his past self in Demetri and, most of all, he HATES that all of that is still there inside of him. By making a bitter enemy of Demetri, he figures, by alienating him and antagonizing him to the point where any connection they ever had or could ever have is completely broken, maybe he can finally be free of being that Weak-Ass Lame Gay Nerd that nobody liked and everybody mocked.
On a slightly happier note, maybe seeing that final journal entry is part of what spurred Hawk’s eventual change of heart. Like he’s just watching the destruction around him caused by the Cobra Kai kids, and remembers Johnny saying that Kreese doesn’t give a shit about him. And he just has this epiphany like “Demetri loves me.” (And he knows this has to be true, because he was never meant to see it. No reason for Demetri to lie in the privacy of his own journal. No manipulation or tricks here...not like what Kreese has learned how to pull.) “No one at Kreese’s Cobra Kai ever did.”
And he decides in that moment he’s going to fight for a person who loves him as he is, rather than a person who only likes the image that he made for himself to feel like he could be something other people respected. Hawk still doesn’t love the weaker parts of himself, the more vulnerable parts, the parts that people can easily jeer at and mock and use to make him feel awful about himself--but maybe if Demetri sees something worth loving, then Hawk eventually can, too.
#hawk x demetri#demetri x eli#binary boyfriends#hawkmeat#eli x demetri#demetri x hawk#elimetri#demetri cobra kai#eli moskowitz#cobra kai#cobra kai season 2#cobra kai season 3#hawk#demetri#eli#my askbox
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The Father
I know many people are upset that Anthony Hopkins won Best Actor at the Oscars in a move that proved to be weird and anticlimactic and felt like a deliberate bet that Chadwick Boseman would win which spectacularly failed. And yes, I loved Chadwick Boseman, and yes I believe he should be honored at every opportunity for his talent and his commitment to creating meaningful art for his people. I know and believe all of these things, and I also know that most people who are upset about this turn of events probably didn’t see The Father. And I know that if they had, they might feel differently, because from where I’m sitting writing this review, Hopkins gave the performance of his life in this devastating look at the world from the perspective of a man who has been debilitated by Alzheimer’s.
I’m not a huge fan of Dramas-with-a-capital-D - in fact, they tend to be my least favorite genre of film, even though they are usually the ones that get the highest accolades. Oh, and also, getting Alzheimer’s is my biggest fear in the world (even more than spiders!) so you can imagine that I was not exactly hype for my afternoon at the movies seeing this movie. But as it began to unfold, I was sucked in - writer/director Florian Zeller also wrote the play this film was based on, so he is intimately familiar with the material, and the way he puts the pieces of the story together feels less like a Drama and more like a horror film, which I mean as the highest compliment. The audience is constantly disoriented - although nearly the entire film takes place within the walls of one London flat, the decor is constantly changing around, and characters appear and disappear with no warning. Every time Anthony (Hopkins) leaves a room or wakes up in the morning, we’re left to wonder what is around the corner, what new twist is waiting behind the next door. It’s dizzying and terrifying, and there’s no answers until about 10 minutes until the end, when the pieces finally come together. The reveal is both a relief and an utter devastation, and Anthony breaks down against the overwhelm, cracking open from the confusion and terror at how his world has slipped away right from under him. Did I Cry? Reader, I sobbed, ugly heaving things that felt like they would never stop. I know that seems an odd endorsement for a film, but Hopkins’ performance - his mile a minute chatter to fill the uncomfortable silences, his denials, his laughter and deflection, his manic jubilation that melts into screaming tantrums - it’s all brilliant and so goddamn human. Olivia Coleman is a perfect and heartbreaking counterpoint as Anthony’s daughter, who is trying so hard to keep her dad safe and happy while watching him fade away before her eyes.
Science can tell us the details of Alzheimer’s, can give us facts and figures about who it affects and how it manifests, can express urgency at finding a cure. But art is what shows us the true cost of the disease, gives it a face, and forces us not to turn away. As much as it hurt, I’m glad I didn’t turn away from this one.
If you liked this review, please consider reblogging or subscribing to my Patreon! For as low as $1, you can access bonus content and movie reviews, or even request that I review any movie of your choice.
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pairing: lee jeno x reader
genre: angst, some bare fluff
word count: 1131
warnings: mentions of ghosts, “death” but it isn’t real
a/n: i missed halloween by a mile.
“You- you- you didn’t see that? You’re telling me that you didn’t just fucking see that?” You fall back into Jeno’s open arms, trembling violently as you look out into the gaping darkness. The light switch to the chandelier is hardly a meter away from you, but it feels as if there’s an entire world separating you from it. Your fingertips splay out anyways, blindly reaching for the switch even though your flailing arms only meet air. Luckily, your fiancé, who is evidently far more gathered than you are at the moment, has the presence of mind to lean over and flip it for you, never once leaving his grip around you.
All of a sudden, there’s light. There’s light like you’ve never known it.
“Darling- darling, sweetheart, my love-” In that moment, Jeno’s voice is far, far away. The agency you typically have over your body is gone, and you find yourself sinking to your knees even within the confines of your lover’s arms. He follows you down without question, dark eyes pooling with worry. You’re still shaking, though the physical and visual warmth around you have begun to permeate your being, soothing you even as you attempt to rationalize what you’ve just seen.
A man. A man in sodden, rotting clothes and glassy eyes, floating right underneath the light fixture in your in-law’s great hall. He’d grinned at you, rows of sharp and inhuman teeth glistening in the darkness. You’d come in to turn the light on as night had started to set in on The Estate, but had found yourself frozen in fear, only capable of screaming as the man had started moving slowly, ever so slowly towards you. Your love had come to your rescue then, rushing down the main staircase to grab you just as you’d stumbled back.
“What- darling, what did you see?”
Jeno stares down at you, his concerned gaze meeting your own fearful one. Confusion is evident within his eyes, and you suddenly feel even smaller than before. God, he’d saved you from something he hadn’t even seen. Had you imagined it?
“I… I… I saw… I saw this man. He was f-floating and all soaked and he had so many teeth, so, so many teeth. He had so many teeth, I-” You’re cut off by your fiancé pulling you closer, your face meeting the soft cloth against his chest. It’s only then that you become aware of the tears running down your face, and you hastily pull a hand up to wipe them away. You gulp, steadying yourself in order to continue speaking. As what you’ve seen begins to register, you finally recognize the apparition.
This only serves to quicken your heart rate.
“I was reading up-up on the history of the house and… and I think I-I think I saw The Fisherman, you know, the old wharf man who lost his wife to the sea. And people only see-”
“I’m sure it was just a trick of the dark, darling.” Jeno cuts you off, pulling away so you can see his face. There’s so much love in his eyes. There’s too much love in his eyes. “The only people in this house are the staff, my parents, my brothers, and us.”
“But-”
Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.
The lights blink on and off before finally settling on staying off, and a cold draft fills the room out of nowhere. Terror strikes you like it never has before, and you find that you’re rendered completely and utterly frozen. You’re forced to watch as Jeno’s eyes roll back and he begins seizing just as the smell of seawater fills your nose. You can’t move. You can’t move, and the love of your life is dying in front of you.
“Silly boy,” A smug, raspy voice whispers, right above your head. “Should have listened.. I am only seen when their one love is about to be taken from them for good, just as mine was ripped from me.”
You try to scream, but it’s as if your jaw is wired shut. You can’t move. You can’t move, Jeno is dead, you can’t scream. A clawed hand slowly creeps over your face to cover your mouth, and another one follows to ensure that your eyes are masked as well.
The Fisherman gets what he comes for.
“Cut!”
The lights turn back on, and Jaehyun - the real name of the actor behind The Fisherman - instantly pulls his makeup-clad hands away from your face. Jeno - though you suppose his name is James in the show - sits back up, shaking his head to clear it. You stand up first, sticking a hand out for him to grab right after.
“That was it,” Johnny, the director, calls out, accentuating his words with a hearty clap. A wide grin practically splits his face apart, and you know that he truly is happy with the work you’ve all put in today. “That was the take.”
“Thanks,” Jeno smiles at you as he finally takes a hold of your hand to pull himself up. “You did well.”
“You too, James.” You grin teasingly at your friend and coworker, sure that he’s just as relieved as you are to be done with filming for the day. He knocks his shoulder against yours, friendly as ever. The set crew have already begun cleaning up for the day, and you are as ready as ever to wipe off your makeup.
“God, today’s scenes almost got to me,” He says conversationally as the two of you start walking off set, waving goodbye to some of the other cast and crew members. “There were some times where I really felt… watched almost. Even now… ”
“I guess it’s because it’s our first day filming at the house instead of on a lot set. I didn’t realize just how goddamn old this place was, too. I think people have, like, actually died here over the centuries.” You respond, wincing immediately as you finish speaking. “I guess I’m not helping, am I?”
“No,” Jeno laughs, shaking his head. “Not at all. It’s whatever, though, I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides- I’ve got you with me. If anything happens to one of us, it’ll happen to both of us.”
“Very comforting.” You chuckle, and he only smiles in response. “Wanna order a pizza to my trailer?”
As Jeno agrees - far more excitedly than expected - the two of you fall into your natural rhythm of bantering. He talks, you laugh, you talk, he laughs. His presence is a comfort to you, and yours is one to his.
You’re so wrapped up in each other that neither of you notice a figure in one of the windows of the boarded off south wing of the house.
Neither of you see it, but it definitely sees you.
#neowritingsnet#dreamwritersnet#jeno#jeno x reader#lee jeno#jeno angst#jeno smut#jeno fluff#nct dream#nct#nct dream angst#nct dream smut#nct dream fluff#nct angst#halloween!
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damn
this movie ( "Candyman" 1992 ) got me thinking
how Scimitar affects the human mind
remember that moment when Goodsword said, "Everything was fine until we went into that damned cave"?
What if...
wasn't fine?
It was only good for Goodsword
And Thriffith must have been thinking of something not very good
he thought about how great it wouldn't be hear Goodsword anymore, how great it would be if it broke, how great it would be to just wander alone, in silence
And then they went into the cave and there this Scimitar
And I imagined how Scimitar affects the brain:
First an empty space. then a low whisper in the ear:
Scimitar: " What would you like? What do you long for most? "
Thriffith: " I'm tired... "
Scimitar: " Have you thought about how you'd like to stop all this nonsense? "
Thriffith: " Yes... "
Scimitar: " Have you thought about how this Goodsword annoys you...? "
Thriffith: " Yes.... "
Scimitar: " Would you want him dead? "
Thriffith: " I don't know... I'm confused... "
Scimitar: " Did it ever cross your mind how wonderful everything would be without him? "
Thriffith: " Yes.... "
Scimitar: " Did he hurt you? "
Thriffith: " Probably... "
Scimitar: " Did he control your every move? Did he constantly push you around? "
Thriffith: " He shouted at me... "
Scimitar: " He thinks you're a nobody. "
Thriffith: " He thinks I'm a nobody.... "
Scimitar: " That you can't do anything. That you're an empty place. "
Thriffith: " An empty place... "
Scimitar: "He's so wrong. "
Thriffith: " He's wrong... "
Scimitar: " He annoys you. "
Thriffith: " He pisses me off. "
Scimitar: " You want him dead? "
Thrifith: " Yes. "
Scimitar: " Then squeeze my hilt tighter and break him. "
This was followed by a fight with Goodsword, during which Thriffith simply threw him away.
Scimitar: " Do you feel better? "
Thriffith: " Much. "
Scimitar: " Do you feel relieved? "
Thrifith: " Yes! "
Scimitar: " Do you want to let out everything that's built up inside you? "
Thrifith: " Yes... "
Scimitar: " I'll help you. "
While Thriffith was doing a considerable bloodbath, he was in a blur. He imagined he was fighting with Goodsword. But as soon as he came out of it, he was shocked.
Thriffith: " What is this...? Why is there so much blood?! Why are there so many corpses?! What is it?!? DID I DO ALL THIS?!?!? "
Hysteria, tears, increased heartbeat, terror, fear, misunderstanding... and hair grayed with fear.
Thriffith: "You told me that I would only get my revenge on him... "
Skimitar: " Yes. "
Thriffith: " You told me nothing would happen, it would only be between us... "
Skimitar: " Yes. "
Thriffith: " THEN WHY DO I SEE ALL THIS?! WHY ARE MY HANDS COVERED IN BLOOD?!? "
Scimitar: " It's your anger. Look how big it is. Look how strong you are. "
Thriffith: "I'm a KILLER... I'M A GODDAMN MURDERER! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! I'VE BECOME A MURDERER!!! "
Skimitar: " No... You didn't kill anyone... "
Thriffith: " WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!? "
Skimitar: " It's all a trick. It's your mind trying to stop you. You're actually doing everything right. "
Thriffith: " You mean it's not real??..."
Scimitar: " Yes. It's only an illusion. You're trapped in your own mind.... "
Thriffith: " Then... if it's an illusion... Tell me what to do next... I think I'm going crazy... "
Scimitar: "Fight the one who hurt you. Fight the one who ruined your life. Fight with Goodsword. "
Now you can see why Thriffith was so exhausted. He was literally draining him of all his strength for himself. I don't rule out that Thriffith was asking for a break. But when Scimitar refused him, Thriffith would simply fall off his feet.
And when they really met with Goodsword
I think-
That when Thriffith was victorious, it was as if he was stepping on Goodsword to keep him from soaring into the air. Thriffith stood over him, holding the Scimitar, and said, "How I hate you.... How you tire me out... When will you end your existence already?!..."
But he said it and cried at the same time.
In addition, over the years, Thriffith had nightmares. His sleep schedule was totally disrupted by it. It was very hard for him.
And then those words of Goodsword when he saw all that carnage and those victories over him: "He's become a monster."
But really, Thrifith's just tired and he doesn't have the strength.
Naturally, he was glad when the cats helped him and he went back to Goodsword.
But then the events before the scimitar happened again. He was again tormented, shouted at, called a "nobody" and an upstart. Thriffith now had a migraine and the nightmares never left him.
And then his nerves finally gave out. And we know what happened next: they quarreled and Thriffith left.
It seems to me that when Thriffith became better friends with El Moco and started spending more time with him
it became easy-easier for him to
(although, now every time he asks if another weapon can talk, but this is only when selecting a new weapon so)
As for the rest
I think that when he and El Moco are together
Thriffith can let himself cry from too much emotion
Because he lacked that kind of calm for most of his life
And getting a warm hug, comforting words, support, or some silly/funny joke in return
he feels like he's in heaven
and there's sure to be nothing better than that
Thriffith can finally, for once, feel happy. In addition, the nightmares and headaches begin to visit him less and less frequently
Isn't that great?
#helen thinks#the adventures of puss in boots#thriffith#scimitar#goodsword#el moco#reflection#theory#fan theory#so yeah
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The terrible, you. (3/5) [Wolf Keum x Reader]
Summary: After Wolf Keum unwittingly rescues you from seedy men in the dead of night, he can't shake you from his side. After a while, he's not sure if he wants to.
Genres: Romance
Date: June 16, 2020
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You did not appear again the next day.
Wolf Keum had not been waiting for you to present yourself. He made sure to remind himself of that.
Yet, the endless chatter of the “girl looking for Wolf Keum” going around Ganghak was grating on his nerves and disallowed him to purge you from his mind.
As someone his classmates could barely bring themselves to look at, he was an awful popular point of contention. You had made a bigger mess than you could imagine.
“I’m telling you, she’s way too cute for him. I’ve seen her working at the flower shop by the underpass, and I don’t think she could be interested in him like that at all, ever. Too bad for him.”
As one of the strongest members of Yeongdeungpo, Wolf Keum’s personal business was always made public business in a matter of days, or in this case, hours.
He had first looked upon this with irrational contempt, wondering why his name belonged in anybody’s mouth if they could barely utter a syllable in his presence. After a while, he realized that rumors, while spoken about for the sake of entertainment, could also serve to emphasize his power without much effort on his part.
It wasn’t much different now, though Wolf had to admit he had never been jabbed in the pride regarding his romantic life before. He had no idea it existed until now.
It stirred his temper more than dumbfucks shit-talking his fights, and he reasoned that his irritability stemmed from the fact that these slobs would talk about just about anything. Still, he couldn’t settle things like he did back then. Not while he was under Donald Na’s system. It wasn’t as effective than beating the living shit out of anyone who looked at him funny, but it did allow time for his bruised knuckles to heal before the next beatdown.
His friend was quick to snatch the collar of the offender.
“What the hell did you say about Wolf? What do you know? Do I need to knock out your teeth so you think twice before yammering?”
The smaller student squirmed in the iron grip, sweating bullets and eyes darting about to find aid from his friends.
“I- I didn’t mean to! I mean, I wasn’t talking about Wolf Keum, the girl, she-”
“You weren’t talking about Wolf Keum?”
Wolf watched out of the corner of his eye, hands in his pockets, as the student was nearly hoisted from the floor from the collar.
“Who the hell were you talking about then? Geum Sa-Wol? You watch that shit, loser?”*
As the student became a blubbering mess, Wolf swept his eyes over the crowd in the hallway. All eyes were diverted. It was deafeningly silent, a silence that Wolf Keum craved for two reasons. One, it meant he could finally have a few goddamn seconds of peace without her face bouncing around in his head; and two, it meant that although students refused to look up, they were still very much listening.
“Hey man.”
Wolf placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and he could feel the trembling of the other student through his arm.
“Don’t sweat it.”
The smaller kid was set down, and Wolf had to keep himself from snarking at his pale face and wide eyes. Instead, he turned his chin up and offered a sickening smile, his glasses catching the gleam of the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling.
“I can’t waste time on shit-mouthed fuckers who can’t get the facts straight.”
Wolf reached out to scornfully dust off his wrinkled jacket, enjoying each flinch he induced when his hand landed too harshly or too quickly.
He lowered his voice to a dangerous octave, a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins when he felt the room drop ten degrees in response.
“Her and I have nothing to do with each other, and definitely nothing to do with you. It’s best for us to keep it like that for your sake, don’t you think?”
He lowered his gaze to glower at the shorter student, who, trembling, swallowed thickly and nodded stiffly under his suffocating presence.
Wolf remained rooted to the floor, asserting his pressure for a few more long seconds for good measure before giving him a shove.
“Now fuck off.”
He watched as the student took off, tripping over the air in his haste and plummeting into the unforgiving tiled floors with a splat.
Wolf regarded him with a derisive glance and moved to open the door to his classroom, and though it was someone else on the floor, all eyes were on him.
He always reveled in the high of scaring someone shitless when he had an audience. Their deafening silence represented their resounding submission to him, but perhaps his most favorite part of all was the contrast of atmosphere immediately before and after he entered another room.
The collective drop of shoulders, the perfectly synchronized sighs of relief and immediate whispers of disbelief flooded Wolf Keum with euphoria. It reminded him that his mere presence was enough to instill fear into the hearts of his peers, strong enough to demand subservience, and a testament to his self-made reputation.
It was exactly what he needed now after a long day of conflicting thoughts, which he shamefully had to admit, had made him restless.
When he slid the door to his classroom open, he could almost hear the eyes moving from his back to his desk.
In all his years of accruing bloody knuckles and broken noses, he had never once been as stunned as he was in this one soundless and stagnant moment.
A crowd had formed around his table, busybodies nosing about and phone cameras shuttering. The moment they heard the door fling open they scattered like roaches, throwing themselves back into their seats and trying hard to seem occupied as to not incur the wrath of Wolf Keum.
Piled high on his desk was an amalgamation of pinks and reds, wrapped delicacies placed upon gift boxes placed upon packages tied to little pink balloons. Wolf took this all in with as straight a face as he could muster, knowing everyone was more sensitive to his presence now than ever before. This included of course, eyebrows arching upwards and his jaw becoming slack.
No one could blame Wolf Keum for his reaction. They had in fact, reacted in the same exact manner- perhaps to a more notable extent.
Even for a normal person, a love letter or a small baked treat would suffice as a proclamation of love. But for Wolf Keum, the gifts spread across his desk in a flashy show of affection were tenfold more surprising.
It was incomprehensible to anyone that Wolf, the brute occupied with street violence and gang activity, would ever entertain the idea of liking someone, and even moreso shocking that someone could see past their terror and admire him- especially in such an ostentatious fashion.
This revelation was of course, made much more interesting because of the blatant denial that he had anything to do with a girl prior.
Wolf knew this more than anyone and gathered his wits to press onward, feeling something strangely similar to adrenaline pulsing through his body and reddening his ears.
“W-Wolf…” His friend stuttered, raising a weak finger to point at the desk. “…What is that?”
Wolf skulked into the classroom, hands deep in his pockets and a snarl on his lips. He had an idea, but couldn’t formulate it into words. He settled for the next best thing.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know, dimwit? I’m looking now.”
“O-oh. Right.”
He approached the table with caution, cringing at the vivid colors and grotesque amount of home baked pastries and sweets. There was an assortment of red cosmos, pink tulips and white daises sitting upon everything, tied together neatly with a thick shiny ribbon pinning down a notecard.
Wolf considered knocking everything over in a fit of confused rage. He considered ordering his lackey to burn it in the incinerator. He considered many things, yet curiosity ate him alive and stopped him from uttering a single word.
He had thought about her all day, damn it all if denying it did anything.
She had a strange manner to her that he couldn’t shake and he was enraged when she failed to show up again after gaining his attention. Though no, it hadn’t been directed at her- which was what infuriated him.
For the first time in years, Wolf Keum had been disappointed in himself, perhaps for not being interesting enough to earn another visit, or strong enough to impress her beyond a single local market creampuff.
When she didn’t show up again as he had anticipated, he was overtaken by pesky attempts to explain it. He guessed she was shy, he guessed she was nervous, he guessed she came to her senses, he had guessed and guessed until it drove him up the wall and back down again.
But even with his reputation and credibility on the line, even while being documented by a sea of students who undoubtedly would share this with friends later- now that just a breath of her existence was in front of him, he had to know- was she back after all?
The adrenaline had now inched its way across his body and set his heart and mind aflame, temperatures soaring and burning their way across his cheeks.
“Bro, I can toss it for you-”
“Shut up for a second.”
Wolf ignored the other man, who wisely shut his trap. He was preoccupied with keeping his hand steady as he stiffly reached out for the notecard, a gleam overtaking his glasses. The gold foil note looked strangely out of place in his calloused and bandaged hands, but the name on the notecard was undoubtedly his.
Dear Wolf Keum,
Yay!! You found my gifts!!
I hope you can enjoy these snacks with all of your funny friends.
The flowers are for you though. I picked them from the florist shop I work at myself.
I hope you like them! (PS: Put them in carrot juice to make them last longer!)
(PPS: or don’t… my boss tells me not to do that in the shop…)
He lowered the card and looked up with a deadpan glower, all the students who had been peering over their shoulders flinched and look back to the front.
He didn’t know what to feel. Wolf Keum was instinctively mad at everything.
If the television didn’t work, he was mad. If he had forgotten an umbrella in the rain, he’d be mad and take someone else’s and still be mad. Any slight inconvenience to Wolf Keum was followed by inevitable punishment, and though he was inconvenienced now more than ever with your gifts tarnishing his title in both Ganghak High and the Union, in this moment he felt nothing more than exasperation.
A familiar pipsqueak shitstain voice sounded from the door.
“Woah, she really does like you! How?”
Wolf Keum grit his teeth and felt his hands ball into tight fists at his side, confusion igniting once again to erupt into a bitter and wild, barely contained rage. He was Wolf Keum. Why did he care? Why did he care what a shitty bread shuttle had to say?
He felt his temper raise to lick at the edges of his vision, something of the sort of beast he was used to encountering, but driven by something larger and much more foreign than he was used to. What was it that he, Wolf Keum, was so unfamiliar with? So unable to control?
A creep of red colored his neck, a dash ran across his face, and then he knew at once.
The amount of effort it took for him to sustain regular breathing was fucking bullshit. The way his fists were ready to swing yet ever trembling was fucking. Bullshit.
To onlookers, this Wolf Keum was the same as the Wolf Keum all the days before, face red with irritation, quaking fists itching for a brawl. He was thankful of this, but at the same time hated how he had to hide behind his title instead of living up to it.
Wolf Keum was insecure.
“You little bitch! I’ll rip out your tongue!”
A figure lunged at the smaller boy in the periphery of Wolf's vision, yet he paid it no mind. There was no satisfaction that came from the dull sound of crying and a fists cracking against a nose. Wolf settled into his chair with an aura that filled the room with a cold draft.
With his mood soured, everyone was suddenly reminded that Wolf Keum with gifts on his desk was in fact, still Wolf Keum.
The silence that surrounded the noisy beating did nothing to ease the atmosphere as the pink balloon bobbed softly in the air.
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The Undiscovered Country (Live Reaction)
CAPTAIN SULU OF THE EXCELSIOR CAPTAIN SULU OF THE EXCELSIOR CAPTAIN SULU OF THE EXCELSIOR EVERYONE STFU HE DESERVED HIS OWM GODDAMN SHOWWWWW!!!! “Should we report this?” “Are you kidding??” I love him so muchhh
Oh this one is gonna be about racism isn’t it? Yup. I know people judge Kirk for his prejudice against the Klingons in this movie, and I wanna clarify that it’s still not okay, but I just... look back on all of his experiences with Klingons, and he became less and less chill with them as they kept doing stuff to him and his crew, torturing Spock, Sherman’s planet, torturing Chekov, the ugly decisions in A Private Little War then on top of that they killed a son he never got the chance to connect with because his ex never allowed him custody. They almost cost him the chance to bring Spock back on top of that too. I’m not saying it’s not right, and whether it’s justified is subjective, but I also know he learns his lesson in this film. It makes me think of Katara’s arc in S3 of ATLA, how much she hated (understandably) Zuko and the Fire Nation, how she almost killed the man who killed her mother, but then didn’t. If we can love her still with that character growth, I see no reason to suddenly hate Jim.
“Logic is the beginning of wisdom Valeris” god I love Spock, he’s grown so much ☺️ also maaaaan everyone is old now lol, wait?! Where’s Bones?! Oh there he is! Oh wow I can smell the traitor on Valeris she is acting extremely shady! Oh hey it’s General Chang!! I’ve heard of this guy!! Apoliticality hall of fame up in here huh ST? Damn. Klingons love them some Shakespeare lol. Nice Scotty! Ohhhh Chang that was a loaded question, oof thanks for saving your grumpy husband. Ooooh man I love dinner scenes like these, the tension, the delicate conversation, the unspoken words ugh hell yeah. Oof!
Chancellor made a DAMN good point there! Calling Kirk out on his shit before they left! Yessssssss!! Lol everyone is hung FUCK WHAT JUST HAPPENED??? OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK!!! That Zero G effect is cool as fuck! Oh no oh no oh no oh no the war is being staged oh god oh no oh shit oh shit ohhhhhh no!! Ohhhhhhhhhh shittttt this is B A D. Ok so Klingon blood is pink? Huh.
Even with Jim’s prejudice he still values this peace than he does his feelings and that is a Captain Kirk ass thing to do. Bones being fucking AWESOME! Ohhhh nooooo, I liked Gorkon 😔 “Don’t let it end this way Captain.” Wowwww that was cool ass last words. “I sympathize Mr. Scott” growth 🌿 oh hey Sarek is back! Federation has an alien president now? Neat! Also I freaking LOVE Gorkon’s daughter, I am also growing progressively more confused by their kinda over exaggerated behavior in future TV shows? (I imagine they probably had a fanatical ideological takeover, kinda like the Vulcans and Surak but... violent.)
The defense attorney sounds like Michael Dorn??? I know it’s not him but still? OH MY GOD IT IS???? Cool! His name is also Worf? Weird. Awww Bones he’s GOTTA stop making me cry like this I can’t even do this oh man he’s breaking my hearrrrrt. Oh wow they really just listing everything “bad” Jim has ever done huh? Damn. CAPTAIN SULU IS BACK oh and he’s gone again damn. Ooooof penal colony punishment yiiiiikes, seems the Klingons have as outdated a prison system as we do now 😬 oh so Spock is distantly related to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Neat. Oh Spock don’t trust Valeris, I know you don’t know better yet but still 😬😬😬
Ooof this whole person thing is super interesting?? Who is this WOMAN whose informing them McCoy & Jim, I love her! I love this political intrigue murder mystery stuff!! Those Wargs look AMAZING wow, loving seeing TOS crew with a budget love it! “Not everyone keeps their genitals in the same place Captain.” OH MY GOD 😂😂😂 oh it’s McKirk hours boys, and awww even in a Klingon prison Jim’s prejudice is decaying. McCoy is DUDE WHAT IS WITH YOU?? And I agree, even as an old man Jim is a lil’ bit it a slut. WAIT CHRISTIAN SLATER???? That was a weird cameo. Even after he made out with that lady he was like “damn, what is wrong with me??” Lol
WAIT IS MATIRA A CHANGELING?? That transformation was VERY gooey?? I mean I know there are a bunch of shapeshifter races but still???? Hey watch McCoy is gonna give out from the cold first cuz he’s a southern damsel just you wait. Aaaaaand it took 5 minutes! 😂 he’s immune to dinosaurs but vulnerable to cold. Bullshit Uhura doesn’t know Klingon??? What was that?!?! Oh she’s not a Changeling. TWO KIRKS AGAIN???? How many times is this now, four? 😂😂
Now they’re close enough to kiss lmfao KISS DAMNIT! Aw. Uh oh. I have never, NEVER seen Spock this posed off ohhhh my god. OH MY GOD HE JUST SMACKED THAT SHIT OUT OF HER HAND. Ooof I need to sit down (I say sitting down) way to frickin kick Jim right in his soul with his own words damn Valeris... wow this is so GOOD, fuck. Oh man, the amount of personal strength, feelings of hatred and betrayal, and circumstance it takes for Spock to FORCIBLY meld with someone when we all know how he feels about consent 😨 this is like, the only ONLY situation I can imagine him, in character, EVER doing this to anyone. Wow... wow. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Ohhhhhh wow, that’s gonna haunt Spock for the rest of his life... fuck.
SULU IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAYYYYYYY WE LOVE HIM!!! Awwww look at these too poor idiots regretting their moral transgressions :( they’re so married. Over here examining prejudices and stuff, I need to study this screenplay oh my goddddd. This is so GOOD oh my god. Kittomer Accord hours!! Here we go! Oh MAN Chang is a cool ass villain!! Here we gooooooooo!!! EXCELSIOR IS HERE TO HELP!! Aw Spones out here flirting before they go save peace in their time, love that! This battle tastes like a beautiful marriage between Balance of Terror and Conscience of A King 😍 YEAH SCOTTY!!! And thus, Kirk completes his character growth. Lol and then everyone claaaaaaped.
Man, Sulu and the Excelsior really deserved their own his Star Trek show, something I hope they will someday remedy! Awwww that little love letter to TNG and all future Treks at the end heck yeh ☺️
#star trek#star trek vi: the undiscovered country#the undiscovered country#Star Trek tos#star trek tos movies#tos liveblog#liveblogging
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Guide Me Home
Guide Me Home | Reddie | Teen and Up | 21,365 words
Summary: “I am here to offer you a choice,” Maturin explains patiently, finally seeming to answer Eddie’s questions. “You can move on from this world,” he says, and a plain wooden door appears, suddenly, out of nowhere, to the left of Eddie. It’s not close to him. It’s close enough that Eddie can see clearly what it is, but far enough that Eddie know’s he’d have to make the conscious decision to walk all the way to it. “Or I can take you back,” Maturin says, and another door appears to the right of Eddie, just as far as the first, but in a bright, gleaming gold this time.
For a second, Eddie doesn’t breathe. The choice seems so simple, so obvious. Of course he wants to go back! He’s only forty years old, he has a whole life ahead of him! He’s only just got the Losers back, and they killed that fucking clown! There’s nothing left to hold him back! He has a life in New York to get back to, a wife and —
A wife and…
A wife and nothing else but lies lies lies.
**
This has been such a journey to write! I don't remember how long I've been working on it, but it's been at least a few months because I just wanted to get it right. My first rough draft was only 11,500 words, and it quite literally doubled in size and I can't believe it! Here it is, finally, and I am so excited to share it! I hope that you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Thanks as always to my best friend and beta @imnotinclinedtomaturity.
Ao3 Link
**
After the world goes dark, Eddie doesn’t expect to open his eyes ever again — it’s therefore a surprise to him when he does.
As his eyes flutter open, he notices immediately that the heavy feeling pressing on his chest, the one that had been making it difficult for him to breathe, is gone. The realization is enough to cause him to inhale deeply, if for no other reason than he can. The feeling of his lungs inflating without any discomfort or pain is a relief, and Eddie lets the breath back out again slowly.
He realizes as he does so that he allowed his eyes to drift shut again, and he opens them slowly.
The world around him is white, nothing but white in every direction. He’s laying down on something, and as Eddie looks down, he realizes it’s a bed — well, a cot, more specifically. The kind you find in a hospital. For a moment, Eddie actually believes that he is in a hospital, but then he looks up again and realizes that he can’t be, because there’s nothing else here.
His brow furrows in confusion as he sits up slowly, wincing reflexively as he does, only — there is no pain. He looks down cautiously and moves his hands to his abdomen where, what felt like moments ago, there had been a huge gaping hole ripped straight through him.
There’s nothing there, now. He’s completely whole, as if the fight with It never happened.
A sense of foreboding starts to clog Eddie’s throat, and he stares wide-eyed at the sheer whiteness around him as he pushes himself free from the bed. At his sides, his fingers curl into fists, and he turns in quick, anxious circles as he searches for something, anything, in the vast nothingness that surrounds him.
Eddie can feel his heart starting to cramp with terror, a stutter caught in his chest, and aches for the inhaler he’d thrown into the fire what must have been at least an hour ago.
What the fuck is happening? he wonders anxiously. Where am I? Where the fuck is this place?
Wherever he is, it strikes fear into Eddie’s heart, and he wants nothing more than to get out. He’d never known what true silence was until now, and he can feel his skin prickling uncomfortably. The more he checks out his surroundings, moving swift on shaky legs, the more it becomes clear that there is nothing else here, and the sheer force of the vast emptiness nearly knocks Eddie flat on his ass with terror.
It’s just as the panic is truly beginning to set in that Eddie hears a voice.
“You’ve been asleep a long time,” it says, echoing all around him. Startled, Eddie jumps in place, and immediately raises his hands defensively.
“Who’s there?” he demands, glaring into the vast nothingness. He cranes his neck to look above him, the only place he hasn’t looked, but finds nothing.
Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit, he thinks, twisting his body around again to check behind him, and then again to make sure nothing has appeared in the short moment he wasn’t looking.
As tends to happen when Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he gets angry. “Hey!” he shouts, when the person still hasn’t answered him. “Answer me you fucking asshole!” he adds rashly, shuffling backwards, towards the hospital bed.
His hands are shaking.
“Eddie Kaspbrak,” the voice replies, a calm, deep tenor. Eddie’s back locks up with rigid terror.
“How do you know my name?” he shouts defensively, eyes still darting around the bright nothingness he’s found himself in, even though he knows that it’s useless.
There’s nothing here.
“Who the fuck are you? Where are my friends?” he asks, voice quavering in the quiet, but there is no immediate response. Eddie is left, again, to his own thoughts and fears, and he scrambles at the back of his mind for some kind of memory that’ll tell him what the hell is going on. The last thing he remembers is Richie telling him he’ll be right back for him, and then —
Well… dying.
Oh god, he moans inside his own head, and lets out a whimper into the quiet air. What happened to Richie? What happened to Bill? And Ben, and Bev, and Mike… Are they dead? Is he dead? What the hell is going on? he asks himself.
“I know all of you,” the voice says, calm, and Eddie jumps, pulled abruptly out of his panicked spiral of thoughts, only to be launched into a brand new one.
Pennywise, he thinks, and trips backwards, until his back hits the hospital bed. True fear grips him hard, as he imagines what’s going to happen to him now. Pennywise has him trapped somewhere, maybe inside of his own goddamn mind, like he had Beverly twenty-seven years ago. Did he get caught in the deadlights? No, that was Richie, not him, and he’d thrown the spear straight into Pennywise’s throat, hadn’t he?
Fuck! Pennywise should have died, then! Eddie killed him, he killed that motherfucking clown, and now he’s back and he’s going to torture Eddie and —
Running on sheer adrenaline, Eddie shouts “I’ll fucking kill you, asshole, I swear to god! Don’t come near me or I swear I’m going to—” Eddie’s voice cracks as he fails to come up with a proper threat. He can feel his throat closing up as he waits for some kind of response, but it doesn’t come.
Eddie’s mind scrambles for answers, for any indication of what the hell might be going on. He doesn’t really remember what happened, his memories a tangled blur. He’d told Richie to go, hadn’t he? Before he… before he died, maybe. He told Richie to go, but why? Where had the others been, while Eddie was laying there bleeding to death on the cistern floor? Fuck, where had they been?
And then Eddie remembers — he remembers telling the others how to kill Pennywise. Make him small, he’d said, and all the others had run off into the main cavern to do just that. Eddie remembers hearing them shout insults at him, remembers telling Richie that the others needed him, that he needed to go, now.
They’d killed Pennywise. Surely they’d killed him?
“You’re dead!” Eddie screams when he finally manages to get his breath back again. “We fucking killed you!” he adds, desperate now. He can feel his legs give out on him at the same time as his ass hits the side of the bed, misses the landing, and hits the ground hard. Tears fill his eyes, half from pain, half from fear, and he glares up into the blank sky and screams, “We killed you!” around a sob stuck in his throat.
Oh god, he thinks, Oh god, we came back here and for what? he wonders, allowing the tears to overwhelm him. He shoves his face into his hands and just lets himself cry, shoulders shaking as he thinks of his friends. If he’s here, in whatever the fuck this place is, all alone, what happened to the rest of them? Are they somewhere here too, or maybe in their own nightmare of Pennywise’s devising? Eddie thinks of Richie, of one of the last things he’d said to him (“I fucked your mom.”) and wishes more than anything that he could change it.
Suddenly, just as Eddie’s tears are reaching a crescendo, a sense of calm settles down on his shoulders and floods through his veins. Eddie shudders at the touch, hiccuping over another broken sob, and raises his head to stare up into the sky.
“What—” he tries, voice cracking. “What are you doing to me?” he tries again, this time managing to shape the words with his tongue. The calmness settles deeper inside of him, and then an all-consuming knowing settles into his soul.
“He is dead,” the voice promises, obviously referring to Pennywise. The tone is soothing this time, grandfatherly, deep, and even before the voice speaks, Eddie knows what it's going to say.
Pennywise is dead. He’s really dead. He can’t hurt Eddie anymore.
The knowledge sits there in Eddie’s mind for a long moment, seeping into him. He feels his limbs relax as he lets it in, and closes his eyes. His lips are still parted on half-spoken words, but after a moment, they drift shut too.
Pennywise is dead. He’s dead.
Eddie shudders at the thought, and finally opens his eyes. He stares dumbly at nothing. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, “Okay.” He just needs to sit with that for a minute. He knows somehow that it’s true, and sure this could all be some crazy, made-up mind game that Pennywise is playing on him, but it doesn’t feel like it is. Pennywise had always felt like madness, but this voice? It feels like benevolence.
Inhaling deeply, Eddie lets out a slow breath before managing to compose himself.
“Who are you?” Eddie asks again, quieter this time. His voice is shaking, and his ass hurts from falling so hard, but the fear feels farther away, now, just out of reach, like the voice is blocking him from feeling anything but calm.
“Maturin,” answers the voice finally.
Eddie nods his head. Maturin. Okay. Sure. Maturin. Whatever that means.
Before Eddie can ask another question, however, an image floats through his mind of a large turtle swimming through the stars in the sky, galaxies and nebula rushing by. On its back sits world, after world, after world — and then it's gone.
Eddie blinks, shocked. He doesn’t know how Maturin did that, put that image in his head, and while it’s a more thorough answer than Eddie could have asked for, it’s still vaguely horrifying to have something shoved into his mind like that. He shakes it off as best he can, and considers it.
“Uhm, so are you like… a god?” he asks disbelievingly. Eddie’s never really believed in god, but if he’s being honest with himself, after what he’d seen down there in the cistern, after what he’d seen when he was thirteen, it wouldn’t much surprise him.
“I am a guardian,” Maturin explains simply but dismissively, to the point where Eddie feels like he shouldn’t pry further. It sounds almost like Maturin wouldn’t tell him even if he asked, like a disgruntled adult who doesn’t feel the information is relevant.
Without missing a beat, Maturin repeats, “It is dead,” and another wave of knowing overwhelms Eddie.
It is dead. Pennywise is dead.
Right. Eddie understands. Pennywise is dead, but… “What happened to the others?” he asks. Some of the forced calm that had been holding his emotions hostage seems to drain out of him, a little at a time, and Eddie finds himself able to worry again.
It’s a question Eddie needs an answer to, and yet an answer that Eddie dreads.
“They are safe,” Maturin assures him.
Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief, and he nods mindlessly at the news, his head spinning. Fuck, they’re safe. Thank god they’re safe. Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if anything had happened to them. Not after everything they’d done.
And Richie. Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if something had happened to Richie, especially not after Eddie had done everything he could to save Richie from the deadlights.
But what about Eddie? Is he dead? Where is he? Why is he here?
“And…” Eddie hesitates, after a moment. “And me?” he asks a little breathlessly, nervous for the answer.
He expects a sense of sadness to imbue him the same way Maturin had made him feel calm, like Maturin’s feelings had been covering Eddie’s, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Maturin simply repeats, “You have been asleep for a long time.”
Eddie immediately feels frustrated by the answer, and he glares up at the nothing above him furiously.
“You already said that!” he snaps, annoyed again. His anxiety over his own death is bad enough without Maturin acting all fucking mysterious about it. He just wants a straight fucking answer, is that too much to ask? “What the fuck does that even mean? And where am I? What am I doing here?” he demands, questions quickfire in the still air. His chest heaves with the ache of asking them, and he has to force his mouth shut before he can ask anything else, afraid, already, to know the answer to these.
“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Maturin replies, voice gentle but stern, “I try to help where I can,” he explains ambiguously. Eddie feels his hands curl into fists at his sides again, ready to angrily snap what the fuck does that mean, but Maturin doesn’t give him the chance, instead continuing, “You are between life and death. Your life hangs in the balance…”
Through the white nothingness comes an image, pressed to the center of Eddie’s eye. He can see himself, clothed in a blue hospital gown, face paler than the sheets and so fucking bloodless Eddie is shocked to witness his chest move with each breath. He can hear the beep of machines, and a soft, blurred sound in the background, as if someone is speaking. It’s a voice that Eddie thinks he recognizes, and then it’s gone.
Eddie blinks the image out of his eye, and stares, shocked.
“I am here to offer you a choice,” Maturin explains patiently, finally seeming to answer Eddie’s questions. “You can move on from this world,” he says, and a plain wooden door appears, suddenly, out of nowhere, to the left of Eddie. It’s not close to him. It’s close enough that Eddie can see clearly what it is, but far enough that Eddie know’s he’d have to make the conscious decision to walk all the way to it. “Or I can take you back,” Maturin says, and another door appears to the right of Eddie, just as far as the first, but in a bright, gleaming gold this time.
For a second, Eddie doesn’t breathe. The choice seems so simple, so obvious. Of course he wants to go back! He’s only forty years old, he has a whole life ahead of him! He’s only just got the Losers back, and they killed that fucking clown! There’s nothing left to hold him back! He has a life in New York to get back to, a wife and —
A wife and…
A wife and nothing else but lies lies lies. Slowly, the same thoughts that had been going through Eddie’s mind since before they’d descended into Its lair drift back through his mind. He hadn’t wanted to die, but… he’d been so sure that he would. He’d wanted nothing more than to go home, but to what? The same thing he’d left twenty-two years ago, when he’d stepped foot out of his mother’s house for what he thought would be the last time, and walked right back into two months later?
Everything that he’d learned with the Loser’s that summer — the manipulation, the placebos, the realization that he was brave — had disappeared within two months of leaving Derry, and Eddie had found himself right back on his mother’s doorstep.
He never really left it again. Myra was everything his mother had been, and he’d gone right ahead and married her anyway. His life was a constant refrain of fear and illness and you’re too weak, Eddie bear, you need me, let me take care of you. When he’d packed his bag to come out here to Derry, he’d filled almost an entire suitcase with medications that Eddie didn’t even need, and it had only taken a few hours for Eddie to remember that he wasn’t sick, that he’d never been sick, and yet back in the cistern, he’d still used his inhaler as if it weren’t filled with camphor water and… and… what did Eddie really have to go back to?
He was stuck in a dead-end, boring job that he’d held for fifteen years, even though he hated it. He was a senior risk analyst with no hope of going anywhere else, making more money than he needed for a man who never spent a dime on himself outside of doctor's visits he didn’t need and medication that did nothing for him. His marriage had been dead in the water from the moment he’d said I do — probably even before that, if he’s being honest — and he and Myra both knew it.
He didn’t really have anything to go back to. He didn’t have a life, not really. He’d been living a goddamn nightmare for twenty-two years, and he couldn’t even begin to fathom how to make a change big enough to make a difference.
He did have the Loser’s now, though. Surely they would be there to help him? But they also had lives of their own to get back, and Eddie couldn’t imagine any of them could have also fucked their lives up so bad that they wouldn’t want to go back to them. Maybe Bev, because she had always been in the same boat as Eddie in some way, with a parent who hurt them in different but fundamentally similar ways. But Bev would have Ben, and would Eddie have anybody, really? Would any of them really want to put up with all of the bullshit that had eroded Eddie away into a nervous wreck? He’d always been a hypochondriac, he knew that, but this was somehow different.
Would they even stay friends, after all of this? It had been twenty-two years for some of them, twenty-seven for even more of them. They didn’t know each other anymore. They might have acted like best friends back in the Jade of the Orient, but that was akin to a high school fucking reunion. You might stay in touch for a few weeks, maybe a few months, after seeing each other again, but eventually, it all faded away...
What if they forgot each other again? The very idea of it makes Eddie’s soul ache, and he gasps back a sob stuck in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain just remembering them. Remembering that summer, and the summers that came after as they each slowly started to drift away until there was no one but him, and Richie, and Mike… and then they were all gone. For twenty-two years, Eddie had forgotten the people who had meant the most to him, and the idea of getting them back, only to lose them again, is more than Eddie can take.
It takes a long moment, but eventually Eddie opens his eyes to stare up into the nothingness and blurts out, “I saved their lives, didn’t I?” He asks it like a question, but it’s not really a question at all. He says, “I saved Richie from the deadlights, and I told the others how to kill Pennywise, and I…” Eddie trails off, chest aching with the bone-deep knowledge that he has done so much more with his life in the past forty-eight hours than he has in twenty-two years.
Maturin says, “Yes.”
Eddie nods. He doesn’t have a reply for that. All he can think is, isn’t that enough?
Before he knows it, hot tears are streaming down his cheeks again, and Eddie reaches up in astonishment to wipe them away. He hadn’t even realized he’d begin to cry. His chest hurts so bad. Slowly, Eddie wraps his arms tight around himself and squeezes hard.
“Fuck,” he gasps and shakes his head. He can feel himself shaking, but it isn’t from the cold. Something like a burning pain rips through his heart when he thinks about dying, but more than anything he just wants to know — “Will they be okay?” he asks through shaking lips.
Maturin makes a deep noise that Eddie can’t begin to articulate, and then he says “Let me show you.”
For the third time, images ripple forward against Eddie’s eyes, until it’s all that he can see. He gasps, and he’s back in the blackness that was Its lair, a stark contrast to the white place he’d been in before. It’s too dark for him to see anything here. There are strong, warm arms wrapped around him, a desperate grip against his skin, and hot, warm tears soaking into his neck. He can hear screaming around him and the roar of a collapsing building.
“Come on Richie, we have to go!” someone is saying, but all Eddie can really hear is the desperate, wet gasping pressed into the column of his neck. “Let’s go man, let’s go!” another someone is saying — Ben, or Bill maybe…
“No,” Eddie hears Richie whimper against his ear, and, with a shock, Eddie realizes who it is that’s holding him. “No, no, no!” Richie screams, and there’s a grappling sensation, like Eddie’s body is being shoved around. Richie doesn’t let go of him, and then Eddie hears “We can still help him guys, we can still help him!” screamed in a desperate plea so heart-wrenching that Eddie can’t bear to hear it.
He gasps out a choked sob of his own, but it goes unnoticed in the flurry.
Someone pries Richie’s arms from him.
“No, please, let go of me!” Richie screams, scrabbling for Eddie, his fingertips grasping at the edges of Eddie’s jacket, and then slipping on through. “Please, no, we can still help him, we can help him!” Richie begs, and Eddie feels another sob wrench free of him. The sound turns into a gasp, and despite the fact that it’s a memory Maturin is showing him, the reaction seems to have happened in real time because Richie screams “He’s breathing! Guy’s he’s breathing, please, help me!”
There’s another desperate scramble, another scream, this time of pain, and then Richie’s holding him in his arms again. Eddie knows it’s Richie because of the shudder in his breathing, the tears dripping down onto Eddie’s face now, the way Richie’s hands are cupping his cheeks, searing in their warmth.
“Stay with me Eds,” he begs, gasping the words around broken sobs, “We’re going to get you out of here…”
“Richie, come on!” Someone yells — Mike?
“We have to get out of here!”
Eddie can hear it, the sounds of the cave falling apart around them. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach, and for a moment he wonders did we make it out alive until he remembers that Maturin had promised him yes, that Maturin had shown Eddie himself in a hospital bed.
“He’s alive, guys, help me!” Richie screams again, and finally, finally, more arms grab at his body. Eddie can feel it as someone grabs his legs, as Richie releases his face, and scrambles around to grip him under the arms, and lift him up. Eddie feels himself be cradled against Richie’s chest even as he grunts, even as he runs, and feels warm.
“Why did you show me that,” Eddie gasps as the images leave his mind. He can feel the tears dripping freely down his face now, and his heart hurts. He doesn’t understand. “I asked if they’d be okay, why did you show me that!?” he demands, letting out a harsh sob. His hands are trembling as he reaches up to dash the tears away, and he swallows thickly, glaring into the white nothing. “Why!?” he shouts, when he still hasn’t received an answer.
“To show you what you missed,” Maturin answers. Eddie expects him to sound remorseful, but he doesn’t.
“Well, I didn’t want to see them when it happened!” Eddie screams, clawing at his face in frustration. “I — I — I knew they’d — They’d be upset and they’d — They’d mourn me but —”
“Did you?” Maturin accuses, piercing Eddie straight through the heart in a place of deep, deep self-hatred that told Eddie that they might cry, but that they hadn’t known him long enough as an adult to really mourn him.
At that moment, he hates Maturin for understanding him so well.
“Show me something else,” he demands, shaking his head roughly, glaring into the nothingness. “Show me — you said I’ve been asleep for a long time. Show me how they are now. Show me how they’re doing now,” he begs, his breathing harsh and heavy as he attempts to pull himself together and stop crying.
He just wants to know that they’ll be okay. He just wants to know if he can move on without leaving something important behind.
Maturin says, “As you wish.”
Eddie feels his eye open to the images again, and shudders at the sensation. He feels rubbed raw, as an image solidifies around him. He’s in the hospital room again — he can tell from the mint walls and the beeping of a heart monitor. He isn’t looking down on his own face this time, but at the ceiling. As Eddie settles into the moment he realizes that this time, he can move his own gaze, as if he’s inhabiting his living body and borrowing it to take a peek into the real world. He’s certain that he’s not actually moving even as he turns his head and gazes at the man sitting beside him.
It’s Richie.
Maturin hadn’t told him how long he’d been sleeping — all he’d (rather unhelpfully) said was “a long time”. Eddie isn’t sure how long “a long time” is, but from the sound of it, it had been at least more than a few days. So why is Richie still at his bedside?
Richie… does not look good. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days, a dark scruff dotted around his jawline, and his eyes have dark bags underneath them. He’s dressed in a clean t-shirt with a zip-up hoodie tight around his biceps and Eddie realizes — that’s one of his hoodies. One of the blue ones he’d packed into his bag before he’d come to Derry.
It doesn’t fit Richie very well, and Eddie can’t imagine how he’d gotten it other than Richie going through his luggage to find it. He’s not sure he can bear to consider why.
It looks good on him, despite the small size.
The heavy sensation of crying is still crowding against Eddie’s chest, and the sight of Richie in Eddie’s jacket makes it strangle him tighter. He has to swallow thickly to kick it back down, and even then only because he worries what’ll happen if he cries just then.
He can’t be certain, but when he’d sobbed during that memory of Eddie’s near-death, it had felt like Richie had heard it. He doesn’t want Richie to hear him cry again.
Instead, Eddie takes in the deep lines on Richie’s face, the obvious signs of pain and fatigue, and wishes that he could wipe them away.
“What are you still doing here?” a voice Eddie had almost forgotten about over these last couple of days says, cutting through the thick silence of the hospital room. Eddie only realizes that Richie is staring at Eddie’s face when Richie doesn’t look away to answer her.
“The same thing I do every day, Pinkie,” Richie says in a hollow tone. “Taking over the world.”
Myra doesn’t laugh, but Eddie wouldn’t have expected her to. She scoffs instead, clearly unimpressed with Richie’s sense of humor — not that Richie seems all that jazzed about it right now, either. Eddie doesn’t remember a time he’d heard Richie sound like this.
Eddie hears the sound of a chair being dragged closer to his bed, and turns his head to finally take in Myra. She looks as put together as she always does as she slips into a chair on the opposite side of Eddie from Richie. She’s done her hair and makeup, and in contrast to Richie, doesn’t look as if she’s lost a day of sleep.
“Well I don’t know why you keep coming back here,” Myra sneers, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, and reaching out to take Eddie’s hand in hers. It dwarfs Eddie’s, and Eddie can feel the soft clamminess of it. He tries not to recoil in disgust, but now with his memories returned to him, with the knowledge that Eddie never loved Myra and she was just a replacement for his mom when she died, he can’t stand the thought of Myra touching him.
He knows it’s unfair. She’s his wife, and he’s lying in a hospital bed in what appears to be a coma. She’s allowed to be worried.
The problem is, Eddie can’t help thinking that she doesn’t look worried at all.
“There’s been no change in the last few weeks,” Myra mutters in a volume that is much too loud to really be a mutter, but sounds just as begrudging. “All the rest of your little friends are long gone, so why are you still here?” Myra asks shrewdly, and something about her tone reminds Eddie so distinctly of his mother that he doesn’t know how he never noticed it before now.
Richie doesn’t answer her.
Myra makes a “harumph” noise. “Don’t know why I even let you in here,” Myra snarls to herself, squeezing her fingers tightly around Eddie’s.
“You couldn’t make me leave if you tried,” Richie snaps, and his tone is so hostile that Eddie’s head snaps to look at him. There’s a look of deep resentment in his gaze, a flash of anger that burns hot there.
Even before Myra responds, Eddie knows it was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m his wife!” she challenges him harshly. “And I could have you kicked out of here in a heartbeat,” she hisses, glaring at Richie. Eddie can see the way that Richie clenches his jaw in reaction to this, how his teeth grind together for a moment, before he inhales deeply, and lets his shoulders sag in defeat.
“I know,” he mumbles back, avoiding Myra’s gaze now. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he adds, and at best it's begrudging, but it seems to pacify Myra. Her grip loosens on Eddie’s hand.
“You’re welcome,” she replies pompously, and they both shut up.
In the silence, Eddie finds himself wondering why Myra is letting Richie stay. If he’d had a moment to think about what would have happened after Myra showed up, it would have been the Losers being banned from Eddie’s hospital room. At best, he’s shocked at Myra’s kindness, and at worst, he’s wondering what it is she’s angling for here.
It only takes a moment for Eddie to make the connection. It had been the same, with his mom. Once Eddie had gotten old enough to realize that he didn’t have to do every single thing she said, she’d started using Eddie’s friends as bargaining chips. She’d allow him to stay at their houses for longer and longer periods of time, knowing that if she did, Eddie would turn around and take his medicine just the way she’d asked, or stay home watching movies with her on her birthday, or allowing her to coddle him when he got sick.
Myra had always been much the same way, giving Eddie what she thought he might want because she knew if she did, then Eddie would owe her.
She was allowing Richie to stay because she thought it might get her something from Eddie when he woke up.
Eddie clenches his teeth at the very thought. He hates that he’s allowed both his mother and Myra to use him like that. He hates that he ever thought it was okay. How much of a tyrant has Myra been to Richie, to the rest of his friends, just for the satisfaction of knowing that she’s doing Eddie a favor by letting them stay here?
Eddie wonders if Myra ever blamed them for Eddie’s… accident. The thought of it makes him ache for his friends. He knows his wife well, can only just imagine the venom she’s spit at them, and he wonders how Richie can still be around to take it.
Eddie blinks away a new set of tears, and suddenly the vision fades from his mind. His brow furrows immediately, and he blinks a few more times in confusion before he finally asks. “Wait, that’s it? What about the others?” He can’t help the frustration in his tone as he waits for a response.
“You asked to see them as they are now,” Maturin responds gravely. Eddie feels himself inflating with frustration, ready to scream, but Maturin continues, “I can only show you what your body has been there to witness.” His voice is calm, not unkind, but very serious.
Eddie deflates almost immediately.
“Right,” he mutters dully, and crosses his legs on the floor. He swipes a hand through his hair roughly, shoving it back against the top of his head for no other reason than to avoid yanking on it the way he’s so sorely tempted to do.
Of course, it’s not as simple as — as — whatever the fuck Eddie had been imagining. Maturin has done nothing so far to suggest that he can show Eddie just anything. Eddie himself has been in all three visions, so it makes sense that the only things Eddie can see are things he was there for or whatever. It’s just that… Eddie had really been hoping to see more than that.
He just wants to know if his friends are going to be okay without him. Would it be so bad, if he died? The idea of going back is terrifying to Eddie. He doesn’t know if there's anything worth going back for — that was the whole reason he’d asked — and so far all Maturin has shown him is Richie falling to pieces over Eddie’s nearly dead body and Myra treating Richie like shit, neither of which has done anything other than make Eddie feel sad.
He wants to know how long it’s been.
A long time, Maturin had said, and Myra had commented that there’s been no change in Eddie for weeks. Richie’s still there, though, sitting at his bedside, refusing to leave, and it just doesn’t make sense. Why is Richie still there? When did everybody else leave? Had they forgotten Eddie already, now that they were gone? Was that why Richie hadn’t left his bedside?
There are so many questions that Eddie wants the answers to so bad, but more than anything else, he just wants to see his friends.
He rubs his hands over his face and begs Maturin, “Please just… let me see them. All of them, or as many of them as you can get into one room. Before they left.”
Maturin doesn’t answer this time, but he does drag Eddie along into another memory.
“The doctors say he’s recovering well,” Bev announces as she walks into Eddie’s hospital room. Eddie’s already looking in her direction, so he doesn’t have to turn to see her.
She looks much the same as the last time he’d seen her except cleaner, more put together. She’s still in kids’ clothes, faded blue jeans that hit her mid-calf, and a long-sleeved white shirt. The only thing she’s missing is the key around her neck that she’d worn the summer of ‘89 and the thought makes Eddie smile.
She looks healthy, too. There’s a glow in her cheeks that hadn’t been there at the restaurant, and her eyes are bright. Eddie almost wants to say she looks happy, except she isn’t smiling as her eyes land on Eddie’s body. In fact, she frowns the moment she looks at Eddie, and the crease in her brow becomes obvious. There are worry lines all along her face that hadn’t been there before, and Eddie wonders, how long had I been asleep when this happened?
Unaware of who else is in the room just then, Eddieisn’t sure what kind of response to expect, but when Richie asks, “Then why hasn’t he woken up yet?” in a shockingly loud, harsh tone, Eddie immediately flinches. He turns to his right to find that Richie is sitting at his bedside again, only this time he looks a hell of a lot worse.
The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent than in the last memory, set into this sallow skin. His face looks gaunt, like he hasn’t been eating very much, and the messy, greasy look to his hair suggests he hasn’t showered in a few days either. His beard is even more grown in than when he’d been with Myra, making it rather prominent on his face, and it isn’t exactly a good look for him, either. The bottom is a lot more grey than the rest, betraying Richie’s age.
Looking at him, Eddie can see the grief pure on his face, and it makes his heart ache. God, is this what he’s doing to his friends? To Richie? Making them suffer, because he hasn’t decided whether or not he’s going to wake up?
Unable to face that thought just now, Eddie forces himself to look away. He almost regrets it, when he takes in the look of deep sympathy playing out on Bev’s face. There’s a gentle understanding to her gaze as she steps forward, moving into the space on the other side of Eddie’s bed.
“His body has been put through a lot, Richie,” she explains sadly, taking Eddie’s hand gently in hers. Unlike Myra’s touch, it doesn’t make Eddie want to recoil. In fact, it’s soothing, her skin soft and warm against the cold of his own.
Growling in frustration, Richie snaps back, “don’t you think I know that?”
Bev flinches back, eyes a little wide and wary. Richie glares at her for a long moment, his chest heaving with anger, and then, suddenly, it’s like he deflates. His face absolutely crumples and Eddie wants to cry. He’s never seen Richie look like that, ever.
“Sorry,” Richie mutters, sniffling. It doesn’t occur to Eddie that Richie is holding his hand until he lets go, and he misses the warmth immediately. Richie shoves his face into his hands roughly, miserably, and his shoulders start to shake.
“Oh, Richie,” Bev whispers, biting her lip and staring at him sadly. She doesn’t reach out to touch him, to comfort him, something that confuses Eddie. He wants to beg her to go to him, but she doesn’t. She looks tempted, almost desperate to do just that, but she doesn’t, and Eddie doesn’t understand why.
If he were awake, he’d already have Richie in his arms, hugging him tight and allowing him to cry into Eddie’s shoulder instead. Eddie’s done it before when they were kids, on nights when Richie couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares and cried softly in Eddie’s bed, unwilling to tell Eddie what was actually wrong.
Eddie still doesn’t know what used to make Richie cry like that, but it hadn’t been near as bad as the look on Richie’s face just a moment ago, before he’d hid it in his hands.
He aches to hold Richie, to make all of his sadness go away.
“It’s going to be okay,” Bev finally says after a long moment of allowing Richie to cry. She bites her lip, tears welling in her own eyes, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Richie, I promise.”
“How do you know that?” Richie asks hoarsely, voice thick with tears. When he looks up at Bev, his face is shiny and wet, eyes and nose a deep, painful-looking red. It offsets the darkness under his eyes, makes them look even more hollow.
Bev offers him a watery smile. “Because he’s still alive, Rich. Against all the odds,” she explains soothingly, the tears thick in her throat as well. Eddie watches as she swallows heavily past them, and keeps talking. “He’s been in and out of surgery for weeks, and the doctors say he’s getting stronger. He’ll wake up, Richie, I promise.”
Her eyes are gentle as she nods at Richie, her voice as encouraging as possible for someone holding back tears. Richie stares back at her brokenly, before nodding as well.
Richie goes back to crying softly into his hands, and Bev closes her eyes to visibly compose herself. After a moment, she takes the seat to the right of Eddie, and stares up into his face instead.
“Hey baby,” she murmurs softly to him, petting her fingers over the back of Eddie’s hand. Eddie wants to close his eyes at how gentle and tender it feels. When was the last time someone touched him like that? Not Myra, certainly — she could play gentle with him, but it didn’t feel tender, and more often than not she was likely to grip onto Eddie firmly and direct him to where she wanted him to be.
Bev touching him like this is everything that Eddie hadn’t known he’d been missing, and he finds himself crying again.
“We’re all waiting here for you when you’re ready to wake up, okay?” Bev offers sweetly after another moment. “And we’re not going to forget each other again, I promise,” she adds with a little laugh. “We’ve already checked. Ben had to head out a few days ago, and I was just talking to him this morning. He still knows who we all are,” she explains, sounding a little happier now. “He misses you,” she continues thoughtfully, as if she can feel that Eddie needs to hear it. “He’s sad that he couldn’t stay — work, you know — but I told him that you would understand,” she reassures him and pats the top of his hand.
Eddie wishes that he could tell her that he does understand. He does. He’d known his friends had lives outside of Derry now, lives that they would need to get back to, and just hearing that Ben hadn’t wanted to leave is more than enough.
And he remembers! He still remembers them! Maybe the magic died with Pennywise. Maybe Eddie doesn’t really have to be so scared.
Having said her piece to Eddie, Bev turns back to Richie again. He’s still sitting quietly on Eddie’s other side, sniffling now, but not crying. When Eddie looks at him, he can’t help feeling like Richie looks a little dead-eyed.
“Rich,” Bev says, drawing Eddie’s attention to her. “We’re all here for you, you know,” she tells him confidently, nodding her head fiercely when Richie doesn’t immediately respond. “We’re not going to leave you, either.”
Eddie doesn’t fully understand what she means by that, but Richie seems to. His lips twitch in a smidge of a smile, and he nods in return. “Yeah. I know,” he agrees.
Seeming appeased by this, Bev releases Eddie’s hand and gets up. “Well, I better step out and let Bill come say goodbye. He’s leaving this afternoon,” Bev explains as she turns around to leave. “I’ll be by tomorrow, give Mike a chance to visit with Eddie before Myra comes in,” she explains quietly.
She’s quiet as she leaves. For a moment, Eddie wonders why Bev had to step out for Bill to come in, and then it occurs to him that he might still be in the ICU. They mentioned he’d been in and out of surgeries, and if he’s in the ICU, he’s probably limited to two visitors at a time.
Bev had stepped out so that Richie wouldn’t have to.
Eddie’s chest tightens. He watches Richie closely then, realizing a little belatedly that Richie had mentioned being on tour at dinner the other night. Something melts inside of Eddie as he realizes that Richie clearly hasn’t left his side in weeks. He’s dropped everything for Eddie. For Eddie. Eddie doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so he does both.
It hurts, seeing this whole thing tear his friends up. A part of him is shocked that any of them are still here, and yet deep down inside of him, he isn’t surprised at all. Of course they’re still here for him. Did he really expect them to just up and leave? Did he really think that after twenty plus years of being without each other, they’d be willing to let each other go again?
Eddie knows that he isn’t willing to. Eddie knows that if it were any of his friends in this situation, he would do the same thing. Hell, he’d risked his own life to save Richie’s because Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if Richie had died.
If Richie had been the one to get hurt down in the cistern, Eddie probably would have reacted just as passionately. And he knows that if it were Richie in this bed, Eddie wouldn’t leave his side either.
“Hey,” Bill says, drawing Eddie out of his thoughts, and sitting down in the seat Bev had vacated some time ago. Eager to see his friend, Eddie turns to look at him, and feels relief fill his veins. There’s just something so comforting about seeing the other Losers alive and well.
Bill looks healthy, and like Bev before him, there’s a lightness to him that hadn’t been there at the Jade of the Orient. It looks like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, a weight Bill had forgotten he was shouldering. He looks good, dressed up for travel and well put together.
“Hey,” Richie replies hoarsely. He clears his throat awkwardly, and tries to hide the fact that he’s been crying.
Bill doesn’t buy it. “How are you doing?” he asks gently in a voice similar to Bev’s, like he’s treading lightly. His gaze is sympathetic.
Richie shrugs, rather than answer, and turns to look out the window. Bill stares at the side of Richie’s face for a long time, before sighing audibly and turning his attention on to Eddie instead.
“Hey buddy,” Bill greets him, smiling. “I heard you’re healing pretty well,” he adds, eyes flickering to where Eddie is sure the bandage is wrapped around his body underneath the hospital gown. Bill’s lips twitch, like it’s hard, even now, to imagine Eddie’s injuries. He looks away quickly, back to Eddie’s face, which seems to be a much safer area to look at.
“We really miss you, you know,” Bill tries to say jokingly, in an obvious attempt to relieve some of the tension filling up the room. He glances over at Richie, and then back to Eddie when Richie doesn’t so much as twitch in response. “Especially Trashmouth over there,” Bill stage whispers, like it’s a secret, and obviously trying to drag something out of Richie, though what, Eddie doesn’t know. “I’ve never known him to be so quiet,” Bill teases, winking at Eddie’s prone body.
For the first time, Eddie realizes that Bill’s stutter is gone, and he marvels at that. Ben hadn’t forgotten them after leaving Derry, and Bill’s stutter is gone. Maybe the magic really is dead.
Bill’s humor is quick to disappear when Richie doesn’t immediately jump in to tease him back, or otherwise defend himself. It seems to bring Bill back to himself, because he sighs and says, “But you know, I really can’t stay much longer. I wish I could, I really do, but… I have to get home,” he explains regretfully, and he truly does look like the last thing he wants to do is leave.
Eddie aches with the knowledge, his heart swelling with a mix of happiness and sadness. His friends love him, there could be no clearer truth in the world, and he was hurting them.
Eddie doesn’t want to hurt them. He realizes then, with sudden clarity, that he wants to go back.
Seeming to pull himself back together, Bill smiles at Eddie and says, “So it would be really nice if you could maybe wake up now,” he teases, but there's a sadness to his voice this time that hadn’t quite been there before, like he knows that Eddie isn’t going to wake up for him, but he wants it so so bad.
There’s a beat where no one says anything. The beep of Eddie’s heart monitor is the only sound in the room.
Bill sighs.
“Tried that already,” Richie finally interrupts, turning to offer Bill a half-smile. Bill’s eyes are a little wet when he meets Richie’s gaze, but he huffs a quiet laugh regardless. “Asshole intends to keep us waiting,” Richie adds with a soft huff of his own, and glares playfully at Eddie. “I told him if he wakes up I’ll…” But Richie doesn’t continue. Instead, he turns to stare back outside the window, his lips trembling slightly.
Richie tangles his fingers together in his lap, and holds on tight.
Eddie feels his brow furrow. Richie’ll what?
Bill doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stares at the side of Richie’s face cautiously, thoughtfully, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or not. Finally, Bill leans in closer to Richie and asks, “Are you going to tell him?”
Richie doesn’t move. He doesn’t so much as twitch. He looks frozen in place, like the smallest move could break him. Bill bites his lip, but presses on, “You should tell him.”
Eddie blinks in confusion, and the memory dissolves.
Tell him what? What should Richie tell him?
“Have you decided?” asks Maturin, breaking through Eddie’s thoughts before he can even truly begin to consider what Bill had been talking about. Eddie’s eyes snap upwards, in the space where he’s decided Maturin must be, regardless of whether or not Eddie can see him, and nods his head slowly.
“Yeah… I mean,” Eddie mumbles, shaking his head to clear away the haze of confusion. He frowns, thinking about Richie and the way that he’d looked, sitting at Eddie’s bedside for so long. Sure, Bev and Bill had looked sad when they’d come to visit Eddie, but they hadn’t looked like Richie. Richie had looked absolutely destroyed. He’d been the only one there, too, in that first vision, and hadn’t Myra said that the rest of his friends were gone?
Eddie doesn’t understand.
He looks up again, and asks, “Why is Richie still there?”
There’s silence, for a long time, and then Maturin says, “He’s waiting for you.”
There’s no warning this time. Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to blink before he realizes that he’s back in the hospital room — only this time it’s dark. The lights are on, but the window is open and it’s clear that it’s nighttime.
For a moment, Eddie doesn’t understand what’s going on. He thinks, briefly, that he must have woken up without an answer to his question, and it makes him irrationally angry. He starts to rail against Maturin in his mind, thinking what the fuck does that even mean!? before he hears a quiet sob.
Eddie turns his head. Richie’s face is pressed against Eddie’s palm, and Eddie can feel tears dripping down Richie’s cheeks. He’s crying quietly, hiccuping over sobs the same way he had been down in the cistern, only softer this time, a little less frantic. He’s bent in half over Eddie’s bedside, so much so that Eddie can’t really see his face, but he can feel the heat of him from where Richie has pressed Eddie’s hand to his cheek.
“Wake up, Eddie,” Richie whispers, begging. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been crying for a very long time. “Please, just wake up,” he says again, “I’ll do anything just to hear your voice again.”
Eddie feels his heart launch into his throat, and suddenly he’s crying too. It hurts so fucking bad to see Richie falling apart like this.
Eddie wishes he could talk to Richie, that he could hold Richie back. But despite looking through his own eyes, Eddie knows that he can’t actually move his body. He knows, in fact, from Richie’s perspective, Eddie’s eyes aren’t even open. And he knows, above that, that this is just a memory.
Eddie couldn’t comfort Richie in this moment no matter how much he wants to, because it’s already happened.
“I just got you back,” Richie gasps after another moment, his voice sounding almost loud in the quiet room. Eddie’s lips tremble with anguish, because Richie looks so alone. “I’m not leaving you until you wake up,” Richie adds roughly, squeezing tight to Eddie’s hand.
Eddie closes his eyes, because looking at Richie like this hurts too much.
“Fuck,” Richie mumbles after a long moment of silence, and turns his head against Eddie’s palm. Eddie feels the soft, warm pressure of lips against his skin, and realizes that Richie is kissing the center of his palm.
It sends a jolt of shock through Eddie’s body, and he feels warm all over. His breath catches, surprised at the unexpected touch. Something like excitement sparks deep inside of him, and Eddie scrambles to understand.
“I never even got a chance to hold you,” Richie whispers against his palm, turning his head again so that Eddie is cupping his cheek. Eddie holds his breath, straining his ears to catch every last word of what Richie has to say. “You can’t die, Eddie,” Richie whimpers, shoulders shaking with his sobs. “Not yet. Fuck, Eddie, please… I never got to tell you…”
Tell me what!? Eddie wants to scream, but he knows that Richie can’t hear him. A thought claws at the back of Eddie’s mind, a memory, something that he’d felt back when he’d first seen Richie in the Jade of the Orient. Something that he’s felt for a very long time, but that he’d buried long before he’d even left Derry.
He hears something of that in Richie’s voice, and begs him tell me, Richie, just tell me.
Richie doesn’t. He just continues to cry.
“Please wake up, Eddie,” Richie whispers, “Wake up and I swear to god, I’ll tell you. But you have to wake up first. Please.”
Richie doesn’t raise his head, but he does turn his face and kiss the center of Eddie’s palm again. His lips are so warm and chapped against Eddie’s skin. It doesn’t feel like anything Eddie has ever felt before in his entire life — not when his mom used to kiss him on the forehead, not when Myra used to kiss him before bed. It’s not quick and perfunctory, it’s long and leisurely and so fucking fierce that Eddie burns with it.
It’s something that Eddie has wanted for a long time, and as he stares at Richie he sees something in his eyes that tells him that maybe Richie has wanted it just as long.
Eddie’s heart bursts, and he remembers.
When Eddie was sixteen, the summer just before his senior year, his mom decided that they were going to move to New York to live with Eddie’s aunt. Her health had been declining for years, and Eddie’s mom had volunteered to come and care for her.
Eddie hadn’t had a choice. He was too young to live on his own, let alone fight his mother to stay behind in Derry, and he wasn’t naive enough to think that he could get away with running away, so he’d been forced to accept his fate.
He, Richie, and Mike were the last of the Losers left in Derry at the time, and even before he left, Eddie knew that everything was about to change. They’d watched Bev, Bill, Ben, and then Stan leave, and while all four of them had promised to call, to come back and visit, they never did. It was like something happened to you when you left Derry, because none of them could really believe that their friends would have just forgotten them like that.
The first time, sure. Maybe Bev just didn’t want to think about what had happened in Derry anymore, maybe she didn’t feel as close to the rest of the Losers as they had to her. But then Bill had gone, Big Bill who Eddie had been friends with since first grade, and it just didn’t make sense.
So, by now, they knew. They knew that the moment one of them left Derry, they’d never hear from each other again. The realization that this was Eddie’s last chance to tell Richie how he felt had been a difficult pill to swallow, but in the end, he’d decided he had nothing left to lose.
This time, when Eddie remembers, it's not an image pressed to his eye by Maturin, it’s just a memory.
Eddie’s lying in the middle of his bare mattress, sheets stripped away and shoved into a bag at Eddie’s feet. He can hear the movers downstairs, dragging furniture out into the front lawn. He knows it’s going to take them a while to pack everything downstairs into the moving van, so he has time to laze about and wait for Richie to come say goodbye to him.
He’d reading a comic book Richie had given him for his birthday last year — X-Men #4, The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants!
(Eddie had kept that comic for sixteen years, until his wife found it buried in a box full of Eddie’s old college things and threw it out. He hadn’t remembered what it was, then.)
He remembers now, and though the comic hadn’t really been anything special, it had been one of the few items not already packed up before the move. He and Richie had always read comics together, from their days in the hammock all the way through high school. It felt like home, holding that comic, flipping through the pages and scanning over the art, and Eddie was comforted by it.
He’s anxious. He hasn’t decided yet what he’s going to say to Richie when he arrives, but he’s promised himself that he won’t let Richie say goodbye without telling him how he feels. He keeps tapping his foot against the edge of his bed, his eyes darting from his comic to the door and back, over and over again. He’s not looking at his door when Richie comes in.
“Hey loser,” Richie announces himself, pushing Eddie’s door open without knocking. Eddie jumps at the sudden arrival, and frowns at his best friend, but doesn’t comment on the nickname.
“Hey,” he greets back instead, his voice a little subdued, and watches as Richie approaches the bed and flops down on it next to Eddie, uninvited, laying down too. Eddie rolls his eyes but knocks shoulders with Richie companionably anyway. He feels warm all the way down his arm where they touch, and only pulls away reluctantly.
“What’cha reading?” Richie asks, plucking the comic book from Eddie’s hands. Instinctively, Eddie snatches the comic back quickly and shoves it to the other side of his bed, next to his open backpack. Richie stares at him in shock, and Eddie grimaces.
“Woah, Eds, calm down,” Richie teases him, though he looks concerned. “You hiding a playboy or something?” he asks with a nervous grin.
Eddie huffs angrily and glares at the ceiling. “No fucknut, don’t be disgusting,” he spits at him, thinking I just don’t want anything to happen to the comic if we screw around with it. He doesn’t say the words aloud, though, because he knows he sounds ridiculous. It’s just that… Richie had given that to him, and Eddie doesn’t want anything bad to happen to it, not when… when soon it’ll be all Eddie has left of Richie.
“Right,” Richie replies dubiously, arching a brow at Eddie. Eddie groans, and shoves his face into his hands.
“Stop being an asshole, Richie,” Eddie hisses defensively. “I’m leaving today, remember?” he snaps at him, more harshly than he’d intended. He winces at his own words, but avoids Richie’s gaze, staring up at the ceiling instead.
“I know that, Eds,” Richie replies softly, his voice quiet and a little sad, and all it does is remind Eddie of why Richie is here right now. He’s been trying so hard not to think about it, not really. For the past week, he’s acted like nothing has changed, but now he has to face the fact that he’s leaving in the next few hours and… it’s just, this is all so fucking unfair.
He doesn’t want to go to New York. He doesn’t want to leave Derry. Or, well, fuck, he doesn’t want to leave Derry like this. He and Richie had promised each other months ago that they’d leave Derry together, that they’d apply to the same schools and leave at the same time and force themselves to remember each other if it was the last thing they ever did, and Eddie wanted that so bad, but then his mom had to go and screw it all up.
The anxiety and pain bubble up and over until Eddie’s blinking back tears, avoiding Richie’s gaze. He’s been pushing it all down for so long that it’s almost not a surprise that he’s falling apart right now, even if he doesn’t want to be.
He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to talk to Richie, because now Eddie can’t even think of confessing to Richie when all he wants is to stay here.
Holding back his tears, Eddie reaches down between his and Richie’s body and scrabbles for Richie’s fingers. He takes Richie’s hand into his the moment their palms touch and hangs on tight. Richie jumps at the contact, but it’s only a moment before Richie locks their fingers together like they used to do as kids.
Eddie’s heart squeezes tight, and he bites his bottom lip.
Fuck, fuck, he’s going to lose this. In just a few short hours, he’s going to lose this forever, and he doesn’t know how to come to terms with it.
“Eddie?” Richie murmurs when Eddie doesn’t say anything else. He squeezes Eddie’s hand comfortingly in his, and waits him out. Richie is so rarely patient, but even for how much of a loudmouth he is, Richie has always known when to simmer down and take care of his friends.
And Eddie’s going to lose all of it.
“We can still try, right?” Eddie finally bursts out, his voice thick with tears. “We can still try to like… see each other again?” Eddie begs Richie, finally opening his eyes and turning his head on the bed to stare at Richie. Richie mimics his movements until they’re both staring at each other. Eddie has tears in his eyes that he’s trying to blink back, and Richie looks so, so fucking lost that Eddie wants to throw up.
“Of course, Eds,” Richie murmurs back, offering him an unconvincing smile. “You’ve got that list of schools we agreed upon, right? We’ll just pick one and…” But even as Richie suggests it, Eddie knows that it won’t work. There’s no guarantee that they’ll both get in, and even if they do, there’s no way to be certain that Eddie will remember which school they’d agreed upon.
Eddie suddenly lets out a broken sob, and rolls over to shove his face into his mattress. His arm hurts from the way he’s laying on it, but he refuses to release Richie’s hand.
“Eddie,” Richie whines, rolling into Eddie’s side and pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Hey, Eddie, don’t cry,” Richie begs him, shoving his face against Eddie’s cheek so that his cold nose is pressed against Eddie’s skin. Eddie can feel his breathing hot on his face, and wishes more than anything that he had the courage to turn and kiss him.
He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s crying too hard, and he can’t think of confessing to Richie right now when all Eddie wants to do is crawl into his arms and never let go.
He doesn’t want to go. He so desperately doesn’t want to go.
“Shh,” Richie whispers into his ear, rubbing his arm up and down Eddie’s side and squeezing the fingers of his other hand. “Hey, shh, it’s going to be alright,” Richie promises him.
“No, it’s not!” Eddie wails into his mattress, sniffling hard. Richie holds him tighter.
“Hey, you don’t know that,” Richie soothes him, “We don’t know what happens when you leave Derry, Eds, it’s all just —”
“You forget everything!” Eddie interrupts him, hiccuping over another sob. “You forget all of your friends and you promise to call and then you never do and — and — and —”
Eddie isn’t capable of completing that thought, merely continuing to cry into his stripped bare mattress. He’s getting tears and snot all over it and it’s gross, okay, it’s so fucking gross, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care.
“But we don’t know that for sure, Eds,” Richie reasons with him, voice so quiet and soft against Eddie’s ear. Eddie shakes in his arms but doesn’t answer. “What if… what if it’s not like that?” Richie suggests. Eddie goes to interrupt him, but Richie cuts him off and says, “No, listen. What if once you're on the other side, you just can’t communicate with those in Derry?” he asks, voice filled with hope.
Eddie wants to scream that doesn’t make it any better, but he doesn’t. He hangs onto Richie’s words, and begs the universe to let them be true.
“What if, once I get out of Derry too, I remember you and I come and find you, hmm?” Richie suggests, petting Eddie’s side. “What if we pick somewhere to meet in a year, and promise we’ll both show up? You can write it on one of your planners, and I’ll write it down in my old yearbook, and we’ll see each other again,” Richie promises him, jostling Eddie in his arms a little, and asking, “hmm? Hmm?”
Still crying, Eddie nods his head and says, “Okay,” even as he knows that it’s possible they’ll never see each other again. He wants nothing more than to hope Richie is right, that somehow this will all work out in the end. Maybe he’ll cross the Derry border and he’ll still remember Bill, and Ben, and Bev, and Stan, and maybe he’ll hunt down their numbers and they’ll remember him too, and they’ll all sit and wait for Richie to graduate so that he can come join them at last.
Maybe they haven’t forgotten, Eddie thinks, hopes… Maybe Richie’s right, and they just can’t reach us here in Derry.
Eddie sobs harder, the fear bone-deep that it isn’t true.
Richie continues to hold him, rocking Eddie gently in his arms as he continues to cry. He murmurs, “it’s going to be okay,” over and over again, like a mantra they’re both holding on to. Eddie imagines turning to Richie and pressing his face into his chest, imagines digging his fingers into Richie’s shirt and never letting go.
He imagines kissing him, and Richie kissing him back, and Eddie still having to get up and go downstairs and leave for New York.
He can’t do it. He can’t put himself or Richie through that. He can’t imagine how much it would hurt to find out Richie likes him too, only to lose him almost immediately afterwards. What kind of a goodbye present would that be for Richie, anyway, to leave him behind with all of his memories of Eddie still intact, knowing that Eddie has forgotten him? Or if Eddie hasn’t forgotten, knowing that he won’t be able to see him again for over a year?
Eddie can’t do it.
He cries himself hoarse, and then cries for a little bit longer, and then finally sits up and wiggles out of Richie’s arms. He rubs his face raw against the palms of his hands, and then rubs his hands against his jeans, scrubbing the tears away.
“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles regretfully, avoiding Richie’s gaze.
“It’s okay,” Richie murmurs back, and knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s.
They sit in another long silence, in which Richie drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie sits there and lets him. They don’t speak again until Eddie’s mom calls him downstairs, and then Richie grabs a pen and a piece of paper from off of Eddie’s desk, and sits down to write.
“Times Square, August 18th, 1993. One year from now,” Richie declares heartily, and nudges it into Eddie’s hands. Eddie takes it carefully, tears blurring at his eyes again. “I promise to meet you there.”
Richie’s grin is so young and boyish, filled with a fragile hope that Eddie is sure is reflected on his own face. Eddie forces a grin, and says, “I promise.”
When Eddie opens his eyes again, he’s back in that empty, white space, aching for what he’d lost. He doesn’t regret not telling Richie he loved him back then, especially not knowing what he does now. It wouldn’t have changed anything — Eddie still would have gone to New York, and by the time he was halfway there, he would have already forgotten Richie. He still would have gone twenty-two years without his best friends, and he still would have married Myra.
The only difference might have been that Eddie would have had one, last, shining moment with Richie before he walked out of his life for so long, but even then, Eddie doesn’t regret not doing it. If Richie means what Eddie thinks he means, if he wants to tell Eddie what Eddie thinks he wants to tell him, then Eddie is glad he didn’t leave Richie behind to suffer without him.
But that means that Eddie can’t leave him now.
He wants to go home. He wants a second chance. He wants to see his friends again, and have the life that had been stolen from him twenty-two years ago. He wants to see Richie and find out what it is that Richie wants to tell him, and even if it isn’t what he's hoping, he wants a chance to tell Richie that he loves him.
Richie stayed at his bedside for weeks, endured Myra and what Eddie can only assume was her hatred for a group of friends she’d never met. His friends had carried him out of the cistern and stayed with him in the hospital for as long as they could, and Eddie… well Eddie survived.
He wants to keep on surviving.
“I’ve made my decision,” he tells Maturin.
That same, grandfatherly air is in his voice when Maturin replies, “I am glad when I can help.”
Eddie asks, “How long has it been?”
“Fifty-eight days, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Maturin explains, and says, “Your family is waiting for you.”
Eddie smiles, because he knows that it’s true. He turns and faces the golden door, and without looking backwards, he moves towards it. It takes him fifteen steps exactly to reach it, and when he takes the doorknob in hand and opens it, the world goes black.
**
Eddie opens his eyes slowly. There’s a dull throbbing sensation in his head and in his torso and in his back that hadn’t been there when Maturin had shown him the Losers, and Richie, and Myra. It’s a new, annoying sensation that reminds Eddie he’s recovering. He can hear the heart monitor beeping behind him, the sound a little less steady now that Eddie is stirring, and there's light streaming in through the open window.
He’s groggy, unlike when he was in that strange, white, nothingness, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize that it’s because there are drugs in his system. It takes another minute for him to become aware enough to actually look around, and when he does, he’s disappointed to find that Richie isn’t in the exact same spot he’s been in every other time that Eddie has seen him.
Myra’s there, though, and she’s reading a book, her back turned towards Eddie. She hasn’t noticed that he’s awake yet, which Eddie has to admit is a relief. He needs another moment before he can even think of handling the incoming freak out he’s sure is coming
Eddie takes his first real, deep breath in a long while, and groans when it causes a searing pain to rip through his body.
Myra jumps, and turns to him.
“Eddie!” she shouts in shock, immediately dropping her book to the ground and reaching out with clammy hands to take Eddie’s in hers. Eddie recoils automatically, thrown off by her soft touch, and missing Richie’s calloused hands. He struggles against her, but her grip only seems to grow tighter, so Eddie gives up before he hurts himself.
“Eddie bear, how are you feeling? Are you alright? Are you in any pain, discomfort? Should I ask the nurses for more painkillers?” she asks him, leaving no room for an answer. A concern that Eddie hadn’t seen previously suddenly seems to reside in the soft, puffy grimace of her face.
Eddie hates it, recognizing for the first time in his life just how false it really is. He can see his mother in that look, the faux concern that had controlled Eddie’s life for so long…
Without waiting for any answer from Eddie, Myra immediately launches into a rant. “Oh, Eddie I told you not to come here! I told you that you couldn’t look out for yourself! I told you, didn’t I?” she demands of him, brow folding into a worried line, her lips trembling. “And now you’re here, in the hospital, and the doctors aren’t even sure if you’ll ever walk again! They said there could be brain damage, Eddie! Bain damage!” she presses, squeezing his hand between hers, and practically dry sobbing around the words.
Eddie doesn’t miss the fact that there aren’t any real tears, and he squirms under her touch. This all reminds him too much of his mother, and he doesn’t know how he’s never seen it before. Crocodile tears, they were called. Myra had been using them on Eddie their entire marriage, but this time he isn’t buying it.
“Where’s Richie?” Eddie croaks, finally finding his voice.
Myra immediately stops wailing, and stares at Eddie with wide eyes, as if she’s never seen him before in her life. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, astonished. Then her face hardens, and she straightens up in her chair. The worry and concern are gone.
Eddie hadn’t answered any of her questions. Eddie hadn’t told her it was going to be okay, the way he used to when Myra made a fuss about something. Eddie wasn’t playing the docile husband Myra was so used to, and it was clear she didn’t know how to handle it.
“You mean that awful comedian?” Myra spits after a long moment, scoffing at Eddie. She finally releases his hand and tosses her hair over her shoulder, glaring hard at nothing. Eddie watches her bend to pick up her fallen book and place it on the table next to Eddie’s bed, all without looking directly at him. “He’s gone home, and it’s about time, too,” Myra says, her nose in the air. “He and the rest of your little friends are who put you in this position in the first place, and look what they’ve done! They’ve left you here all alone to fend for yourself! This is why you need me, Eddie bear. I’m the only one who can take care of you,” Myra continues in a haughty tone, talking too fast for Eddie to keep up with. His brain is still slow and sluggish from the drugs, but eventually Myra’s words seem to register with him, and Eddie goes still.
Richie went home? No… he couldn’t have. That doesn’t sound right. Eddie had just seen him, hadn’t he? When Maturin first showed him what was going on in real-time. Surely it hasn’t been that long since the first vision?
Besides, why would Richie have left? It’s been almost two months, and if Richie hadn’t gone home already, why would he go now?
Because it’s been nearly two months, and you still hadn’t woken up, some part of Eddie tells himself, and he goes cold inside. Fuck, had he been too late? Had Richie really given up on him and left, after all this time? Before he could tell Eddie — whatever it was he was going to tell Eddie?
A slow trickle of panic seems to make its way into Eddie’s brain despite the drugs, and he turns his head away from Myra to check the other side of his bed again. There’s no sign of Richie there, not that Eddie even knows what to look for, but… had Richie really gone?
Eddie’s heart plummets, and he frowns hard at Richie’s empty chair. He knows, logically, that it’s not Richie’s fault if he finally went home. There were no signs that Eddie was going to wake up any time soon, and it doesn’t reflect badly on Richie if he needed to get back to his own life now. Eddie also knows that this isn’t his only chance to ever see Richie again, he knows all he’d have to do is call him and Richie would come running right back but… Eddie wants Richie to be here now. He doesn’t want Myra, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want to go home with her.
Before he can really think about it, Eddie croaks, “You’re lying.” He’s surprised at himself for all of a moment, and then the thought rings true. It would not surprise Eddie at all if she was lying.
Myra stops dead again. Her eyes are wide as she stares at Eddie, clearly shocked at his words, and then they narrow.
“What did you say, dear?” she asks, sickeningly sweet, daring him to repeat himself.
Eddie grits his teeth and manages, “Where’s Richie?”
Myra glares at him. “I told you, he’s gone home, where he belongs,” Myra dismisses him easily, but she’s avoiding Eddie’s eyes. She’s looking somewhere around Eddie’s chin, and her chest is heaving like she’s holding back from screaming at him. Eddie’s eyes narrow, and he shifts on the bed, looking for the call button on the side of his bed. The moment he finds it, he jams his fingers against it over and over again.
He needs someone else in here to tell him what’s going on and where Richie is. Surely someone knows where Richie is, and maybe one of the nurses can go and get Richie for him. Anything would be better than being stuck here with Myra all alone, with her lies and deceit and crocodile tears.
Suddenly, Eddie wants nothing more than to be free of her right fucking now.
“Eddie?” Myra asks him, half-hysterical, “Eddie, what are you doing? Who are you calling?” she demands, grappling for Eddie’s hand and finally forcing it away from the call button. Eddie struggles against her for just a moment, until his chest starts to hurt too badly and he’s forced to stop, gasping roughly through the pain. Myra opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something else, but then someone knocks lightly on his room door and strides right on in.
It’s a dark-skinned nurse in green scrubs, her hair a little wild around her face, and the minute Eddie sees her he just knows that she hates Myra near as much as Eddie does. She looks like she’s barely hiding her annoyance at whatever racket Myra is making now, and she’s side-eyeing Myra in a way Eddie recognizes all too well.
Her eyes go almost instinctively to Eddie, however, and the moment she realizes that Eddie’s awake, she gasps “Oh!” entirely cutting off whatever she’d been about to say to Myra, and hurries over to Eddie’s side instead. “You’re awake,” she says, smiling down at him as she bustles over in front of Myra and starts taking his vitals. Her index and middle finger press against his pulse point, and she stares at his chest as she counts his respiration rate.
Eddie smiles wanly at her and nods. He means to ask her where’s Richie? but before he can, she launches into a series of questions of her own: do you remember your name, do you know where you are, are you feeling any pain?
Myra keeps trying to interrupt her, making a huge fuss about the poor lady “harassing” her husband, and demanding that she move out of the way so that Myra can hold Eddie’s hand, but the nurse merely speaks over her, clearly quite adept at dealing with Myra after nearly two months.
Eddie dutifully answers her questions, hoping the faster they get through this, the faster he can ask about Richie: my name's Eddie Kaspbrak, I’m in the hospital, I’m not in too much pain.
The first two answers are true. The third one, perhaps, is a bit of a lie. But Eddie doesn’t want the nurse to pump more drugs into his system, to make his head any cloudier than it is.
The nurse grabs Eddie’s chart from the end of his bed and begins noting things down as she talks to him. She reassures him that everything is going to be okay and that the doctor will be with him after he’s recovered a little more to discuss what’s happened. She asks Eddie to just stay calm and let her know if the pain gets any worse, and then reminds him that he’s doing very well considering his condition. She admits that he’s been in a coma for a couple of weeks, and pats his hand reassuringly as she says, “But you’re healing very well, Mr. Kaspbrak. The doctor will be glad to hear that you’re awake.”
Eddie endures all of this, and when the nurse finally seems to be done talking, he asks her a little impatiently, “Richie, where’s Richie?”
The nurse looks at him oddly for a moment, equal parts concerned with Eddie’s lack of concern with his welfare, and understanding of Eddie’s desire to locate his friend but eventually she smiles. “Your friend went down to the cafeteria about twenty minutes ago. He said that if you woke up, I should tell you ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’” she explains cheerily, a pleased smile on her face.
Eddie feels his chest fill up with warmth, and he finally relaxes, closing his eyes.
After checking over the monitors keeping track of his vitals, the nurse pats at his foot and takes her leave. Myra had shut up around the time the nurse was telling Eddie about his prognosis, and she’s still silent now. The silence feels heavy in the still room, both of them aware that Myra has just been caught in a lie.
Eddie knows, even before he opens his mouth, what’s coming next.
“Myra,” he starts, doing his level best to keep his voice steady.
“Oh Eddie bear, I’m so sorry!” Myra immediately wails, bursting into more fake tears. She shoves her face into her hands, and blubbers there. “I just — I just — he’s such a horrid man. He’s been horrible to me, Eddie bear!” she cries, her shoulders shaking, hiccuping around the words, and Eddie hates her. He hates her with every fiber of his being, because he knows that she’s lying, and he knows that she isn’t really crying, and he just wants her to leave so fucking bad.
“Myra,” he says again, interrupting her. Myra wails harder, as if she can drown out the sound of Eddie’s voice if she’s just loud enough. “Myra, listen to me,” he urges, his voice raspy and hoarse from the weeks of disuse. He can feel himself growing angrier and angrier with her until finally, he shouts as loud as he can “Goddamn it Myra! Shut up!”
Immediately Myra goes silent. She draws her face away from her hands and stares at Eddie in such stunned disbelief that he remembers the same moment he’d stood up to his mom a million years ago. She’d looked just as shocked as Myra does now.
Her eyes are red, and there are actual tears on her face, but Eddie isn’t falling for it this time. He can see right through it now, and he’s sick of it. He’s sick of being told that he’s weak, and that he can’t take care of himself, and that there’s something wrong with him, because there isn’t.
There isn’t.
He and his friends killed a supernatural space clown recently. Eddie is far from weak.
“Myra, go home,” Eddie says, and rolls his head away from her so that he doesn’t have to look at her anymore.
Myra makes a squawking noise. “What? Eddie bear, what are you saying?” she asks, her voice high pitched and strained.
“I want you to go home, Myra,” Eddie repeats, clearing his throat in an attempt to get rid of some of the raspiness there. It doesn’t help. “I don’t want you here,” he insists, glaring at the ceiling.
From his peripheral, Eddie sees Myra shaking her head. There’s a little disbelieving smile on her face as she reaches out to take Eddie’s hand again. Eddie snatches it away from her.
“Eddie, what are you talking about? You’re sick, and I need to take care of you, now,” she explains patiently, as if Eddie really does have brain damage. “I can’t leave you. I’m your wife.”
The very concept burns deep in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and he spits “I want a divorce,” at her with as much vitriol as he can manage.
Myra gasps. “Eddie!” she shouts, appalled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You hit your head when that house collapsed, and now you’ve lost your mind!” she contends, beginning to cry again, big heaving sounds in the small hospital room. “I cuh-cuh-can’t leave you like this!” she wails, begging, “Please don’t make me go, Eddie bear!”
Myra throws herself at Eddie, as dramatic as possible even now, and clings to his arm. Disturbed, Eddie fights against her, straining his body and crying out in pain with each jerky movement. “Myra, get off me!” Eddie yells at her, “You’re hurting me!” he objects, gasping when he pulls too hard to the right and feels his body scream in protest at him.
Immediately, Myra releases him, looking miffed.
“Eddie bear, you’re hurting me,” she whines, and takes his hand roughly in hers again. Eddie doesn’t manage to dodge the touch this time, but he does reach over the side of his bed and slam his fingers into the call button again, still wrestling against his wife.
Myra gasps. “Eddie!” she cries, “What in the world are you doing? Why are you acting like this?” she whines, finally releasing Eddie as the same nurse from before turns the corner into Eddie’s room.
Before Eddie can so much as open his mouth, Myra demands, “Nurse —” and then cuts herself off without completing the title, as if she’d never gotten around to remembering the nurse’s name. She seems to shake it off quickly enough, as flippant as she’s always been with people whose jobs she thinks are beneath her notice. “My husband has clearly lost his mind,” she alleges angrily. “I think he needs to be put back to sleep until he calms down. He’s speaking absolute gibberish, and I implore you not to listen to a thing he says!” she demands very seriously, crossing her arms over her chest with her left hand facing outward, her wedding ring glistening under the fluorescent lights — some kind of poignant gesture meant to intimidate.
The nurse stares at her for a long moment, her mouth turned down into a deep frown. Something about her expression suggests that Myra has been making impossible demands of her for weeks, and she looks just about fed up with it. She turns her gaze onto Eddie and asks him, “What’s going on here, Mr. Kaspbrak? Are you alright?” she asks seriously.
“No, I am not alright,” Eddie explains hoarsely, clearing his throat ineffectually again. He can feel his head spinning now with the impossible flurry of activity he’s been putting his poor body through in the last few minutes. “My wife refuses to leave. I don’t want her here,” Eddie says clearly, staring the nurse down and begging her to listen to him.
The nurse considers him carefully for a long moment, before turning to Myra. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she starts, only for Myra to start screaming over her.
“You can’t make me go, I am his wife!” she screeches. “I am his primary caregiver, and you have to listen to me!” Myra insists, standing and stomping her foot against the ground.
The nurse glares at her, arms crossed over her chest. “Ma’am, you are disturbing my patient,” she starts, only for Myra to scream, “He’s my husband, and he is in a very fragile state of mind right now!”
The nurse argues back, “Your husband seems to be in complete control of his faculties, and until the doctor has assessed him fully and decided whether or not he needs someone else to make his decisions for him, it is my job to comply with any reasonable requests he may have!”
Myra stomps her foot again, and goes red in the face.
“He’s just woken up from a coma!” she bellows, “He needs me!”
“He needs medical treatment, ma’am,” the nurse shoots back, and points to the door. “And you are impeding his healing. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Do not make me call hospital security,” she declares darkly, and stares Myra down.
Myra’s lip wobbles. Her hands clench into fists at her side, over and over and over again, until she finally slumps, defeated. Her eyes are a storm of anger when she turns to grab her things, her movements hostile. She doesn’t touch Eddie again, but her gaze says we’ll talk about this later.
Eddie doesn’t care, as long as she’s out of his room. His hands are shaking, and it takes him a long moment to realize that his heart rate has spiked as well. His breathing is a little uneven, something that seems to concern his nurse, because the moment that Myra has left the room, she’s at his side and coaxing him through a few breathing exercises.
Eddie’s just stood up to his wife for the first time in eight years, and through the foggy haze of pain, he feels nothing but relief.
The nurse fiddles with Eddie’s IV for a moment, and then pats at his hand soothingly. “We won’t let her back into your room until you give the say so, okay Mr. Kaspbrak? It’s going to be okay,” she says with a soft smile.
Eddie stares at her a little foggily. His limbs are beginning to feel lighter, his heart rate returning to normal, and some of the pain begins to seep out of him.
The nurse must have given him more pain medication.
Unable to process words at the moment, Eddie just nods his head gratefully at her.
She leaves after another moment of fussing, and Eddie feels his eyes start to slip closed. He doesn’t know how long he’s actually been awake, or how long he’d fought with Myra, but he does know that he feels suddenly exhausted. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, not before he sees Richie, but he’s not so sure he has much of a choice anymore...
There’s a knock on his door. Eddie snuffles at the sound, and opens bleary eyes, realizing after a moment that he had, indeed, drifted off. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it of the fog there, and blinks at his doorway a few times, willing it to come into focus.
When it finally does, Eddie feels his heart jump in his chest.
Richie.
He smiles automatically, soft and bleary-eyed, as he takes in Richie’s face.
He looks the same as he had earlier, when Eddie had asked to see how the Losers were right now — scruffy, tired, and all bundled up in Eddie’s jacket. He looks warm and soft, and Eddie wishes he could hug him.
Richie, on the other hand, looks a little bit like he’s in shock, his lips twitching uncertainty, and his eyes wet with tears. He isn’t crying yet, but it seems like he might start any second. Eddie wishes he could stop making Richie cry.
“Rich,” he whispers, his voice somehow even more hoarse than when he’d first woken up.
“Hey, Eds,” Richie replies, his voice cracking a little. His lips are trembling even as he breaks out into a smile, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Richie lets out a soft huff of a laugh, and then sniffles quietly. “Heard you were asking for me,” he says, his voice teasing, eyes twinkling.
“Yeah, asshole,” Eddie croaks with a fond laugh, and tilts his head in Richie’s direction so it’s easier to see him. “I missed looking at your stupid face,” he teases back, grinning softly.
Richie laughs too, his grin growing bigger as he steps into the room. He’s staring a little dopily at Eddie as he says, “Missed seeing yours too.” His lips wobble a little, and he swallows thickly, staring a little stupidly at Eddie. Then he breaks out in another laugh and says, “Glad to see you're awake.”
His eyes are blazing with something Eddie’s fuzzy brain struggles to pick out, but it makes him feel warm all over and reminds him of why he wanted to see Richie in the first place. He opens his mouth to bring it up, but Richie starts talking before he can.
“Where’s the missus?” he asks, dragging his gaze away from Eddie and frowning at the other side of the bed. His voice is more stilted than before as he makes his way to what Eddie now considers Richie’s side of the bed.
Right. Myra. Eddie sighs, and feels his shoulders relax a little with the knowledge that she’s not here. “Myra’s gone. I sent her home,” he explains, his voice coming out sort of raw and a little bit dazed, because there’s a part of him that still can’t believe what he’s done. Richie seems just as surprised, because the moment the words leave Eddie’s mouth, Richie is reeling back from him in shock.
“You what?” he asks, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in his throat. “Eddie, you just woke up and you’ve already kicked your wife out?” he jokes, though his tone is more unsure than anything else, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He still manages to laugh, clearly unable to help himself as he stares at Eddie.
Eddie nods his head, not quite able to muster up any laughter of his own. “I also asked for a divorce,” he adds, sounding almost astounded at himself. He’d done that, hadn’t he? He’d really done that. Eddie goes to smile at Richie, ultimately proud of himself for standing up to his wife, but Richie isn’t smiling back. In fact, he’s stopped laughing entirely, and he’s looking at Eddie with a half concerned, half assessing glance. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that, so he frowns. “Is that really such a surprise?” he asks warily.
Slowly, Richie nods his head. “Yeah, it kinda is Eds,” Richie admits, his voice a low murmur. His face is doing something weird that Eddie can’t figure out, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry anymore. Instead he looks… something. It’s difficult to tell with his mind so addled with the drugs, but he forgets to be confused about it when Richie settles down in his usual chair and reaches for Eddie’s hand automatically, holding it gently.
Oh, Eddie thinks to himself, and smiles. He grips Richie’s hand back and squeezes tightly, feeling reassured that Richie is here.
Surprised, Richie startles a little and looks down at their hands. When he meets Eddie’s gaze again, all of the tension seems to have drained out of Richie’s face, and his cheeks seem slightly flushed, like he’s been caught out. Eddie can’t stop looking at him and the way his entire demeanor seems to have softened. He’s staring at Eddie with this look in his eyes that feels so fucking familiar, and his lips are twisted up like he’s trying not to smile but he’s smiling anyway, and —
Eddie knows that look. He’s seen it a thousand times since they were kids.
For the first time, he understands what it means.
Eddie thinks he’s always understood, on some level, but after watching Richie sit as his beside for two months, after hearing him cry over Eddie’s broken body, there’s really no room to ignore it anymore.
Eddie takes a deep breath to settle himself, and squeezes Richie’s hand again.
“Richie,” Eddie murmurs, peering up at him ardently.
“Yeah, Eds?” Richie hums, still looking at him like Eddie is his whole world. Eddie shivers and doesn’t hesitate.
“You told me if I wake up,” he rasps, watching as Richie’s eyes slowly widen in shock, “You’d tell me something,” he continues, and squeezes Richie’s fingers hard.
“You —” Richie starts, shaking his head in disbelief. “I —” he tries again, and stops. “Eds?” he asks finally, voice having gone a little breathless. Eddie can’t tell if Richie is terrified, or just confused, but he definitely looks stunned.
“What did you want to tell me, Rich?” Eddie urges, heart beating harder with every second that passes. Richie seems to notice it too, because he glances behind him to the heart monitor and then back at Eddie with wide eyes.
He’s trying to figure out how Eddie knows what he said, Eddie’s certain of it, but there’s no way Richie will be able to put it together, not without Eddie explaining it to him.
He will. He’ll tell Richie all about it later, but for right now, he just wants to hear Richie say it.
“Richie?” Eddie asks, prompting him gently.
“Fuck, Eds,” Richie whispers, shaking his head. When he meets Eddie’s gaze again, he looks nervous. He starts to rub his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand, before clearing his throat. “I, uhm,” he starts, tripping over the words already. He huffs out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Of all the dumb things I said to you while you were —” Richie stutters to a stop, avoids the words in a coma entirely, and continues, “that’s the thing you heard?” His grin is shaky as he stares at Eddie.
Eddie grins a little stupidly, and nods his head.
“Well I did promise,” Richie mutters to himself, and stares down at Eddie’s hand. His fingers squeeze reflexively around Eddie’s and then relax again, but Richie doesn’t say anything else. He just stares at Eddie’s hand in his until Eddie can’t take it anymore.
“I love you,” Eddie blurts out around the lump in his throat, and stares up at Richie breathlessly.
Richie’s gaze snaps back up to his, his eyes wide and a little disbelieving. “God, Eds,” he gasps, sounding absolutely stunned, and suddenly his eyes are wet again. “I love you, too,” he manages in a strained voice, and brings the back of Eddie’s hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there. His lips are trembling as he drags Eddie’s hand up even further to hide his face, and he sniffles quietly, exhaling shakily, like he really can’t believe this is happening right now.
Eddie can’t believe it either, and he lets out a giddy little laugh as he says, “That’s good,” a little fuzzily. “Because I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t said it back,” he teases quietly, laughing again. Richie laughs too, the sound a little sniffly as he starts to cry for real, the feeling of warm tears starting to drip against Eddie’s hand.
Normally, he’d be grossed out about it, but this is Richie he’s talking about, and he’d put up with anything just for Richie not to let go of him again.
“Yeah, it’s not like you can run away right now,” Richie attempts to tease back, but his voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat three times to get the words out around what seems to be a lump in his throat.
If he could, Eddie would shuffle closer to Richie, but whatever medication they’re pumping through him, Eddie can hardly feel his own body anymore.
“Eds?” Richie asks abruptly, finally lowering Eddie’s hand from his face. He places both their hands down gently on the bed, still holding on tight, and leans in close like there’s something he wants to say. Eddie smiles dopily up at him, waiting, and Richie laughs. “Oh my god, look at you,” he mutters to himself, and reaches up to cup Eddie’s face tenderly in the palm of his hand. Eddie nuzzles against it a little.
“Nevermind,” Richie finally says, shaking his head indulgently at Eddie, “You should sleep,” he suggests sweetly, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” Richie adds in a reassuring tone.
“Promise?” Eddie croaks out, trying not to whine.
“I promise, Eds,” Richie whispers lovingly, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Eddie nods his head approvingly, still staring up a little dreamily at Richie. He knows Richie is right, he probably should sleep, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at Richie yet. He never wants to stop looking at Richie, has never wanted to stop looking at Richie — not from the moment Eddie met him. And now he doesn’t have to.
Which reminds him.
“Rich?” Eddie asks, blinking in an attempt to focus. His brain feels all foggy, and it’s beginning to grow really difficult to concentrate.
“Hmm?” Richie replies when Eddie doesn’t immediately continue, reminding Eddie that he’s trying to tell Richie something.
“L.A.,” Eddie breathes, shaking his head to clear some of the fog, “Need an apartment in L.A.,” he elaborates as best he can, trying to articulate the I’m never leaving you again that he’s too tired to verbalize.
Richie is silent for a long time, and then he says, “You’re coming to L.A.?”
Eddie smiles, and lets out a huff of a breath. “Yeah, asshole,” he mumbles, trying and failing to concentrate long enough to have this conversation. He blinks his eyes at Richie in an attempt to look at him, and watches as Richie’s face splits open into a grin. His eyes are fond as he cards back some of Eddie’s hair from his face.
“Yeah?” Richie teases him, eyes glittering, “What for?”
Eddie wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he doesn’t know if he manages it. “For you, fucknuts,” he says, aiming for patronizing and landing more on affectionate. Richie laughs at him, but it’s fond.
“So you wanna go apartment hunting, then?” Richie asks him in a tone that Eddie would normally consider teasing, except he can’t figure out what he’s being teased about. Frowning, Eddie nods his head. “I know a place,” Richie assures him with a laugh, “But there’s just one catch,” he explains.
Even more confused now, Eddie asks, “What?”
“It’s actually a house, and I’m already living in it,” Richie replies proudly.
Eddie blinks a couple of times in confusion, trying to piece together what Richie’s getting at, and then snorts inelegantly. “Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Eddie gripes at him, but he’s grinning as he lets his eyes slip closed, finally feeling like he can sleep peacefully now that everything important is settled.
Richie is still laughing at him when Eddie feels the medication starting to pull him under. He’s just giving in to it when Richie boops his nose and asks him, “You good with that, Eds?” in a tone so full of confidence that Eddie wants to smack him.
Instead, Eddie fights to open his eyes and fixes Richie with a look that he hopes is at least a little bit alluring. “‘Course, Rich,” he mumbles sleepily, the words almost a slur as he offers Richie a smile. “It’s got you,” he breathes affectionately, and laughs when Richie immediately turns bright red.
Instead he says, “‘Course, Rich,” as sweetly as he can manage, peering up at Richie enticingly. “It’s got you,” he murmurs coyly, and laughs when Richie immediately turns bright red.
**
6 months later
It takes a month after Eddie moves into Richie’s house in L.A. for the Losers to make arrangements for them all to come out and visit them on a Friday and stay for the weekend. Eddie knows they would have come sooner, but between Eddie getting settled in, Mike’s tour of the United States, and Bev’s divorce and subsequent re-settling of her company, it’s been a bit difficult planning a time that works for all six of them.
Unfortunately for Eddie, the Losers are set to arrive within an hour of his last physical therapy appointment for the week, and while Eddie had wanted to reschedule it, Richie had been quick to put his foot down. He’d made the point that Eddie’s physical therapy appointments were more important than looking nice for their friends, and while Eddie knew Richie was right, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
He’s been in physical therapy for nearly six months now, something the doctors had started about a week after Eddie had woken up. As it turns out, Myra hadn’t been lying when she’d told Eddie the doctors weren’t sure he’d ever walk again, but he’s been making some pretty significant progress. In fact, he’s able to rely on his cane rather than his wheelchair for longer and longer periods of time now, and while the doctors say he’ll probably need some level of support from his cane for the rest of his life, Eddie is at the very least excited to have a sense of independence again.
Eddie knows it’s his hard work that’s gotten him this far, but he’s thankful for Richie’s voice of reason on days when Eddie can’t work up the energy to fight against his own limitations, and he’s glad to have Richie around to remind him just how important his physical therapy is, even if it does suck.
So now, he's in their bedroom attempting to quickly get changed out of his physical therapy clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a collared shirt that Richie had laid out for him.
“Bill just texted me!” Richie shouts down the hall, his voice muffled through the walls but steadily moving closer as he continues, “He just caught a cab. He said he’ll be here in about twenty minutes!”
“Sounds good!” Eddie huffs back, finally managing to kick himself out of his sweatpants. His legs are still sort of shaking from the last hour of his workout routine, because his therapist has really started pushing him thanks to all the progress Eddie has made. Unfortunately, it also means that Eddie tends to come home extremely exhausted.
He’s just managed to grab his jeans when Richie turns the corner into their room with a huge smile on his face. He doesn’t offer to help Eddie get dressed, which Eddie is grateful for — sometimes he just wants to do things on his own, even though he knows Richie would jump at the chance to help him if Eddie so much as asked.
“What’s up?” Eddie asks, arching a brow at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the living room?” Eddie grunts at him as he shoves his trembling legs into his jeans and begins to pull them up.
“All done,” Richie says with a shrug, nodding his head back towards the front living room. “I’ve vacuumed, taken out the trash, and cleaned up all the shit that should have been in the office,” he explains proudly.
“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie grunts, exhaling sharply as his legs spasm painfully and he’s forced to relax his body onto the bed. He’s got the jeans up to his thighs now, bunched just under his ass, and he’s temporarily given up. He knows he’s going to have to use his aching abs to lift his ass off the bed to get the jeans the rest of the way on, and he just isn’t ready to put in that energy right now. “What about the guest room?” he asks, turning his full attention onto Richie.
Richie nods his head immediately. “It’s all set for Ben and Bev. Brand new sheets and everything,” he reassures Eddie, leaning in the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a challenging look on his face. Eddie narrows his eyes at him.
“And the air mattress?” he asks.
“Sitting in the office ready to be blown up before bedtime. And,” he exclaims brightly, waggling his eyebrows, “I’ve even set out pillows and blankets for both the air mattress and the pull-out. Sexy, right?” Richie teases.
Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes fondly, but it really is kind of sexy that Richie had thought ahead about all of this before Eddie could even ask him to do it. It’s just that they don’t have a lot of room to host their friends and they’re working with what they have. Richie’s place isn’t the largest of their friends’ houses by a long shot, and definitely isn’t the first place any of them would have picked to have a group sleepover, but Eddie’s still recovering and not really up for traveling, so all of their friends have graciously agreed to come to L.A. for the weekend.
“What about the others?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at the clock on their bedside table. “When are they expecting to arrive?”
Richie hums and pulls out his phone to check his messages. His hair hangs cutely in his face, and if he were closer, Eddie would push it back with his fingers and comb through it. “Mike said he just got off the 90 freeway, so he’ll probably arrive about the same time as Bill, and Bev said she and Ben will be here in five minutes about… three minutes ago!” Richie replies cheerfully, grinning like a cheshire cat when he meets Eddie’s gaze.
“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie chastises him, suddenly finding the burst of adrenaline needed to yank his pants up over his ass. He manages to balance himself on the balls of his feet in an attempt not to strain his abs too much, and gets his jeans all the way on, all while Richie laughs at him. “Why didn’t you warn me!?” Eddie yells at him breathlessly, sitting back down on the bed, red in the face. He thinks he can feel a cramp forming in his right calf, and decides that tonight is definitely a wheelchair kind of a night.
“Relax, Spagheads,” Richie shushes him, still chuckling lightly. His eyes are shining brightly as he pushes off the doorway to meet Eddie on the bed. He settles in close until he’s standing between Eddie’s legs, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie cranes his neck back to stare at him. “You know they wouldn’t care if you’d stayed in your sweatpants and workout shirt, right?” Richie asks him softly, head tilted in a way that Eddie refuses to think of as cute.
Grumbling, Eddie shrugs his shoulders and says, “Yeah, but the last time any of them saw me, I was still in the hospital wearing that stupid plastic gown.”
The rest of the Losers had been quick to come back and visit Eddie after he’d woken up, and they’d kept up the visits the entire five months he’d been stuck in Derry, though he wasn’t great company and they couldn’t stay long. It had still been nice.
“I’m sure they’re going to miss that sexy sight,” Richie quips back, winking playfully at Eddie and reminding him rather abruptly about the way Richie used to stare at his ass through the stupid open back of the gown.
“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie complains, reaching out to swat ineffectually at his chest. Richie might have enjoyed the view, but Eddie’s pretty certain nobody else had.
Richie laughs, and before Eddie can land a strike, Richie catches Eddie’s wrist and leans in to kiss him.
It’s a quick kiss, more of a peck than anything else, and it leaves Eddie dissatisfied. He immediately pouts at Richie and tugs on his wrist in an attempt to pull Richie back in.
“So needy,” Richie teases, though he goes willingly. Eddie growls at him but chooses not to reply, instead drawing Richie in to press their lips back together again. He nips playfully at Richie’s bottom lip and sighs, tilting his head just so to deepen the kiss.
Eddie hasn’t let Richie get away with a peck like that since the first few weeks of their relationship when Richie seemed too terrified to do anymore, and now Eddie takes every chance he can get to deepen their kisses.
Richie pretends to hate it, but the secretive smile he walks away with every time isn’t nearly as secretive as he thinks it is.
“Come on, grumpy pants,” Richie says as he pulls away, the soft suction of their lips parting making Eddie shiver. “I think I just heard Ben and Bev pull up.”
Eddie frowns, but lets go of Richie. “I’ll never understand how you can hear shit all the way outside from here,” Eddie mutters and pushes himself to his feet.
“It’s because I’m blind, Eds,” Richie replies cheerfully, offering Eddie his hand wordlessly. Eddie takes it, but only because his legs are still shaking. “The rest of my senses have to work double time to make up for it.”
“You’re not blind, Rich, what the fuck,” Eddie mutters back, taking three shaky steps over to where he’d left his wheelchair next to the bed. He collapses into it gratefully and releases Richie’s hand. “And that’s not how it works,” he adds matter-of-factly.
“I might as well be,” Richie shoots back just as the doorbell rings. He drops one last kiss onto Eddie’s lips as Eddie gets himself settled in his wheelchair, and then turns to answer the door. Eddie watches him go with a small smile on his face, so fucking thankful that he gets to have this.
After everything he’s been through, he feels like he deserves at least this much.
It seems to take no time at all for the rest of their friends to arrive once Richie has let Ben and Bev in, and then they’re all squeezing in around Richie’s dining table. Richie ordered take-out — not Chinese — and filled up everyone’s glasses with the fancy wine from his wine cabinet. Eddie isn’t partaking because he’s still on a couple of medications and despite Richie reassuring him one glass of wine isn’t going to hurt him, Eddie isn’t willing to risk it.
Conversation starts out light that night, the focus more on how Eddie is settling in than his actual recovery, and Bev takes it upon herself to tease Richie mercilessly.
“Married life really suits you, Trashmouth,” she jokes, nudging him in the shoulder with her own, and subsequently knocking Richie’s body into Eddie’s. Eddie turns to glare at her balefully for it, but his lips are twitching uncontrollably at her tone of voice. “I didn’t know you could be so domestic. You’re quite the little housewife,” she teases him, gesturing broadly around the kitchen, and then nudging her chin out towards the living room. “I honestly assumed you must live in a pigsty, but Eddie has done a great job whipping you into shape.”
Richie gasps mock-offendedly, and says, “Why I never!” in a southern drawl, pitching his voice up high. “I don’t know what you are trying to insinuate,” he says primly, “But I assure you that I am a proper lady, and I don’t need no man to tell me how to behave!”
Eddie dissolves into giggles at the voice, leaning into Richie’s side and soaking in his warmth as the rest of them start to laugh too. Bill sounds as if he’s dying he’s laughing so hard, and Bev is giggling into Ben’s shoulder, her eyes wet with tears. Richie throws his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, and drags him in even closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.
Eddie tries to roll his eyes at the casual affection, aware that Mike is staring straight at him, but he can’t muster up any real annoyance and recognizes that the expression falls flat. With the way that Mike smiles at him, Eddie knows that he isn’t fooling anyone.
“Oh my god, you two are so cute,” Bev coos once she’s gotten herself back under control, and she props her chin in her hand to stare happily at them. Eddie immediately turns bright red and frowns at her.
“Not cute,” he mutters at the same time as Richie says, “Cute, cute, cute!” and pinches Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie turns and knocks Richie’s hand away from his face, and then shoves his wrist down onto the table. Richie is laughing even as he moans “ow, ow, ow, ow, Eddie!” but Eddie doesn’t let him go.
“You know I hate it when you do that!” Eddie whines, carefully avoiding looking at their friends. He can already imagine the looks on their faces, and Eddie is embarrassed, dammit! It’s bad enough when Richie calls him cute when they’re by themselves and Eddie can’t hide the way it makes him feel — it’s even worse to have their friends witness the way it makes Eddie absolutely melt for Richie.
“I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Ben jokes, staring meaningfully at the way Eddie is still holding down Richie’s hand.
“Believe me, it’s a close call at least three times a day,” Eddie replies dryly, finally releasing him. Richie draws his hand up to his chest to cradle it gently, making exaggerated wounded eyes at Eddie that Eddie ignores.
“Eddie,” Richie whines, pouting at him, “You’re so mean to me,” he complains, knocking their shoulders together again. Rolling his eyes, Eddie leans in and smacks a quick kiss against Richie’s cheek until Richie wilts into him, smiling like an idiot.
Bev coos again, and Bill makes a retching sound. Eddie does his best to ignore them and grabs his water to sip at it, hiding his blush against the glass.
“Stan would hate you guys so much,” Mike laughs, shaking his head at the two of them, his voice only a little bit forced. He swallows thickly as he meets everyone else’s gazes, and says, “He’d say you’re disgusting, but we all know he’d really mean ‘I love you,’” Mike adds affectionately.
It takes a beat, but the rest of them laugh quietly as well, if a little solemnly, and glance at the empty table setting Richie had put out. He’d said they couldn’t have a proper Losers club meeting without Stan, and despite the way it had made Eddie feel at the time to see Richie preparing a seat that wouldn’t be filled, he’s grateful for it now. Eddie reaches over and squeezes Richie’s thigh, resting his hand there gently.
“I miss him,” Ben whispers softly, offering everyone a small smile.
“We all do,” Bill agrees quietly. They all quiet down for a moment, just soaking in the moment, thinking of Stan, before Bill finally clears his throat. Slowly, he raises his glass of wine into the air and says, “To Stan!”
“To Stan!” the rest of them say in unison, lifting their glasses in his honor.
After a long swallow, they each place their glasses back down onto the table, and smile at each other. Richie reaches down to squeeze Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie smiles up at him.
“So,” Ben starts, the first to interrupt the silence, “How are you doing, Eddie? Are you settling in okay?” he asks, waving his fork around in the air at them. The others nod their head in unison, repeating Ben’s question in one form or another:
“Richie better be treating you well,” says Bill.
“Are you sleeping alright?” asks Bev.
“How’s California treating you?” asks Mike.
Eddie smiles up at his friends and nods his head. “I’m good,” he replies, “I’m really good. California is… exactly what I needed,” he hedges, and, avoiding Richie’s eye, adds, “So is Richie.”
Eddie can feel it when Richie turns to look at him, and he doesn’t have to see Richie’s face to know what it’s doing — Richie has this way of looking at Eddie like he’s still in awe that he gets to have this, and Eddie doesn’t know what do with himself everytime he sees it. It’s an overwhelming feeling for both of them.
“Aww baby,” Richie murmurs, leaning in close to press a kiss to his cheek. He’s smiling, and it makes him smile too. “I knew you loved me,” Richie continues, and it’s obvious he’s attempting to sound teasing for their friends, but the words come out too sincere for anyone to fall for it.
Eddie’s heart flutters, and he feels his insides go all gooey, but the moment he catches sight of the looks on his friends faces — amused but affectionate — he squirms under the attention.
“Get off me,” Eddie grumbles, shoving at Richie’s chest lightly, his cheeks on fire. Richie doesn’t fight him, just laughs affectionately and pulls away without saying another word.
“I’m so happy for both of you,” Bev says warmly, her eyes shining. “You deserve to be happy,” she continues sincerely, reaching across the table to grasp Eddie’s hand in hers.
“Thanks, Bev,” Eddie manages to croak out in response, a lump in his throat, because while he knows what Bev is saying is true, it’s still difficult for him to internalize sometimes.
It’s Richie who eventually changes the subject, turning to the others and asking them what’s going on with them.
“Well, I’ve got a new contract in Dubai,” Ben tells them, shrugging modestly when the others cheer. “I’ve gotta head out there for a couple of weeks next Friday, so I won’t be around much, but…” he trails off, looks at Beverly softly, and reaches out to grasp tightly to her hand, like he doesn't want to leave her.
“But he’ll have cell reception, so don’t be afraid to harass him,” Beverly teases, gripping Ben back just as tightly.
Mike tells them about his tour of the United States, and how he’s been interviewing the locals everywhere he goes. He admits that he’s heard all kinds of amazing stories, and explains that he’s been thinking about starting a podcast.
“I just think that more people deserve to hear these stories,” Mike pitches hopefully, peering around at their friends like he wants their approval. “There’s so much culture out there that we’re missing out on, and I feel like if we just shared more of this stuff, there might not be so much violence in the world,” he continues passionately.
“I think you could really make a difference, man,” Richie says solemnly, and he shares a look with Mike like he understands exactly what it is that Mike is trying to do.
Mike meets his eyes, and nods at him, a silent conversation moving between them that Eddie isn’t privy to.
“And I’m about to launch my new summer line,” Bev announces excitedly, deftly avoiding the topic of the current legal minefield she’d been navigating for months surrounding both her divorce and her company. “All the designs are based on that summer,” she explains simply, obviously referring to the summer of ‘89 when all of this had started, “Because, despite everything, that was the best summer of my life.”
Eddie feels warm all the way down to his toes, because it was the best summer of his life too.
“Each look was inspired by one of you,” Bev admits brightly, and her eyes are sparkling as she looks at all of them, “and I fully plan on sending each of you your own special outfit.”
Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to consider what his might be before Bev meets Richie’s eye and winks at him. Eddie immediately lights up bright red, and turns a murderous glare onto Richie.
“I’ve got this really cute pair of little red shorts that I think will look amazing on you, Eds,” Bev teases all too knowingly.
“Richie,” Eddie hisses, but Richie isn’t looking at him. He’s an entirely darker shade of red than Eddie is — even brighter than those damn shorts were — and he doesn’t seem capable of meeting anyone’s gazes.
Eddie knows what Richie thought about those shorts — he’d admitted to Eddie that they’d kind of been Richie’s sexual awakening, and Eddie can’t even begin to imagine why he might have shared that information with Beverley, but he kind of wants to kill him for it.
It seems like all the rest of their friends seem to know as well, because as Eddie goes to kick Richie under the chair, the rest of their friends burst into amused laughter. Eddie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and before he can launch into an argument with Richie over it, Richie cuts him off to pointedly, and very loudly, ask Bill, “So I heard you were offered another movie deal?”
Eddie slumps back in his seat, defeated. He’ll let Richie get away with it, for now at least. He makes no promises to himself about not bringing it up again when they go to bed.
“Oh, yeah!” Bill exclaims, as if he’d forgotten all about it. He composes himself quickly, red in the face from all of his laughing, and says, “That reminds me. The casting director asked me to let him know if I had any names in mind for any of the characters, and, well, if you’d be interested Rich…” Bill offers, trailing off and staring at Richie in question.
Completely distracted from his previous anger, Eddie looks at Richie with wide eyes, waiting for his answer, but Richie seems appropriately stunned. He stares at Bill blankly for a long moment, before bursting into a bright grin. “What, you want this ol’ mug to star in one of your movies, Bill?” Richie teases loudly, putting on a show. “You must really be desperate if you’re asking me,” he jokes, avoiding the question entirely with a self-deprecating joke. It’s obvious enough to all of them that Richie is deflecting, and the slight hysteria to Richie’s voice is answer enough for Bill, who merely grins at him.
“You can come down to the office with me on Monday, we can talk about it then,” he replies easily, turning away from Richie and changing the subject to the actual script for The Glowing and how he’s already thinking about a new ending for the movie.
Eddie reaches over to squeeze Richie’s fingers between his, but doesn’t say a word. He’s just thankful to Bill for the offer, because in the last few months, Richie’s been doing a lot of voice acting gigs, and has admitted to wanting to try his hand at acting. Eddie doesn’t know if Bill knows that, but even if he didn’t, the offer means a lot to both of them.
The conversation continues jovially, with Richie mocking Bill for his terrible endings, and Ben piping in with suggestions for the set. Eddie sits back quietly and watches, sipping at his glass of water. He takes a moment, when the others are distracted, to check in with himself the way his new therapist has been pushing him to do over the past few weeks.
He feels good, content to have all of his friends here surrounding him. It’s something he’d nearly given up in that weird, liminal space he’d inhabited while he was in a coma, and he’s so fucking glad that he chose to live, because he’s never been happier.
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