#carve it on a tree and lock it in eddie

[purdledooturt]

This fic takes up real estate in my mind.

I just spent 2 hours writing a review for it.

I am very passionate and have a lot of feelings.

Chapter 16 of "Magistrate's Advocate"

Chapter 16 is out!

... in which they meet the parents and it goes about as well as you'd expect. Also, there are plums.

Read on AO3

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚘𝚗𝚎 - 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; leaving derry behind, you set out to the sunny promise of california. but when your bike breaks down, you’re forced to make an unexpected stop in the enigmatic town of hawkins.

⚠️ warnings; none

⟡ story masterlist ; next

✦ word count: 4k

Sunday, January 26, 1986, Derry, Maine

The sun filtered through the towering trees as you pulled yourself up the final ledge of the cliff. Your muscles burned with exertion, clearly unused to the effort. Tight-fitting jeans and the constant chain-smoking were doing you no favours either, weighing heavily on your lungs.

Standing still for a moment, you caught your breath and surveyed the landscape. A rush of familiarity swept over you. The forest was thick and vast, just as you remembered it. You had spent countless hours exploring this place as a child—it was your sanctuary, your playground, your refuge from the world.

You made your way to the nearby quarry, settling down by the edge with a grunt. Reaching into your jacket, you pulled out your crumpled pack of cigarettes, plucking one out with your front teeth and lighting it with your busted but trusty lighter. Taking a long drag, you let the smoke swirl in your mouth before exhaling slowly through your nostrils. You rubbed your thumb over the carved initials, B.M., etched into the lighter as your gaze shifted to the shimmering water below. The surface rippled slightly under the touch of the breeze.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted movement—a familiar figure emerging from the thick foliage. Mike. The confusion on his face melted into a smile the second he saw you.

“Sorry, I took a wrong left and wandered for a while. It’s been ages since I was up here,” he apologised, making his way over. You waved him off, already settled in. Knees knocking against yours, he eyed the cigarette between your fingers with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you quit?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’m working on it. The move’s got me on edge.”

He let it slide, leaning back on his hands as he asked, “So, how’s the packing going? That new motorcycle of yours ready for the highway yet?”

“Yeah, everything’s good to go,” you replied, taking another drag. “Even managed to get a decent deal on the apartment.”

“For real?”

You weren't offended by his incredulity. The apartment was a total dump. You were glad to be rid of it, especially after your grandmother’s passing a year ago. Her death had been a moment of clarity—a breaking point.

That’s when you had properly decided to leave Derry for good.

The money you got from selling the apartment helped pay for her funeral and cleared her debts. You then put some toward a motorcycle and the licence to go with it—the rest, you saved up. 

As you exhaled the smoke away from Mike, mindful of his discomfort, you mentioned casually, “Mr. Keene’s taking the place for Greta. You know...”

You made a rounded motion over your belly with your free hand. Mike’s eyes widened.

“She’s pregnant?!”

His shock slowly faded into a thoughtful frown. “Wait, that explains why I haven’t seen her around. She wasn’t even at graduation...”

“Turns out it’s Pete’s,” you said, tapping the ashes from your cigarette.

“Pete? Sticky Fingers Pete?” Mike’s mouth dropped open in scandalised surprise. “No way!”

Pete Brown was the resident bully ever since Henry Bowers had been locked up. His nickname came from his nasty habit of unabashedly sticking his fingers into people’s stuff. He’d openly stolen from you and your friend’s, sometimes with a fist raised high above his shoulder, others without you even noticing until hours later.

You and Mike exchanged a long look before breaking into laughter. You choked on the smoke halfway through, and he patted your back, grinning.

“You good?” he asked.

You gave him a thumbs-up, eyes watering. “All good.”

When the laughter died down, Mike asked a little more seriously, “So, where are you headed to?”

“California,” you hummed, but your voice wavered slightly.

“California, huh?” Mike echoed, catching your hesitation. “You don’t sound too sure.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, not quite ready to share your real reasons for aiming west. It felt a little silly, honestly. “It’s a long ride. Who knows what’ll happen along the way?”

The sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the jagged edges of the quarry. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of the day, and the only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

“They’re not coming, are they?” you asked, breaking the quiet.

Mike looked startled for a second, fumbling for an excuse. “They’re busy with stuff and—”

“Don’t make excuses for them,” you cut him off, disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re here, and you’re just as busy.”

A heavy silence followed. Deep down, you had expected this. It had been years since the Losers had biked together or even hung out like they used to. Conversations had grown shorter, turning into awkward nods in the school hallways. Still, knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Mike sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right. Life gets in the way, and it’s hard to blame them... but it sucks.”

But you did blame them. Even more now, seeing Mike’s disappointment. You fought the urge to light another cigarette and scooted closer to him instead.

“I get it,” you said softly. “I’m the one who’s upset, not you.”

He fiddled with the paper bag he’d brought, then held it out to you with a hesitant smile. “They wanted me to give you this.”

You stared at the bag, tempted to refuse it out of pride. But Mike’s puppy-dog look made you relent. With an exaggerated sigh, you took the bag, feigning annoyance.

Inside you found a fistful of the granola snacks you liked, a new sketchbook, a box of those fancy-pencils you had been eyeing for months, a neatly packed medical kit, a small wooden turtle charm on a braided leather strap, and lastly, a pack of cigarettes with two missing. You snorted at the last oneㅡthe tightness in your chest loosening. 

Mike pointed at the turtle. “That little guy’s from me. It’s not much, but...”

You shot him a mock glare, silencing him. Pulling out your motorcycle keys, you looped the leather strap through the keychain. “I’m naming it Mikey.”

He snorted, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Alright, Mikey it is.”

Standing up, he offered you a hand. The nearly identical scars on your palms brushed as you clasped hands, a silent reminder of your shared past.

“Don’t forget,” Mike whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

You held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I won’t.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your hand still gripping Mike’s. The familiar warmth of his palm anchored you to this place, to this moment. A part of you wanted to freeze it—hold onto the feeling of belonging, of not yet having to say goodbye. But you knew better.

Some things weren’t meant to last.

With one final squeeze, you let go and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, feeling the cool metal of your motorcycle keys clink against the lighter inside. Mike gave you a soft smile, a wordless goodbye, and together, you headed back down the trail.

.

.

.

Thursday, February 20 1986, Outskirts of Hawkins, Indiana

As the sun dipped behind the horizon, casting long shadows over the empty highway, you felt a chill seep into your bones. The open road, while freeing, was unforgiving, especially when the weather turned. Your motorcycle, faithful through rain and snow, had become both your escape and your burden. 

The journey so far had been long—longer than you'd anticipated—but that was by choice. You weren't rushing, and in some ways, you couldn't afford to.

From Maine to Indiana, your route had been an intricate web of backroads, motels, and the occasional kind stranger offering directions or a hot meal. However, you had learned quickly that being a young woman travelling alone required a constant balance between caution and determination. Every rest stop was carefully chosen, each small-town diner scoped out before you dared to settle in a booth. You’d developed a knack for reading people, for sensing when a conversation could be friendly and when it was best to keep your head down and move on.

Your new sketchbook and fancy pencils had quickly become your companion on those quiet nights in cheap motels or campgrounds. The sketchbooks cover was scuffed now, a little worse for wear from the miles it had travelled with you, but its pages were filled with glimpses of your journey: the snow-dusted peaks of the Appalachians, a rundown gas station lit by a single flickering bulb, even the faces of strangers who left an impression. Each smooth stroke of your pencil was a way to hold onto fleeting moments, a reminder that though you were always moving, you were still here, still tethered to something tangible.

Pulling into a nearby rest stop, you parked in front of the mechanic's shop. The sign, weather-beaten and faded, swung gently in the frigid breeze. The shop’s exterior was old but well-kept, with faint traces of oil and rubber clinging to the air. Stepping off the bike, you stretched out, hissing at the stiffness in your legs and back from the relentless hours on the road. You guided your bike inside the shop, the engine’s growl fading into a low rumble.

The interior of the shop was warmer, the hum of the radio filling the space. Walls lined with tools, parts, and mechanical odds and ends in various states of use gave the place a sense of organised chaos. Taking your helmet off, you spotted a tall, middle-aged black man in greasy coveralls sitting on a nearby workbench. He wiped his hands on a rag, his gaze appraising but not unkind.

“Yeah?” he greeted, his voice gruff. “What do you need?”

“My bike needs a look,” you replied, your voice raspy from days of disuse. “It’s been running rough the last few miles.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, nodding curtly. “Pull it into the bay, and I’ll take a look.”

You nodded in thanks, rolling the bike into the service bay. The man, who soon introduced himself as Sam, pulled on a pair of gloves as he walked over, eyeing your bike.

“You look like you’ve been on the road for a while,” he remarked, his tone a weird mix of curiosity and indifference as he glanced at the frost still clinging to your jacket and the dirt caked on your motorcycle.

“Yeah, been riding for almost a month,” you replied, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

Sam grunted in acknowledgment, crouching down to inspect the engine. His hands moved carefully, precise in their movements, as he fiddled with various parts of your bike. You watched him work silently, admiring the way his hands seemed to know exactly what to do, even if his demeanour remained brusque.

After a while, he spoke again without looking up. “What’s a young lady like you doing out here alone? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

The question came out of casual curiosity, and you knew it wasn’t meant to be intrusive. You shifted slightly, uncomfortable but not thrown off.

“I graduated last year,” you replied flatly. “I’m not one for sticking around.”

Sam grunted again, a sound that could’ve been understanding or dismissal, but he didn’t press further.

He continued his work, and you let your gaze wander around the shop. Eventually, you took a seat on a nearby bench and pulled out your sketchbook, this place would make some good practice. You flipped through the pages, absentmindedly sketching the lines of the mechanic’s shop, the bike, the worn tools scattered around. It felt good to focus on something else, even just for a moment.

After a long while, Sam stood up, wiping the grease off his hands. He rubbed his chin with a frown, giving you a quick look. “Well, looks like your spark plug’s shot, and your ignition coil’s about to go too. I can fix it, but the parts are gonna take a bit of time to get. Won’t be cheap either.”

His words made your heart drop deep into your stomach. “How long?” you asked, trying to keep the urgency out of your voice.

He sighed, scratching his forehead with his thumb. “Could take a couple weeks, maybe more. Depends on how soon I can get the parts. This isn’t exactly a prime location for quick deliveries.”

Your heart sank, knowing full well that being stranded in the middle of nowhere wasn’t part of the plan. “And how much is it going to cost?”

Sam crossed his arms. “Well, like I said, parts aren’t cheap. But...” He eyed your worn-down bike, then glanced at you. “I can work something out. You any good at keeping promises?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Depends on the promise.”

He grunted in amusement. “My ex-wife runs the bar over in town—The Hideout. She’s always lookin’ for help. You take a job there while I work on your bike, and we’ll figure out the bill in instalments.”

You hesitated. Working in a bar wasn’t exactly in your plans, but then again, you didn’t have many options. “And what’s she like?”

Sam’s lips twitched into what could’ve been a smile. “Don’t slack off, and you’ll be fine.”

You crossed your arms. “.....I’ll think about it.”

He gave a short nod, as if that was enough of an answer. “You’re gonna be in town for a while anyway.”

As he turned back to the bike, Sam’s gaze flicked down to the sketchbook on your lap. “What you got there?”

You shrugged, not bothering to hide the sketch you were working on. “Just passing time.”

He peered over, eyeing the drawing. “Not bad,” he admitted. “You got some talent.”

You felt a flicker of pride but didn’t show it. “It’s just a hobby.”

Sam gave you a look. “That right? How about you give me a sketch as a show of good faith? Consider it an advance for the first round of work I’ll do on your bike.”

You blinked in surprise. “You serious?”

He nodded, leaning back against the workbench. “Deal’s a deal. You give me that sketch, I get started on the bike. Fair enough?”

You nodded, appreciating the unorthodox offer. Tearing a page from the sketchpad, you handed it over. “Deal.”

Sam inspected the drawing and gave a small nod of approval before carefully folding it and tucking it into his coveralls.

As the minutes passed, the sound of Sam working on your bike faded into the background, replaced by the steady scratching of your pencil against paper as you started another sketch. Sam glanced over from time to time, his expression unreadable, watching you work in silence. There was something calming about the way he moved around the shop, the quiet efficiency of someone who had spent years mastering their craft. 

For a moment, neither of you spoke, a rare shared silence settling between you.

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung open, the peace you and Sam had shared dissolved instantly. The figure that strolled in brought with him the distinct smell of cigarettes and an air of bad intentions. 

"Hey, boss," he called out, far too casually as he sauntered over. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. His smirk was cocky, almost predatory, and you could feel his presence encroaching on your space without even looking up.

Sam didn’t react immediately, just sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. The dismay on his face was clear as day. He didn’t want this guy around either.

"Jesse," Sam finally said, his voice filled with reluctant resignation. "Drive her over to The Hideout, will ya?"

Jesse’s grin widened as his eyes flicked over to you. He was white, tall, and lanky, with a shaved head that only emphasised his sharp, almost fox-like features. His murky blue eyes gleamed with mischief, scanning you with a kind of lazy curiosity. Unlike Sam, whose work-overalls were always neatly kept despite the grease and grime of his trade, Jesse’s version was a sloppier affair—stained, wrinkled, and barely buttoned properly. 

“Well, well, well…”

Your gaze met his coldly, shutting him down before he could try anything. "Not interested," you said sharply, leaving no room for debate.

Jesse raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to bite."

Sam shot him a warning look, voice firm. "Cut the crap. Just take her to the bar and do something useful for once."

Jesse shrugged, clearly unfazed by Sam’s scolding. "Sure, boss. Whatever you say." He motioned for you to follow him. You stood up, giving Sam a nod of thanks. He returned it with a quiet grunt, his expression still disapproving as Jesse walked ahead of you.

"Good luck," Sam muttered under his breath, almost too low for you to hear, as you grabbed your things and followed Jesse out to the truck.

The air inside Jesse's truck was thick with the stench of cigarettes and cheap cologne. He shot you a sideways grin as you settled into the passenger seat, clearly enjoying himself despite your earlier brush-off. Without a word, he started the engine, and soon you were rumbling down the high-way and into the city.

"So, what brings a girl like you out here to a place like this?" Jesse asked, tone dripping with sleaze. "Don’t see many like you passing through."

You kept your gaze on the road, the passing scenery of small houses and barren fields a welcome distraction from his presence. "Just because," you replied flatly, signalling that you weren’t interested in making small talk—or any talk for that matter.

He didn’t seem to care. "Yeah? Well, Hawkins isn’t much of an escape. This place is a hell-hole if you ask me."

You didn’t respond, eyes still fixed on the landscape outside. But Jesse, apparently not one to take a hint, kept going.

"Strange stuff happens here," he added, his voice lowering as though sharing some secret. "Murders, disappearances, all sorts of weird shit. Cops don’t do anything about it either. Makes you wonder if the place ain’t cursed or something."

You shrugged, unimpressed. "Sounds like every other small town."

Jesse shot you a sidelong glance, but you didn’t bother to look at him. "You’ll see. Stick around long enough, and you’ll feel it too. This place… it’s not right."

The conversation died again, but Jesse wasn’t done being a nuisance. "Anyway," he tried, voice oozing with false charm. "If you ever need someone to show you around town, I’m your guy. There’s plenty of spots I could take you. Keep you entertained."

This time, you turned to him, unflinching. "I told you, I’m not interested."

His grin faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered, forcing a laugh that sounded weak. "Cold as ice, huh? Suit yourself."

After that, Jesse finally shut up. The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, and you relished it. Hawkins didn’t look like much as you drove through its streets—just another tired, forgotten town. Nothing about it screamed cursed to you, just a place stuck in its own slow decay.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of The Hideout, the bar looking as rundown as you expected. Neon lights flickered weakly in the windows, and the paint on the sign was chipped and fading.

"There you go," Jesse said, cutting the engine with a sharp twist of his wrist. "The Hideout."

You muttered  small thanks as you stepped out of the truck, the gravel crunching under your boots. His eyes lingered on you, leaning against the steering wheel with that same lazy grin, clearly waiting for some other type of thanks. When you didn’t offer him anything else, his grin twisted into something uglier.

He scoffed, his voice dropping into a mutter as he spat out, "Stuck up bitch."

You didn’t turn around and with a flick of your wrist, raised your hand and gave him a firm, unapologetic middle finger before walking away. Behind you, you heard Jesse curse again under his breath as his truck roared back to life. He peeled off, the tires kicking up gravel as he sped away, the sound of his engine fading into the distance.

The door to The Hideout creaked loudly as you pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit space. The smell of stale beer hit you immediately, and the low hum of voices filled the air, mingling with the muted sound of rock music coming from the jukebox in the corner.

A few heads turned your way as you walked in, but no one gave you more than a second glance. You headed straight for the bar, your boots scuffing against the worn wooden floor. The place was exactly what you’d expected—rough around the edges but not without its charm.

Behind the bar stood a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She glanced up as you approached, sizing you up with a quick, practised look.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone curt but not unfriendly.

You nodded. "Sam sent me. Said you might have a job for me?"

Her eyes narrowed briefly in recognition, then she tossed the rag she’d been using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder. "Ah, motorcycle girl, huh?" Her lips twitched up into a small grin. "Sam called. Figured you’d swing by sooner or later."

The woman set her hands on her hips, giving you another appraising look. “Name’s Bev. And you are?”

You gave her your name, watching as her sharp features softened ever so slightly. She didn’t seem like the type for small talk, but something about her made you feel like you were in the right place.

“I like your name,” you said, surprising yourself with the admission. 

Bev raised an eyebrow, but then her face split into a wide, genuine grin. She let out a loud, hearty laugh that seemed to fill the entire bar, turning a few heads.

“Oh, honey, a pretty girl like you saying something sweet like that? You’re gonna light this place up,” she said, still chuckling. “Now, let’s get down to business. You want the job?”

You hesitated for a split second, thinking back to Sam and your earlier reluctance. But something about Bev—her straightforwardness, her no-nonsense attitude—won you over. The hesitation melted away, replaced by a simple, instinctive decision.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice steady. “I’ll take it.”

Bev nodded approvingly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good. Now, here’s the deal. It ain’t glamorous. You’ll be workin’ the night shifts—cleaning tables, serving drinks, dealin’ with the usual crowd. Pay’s shit, but the hours ain’t too bad, and you’ll get tips. Think you can handle that?”

“Sounds fine to me,” you said, already feeling more at ease.

“And Sam already talked to me about your situation,” Bev continued, her tone softening just a little. “If you want, I can send half your pay to him directly. Save you some hassle.”

You blinked, surprised. “You’d do that?”

Bev shrugged like it was nothing. “Sure. But that’s not all. I got a little extra for you, if you’re up for it.”

She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a secret. “I own a trailer over at Forest Hills Trailer Park. It ain’t much—kind of a dump, honestly—but it’s got running water and electricity. You can stay there while you’re working here, no rent. What do you say?”

It wasn’t much, but after days on the road and no solid plan for where to sleep, it was more than you expected. The relief hit you hard, but you kept your expression controlled, only a small nod revealing how grateful you felt.

“I’ll take it,” you said, meeting her gaze with sincerity.

Bev’s grin widened again. “Good. You start right now, and we’ll get you set up at the trailer tonight. It ain’t a palace, but it’s yours as long as you need it.” She paused, giving you a wink.

“Welcome to Hawkins, kid.”

divider credit

[paperbackribs]

A Tarnished Copper Boy (13)

Previous | Next | Ao3 Last chapter, the boys wrestling on the couch had Eddie running, leaving Steve behind at the trailer for almost a week until he returned and culminating in a fight over Steve leaving the trailer for walks in the woods. Eddie chased Steve when he left the trailer and apologised for his behaviour.

Chapter 13: What I Am

After making amends in the woods of Forrest Hills, Eddie had expected life to return to normal, more or less. Yet with their reconciliation came a tentative sort of peace that felt like a unsteady bridge ready to fall beneath his feet.

Steve hadn’t said anything outright. He was outwardly cheery even, but Eddie keeps flashing back to Slippery Steve in the kitchen, eyes not quite meeting and avoiding being too physically close to Eddie.

Steve is on one of his walks when he brings it up with Wayne, the two of them savouring a brief warm break in the weather on the porch couch. Eddie scratching at a mosquito bite and Wayne enjoying his Winstons. Every now and then Wayne glances towards Catherine’s place, but she’s not home yet.

“Do you think Steve is being weird lately?” Eddie asks, staring at the border between the trailer park and the woods. The trees seem closed off and unwelcoming today, a forest guarding its wild creatures.

Wayne expels a swirl of smoke, leaning back to place his Zippo lighter on the side table with a clack. “You mean with his walks? It’s good for him. I told Steve to bring back some pine or oak, and I’ll teach him to carve figures out of the thicker branches.” It’s been a long time since Eddie has seen Wayne whittling; it warms his heart that his uncle is looking out for Steve in his own way.

“Thought he was agoraphobic for a while there,” Wayne continues, contemplating the cherry at the tip of his cigarette pensively.

Eddie eyes him sceptically, “Where’d you even learn that word?”

“I’m not an idiot, Eds,” Wayne responds mildly before the corner of his mouth ticks up. “And Catherine asked me about him, mentioned it as a possibility. She likes you two; doesn’t want Steve to suffer if he’s going through something.”

“She’s a good woman,” Eddie says, still stuck on those trees.

“That she is. And he’s been a bit quiet lately, but nothing I’m worried about. You two made up, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “And we did, we truly did, but I wonder if I broke something.”

“Just give him time, Eds. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.” Wayne ashes the cigarette, “Did you apologise?”

“Yeah.” As well as to Wayne later, who hadn’t been impressed with Eddie’s disappearing act. Nor with roping Catherine in as his impromptu messenger either.

“Well, that’s a good start.”

Steve returns later as the shadows of night are starting to stretch its fingers, the moon hanging low and illuminated in the background of the open trailer door. The frame thuds behind him as he pulls off his burrowed trucker cap, usually kept low as he moves in the open space between the trailer and the shelter of the woods. Above the brown bill of his hat a wavy slice of brown and white is circled by in bacon we trust.

Spearing his fingers through his bronze locks, he smiles at Eddie on the floor behind the coffee table, “Hey, you practising?”

Eddie lies down the orange and suturing needle beside the scalpel and cotton thread he’s using in place of the more expensive and medically appropriate silk. He’d been surprised to learn that he couldn’t just dig into an orange and have at it to practise, as he’d originally planned.

Instead, Catherine had taught him to slice and dissect the outer peel from the meat of the fruit, as if peeling skin away from muscle. Steve had turned an interesting shade of green watching Catherine talk him through it. Whenever Eddie practises, Steve will only look once he starts stitching the peel together. Apparently, after having seen his own skin being dug into by a needle, watching an orange get stitches is just fine.

“Yeah, look at this — I’m getting better,” Eddie proudly holds up the fruit, displaying a row of stitches far neater than his first attempts a month ago. He’s never been one much for sewing, but his new prowess is giving him ideas on how he might tailor his denim vest. So far, he’d kept to band pins and badges with rude sayings scrawled across them, but he could sacrifice some of his more worn shirts or check out Hawkins Records to see if they have any patches.

Steve inspects the orange. “Good work,” he says admiringly. “I’m just going to grab a shower and then I’ll see you in bed?”

A yawn suddenly overtakes Eddie, he glances at his watch; intent on improving the uniformity of the length and space of his stitches, he hadn’t realised how late it’d gotten. Steve laughs, “Yeah, I’ll see you there.”

Eddie flips him off, even as he nods and starts wiping down and packing up his gear. The one thing that has stayed reassuringly the same is how they continue to join in bed. Most nights end with Eddie facing the window and Steve curled behind him, a solid warmth giving and receiving comfort. With how unsettled Eddie has felt lately though, it’s a bittersweet sort of reassurance. Enough to cancel any morning wood he has; it’s just too sad and pathetic to jerk off while feeling despondent over an uneasiness that he can’t even confirm is real.

He can only be grateful for his lack of indecent desire when both he and Steve sleep in one morning only for Wayne to swing the bedroom door open with a bang. More sensitive to sound and movement, Steve had jolted upright from where he had been wrapped around Eddie’s back, blankets puddled around their feet from having kicked them off in the warm night. The swift retraction of Steve’s arm caused Eddie to awkwardly roll onto his face, squashing his nose and prompting him to somewhat stir.

“Eddie,” Wayne had barked, “Get a move on.”

However, despite its sudden betrayal the pillow was soft and welcoming under him and Eddie decided to play possum. He’s pretty sure he heard Steve tell Wayne he’d get him up and, later, Eddie was just grateful he hadn’t flashed Steve and Wayne more than his boxer-clad ass.

The feeling infects him though, a rising sense that he’s the source of Steve’s discomfort. Eddie doesn’t disappear again, like he promised, but he does spend a little extra time with the guys. Noodling around on their guitars for a couple of hours in Jeff’s basement or study sessions with Randy who’s also doing senior year pre-calc.

The latter pays off too and he dances through the trailer door one afternoon. Spotting Steve walking out of the bedroom, he Cha-Cha Slides towards him. Without hesitation, Steve stops and reels him in with an invisible fishing rod. Eddie cackles, brandishing his maths test. “Guess who got a B minus, baby!”

Steve’s smile is broad as he takes the sheet of paper from him, on it his grade is big and fat and circled in red. But Eddie is going to ignore the usual implication of that colour on his grade because he got a goddamn B.

“Eddie, great! You got the function and graph questions right,” he notes proudly, already moving to pin it beneath a magnet on the fridge.

“Mm, hmm,” Eddie leans over to take an apple from the fruit bowl, biting into it with relish. “Thank God for Randy,” he confesses, “The domains had me on the ropes.”

Steve stays facing the big appliance, fiddling with the paper to make it square against the surface. “Oh yeah, he was a big help then?” He asks soft-spoken.

Eddie gazes lovingly at the red circle, he had worked hard to get that B — it’s satisfying to see the results. He responds absently while considering whether he needs to concentrate more on functions next time, “Yeah, he says that he hates maths, but he’s really good at it. I tell him that it extends to his rolls too, like the guy has pulled a nat twenty more times than I like to think of. But he doesn’t believe me, says something about probabilities.”

Steve hums neutrally and leaves to get the clothes out of the dryer. The cloying humidity has rolled back through Hawkins and Steve refuses to even consider air drying, has become oddly stubborn about it like his reputation as a housekeeping god is on the line at the first hint of musty towel.

It’s not always just hanging out with one of the guys or another, sometimes they all come together even though Randy is more into weed and D&D and Gareth and Jeff are into music and D&D. One Wednesday night the three of them shoot the shit, Randy pulling out a joint that Jeff partakes in and Eddie declines, saying he needs to drive home.

The night rolls on later than Eddie realises, a debate unfolding amongst them as to whether level limits for classes other than humans are playing racism out in story form. Followed by a convoluted collaboration on juggling game balance against overpowered elves and dwarves. It staggers to a close however when Jeff thinks he hears his parents coming and paranoidly skunks out the basement in the cheap musk of his spray deodorant.

Eddie feels a twinge of guilt when he comes home to the dark trailer, he had promised to call when he’d be late, so he owes Steve an apology. Tip-toeing past the steady drone from Wayne, he creeps quietly into the bedroom. He can only see a sliver of the bed and floor from the slash of moonlight through their window.

“Steve?” He softly calls but there’s no answer from the lump in the bed. As he slips under the cover, Eddie can see that Steve is turned away onto his right side. He silently sighs, wishing that he’d realised the time so he could make it back for cuddles. When he wakes in the morning, Steve is already out of bed; his side of the mattress is cold to Eddie’s touch and, as he leaves the room, Wayne informs him that Steve has left for an early walk.

Eddie tells himself that he’ll apologise later, but in the excitement of Hellfire that night he momentarily forgets it as he sweeps into the trailer. The thrill of the game is still coursing through him, which is only electrified higher when he spots Steve at the kitchen sink washing dishes.

“Oh my God in Christ — Steve! Let me tell you about the campaign tonight, the tears, the jeers, the almighty conquerors.” Steve turns off the faucet, a tight smile on his face as Eddie pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of his eyes. “I’ve never been so proud of my sheepies.”

Steve turns and picks up the dishrag, applying himself to his task while Eddie regales him with the sheer audacity of those boys. The bravery and the teamwork – oh, the fucking group coming together had been magnificent.

“And then fucking Randy,” Eddie says breathlessly, nearly knocking over the fruit bowl as he broadly gestures with both arms. “Pulls out his carpet of flying and uses it to sneak behind the motherfucker! His mage is going to look so badass covered in a wyvern skin cloak, especially as it ripples behind him on his magic carpet ride.” He sings the last words joyfully; he’s so glad that he took on Randy’s suggestion and set them up to find it in last week’s loot.

Steve smacks the wet plate into the drying rack with a sharp clack. “Of course,” he mutters under his breath. At the sharp tone, Eddie falters, realising that he’s read the room all wrong. Looking at Steve’s clenched jaw and the tight set to his shoulders, it’s suddenly obvious that Steve’s not indulging Eddie as usual by allowing him to share the excitement of his day. Rather, Steve radiates an icy anger.

“Is something wrong?” Eddie tentatively asks.

Frost dripping from every word, Steve scoffs as he leans a hip against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, “Why would you think that?”

“You seem angry,” Eddie says cautiously into the brittle atmosphere. “Is this about last night? Because you’re right, I should have called.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “No, not at all. But maybe you can coordinate with your uncle so I’m not the middleman for your sexcapades.”

“What? Who?” Eddie asks, bewildered. “What?” He repeats, his mind-melting out of his ears at hearing the bizarre use of sexcapades coming out of Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s breath whistles through his teeth and he abruptly bends over, swinging the cupboard door open and shut again to slam a box of condoms on the counter between him and Eddie. A neon green silhouette of a Roman soldier is painted under the bold text type of extended pleasure. Eddie blushes, his cheeks radiating so hot that he’s sure his face is bathed in a cherry-red glow.

Steve’s lips pinch in displeasure as he watches Eddie, “Wayne included this in the grocery shopping today. Made sure I knew that it was for you. You know,” he continues sarcastically, “Maybe we can organise my walks for nighttime and you can finally bring Randy around. Clearly, I’m getting in the way of something if even Wayne knows about it.”

Eddie’s mouth drops before he screeches, “What? No, I’m not doing anything that needs condoms with Randy. Where’d you even get that idea.”

Steve unclenches his teeth, brow furrowing further as he squints at Eddie in accusation. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says scathingly, “Maybe because I came back in March and you’re giggling in his lap. Perhaps because you’ve up and disappeared lately while also coming home reeking of another guy’s cologne. In the meantime, your uncle is in the background practically holding up a placard while he chants no glove no love.” Steve lists these items like it’s a shopping list he’s prepared: familiar, obvious, and oft-repeated.

Eddie blinks at the sheer wrongness of Steve’s words. “No! Steve, no.” He stands up to grab the box and throws it out of sight into a kitchen drawer. “I’m not doing anything with Randy.” Under his breath, Eddie mutters of all people. Louder he says, “I wouldn’t want to do anything with someone like Randy.”

His standards may be high these days since it pretty much equals Steve Harrington, but pale blonde boys soaked in weed and a repressed love for mathematics are hardly his type.

Steve draws in a shocked breath, eyes widening. “Oh shit, I misread this, didn’t I?”

“Uh, yeah. Completely.” Eddie exhales a relieved breath. He doesn’t know what Wayne was thinking but whatever it was he’s out of his mind. Eddie will pin him down later once this misunderstanding with Steve is resolved.

Yet Steve obviously feels differently because he paces out of the kitchen, running his hands through his hair and mumbling something that Eddie can’t hear. Finally, he flips upright to look at Eddie, a torn expression on his face. “You’re not gay, are you.”

“Say what?” Eddie exclaims, brain screeching to a halt like the abrupt silence after a sudden, unexpected scream.

Steve backs away, almost smacking against the wall. He shakes his head, frazzled in a way that Eddie has never seen on Steve before. “Christ. I just. I figured with the handkerchief and you’re always looking when I… I thought you at least…” Steve closes his eyes as if plagued by a sudden memory. “I’m so sorry, man. No wonder you freaked out when I was all up in your shit.”

Eddie’s mouth hangs open in astonishment; he is lost for words. Flabbergasted. Baffled. In a state of dumbstruck shock. He is in a small dingy in the middle of the ocean with no oar and no guiding light, rapidly approaching a rocky shore. Eddie has been called all sorts of nasty things over the years, but no one has ever accused him of being straight.

He’s certainly never been in a situation where he’s had to defend his queerness when it is usually assumed. Never been given the option to claim the words for himself. But this is his chance, he realises. Say it, his brain yells. Eddie can finally take charge of the narrative and be in control of his own story. Say it, it continues to scream like a blaring klaxon.

Instead, the words stick in his throat like a chicken bone, sharp edges wedged diagonally and cutting off his airway. He is twelve years old staring up at a towering man who refuses to touch him anymore because he’s a dirty queer. Pack your shit, you don’t have a home here any longer.

Steve’s eyes flicker over Eddie’s sallow complexion and the cold sweat gathering at his brow, his face falling further. “Shit. I’m going to go for a walk, you… you deserve your own space.” Eddie watches numbly as Steve pulls on his boots. He doesn’t bother to lace them, only looking at Eddie mournfully, eyes distraught. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. I’ll see you later.”

Steve turns, practically running out of the trailer along with any chance of Eddie saying Yes. Yes, I am gay. He doesn’t return until the morning, avoiding Eddie’s gaze as he moves towards the bathroom.

After that night the distance between Steve and him widens; what was an uncertain pothole becomes a gaping chasm. Steve takes more walks, spends more time at them too. Often leaving after he’s cleaned the dinner dishes and not returning until Eddie is ostensibly asleep in bed.

But he’s always awake.

Unable to sleep until he hears the creak of Steve slipping into their room. Careful to not disturb Eddie as he slides into bed, turning on his side to face the wall.

I am gay becomes a chant in Eddie’s head.

It eats away at him in class, staring blankly down at his notes.

It boils in his gut during gym, looking away from a younger version of the man perplexing him at home.

It unfailingly sticks in his throat every time he walks through the trailer door.

He’s just never had to say it, is the thing. Wayne knew from the beginning; the hateful words Pop had left him with, as he’d abandoned Eddie on his doorstep, making it clear what he’d found under Eddie’s mattress. Jeff knows, but it wasn’t from conversation. Other people have known if he’s to take the sneering insults thrown at him to heart and, one memorable autumn, when someone had scrawled it in bold black marker on his locker. Even Steve had known, not that he had fully explained how he’d come to that conclusion. But he did.

Eddie keeps imagining himself saying the words. Bewitched plays in the background at night and Eddie imagines turning and saying it in between Endora waving her hand and Darren falling to the floor. He takes Wayne’s plate from Steve’s hand and imagines telling him as their fingers graze, Steve’s flinch so small Eddie’s not sure if he imagined that too. He lies in bed, stuck in the distance Steve had once closed and now has put back in place, and imagines whispering his not-so-secret to him.

It's one of those nights and the words are boiling, practically scolding to the top of his throat. Ready to pour out like magma. They lay separately abed in the dark room; the wind outside has picked up and Eddie can hear the Anderson’s weathervane smacking in the approaching storm. It’s a rhythmic sound that would usually drive him nuts, but tonight it becomes the metronome to the increasing pressure of Say it. Say it. Say it.

Steve shifts slightly on his side, moving his right arm to cradle under his head. Eddie remembers cradling Steve’s face, offering him solace, silently promising to be his soft place to land. Even though he hadn’t heard a responding answer at the time, he knows that Steve would extend the same protection to him in a heartbeat. The man who puts his body between children and dangerous monsters would spring forward to take any hit aimed at Eddie’s way.

It’s not only who he is, at the core of what makes Steve Steve, but it’s there in every careful gesture he now makes around Eddie, trying to show him respect and give him space even though he’s misread the situation. It’s there as he tells Eddie that he may not have seen that far into the future, but he knows that Eddie’s will be bright because he believes that deeply in the goodness of him, in his desire and potential to save the world one scrape at a time.

“Steve,” he whispers, his pulse beating wildly in his neck.

“Mmm?” Steve responds, not sounding sleepy at all. As if had been lying there thinking too.

Eddie takes his God-given ability to run and for once uses it to jump headfirst towards the right direction, “I think I should tell you that I am gay.”

The air is pregnant with what Eddie can only imagine is confusion on Steve’s part. He rolls over onto his opposite side, facing Eddie who is curled up too. Face-to-face, Eddie can see the careful glint in Steve’s eyes and the serious set to his mouth. “You’re gay,” Steve clarifies.

Eddie takes a deep breath, licking his lips. He did it once, he can do it again. “Yes,” he swallows and says it like he means it, “I’m gay.” The pressure of Steve’s silence builds in his chest, rising like popping candy until released in a breathless giggle. Steve’s face immediately has a wary cast to it like he thinks that Eddie is messing with him.

“No, no, wait,” Eddie says around another giggle. He presses his hot face into the pillow before emerging, trying to straighten his expression. “I meant it, sorry. I just got nervous and sometimes I giggle when I’m nervous.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “It’s okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie swallows. “Like okay that I’m giggling or okay that I’m… gay.” There he goes, three times in a row. He thinks it’s getting easier; what had been a dry, rough brick is being smoothed away into a skipping stone. White and precious, made for tender touches and youthful love.

Steve reaches out slowly and gently places his hand over Eddie’s, which had rested on the mattress between him. The touch warm and reassuring as he tenderly squeezes his fingers. “Both.”

Eddie feels a stinging pinch between his nose and he swallows so hard that the sound is audible in the dark room. Steve’s face, full of compassion, starts to swim as tears fill Eddie’s eyes. “Okay,” he rasps. “That’s good. Would suck if it wasn’t.”

Steve watches him, a gentle empathy crossing his expression. “Eddie, can I hug you?”

Eddie nods jerkily, “That sounds really nice right now.”

Shifting quietly, Steve pulls Eddie’s now blubbering face into his chest and wraps his arms around him securely, rocking him from side to side. The strength of Steve’s embrace makes him feel safe like he’s protecting him from the nasty words of his classmates, like a bulwark against the disgust on his father’s face. Eddie allows himself to cry in the refuge of Steve’s arms as he mourns a boy who was never given the option to safely say this is me without it leading to pain.

He cries until the tears run dry and snot is thick in his nose, but his head is clear for what feels like a long time. A part of Eddie has slotted into place with his confession. Grabbing onto his courage and declaring himself has opened up a space inside, a place usually cramped and ugly, filled with a slumbering beast fuelled by envy and injustice. The creature is still there, but it has room to simply exist now, rather than being squeezed and agitated by despair and doubt.

Steve presses a hard kiss to the top of his head; his hand has kept a rhythmic caress against Eddie’s back since he first pulled him into his embrace. “It’s okay, you did good. You did so good.” The words fill him with a brightness that Eddie basks in, sure that it makes the tarnished copper turn golden for a brief, shining moment.

Eddie draws back, wiping his eyes before resting his chin on the hands he’s folded on Steve’s chest, “Thank you. You’re the first person I ever said that to.”

“Ah,” Steve’s face is soft and understanding. “You were really brave, I’m proud of you.”

Eddie looks shyly down, scratching at the demon printed on Steve’s Dio shirt, its crimson arms spread to show wrists broken free from silver manacles. “I would make a joke right now, but it was. Hard, that is. I don’t know why, it’s not like I thought you were going to recoil in disgust or call me names. I knew you’d have my back.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, a pleased tug at his lips. “Glad I could meet the bare minimum then.”

Eddie snorts, the sound unattractive with the amount of mucus still clogging his sinuses. Steve snickers in response and Eddie lightly slaps him in return. “No, it was important to me and you treated it with respect; that means a lot.”

A contemplative expression settles across Steve’s face, his eyes serious as he lightly rolls his lips and looks back at Eddie. Eddie sees in his eyes the exact moment that he makes his decision. “It would be hypocritical of me if I hadn’t,” Steve says slowly, with significance.

Eddie frowns, not understanding how Steve could be a hypocrite about Eddie’s confession.

“I am too,” Steve clarifies, his arms tighten around him but he thinks it was involuntary by the distracted look on his face.

Eddie blinks, flashing back to Steve scooping Nancy up in his arms from behind, the love and playfulness shining through so brightly that even Eddie could feel it from across the hallway. “No, you’re not,” he rebuts around clumsy lips, “You date girls.”

“First off,” Steve says mildly with a hint of reproach. “Just because you’ve only seen me with girls doesn’t mean you get to dictate my sexuality.”

“God, I sound like Robin,” he mutters under his breath.

More loudly he continues, “And no, I’m not one way in particular, I just like who I like. Yeah, it’s always been easier with girls.” Steve’s face twists like he’s bitten into a lemon, “Easier to meet expectations, easier to bring them home; but I think it was somewhere between wanting to hold hands with Thomas D. on the playground and the third time Tommy and I made out drunk just for ‘laughs’ that I figured out it wasn’t just. You know, girls.”

“So you’re gay,” Eddie needs to clarify this, needs to make sure there is no room for misunderstandings.

Steve hums, wiggling his head a little as he considers it. “I like the term queer, personally. It gives me a nice umbrella to play under rather than labelling me one thing or another. But yeah, I’m not strictly straight.”

Eddie snorts, the inelegant sound ripped through him at one thought.

Steve eyes him doubtfully and Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “No, it’s not at you. It’s just — poor Tommy. You know he likes you, right? I mean obviously you do if you’ve made out with him.”

His mouth dropping open, Steve trips over his words. “No. No, he doesn’t. He just wanted to practise, and I liked it so…” Steve stops, eyes blanking as he obviously replays years’ worth of less-than-heterosexual interactions.

Eddie tuts playfully, “You shouldn’t assume someone’s sexuality, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes narrow and he glares down at Eddie, still propped on his chest with a clear smile. “At least I didn’t do it when someone’s coming out to me.” Eddie winces, “Sorry, that wasn’t cool of me. Especially after you were so chill at my reveal.”

Steve sighs, running a hand over Eddie’s hair; he wants to nuzzle into it like a pet. “If it helps, I talked a lot of this out with Robin a while back. I didn’t have the words for it then either, and I was probably a lot less chill than you. But the more I talked the more I understood myself.”

He nods, that makes sense. Even in the small slice he’s taken tonight, Eddie’s begun to feel steadier about this part of himself. Steve smiles at him in understanding, “You don’t have to get it right every time, Eddie. You just have to try, that’s all.”

Eddie’s throat thickens and his nod is a little jerky, eyes once more becoming watery, but Steve doesn’t say anything. He only slides a comforting hand down Eddie’s hair again; Eddie takes the chance this time to nuzzle into his palm. Enjoying the warmth and care in his touch.

Steve chuckles, “You’re like a cat.”

“Meow,” Eddie drawls dryly even as he pushes his head demandingly into Steve’s palm.

Steve’s smile sobers slightly. “And the thing about Randy: I’m sorry. It’s none of my business who you decide to be with.” A flash of something dark and strained passes through his eyes, “And even though I said it really terribly, I did mean it in the end. You deserve to be able to just hang out with your boyfriend or bring him around to Wayne. Now that I’m spending more time out of the house, we could organise something.” He grimaces, “But, uh, maybe not in the bed we share. I know it’s an all-around weird situation, but just not that.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes tight, burying his face in Steve’s chest. This again.

“Steve,” he groans. “Steve-o. Sugar. Babycakes. I don’t have a boyfriend.” He can almost hear Steve’s mouth open. “Nor,” he quickly adds before the idiot can stick his foot further in it, “Do I want to go out with Randy Mullins. He is not who I like.”

Under him, Steve’s chest expands and retracts in a quick, faltering breath. “Who do you like, then?”

Eddie sighs tiredly, between working up the bravery to come out and spending a good portion of the past half hour crying in Steve’s arms, he’s exhausted. He’s not sure he has the emotional bandwidth to discuss his desire for the man whose arms remain wrapped around him.

Still, taking his courage in hand and running towards something had felt pretty damn liberating. He can do one more small thing, Eddie decides. One skip of that smooth, white stone that he has honed and crafted tonight. Eddie looks up, meeting Steve’s eyes head-on and trying to reach through to him, “Not Randy Mullins.”

Steve’s eyes flicker and he swallows. His mouth opens and shuts for a moment before he nods, a stuttered thing. “Okay,” he says shakily.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, praying that this is one thing that won’t be misunderstood.

“Okay,” Steve smiles, eyes crinkling.

A yawn overtakes Eddie. He tries to press it into Steve’s chest but he’s pretty sure that he just made the least attractive face to the boy he sort of confessed to just now. Steve’s smile deepens and he gently extracts Eddie, turning him to face the window and scooting behind him. Curled around like lovers, though still a respectful distance between them.

“This okay?” Steve breathes into his neck.

The lids of his eyes closing heavily, Eddie hears the breaking rain patter softly against the trailer walls. “Perfect,” he murmurs before falling heavily into a welcoming darkness.

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[diamondsinureyes]

Dazzlin Di's Creature Feature

10.3.23|Resurrection|"Eyes Always Seeking" Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Steve waits until summer, nearly a month after the memorial service.

He waits until there's news of a thunderstorm's rolling in.

That’s how he wanted to remember Eddie—wild and unpredictable like a summer storm, like lightning. (And some small part of him figured that if he got hit, then it would be if no consequence either.)

He goes to the woods, takes the barely visible trail that picks up near the old cottage he fixed up weeks ago. It leads to a grove full of wildflowers. The trees block out most of the sunlight, and the storm clouds rolling in quickly overtake what's left.

Under a darkened sky, Steve digs with his bare hands, His nails tear at the moist soil, ripping up roots and grass made looser by the rain that comes down in sheets. Finally, he stands and lightning arcs overhead, revealing the hole he carved into the ground.

He unwrapped the stained vest from its grocery bag. He kept it, of course. It had to be peeled off of him when they finally made it back to the real Hawkins and Steve tossed it in the back of his closet, still crusted with both of their blood. But he never forgot it. Swore he would never forget any of it. Now he places it reverently in the earth. Slowly rises to stand over it, using his body to shield the worst of the rain.

Then he stays.

It felt like an eternity, staring down at the vest, slowly watching it become saturated from the rainwater dripping from his hair and face. There were tears at some point, and words of farewell, unvoiced promises and wishes of what could have been. 

When the rain eased and left only a darkened sky, Steve shoved the soupy dirt and grass back into place, patting it down as best as he could before heading home.

He trudged back home in a daze, emotionally wrung out and weary by the time he makes it to Robin's doorstep. He knocks, and only has a moment to panic, to pray that she's home, before Robin opens the door and shrieks at the sight of him.

A hasty hot shower and a clothing change isn't enough to stave off the nasty head cold Steve earned by being a "dingus in the middle of a storm!!!" He refused to say where'd he'd been, or what he'd done too fever ridden to say much of anything.

Every night he dreamt in visions--of red skies and vines, of guitars and walls covered in posters, of fingers adorned with wrings and a smile hidden behind a curly lock of hair.

When the delirium breaks, the relief comes and settles over him. But another night of the vision like dreams--ones he can remember now--is enough to bring the regret rolling back in. He wakes up with the sound of a voice calling for him still ringing in his ears. Pleading for him to come.

Steve has to go back.

~~~~

It takes him almost two weeks to return to the forest. He heads straight towards the grove, ignoring the path in favor of tearing through the trees until he's stumbling onto a field of flowers bathed in the last rays of the setting sun. It's just as beautiful as he remembered, but there is a large hole in the center of the field. Steve moves closer and recalls kneeling in the same spot during his stormy vigil. The hole goes deep. Deeper than the one he dug. Too deep to be dug out by human hands alone. Steve turns and sees a trail of dirt leading towards the overgrown path. He follows it as if in a trance back to the cottage.

The realization that someone is inside comes more like an afterthought. It's almost like Steve's holding his breath, only for it all to be stolen away at the sight of the figure sitting on the dirty floor.

"Eddie?!"

The person turns, flinging a head of stringy, muddy curls to reveal a painfully familiar face. He smiles at Steve instantly even as his brows crinkle in confusion.

~~~~

Once Steve's recovered enough to ask the right questions, he realizes that it's not Eddie--or at least, not the Eddie they lost in the Upside down. This person is a blank slate, he doesn't remember anything. Responds to his name with delighted confusion and that's--Steve can't do this. But he thinks of bring him back, of bringing him around the kids and watching their faces fall when he doesn't recognize them and--

Steve decides to call him Eds. It makes things a bit easier.

Eds has been there since the morning, and had managed to eat what few snacks Steve had left in the cabinets.

Steve is terrified to leave, but he has to go home. Steve waits until Eds falls asleep and he's nearly dead on his feet to leave. He makes Eds promise through yawns that he will be there when Steve comes back.

It's near dawn when Steve gets home and he stays long enough to stop by the store before going back. Eds greets him with a smile and a growling stomach. Steve figures out the old-fashioned stove and manage to make them a half decent breakfast.

~~~~

There's a slowly unraveling mystery around Eds and Steve relishes in every new discovery. He does most things on a kind of autopilot. Instinctively knows to seek food when he's hungry, to seek out the shower when he wants to be clean, to find Steve when he has questions.

And he has so many questions. About Steve, and the "Eddie" Steve sometimes slips up and calls him. About the books Steve starts bringing to keep Eds entertained when he's alone. And about things Steve feels wholly unprepared to answer.

“Steve?” Eds asks him one day after a feast of box mac and cheese. “What were you looking for that night?”

He doesn't clarify which night and Steve doesn't need him to. He honestly surprised that first night hadn’t come up sooner. “I…I can’t answer that Eds, I-I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like…me asking where you came from.” Seve didn’t dare ask, afraid that knowing would mean Eds leaving or shatter the dream work he’s been living in.

“Oh…” Eddie blinks, shocked as if he never considered such a question. “Do you want to know?”

“I- “Steve hesitates. “It’s enough knowing that you’re real. That this isn’t all just in my head.”

“But…how do you know? What is real?”

Steve had been asking himself that since 1983 and he still doesn’t have a straight answer. But Eds is looking at him earnestly, as if Steve alone holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Um, well I guess there are certain things only real people could do. Like…eat food, and open doors…real people touch, laugh, cry. I mean I can feel you and I coul-wouldn’t be able to if you weren’t real.”

Steve shrugs helplessly, unsure how to explain further. Eds has a knack for asking the questions Steve never thought of. Even now, he’s frowning at his hands, fidgeting with the ring on his thumb as he thinks. 

Steve goes back to cleaning, leaving Eds with his thoughts in favor of rinsing the dishes from earlier. 

“Is love real?”

“What?” Steve nearly drops the plate in his hand from shock. Where did that come from?

“In-“ Eds stops, considers the words a moment longer, starts again. “In the books you had, it described this thing…this love. But they never said what what it looked liked. Or what it ate. Or how to touch it. Does that mean it’s not real?”

“No, that’s-I mean it’s-“ Steve flounders, but Eds is busy studying his fingers to notice. 

“Love is… a feeling. Feelings are things you show. You prove they’re real by doing things that makes you feel them.”

“Like what?” Eds turns his curious eyes back to Steve.

“Like-“ Steve panics, tries to remember to his string of hookups and semi steady relationships. He thinks of Robin first. “Like spending a lot of time together and…um,” 

Steve remembers Nancy, the time they spent together after Barb. “Or hugging and comforting—making them feel better when they’re sad. Or saying the words ‘I love you’” Steve flinches at the reminder and adds a mumbled “if you mean them. 

“Like…kissing?” Eds suggests and Steve thinks of Tommy and Carol sucking face in the halls between classes

“Sure, like kissing. That can show love too.”

~~~~~

There are moments, Steve notes, where Eds seems to go deeper into autopilot. As if his body remembers what his brain doesn't. Eds gravitates towards those Tolkien books Mike and Dustin mentioned at the memorial. And sometimes he'll snark at Steve in response to a less than profound answer to one of his questions, or hide a smile behind a lock of hair And Steve will have to do a double take, stop himself from calling him "Munson" instead. Has to remember what he lost.

And there are other moments where an Eddie phrase would come out unprompted, or he hides a smile behind his hair. As if Eds body remembers what his mind doesn't. Those moments hurt the most, Steve decides, when he's reminded that even now he's in mourning.

He knows the kids are still concerned. Knows Robin is ready to handcuff herself to him again to make sure he doesn't do something to get himself killed. Steve's been spending more nights at the cottage. Finds it easier to sleep there in his empty house. He knows the only reason they don't question his frequent "camping trips" more is because of how peaceful Steve feels after spending time with Eds.

But Eds presence doesn't stop the hurt, doesn't stop the nightmares fully. They still manage to sneak up on him, shaking him apart and leaving him to pick up the pieces during his waking moments.

One night, Steve finds himself reliving that fateful trip to the upside down. He dreams of holding Eddie and Dustin in his arms and watching them slowly fade away while being helpless to stop it.

When he wakes with a cry, Eds hovers over him, his face twisted in a frown. "You were crying in your sleep. Are you okay?"

Steve tries to focus on his face, but groggy and reeling from the remnants of the nightmare, all he can do is ask in a hoarse whisper "Are you real?"

Eds looks stricken by the question. he whispers back, "I...don't know."

Steve's face crumples and the tears come freely. He can't stop, even as Eds looks more and more panicked.

Suddenly a soft pair of lips are being pressed to his and Steve freezes. Eds has his face scrunched up with effort and his eyes closed, but his lips are gentle, almost bashful against Steve’s. He smells like the rain and he tastes earthy.

Steve groans into it, pulling Eds closer and pulling a soft gasp from his lips. He kisses him again relishing in the sensation before reality catches up to him and he releases Eds. They’re both panting and staring into the others eyes.

"Wha-what are you doing?" Steve finally asks.

"Kissing? Like real people do, right? I-I touch and I taste and I feel love so…so I must be real right? You don’t have to be sad, Steve. I’m here, I’m real."

Steve lets himself be wrapped in Ed’s’ arms, and buries his face in the other boy’s chest. He shakes with sobs and Eds continues to whisper his reassurances until they both drift off to sleep.

~~~~

It ends how it began, with thunder brewing in the clouds and change coming on the horizon.

Like before, Steve feels drawn to the forest. Eds is gone when Steve checks the house. He immediately knows to go to the clearing, something primal and otherworldly practically calling him there. 

Before Steve breaks through the trees, he spots someone standing among the flowers. He takes a deep breath before stepping into the clearing. It is as if the air is charged inside the circle, and the storm clouds part to illuminate the grove.

Leaning down, brushing ringed fingers against the worn vest is Eddie Munson in all his glory. His leather jacket is still intact, his black bandana tucked in his back pocket, and his Hellfire shirt still white and artfully shredded. 

Steve can’t breathe. He just stares helplessly, knowing without a doubt that this is Eddie.  The real Eddie.

Still...

"E-Eds?" 

"Aw cmon Big Boy, you don’t recognize me?" The cadence, the way his hips pops out when he pouts dramatically--its all Eddie.

And Steve is running. He’s running and crying and then he’s being held in strong wiry arms. The kind of strength you build up from lugging amps and band equipment across town three times a week. 

"Eddie."

"Hiya Stevie. Miss me?"

There's no way Steve can answer that question without falling apart, so he just hugs Eddie even tighter. He thinks of the kids, thinks of the kiss, think of the future that now seems so open with him here.

Then Steve looks up just as lightning flashes overhead and for a moment's he's clinging to Eds who looks down at him with that familiar bemused smile. 

The realization comes quickly. That this isn't a reunion.

Eds told him once before, when Steve arrived to find him missing from the cottage, that he wouldn't leave Steve without saying goodbye.

"No...Don't do this." Steve whispers, blinking the lightning out of his eyes.

When the thunder comes, Eddie smiles sadly back at him.

Steve feels devastated. "Was any of this real?" He finally asks, finally voices the fear that's haunted him since Eds first appeared.

Instead of responding, Eddie pulls him into a kiss. Steve closes his eyes, tries to memorize the feeling, the smell, the sounds. Tries to ground the moment in reality as best as he can. The Eddie pulls away to rest their foreheads together.

Steve touches his lips, feels how they tingle with residual energy.

"Real people?" He asks, hoping to see that smile again.

"Real people" Eds confirms, flickering back into view.

Another arc of blinding light comes and Steve closes his eyes against it. It seems directly overhead. Steve smells sulfur and tastes metal. The thunder comes instantly, making the ground tremble beneath him.

When Steve opens his eyes Steve is alone, standing in a sunny grove surrounded by blooming tulips and lilies —all white as snow.

[thedoctorisinlove]

eddie munson ; dating you headcanons

genre : fluff & slightly suggestive (small mention of making out)

pairing : eddie munson x gender neutral reader

disclaimer : mentions of drugs, small mention of making out

⋆ dating the eddie munson is an adventure of all sorts. one day you'll be perched up on his bed and the next, you'll be having picnic dates in the middle of literal nowhere.

⋆ he loves taking you to this hill up on a field, its' greenery stretching miles and miles away. he just loves laying on your lap and feeling the breeze hit him, with his most favorite person right by him.

⋆ he's totally the type to show you every place he loves or think you'll find intriguing. he wants to awe and impress you, it feeds his ego hearing your quiet gasp whenever he shows you something you'd like or the look of enjoyment planted on your face.

⋆ most of the times however, your dates will be set in the woods or inside of his trailer.

⋆ you thought he was crazy randomly wanting to hike in the woods with no trail, but really he was showing you the place where he just sits down and relax. he'd totally would carve your guys' initials on a tree.

⋆ a random headcanon, but if you're attempt to balance and walk on a log, he'll be the type to hold your hand like a crab like in those movies. his hold on you is delicate (like always), guiding you to the end of the log. if you jump off the log, he'll catch you by your waist and pull you in towards him. that, or he'll just straight up just have his back ready before you jump off and walk the rest of the way with you piggy back style.

⋆ he won't ever pressure you in doing drugs, neither is he having you involved with his drug business. he refuses to do any drugs around you.

⋆ when you're over at his house, he just really wants to have an easy, relaxing day with you. whether it be just you laying on his chest and staying in that position for hours. his heart will constantly be beating out of his chest whenever he looks down and see you looking back up at him. it's the time he's most at peace so he just wants to savor the time he has with you.

⋆ he loves cuddles in general, but with you? god is he obsessed. just having you locked on his arms tightly, his nose buried somewhere on your body, inhaling and savoring your smell. your smell comforts him and (as cringy as this sounds) is the definition of "home".

⋆ the type to play footsies with you. if you're laying on your stomach reading a book or anything in general, he loves to just annoy you by hitting your foot and then it starts becoming a back and forth between you two. he also just loves licking your face for no reason, like those puppy licks. quick and full of playfulness. he just loves having your attention on him and annoying you.

⋆ if you're in a whiny mood, he'll carry you around his trailer (bridal style) and plant multiple kisses on your forehead once your temper is wearing off while ranting words of praises.

⋆ if you play with his hair, dear lord is he going to go insane. whether it be whenever you both are laying on each other sides or chests or kissing (especially making out and you're needily grabbing onto his hair he'll give you the most lowest whimper ever), he's a goner for you.

⋆ one of his favorite times with you are friday movie nights. watching friday the 13th, the exorcist freddy kreuger, the shining, basically all of the 80s horror movie classics you name it. he loves keeping a tight hold on you, holding you close to him. if you easily get squeamish with horror movies, he'll laugh lightly. not of you, but just how easily you get scared. he'll plant small kisses on you and tightening his hold on you if he notices you're genuinely shaken.

⋆ he loves it whenever you apply blush onto his tattoos or coloring his tattoos with your eyeshadow or markers. that, or feeling your fingers trace itself on his skin.

⋆ if you ever request him a song on his guitar, he'll always comply to your request. going tryhard to impress you. if you get interested in wanting to learn how to play a guitar, he'll have you perched onto his lap and guiding your fingers to each chord. he knows that doing this actually doesn't help you learn and is actually more of an excuse for him to touch you.

⋆ please go to this man's concerts, he loves just having your moral support and seeing you in the crowd just motivates him more! give him a kiss before the show too, he's going to get a massive ego boost. sometimes however, he gets carried away if you're present at his concerts. and then every time after the concert, his band members will be like "dude what the hell? that wasn't your solo." but he's already occupied, not listening and giving a dam about anything except your lips on his.

⋆ he always has a protective, firm grip on you. whenever you both go out in public, always expect his hand securely wrapped around his. you sitting down? he'll be right behind you, his hands on your shoulders. maybe giving you a small massage that's hardly noticeable. he's feeling extra jealous when you're talking to other people? his hand instantly finding its' way on your waist.

⋆ eddie loves having his ego fed, so you smiling or laughing or any positive interaction that comes out of you because of his actions. lord, his head is now fucking big and a bright smile welcomes itself to you. he loves being the reason why you smile and laugh, and let's be honest, he just loves the way your face crinkles up into a smile or your beautiful laugh that rings constantly in his ear.

⋆ kisses with eddie are as if words of affirmation was a kiss. it's slow but you can feel his own admiration towards you as it literally radiates off of his lips. however, kisses with eddie can also be quick and mind boggling like when you both pull out, you'll just be starstruck like "holy shit that fucking just happened". his kiss is messy but full of passionate neediness for you.

⋆ if you're initiating a kiss, please reach up and wrap your hands around his shoulder. if you're short, he'll go crazy if you stand on your tippy toes just to reach his height. if you're taller than him and have to lean down to be eye level with him, he'll equally go crazy.

⋆ dating eddie will be the best decision of your entire life ever. he'll treat you like royalty while also having fun and joking around with the person he loves in the entire world. he won't ever break your heart so please don't break his either.

[myveryownfanfiction]

I laughed as Ben drunkenly swayed in place. He looked at the award in his hand and the pieces that were laying on the floor. I was fairly sober but at this point anyone was more sober than Ben. He looked up at me and shook his head as his laugh joined mine. 

“I’ll fix it later.” He picked up the pieces and tossed them onto his desk. He turned back to me and leaned on me when he reached me. “Come here beautiful.” I giggled as he wrapped his arms around my waist. 

“I’m proud of you Ben.” I whispered as I ran my fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and hummed. 

“Remember when I used to be fat?” He asked suddenly. I raised an eyebrow. “No. Not just fat but a regular butterball. Bet your fern I was.” He looked over my head just as suddenly, scaring me slightly. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “You remember we used to say that as kids? You bet your fern. But I was F-A-T.” I shook my head at Ben. 

“Why this nostalgia trip?” I asked as I pulled him closer. Ben shook his head. 

“I’m not quite sure. It just popped in there.” He pulled me into a kiss, effectively stopping all conversation on the matter. The phone ringing pulled us out of our repreve. “I hear bells.” Ben joked. “I’ll be right back.” I laughed and sat down on the bed, taking off my shoes. I could hear snippets of Ben’s conversation on the phone. Smiling to myself, I got up and leaned in the doorway of the room. Ben looked over at me and my smile fell. Fear was written all over his face. “We’ll come.” He hung up the phone and made his way back over to me. “IT’s back.” I would have fallen if it wasn’t for Ben’s quick reflexes. He sat me back on the bed before going and getting us drinks. 

“Are you ok?” I asked. Ben focused on pouring the drinks. 

“I don’t think I am sweetheart.” He took a drink before bringing me mine. “Not tonight. Not at all.” I took a sip of my drink before running my finger around the rim several times. “What about you?” Fear had dissipated some and concern was slowly taking its place. I let out a dry laugh.

“Knowing that damn clown is back in Derry?” I shook my head. “I’m with you Haystack. Not tonight. Not at all.” Ben wrapped his free arm around my shoulder and gently pulled me into his embrace. Once we had calmed down a little bit, Ben and I went for a drive to his latest construction site and we went up to the roof. Ben had brought the bottle with him and I watched him carefully as he swayed close to the edge. I was about to reach out and grab the back of his pants when he wrapped his arm around a piece of machinery to keep himself upright. I joined him and wrapped my arms around his waist. We looked out at the city and got stuck in our own flood of memories. Memories I didn’t want to remember and memories I wasn’t even sure I had forgotten to begin with. A smile made its way onto my face as the day I met Ben came flooding back with force. 

“You going to stand there all day?” I asked the boy that was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He jumped with a start and turned around. “School’s out you know.” He nodded and moved to the side to stand next to me. Two girls pushed between us and I made a face at their backs. The boy laughed and looked me in the eyes for the first time. “Well.” I stalled before looking over to see my dad standing next to our car. He looked bored. “So long Ben Hanscom. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” I smiled at him and waved as I jogged over to my dad. I got in the car and watched Ben wave back before turning back the way he was going originally. 

“Who was that?” My dad asked as he looked at me in the rearview mirror. 

“Ben Hanscom. He just started school here today.” I answered before starting the reading that was assigned for class. We had been driving for a while before I looked up at the noise my dad had made. 

“Look at that Henry Bowers. Cutting up some poor kid again.” My dad slowed down enough to take a look at what was happening next to the bridge. “Someone’s going to call the cops on him one of these days.” 

“STOP!” I cried and fumbled with the door handle. I was out of the car before my dad had completely stopped the car. “HENRY BOWERS YOU LITTLE SHIT! LEAVE HIM ALONE!” I ran at Bowers, causing him to turn towards me. 

“Look what we have here! Little Miss./Mr. (Y/N). Come for yours?” Bowers laughed. I stopped just short of Bowers, nostrils flared and hands balled into fists. 

“You leave Ben alone Bowers.” I growled. “I beat you once. I’ll do it again.” Bowers quickly looked at his cronies before flicking open his knife. “That doesn’t scare me.” 

“But this scares the crap out of him.” Bowers lifted Ben’s shirt and went to carve his name in Ben’s stomach. I locked eyes with Ben and he nodded at me. I moved behind Bowers and Ben lifted up to kick Bowers back into me. I locked my arms around Bowers’ arms and threw him back. His knife went flying to the ground as Ben went over the fence. I grabbed the knife and ran to the fence to watch Ben.

“BEN!” I cried as I climbed over the fence and started down after him. 

“(Y/N)!” I could hear my dad from behind me. I turned to him and gestured for him to go after Bowers or get someone to help. He nodded as I went down after Ben. I found him and helped him up.

“Did you get the knife?” Ben asked out of breath. I nodded and showed him. We took off through the Barrens before hiding from Bowers. “Thank you.” 

“No problem. You’re lucky we took this route home today.” Ben nodded and I looked out hesitantly for Bowers and his gang. I watched as Eddie and Bill got the short end of the stick from Bowers before gesturing for Ben to follow me over to the other boys. “Come on. I’m going to introduce you to a couple of my friends.” I slipped my hand into Ben’s and led him over to where Eddie and Bill were standing.

“Let’s go to Derry.” Ben said finally as he turned back towards me. I nodded and followed him back down to his car. Everything moved in a blur. Before I knew it, I was sitting in a taxi driving parallel with the Barrens. Ben and I looked at each other before recognizing the bridge where Bowers had cornered him. “Pull over here will ya?” Ben asked the driver. We pulled up to the curb and we got out. “Wait for us.” I followed Ben down into the Barrens. “Doesn’t look like it changed in 27 years.” He squatted down by the river. 

“I was half expecting Eddie and Bill to be down here if I’m being honest.” I said as I squatted next to him. Ben looked at me and nodded. 

“Or Henry Bowers.” He put a hand on my arm to help keep me steady. Some kids running down a hill caught our attention and we watched, memories of when Ben and I had run from Bowers running back into my mind. I ventured a look at Ben and watched as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. I put my hand on his knee and squeezed gently. He looked back up and took my hand. I continued watching the kids while Ben stood up and walked off. I glanced over at him and knew that this was his personal moment of being back in Derry. The one that Pennywise would ruin. Mine had come when we had gone over the state lines. 

‘Leaving Derry’ stood in stark contrast to the green trees. I squeezed Ben’s hand and laughed as we sped out of the town. 

“Goodbye Derry! Hope I never have to smell you again!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Ben laughed and pulled me closer. 

“I thought it was Richie with the one-liners.” He joked. I shook my head as the laughter kept coming. 

“He’s not the only one.” I leaned over and kissed Ben’s cheek. “Besides, we’re finally outta this dump.” Ben nodded and looked over at me with the biggest smile I had ever seen on his face. He floored the car and the wind whipped through my hair. I looked back to make sure that the top of the car was properly latched and stood up in the car. Ben held onto the back of my pants as I screamed with joy. “FUCK YOU DERRY! I AIN’T EVER COMING BACK TO THIS ASSHAT TOWN!” I plopped back down in my seat as Ben tore out of town. 

When I had come out of the memory, I had seen Pennywise sitting on the ‘Welcome to Derry’ sign. He had waved and I had ignored him. I was always good at that. Everyone else was seriously affected by him but for whatever reason I wasn’t. I looked up in surprise as Ben came back. He had a haunted look on his face and we both snapped to attention as the kids ran past. I put a hand on Ben’s arm and squeezed. 

“I’m going to head back to the car.” I said. Ben nodded before taking my hand and kissing the knuckles. “Too many memories too fast too soon.” I joked as I started back up the slope. I opened the car door and got in.

“Reliving your childhood down there?” The driver asked as we waited for Ben. I looked out the window towards the Barrens. 

“Something like that.” I muttered as I watched Ben round the taxi to get back in. He got back in and I quickly took his hand. The driver started back down the road. I leaned my head on Ben’s shoulder. “You look shaken. Everything alright?” He shook his head and leaned his head on top of mine. 

“I’ll tell you later.” He said. I nodded before Ben sat up and moved forward. “Are you seeing that?” I followed his gaze and let out a small gasp. Pennywise stood there with a balloon waving at us as we passed him. Ben and I turned to watch him as the taxi passed him. Turning back around, I nearly screamed before Ben’s hand came down on my thigh to silence me. A yellow balloon was in the car with us and as it slowly turned, we saw it said ‘Turn Back Now’. 

“Ben.” I let out shakily. He nodded as he rolled down the window and gently ushered the balloon outside where it bounced down the road. 

“I know (Y/N). I know.” He rolled the window back up and gathered me into his arms. He pressed a kiss to my head and I gripped his shirt. “I won’t let him get you. You can bet your fern.” Another kiss was pressed to my head, making me smile. “I promise.”

“I promise too Ben.” I said before kissing his cheek and settling back against his chest.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Doors in the Woods

For Kidgemas 2020. December 28 is labeled as a Free Day, so I chose to write an AU where Pidge and Keith are keyblade masters.

Summary: Kingdom Hearts AU. Keith has a surprise for Pidge on one of the many world's he has visited.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

❄ - ❄ - ❄ - ❄ 

Pidge stumbled a little as she and Keith appeared on solid ground in a shimmer of pale green light. She quickly reoriented herself and began to look around in confusion. Keith hadn't told her where they were going or what they were doing, only that he had a surprise that he wanted to show her, but Pidge wasn't seeing how a dark forest full of trees without leaves was the makings of a good surprise.

“Uh, Keith?” she questioned, turning to face him.

And promptly stopped to try and comprehend the sight before her.

It was undoubtedly Keith, but his appearance had completely changed. His skin was a shade of light purple and there were twin triangular stripes in a darker shade rising up from the bottom of his jaw. His hair was fluffed up and a pair of purple, cat-like ears stuck out from it. Even his clothing was different, with the red and yellow on his jacket turned to shades of gray.

Keith caught her eyes (his were glowing or at least they appeared to be) and grinned. “That's a good look on you.”

Pidge looked down at herself and gasped in surprise when she found that her clothes had also been leeched of their color and were also in shades of gray and black. In addition to that, the bottom hem of her pants was no longer straight and was instead deep triangular cuts. Her sweater was a little longer as well, fitting almost like a short dress, and the sleeves billowed out slightly at her wrists. She felt the top of her head and found, not cat-like ears, but a traditional witches hat.

“What is this?” she asked, completely mystified.

“Part of the Gummi Ship's magic. It helps us blend in with some of the worlds we visit and, you know, preserve the world order and all of that,” Keith waved his hands dismissively, his tone one of someone repeating something said to him many times before. “This is Halloween Town.”

“Halloween Town,” Pidge repeated as she took another look around. “Fascinating. So, why are we here?”

Keith grinned at her. “That's part of the surprise. C'mon, we're going this way.” He gestured deeper into the woods.

If not for the fact that she trusted him with all of her heart, Pidge would have fled to the Gummi Ship and back to their home in the Land of Departure, probably stranding Keith there in the process. And so, despite her misgivings about striding into a dark, possibly haunted forest, she followed Keith along a well-worn path and kept a sharp eye out for anything lying in wait to attack.

Eventually the path opened up into a barren field. Several large trees had various things painted on their trunks. Pidge counted seven of them – a heart, a four-leaf clover, a painted egg, some sort of red box with gold stars on it, a bird with massive tail feathers, a pumpkin with a face carved into it, and, on the farthest end of the clearing, an evergreen decorated with round baubles.

There was a part of Pidge that wanted to stop and investigate every single one, but Keith continue on up to the tree, where he stopped and waited for her to catch up.

“This world is more unusual than most,” Keith told her. “Not just because our appearance changes to match the people who live here, but also because of these doors.”

“They're doors?!” Pidge asked incredulously. She peered a little closer at the tree and that was when she spotted it – one of the side baubles protruded out just like a doorknob.

Keith nodded. “I don't know how it's possible, but each of these doors leads to another world. They're all connected and from what I can tell, each of the worlds has a place like this. I haven't visited any of the others since they seemed to all be locked up tight, but this one was open the first time I came here.”

“So, this is the door we're going through?” Pidge asked.

Keith grasped the doorknob and twisted, slowly pulling open the tree-shaped door to reveal a dark tunnel leading down into the ground.

Pidge leaned forward and peered into the tunnel, but saw nothing but inky darkness waiting for her. “Is... is it safe?”

“Completely,” Keith assured her. “But I could go first, if you'd like.”

Pidge considered his offer and then shook her head. “No, I can do this. I have to be a little more adventurous if I want to prove myself as a Keyblade Master, right? If you say it's safe, then I trust you.”

Keith smiled and offered her his hand, which she took before stepping up onto the bottom of the door. Pidge breathed in deep and then jumped in.

She felt the air whip past her, racing up under her clothing and threatening to knock away her hat, and she almost screamed in fright. Light appeared beneath her, drawing closer and closer, and for a heart-stopping moment Pidge thought for sure that she was about to collide with the ground, but instead everything shifted around her and suddenly the light was above her and she was floating up to an open door and being gently deposited outside of it.

Her jaw dropped as her boots touched down in the snow.

It was everywhere.

Covering the ground! The trees! The fence-posts! Everything covered in a fine layer of snow and frost, like something out of a scenic painting. Even one of the waypoints created by the Gummi Ship was effected by the snow, creating tiny eddies of flurries as the magic spun around.

Keith exited the doorway behind her and rested one hand on her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Keith, it's beautiful,” she gushed. “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

There was a smile on Keith's lips as he watched her skip out into the snow, clearly enjoying herself. “You're welcome, Pidge.”

[chrysalispen]

EPILOGUE. of truths sunk too deep for war

it’s done. now i take some time to finish some one-shots and plot out the next arc (which will take us through ARR, possibly to 2.55, though i am pondering making the CT raids its own separate multichapter fic because it’s so much on its own...) anyway, thank you all for reading ;A; i hope you enjoyed it and i look forward to starting on the next part! 

... though i think... maybe not today LMAO i need some sleep

AO3 Link HERE

================================================

(||Feel||))

Aurelia sank into darkness so deep and vast that time had no meaning. It might have been minutes, hours, days of wandering aimlessly, set adrift in a fathomless ocean stretching malms past any known horizon.

And as she drifted, she dreamt.

Snatches of memory caught at her mind’s eye like errant flotsam curling in eddies about her soul.

She saw herself at a dying man’s bedside, a Roegadyn woman weeping inconsolably while watching her kiss him goodbye, unable to save him.

She saw the parting of clouds as black as pitch as Dalamud descended over the fields of Carteneau, a terrible secret still locked within its flaming belly.

She saw her adolescent self curled upon the carpeted steps of a cold marble staircase in the middle of one of Garlemald's eponymous blizzards: shivering beneath a coverlet she'd dragged from the bed hastily made for her, trying to weep as quietly as she could while her new guardians fought over what they felt should become of her.

She watched broken shards plummet to the earth from the heavens, bathed in brilliant fire. An impression of white and gold, sobbing both in rage and in heartbroken agony. Tears seeped into the fabric wrapped about her fading form like rainwater into soil.

(don’t cry. don’t cry, I’ll save you---)

The trail of fire twisted this way and that before it faded into the background of an intricate vine pattern she recognized. Green brocade wallpaper imported from Thavnair. This was a memory from her early childhood.

Aurelia stood silent in her parents’ bedchamber as if she were a neutral onlooker rather than reliving her own memory. L'haiya’s strong hands were braced firmly upon the shoulders of her younger self, expression flat and stoic and sunset-colored eyes dark with grief. They fell upon the dying woman who lay in the bed: a great four-poster carved from Eorzean mahogany.

The figure weeping over that wasted frame, clinging to a pale and withered hand, was likewise one she knew. Julian rem Laskaris, begging his wife not to die and leave him alone. Promising he’d save her if only she’d try to stay with him a little longer.

If only.

If only-

As soon as she thought about her mother the scene was gone entirely. She was, instead, lying in the grass in the middle of a garden she recognized by scent if not sight. Sunlit warmth spread like a gentle embrace over her skin and into her bones, and dappled patterns like leaves rustling in a breeze beneath the summer sun cast their soft furred impressions behind her eyelids.

A burbling noise caught her ears and she listened for a few confused moments before she realized what it was. The fountain, she thought. Of course, that sound was the little fountain with the Doman koi in it. Father had had it installed in the garden as a conversation piece for visiting officers. It sat among the beds of lavender Elle had helped her plant when they’d pulled out the weeds. Althyk lavender, a rare variety and the only kind that would grow in a place as arid as--

Gyr Abania.

Something high and yearning rose in her. Home. She was home.

A cool, dry breeze fluttered in small wisps through golden forelocks that had escaped their confines. Wrapped snugly in her favorite grass-green pelisse, feet bare beneath her muslins, Aurelia sighed. Her fingers flexed, curled into a handful of soft ryegrass, and as she opened her eyes she saw overhead the strangely shaped leaves and heavy twined branches of a persimmon tree. Nearby was the old zelkova that framed the artfully arched parlor windows that faced the Menagerie promenade.

She was propped head and shoulders in someone’s lap. She could feel slim fingers carding gently through her hair and she could smell jasmine and tea rose, a mild and gentle lady’s sachet.

Her breath caught in her throat. That was a scent she knew.

When she opened her eyes to look upon her companion, the face smiling back was not L’haiya’s. She took in a wealth of long auburn curls, soft brows and fair skin, the delicate pearlescent oval in the center of the forehead that marked the woman as a pureblooded Garlean. Dark blue eyes, the exact same shade she saw every time she looked in a mirror.

Aurelia only barely remembered this face. She had been so young, and so many long years had passed that it was one she could now recall with true clarity only from paintings and daguerreotypes. But she knew it well enough to speak a name.

“Mama?”

The word was spoken in a voice that sounded hoarse, almost rusty, as though it had languished from long years of disuse. Vittora cen Remianus only smiled, tracing a small path from her daughter’s hairline to the upper rim of her third eye with the edge of her thumb.

“Hello, sunshine,” her mother said. “It’s been a very long time.”

Why are you here?

Misgiving swept over her in a small flood. Her mother had never seen their house in Ala Mhigo. After Vittora’s passing, there had been a small memorial in which her ashes had been spread over the Estersands. That was several months before Aurelia’s father had put in his transfer request to the XIVth Legion.

She certainly shouldn’t be in their garden.

...Where am I?

Aurelia had to know. “Am... I’m not dead, am I?”

“No, of course not.” Vittora was still smiling, but it had taken on a pensive cast, and she seemed to be looking at something Aurelia could not see. “Not dead. You’re just very deeply asleep. Come and see for yourself.”

Her limbs seemed to weigh several tonzes apiece; merely bracing her elbows against the grass felt like a heroic effort, but after a great deal of strain she managed it well enough to sit up.

She followed her mother’s gaze and her eyes went wide.

The boundaries of the garden she remembered began to fragment at the edge of the fountain, in segments of empty space that were uncannily symmetrical. A few years ago during one of her summer lectures, Aurelia had had the opportunity to watch students at the Imperial Magitek Academy researching Allagan tomestones from excavations further afield. She remembered the same sense of unease at the sight of a screen showing the compilation process.

It had looked very much the same as this. Empty blocks where the tomestone data was corrupted or truncated. Or missing.

Beyond the garden lay… nothing, as far as the eye could see. Shimmering lines of aether lapped at the edges of this facsimile, borders receding and advancing in turns like waves upon an ocean shore moving with a great and ancient tide beyond her understanding.

“Where is this?” she asked, in a small voice.

“A place that you will not see for, I hope, many more years to come.” A pale, slender hand folded over Aurelia’s, and a mote of light caught Vittora’s wedding band as she squeezed. For the first moment since she had laid eyes upon her, Aurelia realized how weightless her mother’s touch felt. Indistinct. “Our souls return here at the end of our mortal coil. They are drawn to the Lifestream and swept away on its currents.”

The edges of the mirage garden trembled with Aurelia’s agitation. She bit her lip.

“Then why did you bring me here?”

“Me?” Her mother seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh, sunshine. I didn’t bring you here. You brought yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Most mortals will never see the aetherial sea while they live. A small number may take to its currents only by way of forbidden magicks, and not without considerable peril to body and soul.”

A chill ran down her spine. With an abrupt swish of her skirts, she regained her feet and reached the edge of the tableaux in three long strides. At the lip of the fountain, she held her fingers beneath the running water.

There was no pressure and neither warmth nor chill. Her hand came away just as dry as it had been before.

“But you are different from most,” her mother continued. “Your soul may travel here and can even resist the Lifestream’s call for a time. Because of your gift.”

((Hear. Feel. Think.))

“My gift,” Aurelia echoed. “Is that- do you mean the conjury?”

“Yes and no, although this selfsame gift does allow you to harness and manipulate aether. You should not be able to do that, either. And yet here you are.”

“But why all of this now? Why me?”

“Why not you? Our star holds many mysteries. Some are readily explained and still others have yet to be unraveled, and this may well be one of the latter.” Vittora’s hands folded primly at her waist as she approached her daughter’s side; between thumb and index finger she spun an errant blossom. The petals fluttered with each rotation back and forth. “But I doubt you came to ask for answers I don’t have.”

Aurelia opened her mouth, then shut it, her brows knotted in hapless frustration.

“I don’t,” she wrapped her arms about herself, cupping her elbows in her hands and staring out over the star-shimmer shore, “I don’t know that any of it matters, Mama.”

“Why not?”

“I tried to set out and make my own path. Uncle and Aunt wanted me to make a match with a family of their choosing.”

“Many a soul has chafed beneath the weight of others’ expectations,” Vittora said. “You are far from the first scion of the imperial aristocracy to have put off a betrothal until they felt themselves ready to commit to a marriage, and I sincerely doubt you will be the last.”

“It was never a matter of readiness. I would have been perfectly happy finishing my schooling and leaving the capitol for good.”

“I see.”

“ ‘His Radiance’s Will’ can go hang. It would have done no harm for Uncle to allow me to choose for myself or not at all.”

Vittora’s brows raised. “Something tells me that Janus would not see the matter thus.”

“He didn’t. But he and Aunt could not very well prevent me from serving out my enlistment. I thought it would give me that much more time to decide.” She made a helpless gesture at the wide emptiness of the sea. “Instead, I lost everything.”

“Endings are as much a part of the vagaries of life as aught else, Aurelia. Your father rejected that truth. I would not see you do the same.”

Aurelia did not answer for a long time. Her mother moved closer, and with her drifted the watery, delicate scent of her sachet.

“Mama, I’m worried.”

“Why?”

She didn’t have enough left in her to dissemble. “Because I don’t know if any of the choices I've made have been good ones.”

“Sometimes there is no good choice, sunshine. Sometimes there are only choices.” Vittora bowed her head. The expression she wore was something like sadness. “But be they for weal or woe, the one thing you cannot do is be so afraid of making a bad choice that you do not let yourself make any decisions at all.”

The rebuke was gentle but pointed.

“If I were stronger then perhaps I would not concern myself so much with the outcome.”

“You are strong. I remember the girl you once were. And I think you are far stronger than you have been given cause to believe. You will make the most of what you have been given- as our people have ever done in hard times.” A pale hand patted her cheek. “It could be that you were meant to come to Eorzea all along.”

“Perhaps. But I think I could just as easily have elected to follow Uncle Janus and Aunt Marcella’s wishes, then called it destiny if the outcome were personally beneficial,” Aurelia said. “Life is what we make of it.”

Vittora laughed, the sound of it somewhat dry. “That rather sounds like something a certain Dalmascan would say.”

“What do you believe, Mama?” Aurelia watched the lavender blossom spin out of her mother’s fingers and float in lazy drifts to the grass. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“That is a difficult question to answer. But I think- I hope- that it is both. And in any case, I think a lack of belief in a higher power makes your capacity for kindness all the more precious. Please, sunshine, don’t ever lose that compassion.”

“Mama, I became a chirurgeon to help others. I should hope that compassion is the least virtue to which I could lay a claim.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the scattered petals of the blossom. “...But you have my word.”

The shade released a long, soft sigh, something that sounded very much like satisfaction..

Before her eyes, the outline of that slim, graceful figure began to warp into something that reminded her of heatwaves upon stone in summer, the facial features becoming slowly and steadily translucent. Aurelia’s heart lodged in her throat.

“No,” she said. She thought she had cried it aloud, but sound did not carry in a place like this. “No. You can’t go yet.”

“I must.”

“There’s so much more I want to talk to you about. Please.”

“You don’t belong here.”

“But-”

“No, sunshine. Your place is with the living. Go back to them.” Vittora’s gentle smile returned, and she reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her daughter’s ear. “You are very young yet and your future is still uncharted. It waits only for your pen to fill its pages. Take the new life you have been granted, and live it.”

The steady burble of the fountain had ceased. Flowers and trees and stone all began to disintegrate, leaving in their wake only the otherworldly glow of shining white-capped waves.

Her mother’s transparent hand fell to her side, and Aurelia felt its withdrawal as the faintest whisper of a breeze against her cheek as Vittora cen Remianus stepped forward into the line of stardust foam that surged onto the shore. Aether washed around her ankles and lapped at the hem of her skirts but she did not appear to mind or even notice as she took another step, and then another, and another.

The cascade of bright auburn curls Aurelia recalled so well turned to sepia before fading entirely as that lonely figure drew farther and farther away and disappeared, leaving her daughter to linger upon the edge of mortal consciousness.

Leaving her alone again just as she had done all those years ago. Aurelia’s eyes burned.

“Remember me,” the shade of her mother said as it walked out into the aetherial sea, drawn back into its vast currents. “Remember me, and I will always be with you.”

No, she thought. No, you can’t just leave me alone like this-

She made to step into the sea, to follow- and was soundly denied. A deep, resonant chime echoed from somewhere within the living currents of her own soul as her feet defied her mind’s order to move.

An unknown and unseen Something was pulling her back.

I can’t-

(Remember.)

There were words. Words that

||Hear. Feel||

echoed like a mantra as her eyelids, suddenly heavy as lodestones, fell shut once more.

(Remember-)

=

She could hear birds.

For a long moment, she did not move. Her eyes shifted beneath the curtains of her lids, following the dapple-pattern of shifting leaves while she turned her attention to the nearby trilling. A warm breeze brushed her cheek like a mother’s touch, soft and soothing, and water burbled steadily from someplace not too distant, and she knew she lay upon something (a bed? a lap? She wasn’t certain) soft and yielding.

Mama, she thought, and opened her eyes.

There was no sign of her mother. She lay on a small infirmary bed barely larger than an army cot, tucked under a light blanket. Someone had taken the trouble to wash her and dress her in a plain hempen robe. Her gaze peered through the fine folds of a transparent cloth the likes of which she had not seen in so long that it took an embarrassing few moments to realize it was some sort of protective netting- probably, she thought, intended to keep out midges and chigoes. High overhead a canopy of leaves danced in the gentle wind, turning like troupes of tiny dancers upon their branches.

On the right side of her bed, she sensed a soft weight. Aurelia blinked slowly, once, twice, and the world came into focus as she looked down.

A small Miqo’te girl dozed with her head pillowed upon the edge of the mattress. Her short dark hair spilled over the blanket in an unruly mess, eyes shifting side to side beneath their lids, and one ear flickered in tiny erratic twitches even as her tail lay curled limp and unmoving on the grass. In that brief moment of silence, Aurelia heard a tiny snore escape her slack lips.

Despite the sorrowful ache that still lingered in her own chest, she smiled and carefully slid a hand from beneath the blanket to rest it upon Vahne’s shoulders.

“The conjurers said she’s not slept since we arrived here.”

The voice came from the infirmary bed next to her. Its occupant sat atop the mattress with her back propped up by a pile of pillows, a tome in one hand with her fingers marking the page. Her right arm was in a sling and, like her leg on the same side, it was encased in plaster. More pillows cushioned the woman’s heel, and like Aurelia she was clad very simply in a hempen robe. Her auburn hair had been cut short.

“She’ll be happy to see you up when she awakens,” Rhaya Wolndara said. “She’s been very worried about you. She was furious with me when she found out I’d sent you packing. Wouldn’t talk to me for the better part of a sennight.”

“I-”

The word came out as a croak. Without further prompting Rhaya set her book aside, reached for the tin cup and water pitcher on the small stool between them serving as a side table, and poured. Aurelia accepted it gratefully and took small sips, sloshing the water around her dry mouth before swallowing as Rhaya watched.

“Take your time. You’ve been asleep for the past two suns.”

“Where is this?”

“You don’t recognize your own guild?” Aurelia squinted through the netting and canvas and finally spied the huge old tree where she had conducted much of her training. As Rhaya had said, they were in the Stillglade Fane, abed in the infirmary area reserved for patients that were not in dire need of treatment. “The Wailers dragged us out of that ruin. Brought all of us here for treatment. You collapsed. From exhaustion, I suppose.”

“The last thing I remember was-” She paused, straining to recall. The taste of soot seemed to linger on her tongue. “...The fire. Did-”

“Sergeant Epocan told me what happened. One of the village Wailers - a Lieutenant Daye, I think he said - was able to sneak out and run to the Druthers for help. It was fortunate he did. Their commander set a brushfire from the creek embankment that spread very quickly, but the Wailers and some conjurers from Quarrymill were able to put the fires out. With the village’s help, of course.”

Aurelia watched a grimace flash across Rhaya’s face as the other woman shifted in her bedclothes.

“On that note,” she said, her voice curiously brisk, “I owe you an apology. ‘Tis like my captors and I would have died in that fire without your intervention.”

Sewell.

“Sewell didn’t make it, Rhaya.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I was told. He came through in the end, though, didn’t he? Poor man. To have come so far only to die like that...”

Aurelia stared down at the small, spindly shoulders under her hand.

“He wanted me to tell you he was sorry for everything that happened.” The ache in her chest intensified, crept up her throat. “I did try to save him.”

“Come now, I see those tears. You’re only one woman; you can’t bleeding well save the realm entire, you know,” Rhaya chided her, taking the emptied cup from her hands to set back upon the stool. “Not a soul could reasonably ask more of you. You helped run the Empire out of a village full of people who could well have turned on you the moment they found out what you were.”

“Sergeant Epocan told you about that?”

“Only because you had told him that I realized you were a Garlean. That was a very brave thing you did, you know. You took a big chance on all of them, revealing yourself like that.”

“I like to think that most of them would at least have the sense to see I was on their side. Although I imagine,” Aurelia said dryly, “that stealing a flash grenade and using it to incite them to riot didn’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry for my part in it. I shouldn’t have said those things to you- no, let me finish. I knew when those men fled that they’d be back, and at the time I… well. Your friend set me straight on a great deal.” She eyed the small girl. “And this one too. If she hadn’t run to you for help, I don’t know that I would be here now.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“She is. She still has some growing to do yet, but she is.” Rhaya’s smile faded. A pained expression tightened the corners of her mouth. “My youngest sister Kheni got herself mixed up with some bad sorts when Vahne was younger. The one sensible thing she did was to leave the girl with me. I never meant to raise children of my own, and it’s been bloody hard going it alone.”

“Sergeant Epocan tells me that Keeper families are often large,” Aurelia frowned. “Did you not have other siblings who could have helped you?”

“Aye. Two sisters and a brother, all younger than me. We weren’t on speaking terms.”

She did not miss that past-tense had. “You talk as if something happened to them.”

“They answered the Twin Adder’s call to fight the Empire last spring. My brother was cross with me when I didn’t do the same; I suppose he had grand notions of the Wolndara family fighting the Garleans in the same unit, or somesuch. Anyroad, I felt it were naught but folly to risk my life and leave Vahne without anyone to look after her, and I told him thus. And he- they,” Rhaya took a deep and visible breath, “they all three of them marched off to join the main force at Carteneau and - just like a lot of other folk - they never returned. Vahne is all I have left so I feel responsible for her safety. But… mayhap I have been a little too strict as her guardian. Just a little.”

Her gaze on Vahne’s slumbering form softened.

“I’m proud of her.”

"So am I.”

"Good." Aurelia lay her head back and shut her eyes again. She was still very tired. “I think I’ll let her be a little while longer.”

“I’ll call for one of the conjurers,” Rhaya said. “Rest. You still need it.”

She thought she nodded her response, but she wasn’t sure. The other woman’s words seemed to float into her ears and spin in small drifting circles, like lazy eddies of water, as she lapsed into another light doze.

This time her sleep was peaceful and dreamless.

~*~

27th Sun, Fifth Astral Moon, Year 1 of the Seventh Umbral Era

“Up!” the voice shouted. “Put your backs into it! Mind the bleedin' base!”

Summer was winding down, but something of it lingered still in the air. A flock of sparrows descended upon the nearby fence with a great flutter of wings, trilling beneath the afternoon sun’s warm and benevolent gaze, and Aurelia Laskaris listened in an absentminded way from her vantage point in a fallow field. She was watching the villagers' combined efforts to raise the walls of a new house. The ropes went taut as a section of wall lifted by ilms, ash planks and iron nails to be lashed in place as the joints met.

“Hoist!!” the voice shouted again, and among the ensuing calls to coordinate the teams, she could hear the steady clattering clamor of tools working the wood.

“You lot have made an art of this,” she said. At her side Frieda Miller let out a small cackle.

“We work quickly,” the weaver shrugged, gently jostling the infant girl in her arms. “It’s the neighborly thing to do. Though if you told me this time last year we’d be doing something like this outside the village...”

She trailed off, hesitation crossing her features, but Aurelia thought she knew what Frieda meant. The people of this small and secluded forest village seemed to have taken if not a kinder view of outsiders, at least a slightly warmer one. They had unknowingly harbored a Garlean for moons and when Aurelia’s countrymen had attacked she had sided with them against her own kind: something none of them would have expected. Not only that, the hamlet’s entire defense against imperial incursion had been spearheaded by a Keeper Miqo’te: a man whose people were so often jettisoned to the fringes of the Shroud, and treated with suspicion and disdain by many.

Their familiarity with him, and with Aurelia, had forced many people to re-examine their assumptions about their world, and while some still clung stubbornly to old grudges and commonly-held wisdoms, others had made friendly overtures one by one. For better or worse, change had come to Willowsbend, heralded by the fall of Dalamud, and it appeared to be here to stay.

Whatever they might think of her, or of the surrounding events, Aurelia could only hope that their attitudes towards their neighbors continued to soften.

“So,” Frieda continued, “you two are to leave on the morrow.”

“So I am.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any plans to stay here? The Guild could always take Trevantioux back instead.”

She smiled, a little ruefully.

“Hardly any need for a third wheel, now that he and Noline have called things off.”

“He seems to be taking it rather well.”

“Ah. Well enough, all things considered. I’m still sorry I couldn’t be there with you to help deliver Isa, but-”

“Oh, never you mind that, Aurelia! What you did gave me a safe place to bring her into the world and that’s just as important.” Frieda grinned. “At any rate, no harm would have been done, I can trust Trevantioux to do his work properly. The man might be a bit of a jackass and a fool in love besides, but he’s a good conjurer, and he’s earned his place in the village.”

“Then it seems to me that you’re in good hands.”

Despite her words, Aurelia couldn’t help the pang of sadness she felt.

It was likely she could have remained in Willowsbend did she wish it, but there had been Trevantioux to consider. The events of that fateful night had changed him. Ever since he had made the hard decision to break his betrothal, he had seemed a shell of his previous self, rendered nigh desolate by Noline’s infidelity. His work was all he had left- and he had been tending to the village under Ewain’s tutelage for four years.

As fond as she had become of Frieda and Hugh and all the others in her own short stay here, Aurelia couldn’t bring herself to take his home from him on top of everything else. Thus, it seemed trivial to contact E-Sumi-Yan and explain the situation - and even more so to formally request an end to her current assignment, seeing as there would now be no open position to fill. It was an olive branch, but one Trevantioux had accepted with a great deal of grace. These days there were no sour remarks about her origins or sullen glares when she went on rounds. He had even been the one to offer the village’s assistance in rebuilding the Wolndara homestead, something that had surprised everyone - not least of all Rhaya herself.

Maybe that was the most important part of the whole outcome. If someone as stubborn as Trevantioux could change his tune, it should be no hard task for the rest of them.

In Frieda’s arms, little Isa made a loud blatting noise and swatted at a stray lock of her mother’s hair- and was thwarted by the casual sidewise tilt of Frieda's chin. “Be that as it may, know that you’ll be missed by myself and the boys, at the very least. Do you promise to come and visit us when you can?”

Aurelia smiled. “You wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t at least make the attempt.”

“I’ll make sure to have my best pies ready and waiting for you to take tea with me. Speaking of which,” Frieda said, “it looks like you’ve a friend coming up the hill.”

She followed the woman’s pointing finger and saw a willowy figure loping towards them across the empty field. The Miqo’te had grown a good two or three ilms over the season and showed no signs of stopping, but she was still more child than adolescent yet. She nigh vibrated with excitement, her tail lashing against her leg as she drew to a halt.

“Miss Aurelia, Shadow’s having her kittens!”

“Be well, Frieda.” She patted the woman’s shoulder. “Give Rauffe and the boys my love.”

“I will.”

At the foot of the incline, Vahne fidgeted, rocking from side to side as she waited for Aurelia to reach her. Some yalms distant, another section of heavy oak beams began to lift from the newly packed ground, and carpenters’ hammers continued to mark increments of time and progress in short beats.

“They’re moving very fast,” she said, smiling. “I daresay they’ll have your house finished in the next fortnight.”

Vahne nodded, in a vague sort of way - she supposed the particulars of housing construction didn’t much interest a young girl. That small face looked troubled despite the tranquility of the day and after a moment, she burst out,

“I don’t want you to go back to Gridania!”

“Vahne, darling, I must. It’s not up to you or me.”

“Can’t you just stay here? With me and Aunt Rhaya? We have plenty of space and since you two patched things up she'd be happy to-”

Aurelia sighed. She had been dreading this. “I can’t. It’s not that easy.”

“But I don’t understand why,” Vahne protested. “You could just leave the guild and go anywhere you chose if you wanted to, couldn’t you? You could become an adventurer! People do it all the time!”

There were a great many things that she thought she could have said in that moment. She could have lied, spun some bit of fiction she knew Vahne would accept. She could have attempted to tell the truth, to explain all of the sordid details and confluence of events that had brought her to Willowsbend, and hope that she might understand.

Instead, she reached for Vahne’s hand.

“Part of being an adult means having to make choices. Sometimes it means hard choices, even when you know it’s the right thing to do. Do you understand?” At the girl’s nod, she said, “Those choices don’t ever stop coming to your door. I would love to stay, Vahne, but I can’t. My choice to leave Willowsbend for good lets a man keep his home and it keeps the rest of you safe from the Garleans besides.”

“Safe from what? Those men are gone. You killed their leader and now-” Aurelia was slowly shaking her head, and Vahne’s lower lip began to tremble. “Please don’t go. You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had.”

“I will visit when I can, but life is taking me elsewhere. I can’t say when I’ll be back to stay,” she said gently. “It’s quite possible the answer is never.”

“I hate this! I hate saying goodbye. I feel like it’s all I’ve done my whole life.”

“It’s true that sometimes life feels like nothing but goodbyes, but sometimes in order to have a beginning you have to have an ending.” Vahne, to her credit, didn’t cry, but the hand around Aurelia’s felt almost crushing. “When I leave, I want you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Visit Goody Miller when you can? She’ll be in need of a friend herself and now that the villagers know you and your aunt, I’m sure you’ll be able to make even more friends.”

Vahne didn’t look altogether convinced, but the nod she gave Aurelia was slow and solemn.

“In the meantime,” the Garlean righted her posture, her tone briskly cheerful, “let’s cheer up, shall we? Tomorrow hasn’t arrived just yet, after all. It is still today, with plenty of light left in it, and I believe you were saying something about your barn cat.”

The Miqo’te brightened; her rain-grey eyes seemed to come alive at the reminder.

“Oh, yes! Have you ever seen newborn kittens?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t, no.”

“Good! That means I get to show you your very first litter.” She squeezed Aurelia’s hand and began to tug her arm in the direction of the reconstructed barn, rather impatiently, in the way a girl half her age might have done. “She’s made her nest in the back of the chocobo pen.”

Feeling unexpectedly light-hearted for the first time in what felt like forever, Aurelia followed her young friend. The grass parted for their passing and concealed their steps as though they had never traveled through the field at all.

What the villagers built here wouldn’t replace Rhaya’s home nor the memories that had formed within its walls. No force in the world could turn back time to recover the things they had all lost, she thought. Not truly- and perhaps that was for the best. A new home blessed with companionship would provide ample space for new memories and the promise of new friends. It was a symbol of renewal as sure as any spring.

In short order the pair had retreated into the stable, itself still smelling of sap and fresh-cut hay, to bear witness to these small new lives. And as men rebuilt and the forest resumed its vigil, time turned its inexorable wheel into the cusp of a new Age.

[eddieeatsass]

I’ll Trade you a Myth for a Kiss

Summary: “Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it. Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.” Pairing: Reddie Rating: T

Read on AO3

Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it.

It wasn’t that the bridge was particularly beautiful, in fact it was pretty ugly with its decaying wood frame, rickety beams that split and splintered any hand that touched them, and sun-faded paint job.

It was the lore attached to the bridge, passed down through the hushed whispers of Derry residents for decades, that lured people into its hold. It was said that if you kissed someone under the bridge, they would be solidified as your soulmate; a metaphorical binding of spirits between two lovers.

Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.

So, be it the fact that there was no actual evidence to the validity of the tall tale, or the fact that that very bridge had been the location at which his dear friend Ben had almost been murdered by Henry Bowers and his goons, Richie just didn’t have that much faith in the bridge’s supposed positive energy.

Much to Richie’s dismay, however, his cynicism didn’t do much to deter the way his heart rate spiked when he found himself sitting under that very bridge in the company of said best friend.

 They hadn’t planned on ending up here. Their day had started out much like any other; they’d met their friends at the quarry, soaked themselves and their undergarments in the deep jade water before laying out in the sun to dry. Music rang from Beverly’s small portable radio as they shared jokes and stories until the sun began to set.

They’d all gone their separate ways when there’d been no more daylight to suck out of the sun, the presence of fireflies lighting their ways home. Eddie’s bike had been confiscated by Sonia for god knows what number of reasons, so he relied on Richie to be his chauffer for the day.

And chauffer he did. Richie relished in the tight grip of Eddie’s arms around his torso, the way he’d mutter a ‘slow down trashmouth’ against Richie’s neck when he went too fast, or the little yip that he’d let out when they went over a speed bump, soaring weightlessly through the air for one blissful moment before crashing back down to reality.

He’d enjoyed chauffeuring right up until the moment he rode over broken glass, popping his tire and sending him and Eddie tumbling to the ground.

They’d been lucky, veering into grass right before impact, so their injuries were minor. But Eddie still insisted to treat them before they continued home, blabbering on about infections and amputations and- Richie didn’t listen to the rest.

It hadn’t taken long for Richie to recognize exactly where they were. His bike had decided to commit suicide right next to the infamous kissing bridge, which he’d taken home a thousand times and kissed at exactly zero times.

 “Richie.” Eddie repeated, finally garnering the attention of Richie’s quickly waning mind. Eddie waved his small disinfectant pack in the air as if an obvious gesture of irritation.

“Right, sorry Eds!” Richie scurried over to where Eddie had sat himself down on a fallen tree trunk, a miniature pharmacy set out before them all thanks to his fanny pack.

“Let me see your legs.” Eddie instructed, already loaded with a disinfectant wipe and a look of determination on his small features. It was far too cute for Richie to handle, and it made his insides churn uncomfortably. As usual he defaulted to humor, hoping it would ease his nerves.

“That’s what your mom said last night.”

“Richie! Ugh, gross.” Eddie’s nose scrunched up in disgust and Richie’s plan backfired.

With a rosy tint to his cheeks that Richie prayed Eddie couldn’t see in the dark, he sat down beside Eddie and presented him with two freshly scraped kneecaps.

Richie let out a string of curses as Eddie began cleaning the wound, but once the sting of peroxide passed, he noticed how gentle Eddie was being.

“Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie looked up from where Eddie’s hand laid gently upon his knee, meeting round chestnut eyes that reflected the moonlight. Richie’s mind went blank.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“Bandaids, do you want Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie’s heart did about three backflips before he was finally able to answer, stuttering out a weak response that was not up to par with his usual.

"You know I've always been a Mickey man, myself."

Eddie quirked his lips, not quite a smile but also not the annoyance Richie was usually met with. He watched as Eddie reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a bandaid, unwrapping it carefully before moving to apply it to Richie's left knee. It barely covered the scrape, but they both knew it was for show more than function. Eddie liked knowing he'd taken care of someone, the bandaid standing out like a gold star sticker on a quiz. He nodded to himself, satisfied, before moving to tend to Richie's other knee.

 The process was much the same. It stung when Eddie applied the alcohol, Richie's heart skipped a beat when Eddie got too close, and then there was a distorted Mickey Mouse stating up at the both of them from where it sat over bloodied skin.

Richie spoke before thinking, his mouth always faster than his brain.

"What, no kiss, Dr. K?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, but if Richie wasn't mistaken, he also noted a slight rosiness rising to Eddie's cheeks.

"We're not five, Richie. I'm not gonna kiss your knee better. Also, ew."

"Who said I was talking about my knee?"

They both froze; Richie, horrified by the deception of his own thoughts, and Eddie, shocked by Richie's boldness.

"I-I-I meant my dick." Richie tried to recover, his tone none too convincing. But bless Eddie, whether truly oblivious or just pretending to be, responded by smacking Richie's chest.

It caused Richie to tumble backwards off their makeshift bench, falling into foliage that almost entirely ate him up.

“Oh my god! Richie!” Eddie’s tone shifted into concern, his body moving faster than such a little frame should be able to as he leaned over to offer Richie a hand up. Richie, widely known for acting before he thinks, took the opportunity to pull Eddie down alongside him.

The sound of breaking tree branches, rustled leaves, and tiny shrieks alerted Richie to the fact that Eddie did not land beside him as planned. In fact, a quick glance around him confirmed that Eddie was nowhere near Richie any longer.

“EDS!?” Richie’s voice was high pitched and frantic.

“Down here, asshole.”

The response, though obviously irate, still brought comfort to his beating heart.

“One second- shit- I gotta- fuck-”

Richie was stumbling over himself, squinting his eyes as he tried to see any minute flash of brown hair peeking through the dark. Richie fumbled around in his pocket, grabbing on to the lanyard that held his keys and, thankfully, a small flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it helped illuminate that area where Eddie’s voice called from.

Richie felt horrible when he realized they’d been right next to a hill, and his action had flung Eddie right down it. He spotted a small moving figure right at the bottom, underneath the looming darkness of the bridge, and set off towards it.

Getting down the hill without falling was tricky, but Richie somehow managed it. When he came upon Eddie, the smaller boy was attempting to dust the dirt off from his body. Richie decided not to note how fruitless his effort was, instead allowing Eddie to believe he had some control over the germs he’d been unceremoniously thrown into.

“Sorry about that, Eddie. You’re just so tiny, you weigh next to nothing.” Richie tried to pass off his comment as a joke, hoping it would lead them back into their usual back-and-forth. He’d never actually admit that he loved how tiny Eddie was compared to him, because that would mean admitting a whole slew of other things that he wasn’t ready to face.

“Not everyone can be Andre the giant, you ever-growing fuck. It’s not my fault my body doesn’t want to become a skyscraper.” Eddie countered.

Richie straightened his back, beginning to feign confusion as he aimed the flashlight above Eddie’s head.

“Eddie? Eddie???” Richie pretended to search for him, looking left and right but always above the line of sight where Eddie sat.

“You’re obnoxious.” Eddie stated.

“Eddie? Is that you? Where are ya boy-” Richie’s joke was cut short when Eddie swatted the flashlight out of his hand. It hit the ground with a wet splat, landing in a pile of mud just on the edge of the water.

Richie laughed heartily. He leaned down to pick it up when his gaze followed the stream of light to where it pointed right at an etching in the wooden beam that held the bridge above their heads.

Richie walked closer to it, crouching next to the engraving and tracing it with his finger. In the middle of a heart were two initials: G + H.

“How much you wanna bet that one’s Greta and Henry?”

“A thousand bucks.” Richie huffed, rolling his eyes at the thought of them carving this into the bridge after sharing a cigarette musky lip-lock.

“Good, they deserve each other. They can rot together for eternity. Thank you, magic bridge.” Eddie tapped the pillar gently, as if patting someone’s shoulder.

“Come on, you believe in this crap?” Richie stretched back up to full height.

Eddie seemed to mull the question over in his head before answering.

“I mean… what’s the harm in entertaining the idea?” Eddie’s voice had a bashful tone to it that Richie had never heard before. It made his skin prickle with warmth.

“I just never took you for the romantic type, Eds.” Richie tried to soften his voice, encouraged it to come out a little less like a tease and a little more like a confession. It seemed to have the desired effect when Richie pointed the light at Eddie and noticed a blush on his cheeks.

“Have you kissed anyone down here?” Eddie asked suddenly, the boldness shocking Richie into silence (which was rare).

Richie instinctively puffed his chest out, a bravado thick on his lips and ready to be spoken, but it deflated as quickly as it was triggered. Eddie was being vulnerable with Richie in a way that he never was, and if Richie messed this up, he might as well be damning himself to a future where Eddie didn’t trust him with moments like this. There was no greater fear than that.

“No.” Richie answered honestly, kicking a nearby rock into the water.

“Have you kissed anyone?” Eddie’s voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of the crickets and the trickle of the stream.

Richie’s heart lurched in his chest so strongly it almost made him lose his balance. His eyes bugged out behind his coke bottle frames, trying to make sense of why Eddie was asking these questions. With a thick swallow, he answered.

“Yeah, only twice.” He knew he’d boasted about much more, that if the losers had been keeping tally, Richie’s supposed trysts were up in the double digits by now. But he didn’t feel like lying or keeping up some kind of charade. Not here, not alone with Eddie. “Once in 7th grade with Trisha Saunders, and then at the beginning of 8th grade with Megan DeLaurence.”

Eddie nodded sagely, looking down at his feet.

“I haven’t kissed anyone yet. I think I might be the last of the Losers who hasn’t.”

The way Eddie’s shoulders slumped made Richie want to reach forward and hold him up. His fingers twitched at the effort it took to hold himself back.

“It’s not a competition, Eddie. No one’s judging you.” Richie said earnestly, taking a step towards Eddie’s frame. Was he shivering? It had gotten kind of cold in the time they’d been standing down here. Richie hadn’t even noticed the nip of September beginning to creep in, he’d been warmed from the flush of being so close to Eddie; something he realized he’d gotten accustom to any time Eddie was around.

“Eds.” Richie sighed, beginning to unbutton the long-sleeved printed shirt he wore over his t-shirt. Once he shrugged it off, he took another step towards Eddie and draped the garment across his shoulders, making sure not to focus on how it dwarfed Eddie’s already miniscule frame.

Richie had abandoned his tiny flashlight, allowing it to dangle from a droopy hand and angle light out into the water. The darkness sheathed them from reading one another’s expressions, giving Richie the false confidence, it took for him to lean in and press his lips against Eddie’s.

The kiss wasn’t long, nor was it filled with passion. It was probably closer to the type of kiss you give your aunt at Christmas, just a chaste peck on the lips. But despite the nature of the kiss, it still left Richie buzzing from head to toe in a way that no other kiss had done before.

Sure, kissing Trisha and Megan had been fine. Richie had chalked it up to experience, telling himself that the reason he hadn’t felt anything was because he wasn’t used to it yet. But with Eddie it was a whole different world. Such a small touch had made him lightheaded, left him itching to go in for more and not stop until his lungs gave out.

Richie realized then that the silence had stretched out between them, Eddie obviously confused and, Richie realized with a pang in his heart, probably horrified.

“T-there.” Richie tripped over his words, cursing his nerves for mistaking him for Bill. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There. Now you’ve kissed someone.”

Eddie still didn’t respond, and Richie’s heartrate began to tick up into something erratic.

After a pause that probably aged Richie ten years, Eddie finally let out a laugh. A small titter that dissolved all the anxiety Richie was harboring.

“You dumbass.” Eddie giggled. “Now we’re stuck together forever!”

Richie couldn’t hold back the grin that stretched his cheeks so wide they burned. If believing that him and Eddie were now solidified as soulmates meant also believing in some invisible universal force carried on for decades by a fucking bridge, then so be it. He’d believe in every fairytale ever told if it meant being with Eddie.

Richie scratched the back of his neck, a nervous twitch he’d had since childhood. He only hoped that Eddie couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, I guess I kinda screwed the pooch on that one huh.”

“I mean, there’s worse people to be stuck with for life.” Eddie countered.

“Well I am honored I’m not the worst.”

“That honor is gonna have to go to Henry.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about him because he’s already promised to Greta for eternity. We’re clear.”

“Good. He can have Greta as long as I can have you.”

Richie’s brain stopped functioning, all reasonable responses escaping his mind. ‘As long as I can have you’. Richie would be repeating that to himself as a lullaby from now until forever.

“You can have me.” Richie responded on a shaky exhale.

Eddie’s breathing sounded just as unsteady as it filled the space between them. With nervous hands, Richie brought the flashlight back up to illuminate Eddie’s face. He was quivering, although Richie wasn’t certain whether it was still from the cold, or from the same feeling that had caused Richie’s limbs to feel like rubber.

“We gotta get you home before you become an Edsicle.” Richie teased, breaking the tension between them and leading them back into safe territory. Eddie rolled his eyes, but traces of laughter were evident in his small smile. He shouldered Richie out of the way gently, passing him and making his way back over to the hill that he’d fallen down.

“Well, you better help me back up this hill then.” He demanded.

Richie bounded over to him with newfound glee in his heart, vowing to never take the prospect of magic bridges for granted ever again.

[xnecromantia]

@warrioroflondonbelow​

               The quiet tinkling of bells contributed to the serenity of the forest, carried amongst the trees by a soft eddy of wind; it was almost therapeutic, despite the unusual placement. Multiple branches were adorned with handmade decorations ranging from chimes, feathers, and twigs woven into peculiar shapes. Upon a quick glance, one might mistake them for charming accessories often found in cosy homes, but a longer observation would reveal a much more sinister sight.  Higher up, carved bones and locks of hair were woven into the bark of every tree within a mile radius; a stark warning that there were darker forces at play here. They were signs of a successful hunt. Trophies in their hundreds belonging to humans that had wandered off the beaten track,  mysteriously vanishing and falling victim to those who lurked within the shadows. Unheard of, unseen; evidence of their very existence lost to the ones who wound up entwined in the nature surrounding them. 

            Curiosity became their death sentence. Humans were naturally inquisitive, drawn towards extraordinary instances. They craved mental stimulation, searching for anything that would offer them a sufficient distraction from reality. It was a form of escape, and it often lead to risk-taking. Pushing themselves further and further, teetering on the edge of danger for that one moment of exhilaration. Every human that stepped here had one thought running through their mind: they simply wanted to take a closer look. Mindlessly, they would approach the trinkets tied to the trees, enticed by their oddness. Not once did they consider why they were here in the first place. Like an oblivious fly ensnared in a spider’s web, they were immediately trapped with no opportunity for escape. It was far too late. Weak and helpless, humans were easy to trick -- 

                                         --and they had just caught another one.

            They watched him from between the trees. Dull, grey eyes peered out from the darkness -- oh so still, oh so quiet. His presence was known straight away, breaking through and radiating an offensive energy that crawled along their skin; it was disgusting. He needed to be disposed of. Gathering, they flocked to his location and found the human already entranced by the decorations. Right where they wanted him. Taunting whispers and a lone titter floated upon the wind as a few of them called out to him, encouraging him to move closer, take a step forward, and lean in. As soon as his body shifted, a pair of hands shot out from between the branches and grabbed his arms, pulling him towards the tree trunk. Their grip was vice-like, sharp fingernails piercing his skin and drawing blood as they refused to let go, holding him firmly in place. 

                             ‘...𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗...’

         Disembodied voices resonated from the darkness, echoing throughout the clearing. Another pair of hands appeared from below, curling their fingers around his ankles and securing him to the ground. It wasn’t long before many more joined, scratching long lines across his skin -- clawing and tearing at any exposed surface. The bark of the tree displayed evidence of past attacks, flecks of dried blood embedded and already peeling away; it was easily mistaken for sap from afar, but the colour was far too dark to be anything but. 

[cheekaspbrak]

The kissing prompts: 36! 36! 36! That’s adorable🙈💕

please take my offering of a virtual hug as an apology for me posting this like... really... really late. I have no excuses aside from ‘I suck and I promise I’ll try to be better but it’s only going to get worse’. Anyway, I love you Hayls and I hope you love this!

Read here on ao3.

Prompt taken from this list.

“-that’s my third detention this semester, can you believe that?” Richie rambles as he and Eddie enter the front door of the Tozier residence.

“Yes, Richie, I can,” Eddie replies dryly, dropping his backpack by the door like he always does, kicking his shoes off there, too.

“What’s this about another detention?” Richie looks to his right, finding his dad peering at him over his reading glasses. Oops.

“I, uh, I was being too noisy during class-” Went sighs, closing his eyes against the new information. Richie swallows nervously, knowing that if his mother hears about this she’s sure to be upset, and that’s something Richie hates. When his mother is upset, she cries a lot, and Richie hates being responsible for making her cry.

“How about this?” Went starts, “I don’t want your mother to be upset any more than you do. So, I won’t tell her. Unless you get another detention in the next two weeks, then I’m going to make you tell her about both of them, and you’ll be grounded.”

Richie beams at him. He can totally pull that off. All he has to do is sit still in class for two weeks… oh no, maybe he can’t pull that off.

“Sure thing, Daddio!” Richie says anyway, because he’ll be damned if he won’t try.

“You’re screwed,” Eddie snickers, making Went laugh, too. Richie rolls his eyes at both of them, pulling on Eddie’s hand to lead him up the stairs to their room.

“Here it is!” Richie says after they get back to his room and he digs through the new stuff he’d gotten over Christmas break, finding the item Eddie had come over to see. It’s a brand new, shiny walkman with a gray stripe down the side, and Eddie has never had the chance to use one before. Richie had been borrowing his dads since he first learned what a walkman is, so Went had finally given him one for Christmas. And the first thing he plans to do with it is let Eddie borrow it for as long as he wants.

“Cool!” Eddie says when he gets his hands on it, turning it over excitedly while Richie fishes the tapes out of his junk. “What tapes do you have?”

“My dad only bought me two for now.” Richie smiles in response to Eddie’s enthusiasm. When Eddie gets excited it’s hard for Richie to slow down because his heart starts to race and he gets way too nervous. “The Smiths and The Cure. I hope you like those. Have you heard their music before? Who am I kidding, you’d have to live under a fucking rock to have never heard their music before, of course you-” Eddie snatches the tapes out of his hands and puts one into it. “Hey, wait, be careful with it! My dad will kill me if I break it right away!”

“Shut up, I’m not going to break it,” Eddie sighs, cramming the headphones over his ears haphazardly. “So I just… hit…” Eddie clicks the button on the side and his face lights up like a Christmas tree when the music begins to play. “Cool,” He breathes out, eyes locked on Richie’s.

Richie wants to tear his eyes away, but he just can’t. He’s well aware that there’s a huge smile taking up half of his face that looks far too fond watching his best friend borrow his walkman, but he just can’t look away. Eddie is so easily impressed with the gadgets Richie has because his mom never lets him have any, and Richie feels on top of the world every time he gets to show Eddie something new. Most of the time he’s annoying Eddie or pestering him nonstop, but in moments like these, Eddie looks at Richie like he’s the best person in the universe. It’s not often anyone looks at Richie like that. He’s gangly and bug-eyed and buck-toothed and crass. Nobody really looks at Richie Tozier and thinks anything much other than ‘Wow, what a nerd’. But sometimes, just sometimes, Eddie looks at him like he’s the best nerd ever. 

That look makes Richie’s palms sweat and his heart race, and he knows exactly what that means. He knows. He carved their initials on the kissing bridge, for Christ’s sake. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, stupidly, because obviously Eddie likes it. But Eddie just nods, eyelashes fluttering. They both move to sit down on his bed, criss-cross applesauce and side by side. “Keep it for as long as you want,” He tells him. He hadn’t mentioned to him, yet, that letting Eddie borrow it had been his plan since the moment he unwrapped the gift.

“What? No, I can’t. This is yours,” Eddie protests, eyes wide. He pulls the headphones off of his ears at once.

“Mi walkman es su walkman.” Richie puts the headphones back around his neck. “I’ll just use it when I sneak into your room.”

It’s something Richie does often, ever since the incident. They both have nightmares, and when Richie’s are especially bad he slips out of his house and into Eddie’s bed. It’s easier when he’s not alone. 

He’s pretty sure his mom knows, at this point, and has chosen not to say anything. Eddie’s mom, on the other hand, would give them an earful if she ever found out. That still doesn’t keep him from doing it.

“Are you sure, Richie? What if my mom finds it and takes it?” Eddie looks equally apprehensive and excited. 

“I’ll steal it back from her,” Richie says, but he finds that he really doesn’t care if he ever sees it again. Just the thought of Eddie laying on his bed with his eyes closed, listening to whatever tape Richie gives him makes his heart feel full.

“Thanks, Rich.” Eddie smiles somewhat bashfully, eyes looking down at the little machine in his hands. His brows furrow a little and Richie nearly has to physically hold himself back from kissing him right there, right between his eyebrows. He wonders what Eddie would think if he did do that. He likes to think Eddie wouldn’t mind, that he’d smile a little or tease Richie playfully like he always does or maybe even kiss Richie on the lips. He thinks about it sometimes, when he’s laying in bed, playing it over and over in his head until he falls asleep.

But, even if Eddie did like boys, which seems basically impossible, why would he ever want to kiss Richie? Richie, with all his greasy forehead acne he has to cover with his bangs and the stupid braces he only has to have on for a few more months. Richie, with his big nose and big glasses that would probably get in the way.

He’d squish Eddie’s cute little button nose and probably poke his eye out. They wouldn’t fit together like two halves of a whole, they’d fit together like a square peg and a round hole. 

But, gosh, does he want to kiss him. So he does what he can, grabbing at Eddie’s wrists to pull him closer, saying ‘Cute, cute, cute!’ before leaning in and giving him a half-assed eskimo kiss, rubbing his nose back and forth until Eddie pushes him back gently. He only moves back a few inches, intruding Eddie’s personal space, as usual. 

“You’re so weird,” Eddie says, laughing. He peers up at Richie through chocolate brown eyelashes with an amused look on his face. 

“You’re so weird,” Richie counters before leaning forward and rubbing his nose on his once more. Eddie doesn’t move this time, though, instead he stays quiet and still. He doesn’t giggle or bat Richie away, he just sits there, arms propping himself up on his knees. He’s almost rigid, staring at Richie’s eyes like he’s seen a ghost. “What?” Richie stops, nose still pressed against Eddie’s, feeling as nervous as he does when a teacher calls on him and he wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie looks like he’s about to answer, Richie can feel him swallow and take in a deep breath, but then he doesn’t. Then, he does something much, much better. He moves just an inch or so and presses his lips against Richie’s like it’s as natural as breathing.

Richie is what one would describe as ‘all bark, no bite’, but right now he’s no bark and no bite. His eyes grow huge, surely magnified to a comical size by his glasses. He has no idea what to do as Eddie’s soft, sweet lips move against his, as Eddie’s hands fly up to cup his cheeks. 

Before he even has a chance to ponder it, Eddie is pulling back with a gasp.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Richie cries, grabbing Eddie’s hands and pressing them back against his cheeks, “I liked that, don’t say sorry. Kiss me again, please.”

Eddie’s face transforms from trembling to smirking, squeezing Richie’s face between his palms and brushing his lips against Richie’s own. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” Richie pleads one more time, and he’s immediately rewarded with a gentle, but simultaneously fierce kiss. Eddie’s thumbs stroke at the delicate skin underneath his eyes, the tips of his fingers disappearing into Richie’s unruly curls. He realizes with a start that he hasn’t touched Eddie once sitting there like a limp noodle, which is incredibly uncharacteristic, so he wraps his hands around Eddie’s slender wrists, thumbs stroking over the backs of his hands gingerly, thinking he might die if Eddie pulls away again.

But Eddie just keeps kissing him, pressing as close as he can get, and Richie has the fleeting thought that they actually fit together quite nicely, almost like they were made for each other, almost like there really is such a thing a soulmates.

Tag List: @constantreaderfool @violetreddie @girasol-eddie

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 10

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 10 - Search and Rescue

Life was waking between the boulders in preparation for the coming dawn. A colorful lizard darted across the warming rocks, freezing for a moment when it saw Sinead and the Mandalorian before disappearing behind a tuft of coarse grass that grew from cracks in the stone. A small, shrunken tree clung to an outcropping with purple leaves rustling in the wind. The trunk was black, making it look charred and wholly out of place amidst the white rocks.

A small avalanche of pebbles followed them downwards. Sinead tried keeping an eye out for any sign of Mirian but she really had no clue what to look for. As they ran, a sound of rushing water grew louder and louder, echoing between the rock walls. More trees and shrubs appeared growing from whatever dirt they could find.

They rounded a corner and stopped in front of a frothing river that cut through their path. White water splashed over rocks that broke through the water, creating wild eddies that pulled whatever had the misfortune of landing in the water into a wild spin. Mirian was stupid, but not stupid enough to try to cross. If she had so much as stepped a foot in the river she’d been swept away, to either drown on the bottom or be crushed against the rocks.

Two logs made a narrow bridge across the rushing water. The ends sank into the banks on each side and the wood was covered in slimy algae.

Sinead went first on the bridge. Her feet slid on the wet wood, and she breathed deeply through her nose, keeping her eyes locked on the opposite bank, which suddenly seemed miles away. Ice cold spray hit her face, keeping her grounded. Water washed over the bridge, soaking through her boots.

On the other side of the river the ground was soggy and clear footprints led further south. There was more vegetation here and signs of animal life.

Suddenly, the trees and the rocks fell away like someone had plucked them from the ground. Mando and Sinead stood at the edge of a patchwork of fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Ancient stone dikes carved up every field, white stone glowing in the pre-dawn light.

The settlement nestled into a bend in the river, a dark spot in the green landscape where thin wisps of smoke disappeared up into the morning air. Two dirt roads led out of the city, one going across the river and disappearing east and the other carving through the fields to the west.

“If I was a young girl desperate to prove myself,” Sinead said and wiped some sweat from her brow, “I’d start by finding the nearest town.”

"There'll be guards."

“It’s bound to be more exciting than wandering the wild.”

Mando’s looked up at the brightening sky. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said with a hollow voice. “Let’s just keep out of sight.” He didn’t need to tell Sinead that. She could blend into most crowds- her survival depended on it- but the Mandalorian stood out everywhere he went.

They started towards the settlement. Knee-high stalks still wet with dew ran in straight lines and the air was filled with a sweet earthy scent. Stiles that looked as old as the stone dikes made their way across the fields a bit easier.

The settlement was bordered by farmhouses, low buildings made of white rock that had turned grey by dirt. A herd of big, hairy creatures watched Mando and Sinead with drooping eyes.

The houses grew closer after the first couple of streets, turning from dirt roads into uneven cobblestone. It smelled of woodsmoke, and Sinead could hear people inside the houses moving around, but the streets were still empty.

Suddenly, Mando froze and gestured to Sinead to get down. She barely had time to duck behind a pile of damp firewood before two black-clad figures strolled down the street, two rifles swinging from their arms.

“Can’t believe Commander Rancor-Dick has stationed us out here in the ass-end of nowhere,” said one of the men.

“Ranick’s always been a tightass, but this shit’s made him bloody paranoid. Ain’t like anyone’s gonna storm a place like this.” The other figure rolled up his mask and spat on the logs. Sinead made a face.

“Kriffin’ idiot.”

They waited until the guards were out of earshot before moving carefully down the street.

“Look,” Mando said and stopped in front of a wall covered with peeling and sun-bleached posters. “Gatt said the Collective keeps a tight hold on the planet.”

“Explains why the streets are empty,” Sinead said. The word ‘curfew’ screamed out at her in angry red letters.

They continued onwards, keeping to the shadows. Many of the houses were dark and abandoned and broken glass or trash littering the streets. They passed the burnt-out remains of a house, a dark husk of charred beams and crumbling outer walls. Foliage had begun to encroach between the rubble.

They reached a wide street. Mando went first, crossing the lit street and ducking into a narrow alley on the other side. Sinead waited until he was safely out of the light before following him.

“Hey you!”

She froze fight or flight instincts rooting her to the spot in indecision before higher brain power resumed control and she turned and looked. A New Moon soldier stood at the end of the street. He was dressed in black like the two guards with a mask covering his face. There was an inexpertly painted white circle on his chest, the color running into the dark cloth. Most of her attention was drawn to the rifle he pointed directly at her, his finger hovering over the trigger. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mando moved to step into the street.

“Stay back,” she hissed.

The soldier stepped closer. “Hey, I’m talking to you! There’s a curfew.”

Sinead looked at the ground and shuffled back. Her blaster burned in its holster. “I-I know that-“

“If you know that,” the soldier sneered, lowering his rifle an inch, “why aren’t you home with the other little dokmas, eh?” He reached for her. “Oi! Look at me when I’m-“

Mando darted out from the shadow and grabbed the guard, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragged him back into the alley. Sinead grabbed the soldier’s blaster rifle before it hit the ground. She followed them after casting a glance up and down the street.

Mando threw the soldier against the alley wall, using all his strength to keep him pinned. “A human girl,” he grunted, “have you seen her?”

The soldier’s eyes swiveled in their sockets and a muffled voice came out beneath Mando’s hand.

“Nod yes or no.”

The soldier shook his head as well as he could under Mando’s iron grip.

“Fuck.” Sinead shook her head and bit her bottom lip. What if Mirian hadn’t gone this way? What if she’d turned off and followed one of the roads or been swept away crossing the river?

Suddenly, the sound of marching feet made Sinead scramble farther into the darkness.

Mando grunted when the guard started squirming in his grip, eyes white in the darkness.

Sinead stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the rifle into the soft part of his stomach. “Don’t move,” she whispered.

Light flickered as four soldiers, dressed head to toe in black, marched down the street. One of them stopped at the mouth of the alley, an arm’s length from the trio hiding in the shadows. He stretched while scanning the area, holding his rifle loosely in one hand. Sinead held her breath.

“Oi! Tokker! Curfew’s about to end, we gotta get a move on,” came a shout from down the street.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming all right.” The guard hitched up his pants and disappeared from view.

There was a commotion behind her and she whirled around; the guard had gotten hold of a knife and struck it against Mando’s side where it was deflected by beskar, sparks lighting up the small space. Mando slammed into the guard, the knife sliding across beskar again.

Sinead rushed forward and grabbed the guard’s wrist, wrenching it back until there was an audible pop and his eyes went wide. The knife fell from his hand.

Mando grabbed it in the air and slammed it into the soldier’s throat, who slid slowly to the ground.

“You okay?” Sinead didn’t look at the corpse at their feet.

“Yeah,” Mando said, checking that his armor held up. “But we can’t stay here much longer. We need to get back to the ship.”

“I know, but we have to make sure she isn’t here.” Sinead didn’t want to imagine what Gatt would do if they returned sans her niece.

They followed the four guards, keeping to the smaller streets. The city was waking up with the sun; some of the shutters covering the small windows had been opened, showing sleep-weary people getting ready for the day.

Up ahead, the street opened up into a small square where narrow stalls clustered together in a seemingly random order and sun-faded lanterns hung low between rotted wooden poles; many of them had disintegrated, leaving behind a bare wire skeleton to sway in the breeze. The dark houses surrounding the square seemed to close in over the small space.

The four soldiers clustered around at the other end of the square, surrounding two figures laying curled up on the uneven ground. The biggest of the figures, an old man, hid his face in his cloak as blows from the soldiers rained down on him. The other smaller figure was likewise huddled on the ground, a shock of red hair making Sinead grab Mando by the shoulder.

"Mando-"

"I've seen her. Go right and distract them."

Sinead didn't stop to think. She ran along the right side of the square, the rifle heavy in her arms.

"Hey Tokker!"

The soldiers looked up.

"Who-"

A blaster bolt fizzled through the air and one of the men crumbled to the ground, a smoking hole in the middle of his chest.

Sinead stepped to the side as a blaster bolt hit the wall behind her, showering the ground with dust. She fired the rifle and the recoil punched a bruise into her shoulder. Another soldier let out a strangled cry and fell to the ground.

One guard jumped behind a flimsy stall while the last one started running, screaming into his comm-link. Sinead shot him in the back and sent him flying into a hand-drawn cart, flipping it over with a loud crash.

The last soldier fell backward with a smoking hole in his head.

Silence fell over the square. The old man carefully lifted his head.

“Get up,” Sinead said when she reached Mirian. She cast a worried look around. Someone was bound to have heard that.

The old man slunk away as Mando came running. “We gotta go,” he said, casting a glance behind him.

Sinead grabbed Mirian’s wrist and pulled her to her feet. Mirian didn’t complain but followed them as they ran for the nearest street leading out of the square.

A door opened and a human woman came out, taking one look at the trio before hurrying inside, slamming the door behind her.

They took a shortcut through a garden made up mostly of mud and weeds. Sinead kept glancing back, her ears prickled for any sign of guards coming their way. She threw the rifle into an uncovered well and pulled out her blaster. They stopped by a rain barrel and Sinead let out a deep breath.

Mirian’s face was streaked in dirt and she seemed to curl in on herself. “I didn’t mean to-“

Mando shushed her while Sinead hissed “quiet!”

There were shouts in the distance and the sound of heavy footfalls, a group of people moving down the street. There was a loud crash as a door was broken down and someone screamed.

They started running along a dilapidated fence until they found a gap big enough to squeeze through one after one. Raised voices came from a nearby house and something shattered.

Sinead was the first to head down a narrow alley, the sky only a sliver of light above her. Broken glass crunched under her feet. She could hear Mirian’s terrified breathing behind her.

A hulking figure appeared at the mouth of the alley. Sinead hit the ground, dragging Mirian down behind her.

A blaster bolt fizzled over her head and hit Mando in the chest, sending him stumbling back with a grunt.

Mirian screamed, her voice reverberated between the walls.

Suddenly, the alley was filled with blaster fire and howls of pain. Sinead got to her feet and squeezed the trigger. The figure fell to the ground but just as soon another took his place.

She threw herself to the side, colliding with the wall to avoid a blaster bolt.

The alley lit up in red again and again. The air smelled like ozone.

She stabbed the nearest dark figure, her knife getting twisted out of her hands as he fell.

Something collided with her back, sending her crashing to the ground. Broken glass cut into her skin as she twisted around and pushed the weight off her. The soldier rolled to the side, a trickle of blood seeping from his mouth.

She scrambled to get up when a boot connected with her ribs. Air left her lungs as she crashed into the ground, her mouth filling with dirty alley water.

Two meaty hands closed around her throat. A dark mask hovered above her, two red-tinted eyes glinting down at her. Putrid breath hit her face.

Her blaster was gone. She tore at his hands, but his grip grew stronger. Dark spots clouded her eyes.

There was a sickening thud and the soldier froze. He blinked once, blood flowing into his eyes.

He pitched forward. Sinead took a deep gulp of air and pushed him away.

Mirian stared at the board held raised in her hands. Her breath hitched.

The last soldier fell. The alley rang with silence.

Sinead got to her feet; broken glass tinkled as it fell from her tattered clothes.

“I-I didn’t mean to-“ Mirian tore her gaze from the bloody board to Sinead. Her chin quivered.

“No time,” Mando said, pulling Mirian to her feet in one fluid motion. “There are still more in the city.”

Sinead grabbed her blaster half pinned under a dead soldier, and they set into a sprint.

Sun broke over the horizon as they found a way out of the settlement. Stalks crunched under Sinead’s feet as she ran, breathing heavily through her nose. Her chest felt tight.

Mando helped Mirian over a stone dike where the stile had collapsed. Her hands had finally stopped shaking.

They were near the relative safety of the rocks which were painted golden in the early morning light, when Mando’s head snapped back to the settlement. “Get down,” he growled and threw himself flat against the ground.

Sinead and Mirian dove behind the nearest stone dike. Three speeder bikes shot out of the settlement, a tail of dust behind them. They followed the dirt road at breakneck speed.

Sinead held her breath as they passed. No one moved until the roar of the speeder bikes were gone.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Mirian’s voice shook as she grabbed the stone dike to haul herself to her feet.

“Just move,” grunted Mando, who kept an eye on the road as they hurried towards the mountain.

At last, they made it to the river. Sinead jumped on the bridge first, edging her way across. There wasn’t any sign of them being followed but still, she'd rather not stay for longer than strictly necessary.

Once her feet hit the ground on the other side of the river, a tiny bit of tension left her shoulders. A small strip of water wouldn’t be much of an obstacle for the Collective but it still felt better knowing there was something standing between her and the settlement.

Mirian scrambled down from the bridge, her eyes locked on the ground.

At last, the Mandalorian made his way across. Sinead could read the anger in his shoulders. Something hot and spiky unfurled in her stomach.

Mirian scraped the ground with the tip of her shoe. “I didn’t mean to-“

Mando and Sinead exploded at the same time.

“What the fuck were you thinking-“

“Do you realize what you’ve-“

“-of all the shortsighted, senseless-“

“-and for what? Being a-“

“-idiot girl, I hope your aunt locks you up in a goddamn cell if we ever get back, hopefully you won’t do any more harm from there.” Sinead’s face burned with anger.

Mirian looked at them with wide eyes, face frozen in fear or defeat.

Mando breathed heavily through his nose. “We go back to the ship. You don’t touch anything, you don’t say anything.” He stared Mirian down until she nodded.

Sinead rolled her shoulders, trying to reign back her anger. “Right. Let’s go.”

Sunlight glinted off the ship when they found their way back between the boulders. Suri walked in circles beside the open ramp, the child watching her solemnly from the opening. He was the first to notice them, babbling excitedly and waddling down the ramp.

Suri spun around, letting go of one of her lekkus. “You found her!”

The old man, Erno, came hurrying out of the ship. “You’re too late. The blockade is back online.”

“We know,” Mando grunted and grabbed the kid before he fell over in his haste to get to the Mandalorian.

“Place’ll be swarming with guards any minute. Is there anywhere we can go?” Sinead looked back the way they came. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she could hear raised voices.

Erno twirled his hat in his hands. “There are caves on the other side of the mountain. They ain’t easy to navigate even if you know the area. I might be able to find one you can hide out in.”

“And then we do what? We can’t stay there forever,” Sinead said.

“We can figure that out later. Now we just need to get out of here,” Mando said.

They piled into the ship. The wounded rebel was sleeping in the bunk.

“Don’t move a muscle,” Mando said to Mirian, who shrunk at the words. Sinead would feel bad for her if this wasn’t solely her fault.

Mando disappeared up the ladder with Erno, and the ship turned on with a shudder.

Sinead sat down on the floor with her back against the wall, her side was burning. “You think we’re gonna get out of here?”

Suri grimaced and wrapped her arms around herself in a tight hug. “I don’t know.”

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[crackinglamb]

Fluff-uary Prompt 8 - Long Walks

(ME - Jayne and Garrus)

Garrus pulled the groundcar in at what looked like a pleasure park.  There were silvery trees reaching for the sun, soft grass carpeting the low rise and a little ways off Jayne could see the river that bisected parts of Cipritine.  It was amazing how untouched this place looked after the miles and miles of rubble still being cleared and rebuilt in the more industrial parts of the city.

“This is amazing,” Jayne said.  “I didn't know there was anything like this here.”

Garrus flicked his mandibles.  “Not everything turian is formal and hard.”

She gave him a playful swat.  “You know what I mean.  Idyllic landscapes and the aftermath of a galactic war tend to be mutually exclusive.”

He settled more comfortably in the driver's seat and gazed out at the thriving scenery around them.  “This was one of my favorite places as a boy. Mom would bring Sol and me here and let us loose to run off the excess energy we'd always have after lessons.”  He pointed upriver, to a curve where the flowing water had carved its way into the bedrock over countless millennia.  “I used to sketch there, before Dad found out.”

“Was he really that upset at your interest in art?”  

“No, not really. He just thought it was something I shouldn't become too invested in before doing my mandatory service.  It was a fine hobby, he said, but not a career.”

“Hmm, what does he think now?”

He turned to look at her, a small, abashed smile on his face.  “Now he's glad he stuck firm to that ideal.  He thinks we wouldn't be here if I hadn't gone into military service.”

“He may have a point,” she conceded.  “I know I wouldn't be.”

“Sure you would.”

“Oh, babe, I don't think so.  No Shepard without Vakarian, remember?”

“Hmph.”  

He seemed almost embarrassed by how much faith she had in him, how much he gave her a reason for living.  Sounded like for all his distance, Castis felt more of that than he let on too.  She made a mental note to urge her father-in-law to buy some art supplies for his son for his next nameday.  It would be better than coming from her.  She already gave him her vocal support in everything.  “So tell me, babe, why are we here?”

“I wanted to show you this spot, maybe take you for a walk.  It's peaceful here and there's lots of shady spots.”

She smiled warmly. “So that's why you were so adamant about bringing the chair even though I hardly use it now.”

“Well, it's hard to enjoy the scenery if you're in too much pain to walk.”

“This is why I love you.  You're so thoughtful.”

He grunted again, but now it was in self deprecation.  He got out of the car and popped the trunk, pulling her mobile assist chair out and positioning it on her side of the vehicle.  Once, she would have fought him over it, would have declared herself perfectly fit to walk along the path she could see hugging the riverside.  Now, she was learning she didn't always have to be Commander Shepard.  Now her burdens were fewer and she could admit to only being human.  Just Jayne Shepard-Vakarian, honored war veteran.  Never mind that whole savior of the galaxy thing.  At least hero worship among turians was founded in a strong sense of respect and not sensationalism.  It made life among them downright pleasant compared to the fanfare she was greeted with on Earth.

She got out of the car, opening her trusty lead umbrella, and got in the chair, already hot from the sun.  It felt good on the back of her right thigh, where the hamstrings were still tight as the new leg integrated.  Garrus pushed her from the lot to the path, gravel crunching under the wheels and his feet.  Funny how some thing transcended species.  

He walked them into a shadier area and she could risk putting her umbrella away.  He stopped in the curve where he used to sketch in his youth.  She could see why he liked it so much, even during what passed for winter in Cipritine.  The curve made a natural eddy in the river, and she could see dripping moss hanging down the far side where a ravine had formed.  Little red ferns grew up between chinks in the stone, and shiny fish could be seen in the relatively calm water below.  All in all, it was very picturesque.

“Let's walk for a little bit,” she said, locking the wheels and standing up.  Garrus took her arm and helped her stay steady on the gravel.  Her left foot planted fine, but the right one had a tendency to sink into the crushed stones, leading to the possibility of tripping.  They walked as far as the shade kept her out of the blistering sun, then back to the chair.  She had to admit by the time she sat back down that she was drained by the exercise.  Walking on real terrain was different than on a treadmill in the confines of a gym.

Garrus took her to a few other places along the path, pointing out small creatures that were starting to come out of hiding now that the Reapers were gone. The ecosystem was recovering, just as surely as they were.  Under the shade of a tree that reminded her of a weeping willow – only turquoise – they stopped again and looked around the expanse of the park.

“What are you thinking about, babe?”

“I'm wondering if we'll ever bring children of our own here.”

“That's the plan, isn't it?  Adrien said the paperwork was all in order, although why that fell under his jurisdiction is beyond me.”

Garrus scowled at her, but only lightly.  “Jayne, you shouldn't call the Primarch by his first name.”

“Why not?  We're friends.”

“He's the Primarch.”

“And I'm the savior of the galaxy.  That's got to be good for something.  Pretty sure it means I outrank him.”

He laughed and shook his head.  “Why do I get the feeling this is exactly how that conversation went down?”

She grinned back at him.  “What makes you think it was ever in question?  We spent a lot of time together, Adrien and I, before the Normandy came back.”

“It falls under the Primarch's jurisdiction right now because there's no one else to do it,” Garrus said, ignoring her tease about how much time she'd spent with Victus.  He started them back towards the car.  The sun was setting and while that meant a still reasonably comfortable air temperature for her, for him it was getting chilly.  “There was once an entire branch of the Hierarchy dedicated to handling cross world adoption.  The war has shaken up the whole meritocracy into a giant mess.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense.  Someday, we'll be able to tell our children that their adoption paperwork was signed by the Primarch of Palaven.  I wonder if they'll see how funny that is like I do.”

He chuckled. “Probably.  Any child of yours is bound to end up with your sense of humor.”

“As long as they end up with your sense of everything else, I'm satisfied.”  She reached back behind her head to grasp his arm on the handles of the chair.  “You're a very good turian, you know.”

“You might be biased.”

“Hmm, maybe. Anything's possible.”

They reached the car and she got into the passenger seat while he folded up the chair and stowed it.  He got in and started up the engine, a quiet hum that barely broke the silence of the evening.  “Dinner at Atheya's?”

“Sure.”  She leaned over and kissed his mandible before she belted herself in. She saw his grin from the corner of her eye and smiled back at him. Life was really was good, wasn't it?

[chipoisanook]

Reoccurring Events [Part 1]

Word count: 5,603

A/N: This was an idea I and @xbubblesworldx had where all the Losers have kids. So, we’re trying something out. Part 2 will be written by @xbubblesworldx

What people don’t know is that life always repeated itself in some way. Maybe not so you can see, but it happened. The Losers found this out the hard way.

Georgia turned the page of the book she was reading, though it wasn’t strange to find her with her head in a book, she was every bit of her mother and father. She looked spitting image of her mom, but the way she acted the way she spoke with such confidence. Words on a page spoke to her more than words spilling from someone’s lips, she expressed herself more by allowing the inc to carve out her ideas that sprung into her head. She looked like Audra Phillips alright, but her personality screamed Bill Denbrough. A smile came to her face, a small bubbly laugh leaving into the air as she carried on, eyes moving from the left to the right quickly. Georgia would’ve been there for hours if you let her, however, when the door to the trailer quickly opened, Bill rushing in with an indescribable look on his face, the book had lost her attention.

“Woah, you okay?” She questioned. Georgia scanned over Bill, his chest was heaving up and down quickly but was slowing down with his deep breaths. He was clutching his hand, the one with the scar on. Georgia remembered asking her dad how he got it once but he couldn’t remember. He tried, saying he could’ve sworn it was something to Derry, but what happened wouldn’t come to him. But now? Now it just seemed to be causing him pain. Bill shook his head, swallowing thickly as he spoke. “I uh, just got a call?” Georgia raised a brow, that was strange to her. Her parents got called all the time, especially after everything was confirmed for the movie based off of Bill’s book. “Who was it? You look-” She paused for a moment, looking him over again before continuing. “Shook up.” Bill nodded, fingers massaging the scar on his hand as he cleared his throat. “An old friend, Mike. From Derry.” Georgia’s face filled with confusion. “You’ve never mentioned him before.” As she said this her dad went over to his laptop, as Bill opened the lid he began to type quickly. “We lost touch when I moved away, he wants a reunion. Me and some other old friends.” At this, Georgia’s face lit up. She sat up, sitting on the edge of her seat as her leg bounced up and down. “So that means you’re going back to Derry right?” Bill didn’t even need to answer, his mouth had opened to confirm what Georiga had said, but she cut in before he could. “I wanna come along.” The older male quickly looked away from his laptop, his eyes now locked onto his daughter. As his eyebrows furrowed, Georgia rolled her eyes. “Come on, please? You didn’t talk a lot about Derry, I wanna see what it’s like.” Georgia’s excitement poured out at this and despite the feeling swelling in Bill, the feeling that something bad was going on, the lingering burning sensation the scar gave off, and the hazy memories of Derry, he ignored them all. Instead, he smiled slightly before slowly nodding. “I don’t see why not, but make sure your mom knows too.” A squeal left the girls lips as she practically threw herself onto Bill, who had to press his hand into the seat so he didn’t go flying back. “Thank you! I’ll go tell her now.” And with that Georgia left on a search for Audra. If only she had looked back and seen the hidden fear in Bills eyes.

Fear that had been forgotten for 27 years.

***

Edward grimaced as he stood in the doorway, watching as his dad leaned over the side to throw up. Edward patted his back gently, though trying hard not to comment on what had happened, not yet anyway. “Do you need some water? Any medicine before you go on? I don’t think you should perform when you-” Edward stopped when Richie let out a laugh, not quite genuine, but enough to let Edward know he wasn’t dying. “Calm down small fry, I’m alright. Just some pre-show nerves.” Edward didn’t believe him, not for a second. However, he didn’t push it allowing his nose to scrunch up from the nickname. “Don’t call me that.” Richie laughed again as he ruffled his son hair, before getting dragged away for his comedy act, that was supposed to have started over a minute ago. Edward took time to fix the mess Richie had done to his hair, going back to the dressing room Richie was given. Even if Edward knew all his dads jokes by now, he loved them as though it was his first time, it was almost like Richie had the power to do that, be funny despite knowing what he was going to say.

Though he didn’t like standing backstage, feeling like he was in everyone’s way. Unlike Richie, Edward didn’t have a funny bone in his body. Sure he had a few comebacks up his sleeve. But compared to his dad? Richie took the top of the cake. He was often awkward, and despite Richie being built like a tree, Edward was small, fragile even. It was a surprise to most when Edward was introduced as Richie Tozier’s son, but here he was in all his glory. When Edward got to the dressing room, switching on the TV to watch the live feed of Richies show, he was met with his dad, frozen on stage. Edward almost had the nerves to go back there and drag him off the stage. With Richies distant eyes, the way he stared in front for seconds upon seconds, before mumbling, “I forgot the joke”, proved he certainly wasn’t okay. Although the rest of the show went perfectly after that, Edward couldn’t shake the look his dad had on his face. He was quick to question Richie when he was back, waiting for the show crew to leave the room before speaking. “I know you’re hiding something and that’s fine, but please tell me if it something serious,” Edward begged.

At first, the shorter male didn’t think Richie had heard him or better yet, was too stuck in his mind to hear him. However, Richie just turned around, a smirk dusting his face. “Pack your bag munchkin, we’re going to Derry.” Edwards’s mouth opened quickly, about to complain about the stupid nicknames. Until he took in the uncertainty in his dad’s voice. “Derry? You’re a hometown?” Richie nodded, turning away to grab his phone that was lying on the table. “Yep. I had a call from an old friend who wants to meet up.” Again, Edward had no time to question anything Richie had said, his mouth opened, but Richie was already calling out. “Hurry up or I’m leaving without you.” Edward rolled his eyes at this. He knew what his dad said was a lie. Ever since Richie left him with a babysitter when he was around 5 or 6 and he wouldn’t stop crying for Richie all day, the man hadn’t left him for a full day since. Edward still packed his limited amount of clothes and belongs he had brought with him, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was going on here.

Something in Derry.

***

Richard rubbed the bridge of his nose again, watching his dad mumble to himself as he threw clothes into his suitcase. He had come home with the car a wreck, but when his mom had questioned Eddie about it, squeezing his cheeks in her hands to check over his face he just replied saying he had to leave on a trip. Myra didn’t care much that he had to leave, but Richard certainly was. “So let me get this straight. You got a call from some guy called Mike back at your home town, and ended up crashing the car because of it?” Eddie let out a slight hum, checking over a shirt before throwing it in. “It’s still drivable.” Richard sighed, shaking his head. He watched his dad for a few more minutes, before finally turning away. “I’ll go pack.”

This gained Eddie’s attention, his hands dropping whatever clothing he had hold of as he turned around to watch his son. “No, no, no. You’re staying here.” Eddie didn’t need to see Richards face to hear him scoff, he let out a sigh as he stared at the back of the boys head. “Dick you need to stay here with your mom.” Richard turned as Eddie finished, an unimpressed look shown onto his face. “So she can coddle me every time I’m in her line of sight? I get it enough even when you’re here, I can’t deal with all of her attention.” Eddie wasn’t one to speak. Unlike him, Richard tried hard to not be chained down by Myra, he was braver then Eddie ever was. Though he had to admit, his humour was annoying at times. He wasn’t surprised thanks to that comedian he always watched, Eddie did watch it with him and most of the jokes made him laugh when his son wasn’t repeating them all the time. Myra hated them watching his show, but to be fair, she didn’t like anything unless she picked it out. Eddie knew how strained Richard and Myra’s relationship was, of course, he did.

The mere relief of his son face when he came home was hard to miss. Eddie couldn’t be the one to deny him coming to Derry, he had lived so long alone with Myra and honestly, it was no walk in the park. “Alright, okay. But you stick by me, I can’t remember much about Derry so it might as well be a new place for both of us.” Richard smirked when he got what he wanted, his eyes rolling even when he stuck his thumb up. “You got it, dad. So again, I’m gonna go pack and meet you in the car. You can tell mom I’m coming along.” That was the last thing said before Richard left his parent’s room to his own. Once again, a sigh left Eddie as he picked up the pants he had dropped. Relief washed over him from knowing him and his son would be away for at least a couple of days, which meant true freedom. Still, something chewed at him. Maybe it was just the thought of meeting up with the losers again.

Or the foggy memory of someone he left behind.

*** Lloyd bobbed his head enough so the headphones connect to the walkman didn’t fly off of his head. The lyrics to Please Don’t Go Girl blared from them as he sketched onto the paper, the pencil gliding over with such grace and accuracy, that you could watch the led make up pictures for days. Lloyd jumped when his foot was nudged, head snapping up to see the smiling face of his dad. He smiled, hands flying up to take his headphones off, allowing the real word to take hold of him again. “You packed?” Ben questioned, only to earn a nod from Lloyd as he pointed his pencil over to the back of the door. “Yeah, it’s over there. Finished a couple of minutes ago.” Bens eyes trailed over, a nod following as he went quiet for a moment. Lloyd had many questions about the whole ‘Old friend calling out of the blue,’ but decided to push them down and wait for Ben to explain. He didn’t get half of the answers he wanted, only that they were taking a trip down to Derry to meet some of Bens old friends.

Lloyd wasn’t complaining. Though his dad tried hard to tell him stories of Derry and why he moved there, Ben had often described the memories as distant dreams. Something that tried hard to stay hidden, even if he tried with all his being to get it out. “Are you excited? You might remember something down there.” Ben smiled, a short laugh leaving him as he nodded. “I am. I still remember them all being great friends, even if I can’t recall the best moments. Maybe snippets are the right word.” Lloyd smiled. He had always been interested in his dad’s childhood and most of the things Ben liked Lloyd was right behind like it as well. “Sorry about dragging you with me.” Lloyd pulled his attention back on to Ben again, eyebrows furrowing before he shook his head. “Are you kidding? I wanna see the famous Derry you talk so much about but also, can’t remember much of.” Bens sad smile turned up at hearing this his hand following as he squeezed Lloyds shoulder gently. “I’m glad. Anyway, I better continue packing.” The younger of the two nodded as he watched his dad stand up, hands seemingly having a mind of their own as they went back to the headphones. “Don’t forget to turn everything off when we leave!” He heard Bens’s voice call out earning a quick, “Okay!”, from Lloyd before his word was drowned into music again. Though Lloyds thoughts went back to the many questions he had for his dad but didn’t ask, the biggest one of all of them sticking out clearly in his mind.

Why did his dad look so worried when he realized who was on the phone?

*** The puddles splashed up Isaac’s legs as he rushed down the steps of the house, almost slipping at how fast he turned right to get away from the man. His father. When he was far enough down the street, he turned back to his dad’s screaming at them to get back to the house, his lips burning as the blood was washed away. Isaac’s eyes dragged away again as Beverly grabbed his arm, pulling him away until his dad was no longer in their range of sight. His chest was still heaving quickly, his bag across only one of his shoulders as they walked in silence. Issac already had a bag packed, he knew this day was coming. The day his mom would leave that abusive asshole he had the horrible pleasure of calling dad.

However, he didn’t know it would take a call to do so. He was so quick to come to Beverly’s rescue, earning an elbow to the lip in the process, he had no time to question who was on the phone and where they were going. Isaac jumped when he felt a hand on his cheek, eyes focusing back onto his mom who looked him over with concern, he hadn’t even realised they had stopped. “I’m fine, I’m alright.” Beverly didn’t look convinced, not that he sounded convincing in the first place. Though the subject soon changed from him to Beverly as he glanced at her exposed arms, that were littered in bruises. His mom said nothing more as she quickly pulled down the sleeves to her nightgown, looking away as their slow walk started up again.

“…Where do we go now?” Isaac questioned, the rain causing a shiver to run threw his body. Though right now, it was better than hearing the screams of his mom or hiding another injury so it wouldn’t ruin their perfect family image. “Derry.” The boy turned with a raised eyebrow, though Beverly looked confident in what she had said. “An old friend, Mike, called me. There’s a reunion down there with some other friends.” Isaac nodded as he turned away. It was the best thing they had right now, he couldn’t argue with the set plan his mom had set out. As he felt Beverly’s hand entwined with his, Isaac allowed a shaky breath to leave him. He didn’t know what the future had planned for the two Marshes, but he did know that all their answers now lied in Derry.

Whatever that would bring.

*** The classical music calmed William. His head tilted as he stared at the half-finished bird on the puzzle, watching his father as he placed another puzzle into its rightful place. William was what Stan liked to call, a wild soul. He wasn’t satisfied with following a strict rule set, he’d rather speak out than remain quiet, not keeping his thoughts to himself. What William lacked in Stan’s personality, he made up with the same love for birds. Sure, they both liked them for different reasons, but it was there all the same. Patrica didn’t understand what they found so interesting about them but didn’t once call them out on it. She had her hobbies, and they had theirs.

William ignored the sound of his parents speaking, even the sound of his father’s phone as it went off. He only paid attention when he heard Stan’s voice cut in. “Right Mike, hi.” William ignored the way Stan sounded, taking the last piece from him as he pressed it into the puzzle, completing the puzzle of the bird they had spent a good hour on. “Finally,” William mumbled to himself, his monotone expression breaking as a small smile tugged at his lips. “IT’s back… isn’t it?” As soon as the smile was there, it was gone again, ripped away as he looked back at his father. William finally took note of how Stan looked down at his scarred hand before looking forward again but looking at nothing particular. But the way they shifted, the way he began to clench and unclench his scarred hand. He was scared, but of what? William had no idea.

As Stan ended the call, Patrica turned to him. “Who was calling?” Stan took a moment, again, his attention on his hand. He swallowed thickly before answering. “A-An old friend. He wanted to meet up for a reunion.” Patrica’s smile widened, but William kept his focus on his father. “That sounds nice, I’m guessing you’re gonna go pack?” Stan’s eyes widened at this, fear holding them in place as he thought about going back to Derry. He cleared his throat before shaking his head. “No, I’m not going. Too much work.” William shook his head at this, finally deciding to speak about this call. “Don’t you want to see your old friends? I thought you said they were your best friends?” The older male looked over to his son, thinking over what he said before turning away. “That was a long time ago. I can’t remember much.” William was going to argue again, maybe convince Stan that he should go. However, his father was already leaving the room. “I’ll be in my office.

That’s how William ended up in his room hours later, staring at the ceiling as he thought about what had gone on in the living room. He might have been there all night if he wasn’t pulled from his thoughts upon hearing his mom calling for his dad, asking if he was alright from outside the bathroom door. As William sat up, his eyes scanning over his room, he stopped on his window. There sat a cardinal bird, just staring at him. Its red wings spread out for a moment, before resting again. He was about to grab his camera to take a picture, show it to his dad tomorrow and brag about seeing the bird until the scream rang out. The scream belonging to Patrica.

The camera was dropped to the floor as William ran out from his room, the house filled with the sobs of his mother and the screams falling from his own lips as he pulled the broken woman away from the bathroom floor. If only he thought more about the cardinal bird, he would’ve remembered all too well what the small winged creature represented.

A loved one who has passed.

*** Leroy looked around the busy restaurant, walking beside his father as they followed the woman to a closed-off part that they had booked for the night. Mike smiled, thanking the woman before she walked off. “Do you know who’s coming?” Leroy looked over to Mike as he asked this question. Mike took a moment, looking around the table before answering. “Not exactly, but, none of them said they weren’t coming.” Leroy nodded as he took a seat, waiting for his dad to stop pacing before he spoke again. “What if this doesn’t work? You know what happened last time someone tried to do this and-” Mike looked over at his son, who had one hand gripping at his pant leg. He took a couple of steps before kneeling down in front of him. “Hey, hey. It will work. As long if we all believe it will, it’ll work.” Leroy didn’t look convinced, his mouth opening again to question Mike on it not working again. But it wasn’t his voice that got there first.

“Mike?” The two males turned to be met with another adult and a girl. Mike slowly got up, scanning the male over with a large smile. “Big Bill?” Bill laughed at this, however, he wasn’t expecting Mike to rush up to him, crushing him in a tight hug. Mike laughed loudly which calmed Leorys nerves slightly. “Sorry, sorry.” Bill patted Mike’s shoulder as he let go before turning to the girl behind him. “This is my daughter, Georgia.” Mike smiled, looking back to his son as he spoke. “This is Leroy, my son.” Leroy lifted an awkward hand as he waved, Georgia returning though hers was more confident. “Oh my God.” They all turned at the other new voice, another man and boy now stood where Bill once was. “Eddie?” Bill asked. Eddie slowly nodded, looking over them slowly as he spoke. “I can’t believe we have kids.”

Mike laughed at this whereas Bill smiled again. As they all moved further into the closed-off space Eddie pointed to his own son. “This is Richard-” He didn’t get to carry on as Richard interrupted him. “But you can call me Richie.” Eddie raised a brow, shaking his head as he turned to his two friends. “Just call him Dick if you need to.” This earned a scoff from the boy and most likely a long speech on how he wanted the same nickname of the comedian he loved so much until there was a loud gong. “This meeting of the Losers Club is now in session.”

As they all turned around once again, they were met with three more members of the losers club. Richie, Ben and Beverly. Richie scanned over the faces in front of him, taking a minute on Richard who was gawking at him before he spoke. “I didn’t know there would be so many kids.” It took him a moment before a smirk came to his face, his head sticking back out the closed-off area. “Waitress!” As he turned back, the younger members of the group all knew that day that a smirk from Richie Tozier was never a good thing. “Another table please!”

*** “What the fuck are you laughing at!” Eddie yelled as he pointed at Ben, who just laughed in his face along with the others. The six kids sat around the smaller table, either with their chin resting on their palm, or leaning back on their chair watching them. “I can’t believe they put us on the kiddy table,” Richard said earning a nod from all of them, Georgia sighing before looking away. “Alright, might as well introduce ourselves again. Names Georgia.” The rest of them turned at this figuring that this was better than watching their parents have fun.

“Richard, but call me Richie.” Edward made a face at this, his nose scrunching up as he shook his head. “I’m not calling you that, it’s my dad’s name,” Richard smirked, sending finger guns his way. “Exactly, your dad is awesome. I love his show.” Edward nodded at this, his face still scrunched up. “Yeah, but that’s still weird that you want the same nickname.” Richard scoffed, palms hitting the table as he leaned forward. “Then what’s your name?” Edward leaned away from him slightly, but still answered the question. “Edward.” Richard let out a laugh at this, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Ah-ha, that’s my dad’s full name so you’re weird!” Edwards’s mouth fell open, he was about to argue until he thought about their names and who their fathers were. “Wait a minute.” They both turned to their dads, who were both laughing, grabbing the hands of each other in a handshake before Richard and Edward looked away and back at each other. “They are so gay for each other.”

Lloyd shook his head at this with a small laugh before turning his attention back on all of them. “I’m Lloyd you know, after Frank Lloyd Wright, the famous architect.” As he looked around, they all stared at him with a blank look causing him to sink in his seat. “Just in case you were interested.” Isaac sent him a small smile, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “It’s an interesting fact. I’m Isaac by the way.” When they all managed to actually look at him they all knew they were thinking the same things, however, Georgia was the one to ask. “That looks sore.” Isaac’s hand seemed to move on its own as it touched his lip shrugged as he did so. “Nah, not that much now. It did when I got it.” Silence hung over them for a while, no one really knowing what to say knowing nothing about each other.

Leroy cleared his throat a smile settling once he did. “Well, I’m Leroy. I’ve lived in Derry all my life so, I know the good spots and bad spots about this town.” Richard snorted slightly, leaning back on his chair. “So, have any good stories about this place?” Leroy went quiet, eyes casting down as he thought about any stories. His eyes moved over to his dad, who was too busy laughing and talking about the many years without his friends, that he wasn’t paying attention to him. Leroy beckoning them all closer, which they did, his voice turning to a quiet hush as he spoke. “Well, my dad told me this story of this spiritual being.” He hard one of them laugh again but he quickly shook his head. “You don’t get it. 27 years ago, our parents were up against IT.” They looked to one another, so busy with the story that they didn’t notice the fortune cookies being brought to their parent’s.

“Does this thing have a name?” Georgia mumbled to Leroy as the boy nodded in return. “Yes, its name is-” The screams tore them away from gaining IT’s name. Their parents were moving away from the cookies, but from what? The kids couldn’t see it. They all got up at the same time, though they had no idea whether to go forward and snap them out of whatever they were seeing. “What’s wrong with them?!” Lloyd shouted to Leroy. Though he stood frozen, staring at one of the fortune cookies before moving away with a yell. At this point Mike had already gone for the chair, slamming it onto the table over and over again. “It’s not real! It’s not real!” Isaac made his way to Beverly, mumbling something to her as she was coward back into the corner. The rest did the same, moving to their parents as the waitress came walking in. “Is everything alright in here?” The adults breathed heavily, looking to one another and then to the kids. Richie lifted a hand up, nodding along with it. “Check please.”

*** Georgia watched as the cars pulled out of the car park, leaving only her, Bill, Mike and Leroy. She had to admit, she had never seen her father so shook up. Mike was begging him not to go, and Georgia looked on not really knowing what to do. It was only when Bill agreed to go with Mike, that they were ready to follow the man to where he wanted to go. “Are you Mike Halon?” They turned at the voice. A boy approaching them, his face had a serious tone to it, though his eyes were red and slightly puffy. None of them commented on it however, Mike nodding as he spoke. “That’s me, do I know you?” The boy took a moment, his head shaking causing his curls to shake slightly. “No. My name is William, William Uris. I think you knew my father.” Again, a pin could’ve dropped and everyone would’ve heard it. After Beverly had got hold of Stans wife, they had heard the horrible news of what became of the 7th missing member of the Losers club. “You’re Stans son?” Bill questioned.

William moved his gaze to Bill. However, his eyes narrowed slightly, searching the male up and down before commenting. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” Bill turned to Mike for a second before his attention was back on the boy. “I’m Bill. I was also one of your dad’s friends.” William scanned him over again but nodded nothing less. “We were just heading off if you want to join us?” Mike asked softly. It wasn’t really a question, the two adults would’ve got him to come one way or another. But they wanted it to seem like he had a choice, there was no need to make him more emotional than he already was. William slowly nodded, a quiet, “I came all this way-”, leaving his lips as he followed Mike to his car, getting in the back as Leroy got to the front. Bill getting in his own car with Georgia sitting next to them him. With that, Mike lead on with Bill following close behind.

***

“I need to show Bill something, you can show Georgia and William around the Libary while we’re gone,” Mike said while motioning Bill upstairs with him. Georgia turned in a full circle, looking at the building before she turned back to the two boys. Silence danced around them until she decided to break the silence. “I’m sorry… about your dad.” William turned to her, the same monotone face as before looking back at her. “I heard he was a great man.” At first, Georgia didn’t think he was going to say anything as he looked away. However, she was surprised when he replied to her. “He was.” She nodded, looking at the ground. Leroy smiled sadly before taking a book from its shelf, dusting it off. “There are lots of books around here  about Derry’s history if you want to know more about the time.”

Georgia let out a hum, stopping beside Leroy as she looked down at the pages. “About back at the restaurant, you could see what our parents could see. Couldn’t you?” The male froze, eyes not leaving the page before he sent her a smile, passing her the book as he moved along. “There are also other books if your interested, myths, legends.” Georgia raised a brow, placing the book back where it belonged as she followed Leroy. “You’re avoiding the question.“She again didn’t get an answer, instead, he just carried on with what they had in the library. "I also read this good book a couple weeks back about a turtle, very interesting-” As he got around to where William was stood, eyes scanning over the words of a book, Leroy was fast to take it away from him. “Don’t read that!”

The rain was heard from outside as both William and Georgia stared at Leroy, he held the book away from them. Georgia moved forward, attempting to take the book but there was no use. “What don’t you want us knowing about?” Leroy huffed with a shake of his head, the book angled away from her. “It’s nothing. I just know that one of you will want to go there, it’s better you know nothing about it.” William rolled his eyes, snatching the book from the other male’s hand when he was done speaking. “Yonk.” A gasp left Leroy as he reached out to take it back, but William was already finishing reading the page in the book. “What’s so special about an old house?” The book was snatched away again, Leroy slamming it shut as he spoke.

“The Neibolt house isn’t just an old house, and you’d know better not to go anywhere near it.” Georgia and William looked at one another, a frustrated growl leaving Leroy as they did so. “Its an abandoned house but it’s a dangerous, abandoned house. Just don’t speak about this again.” He explained while putting the book back. “You should be able to tell us what’s so bad about it, or we don’t know the dangers,” Georgia said as William nodded, agreeing with her. “Yeah. So a wooden beam might fall on you, so what?” A shrug followed as William said this, but Leroy just shook his head again. “You don’t get it, this-” His words were cut short as Bill came down the stairs, Mike right behind as he nodded at Leroy. “We need to go.” Bill quickly said, leaving the entrance of the library. “What? Where are we going now?” Georgia questioned since she thought they would be there long, though, the only reply she got was from Mike. “We need to stop the others, at the townhouse.”

Both Georgia and William sighed but followed Bill out of the library, Mike and Leroy being the last ones as they shut off the lights, plaguing the library back in darkness.

[sweettoothedtrickster13]

On the Run Chapter 15

Fandom: Outlast Whistleblower

Characters: Waylon Park, Eddie Gluskin, OFC

Relationships: Waylon Park/Eddie Gluskin

Summary: Waylon gets some new projects and feels guilty

AO3 Link

Waylon watches them, fond. He gets carefully to his feet, and they don't stir. They must be exhausted. He goes into the backyard and looks at the coop. They haven't built the roof yet, but the inside is half-done. The walls are there, and some of the boxes where the chickens will be, but not really much else. He goes back inside and goes on the computer, turning the volume off in case ads pop up.

He looks up images of the inside of chicken coops. Most of them are plain inside, just like theirs will be. But he makes a mental note to ask them if there will be any wood for the chickens to grab with their feet. He supposes that it's some kind of stimulation for them. He hears someone stir behind him and pauses, looking back. But it was just Jess turning onto her side. He watches her for a second, making sure she doesn't wake up, but she stays asleep. He tiptoes upstairs and grabs one of the books that he recommended to Eddie, reading it in his room.

A few hours later, he hears movement downstairs. He wants to finish this chapter before he sees who woke up. But footsteps come up the stairs and he marks where he is. Murkoff. A freight train thought. He freezes and carefully puts the book down to not make noise, slinking out of bed and looking for a weapon. He grabs his carving knife. It isn't much, but it's something. He makes a mental note to see if they can get a bat from town. He drops into a crouch and peeks through the crack he left between the door and the frame. But it's just Jess. She pauses and looks at him, and he straightens. He opens his door and looks out.

"Thought I was Murkoff," she asks. Waylon nods, sheepish. "Nothing to be ashamed about. We have to be careful."

"Is Eddie still sleeping?"

"When I last looked." She looks at the knife in his hands. "Well, since you've got that, why don't we try to find you a project," she asks. They move quietly down the stairs, and Eddie is breathing deeply on the couch. Jess closes the sliding doors behind them and leads the way into the forest.

"Can't we just get wood in town," Waylon asks.

"We could," Jess agrees. "But this is cheaper. Though I suppose we could ask to check the scrap bin," she muses. "But let's try here first." She finds a pine tree and looks beneath it. She doesn't find anything but sticks. They keep looking, but don't find anything worthy of a project. They go back to the house and find Eddie working on the coop. "Hey," Jess greets.

"Hey," Eddie nods. Jess dumps the sticks on the porch. "I could build a box," he offers, looking at the pile.

"Get the coop done first," Jess gestures at the unfinished structure. Waylon looks at it- Eddie had made some real progress. Which reminds him.

"I was looking at coops while you guys were sleeping," he says. "Some coops had like...a bar of wood in the air," he questions. Eddie and Jess look at each other, confused. "The chickens were sitting on it?"

"A...roosting bar," Eddie guesses. Waylon nods, and realization dawns on Jess' face.

"What about it," she asks.

"Should we put one in?"

"That's a good idea," Eddie nods. Waylon smiles softly.

"What are they for?"

"Mostly for them to get away from predators," Jess explains. "It gives them a sense of security."

"What can eat chickens?"

"Raccoons, dogs, birds of prey, foxes," Jess lists.

"Cats," Eddie adds.

Waylon nods. "How will we protect them?"

"The run will do a good job of that, long as one of us locks it up at night," Jess says. Waylon wasn't lying when he said he likes her drawl.

"Eddie, why don't you have an accent," he asks him.

"I moved to the Midwest for a while. Lost it."

Waylon nods, curiosity satisfied. He almost asks why, then remembers Eddie's file. He probably wanted to leave home as soon as possible. The thought saddens him.

"Waylon," Jess pokes him.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you want to go into town, see if we can look around the scrap bin," she repeats.

"Sorry. Sure."

They walk through the house to pick up the keys and Waylon drives. They park on Main Street and Jess leads them to the general store.

"Hey guys," Charlie greets them. "Need more pallets already?"

"Not yet," Jess says. "I was wondering if there was a wood scrap bin somewhere in town we could look through. We're gonna teach Sam to carve."

"Sure thing! That would be Jenkin's store," he nods. "Just down the street is a shop with a red and white striped awning, they should be happy to let you jump on in."

"Thanks, Charlie," Waylon says. Charlie waves as they leave and walk. Waylon watches Jess carefully, making sure she's not limping. "Have you applied the antibiotic cream the doctor gave you?"

"Yes, Sam. You know, you're my brother, not mom," she jokes. They arrive at the shop and a bell tinkles merrily above their heads as they walk in. An older man looks up from wiping down the counter.

"You must be Katie and Sam," he smiles. "I'm Arnie."

"That'd be us," Jess grins. Waylon is always surprised when someone they haven't met yet knows who they are. "Kyle and I are planning on teaching Sam to carve. Do you have maybe a scrap bin we could look through? We'd be happy to pay you."

"Aw, hell. No payment necessary. Just the promise that you'll buy wood from me in the future. Except the pallets you're getting from Charlie, of course."

"You got it, Arnie," Jess nods. Arnie disappears into a back room. He comes back out with a younger man wearing a straw cowboy hat.

"Trevor, this is Katie and Sam. They're new in town."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Trevor tips his hat. He shakes both of their hands.

"They're looking for the scrap bin."

"Sure thing." He leads them behind the shop where there's a Dumpster full of wood. Waylon is hesitant. "Don't worry, it ain't dirty or nothin'," Trevor says. "Jump right on in." Waylon looks at Jess, who is looking at it with trepidation and rubbing her leg. Waylon turns to Trevor.

"Could you help? I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Sure!" Trevor hauls himself in. He extends a hand down to Waylon, but he barely needs it. The asylum had given him upper body strength beyond what he had before from light workouts. "You're pretty strong for a skinny guy," Trevor claps him on the back. Waylon just shrugs. "What are y'all looking for?"

"Just something to learn on."

"Small project, got it." He takes working gloves out of his back pocket and pulls them on, sifting through the wood. He takes out a pale, smooth piece. It's about the size of Waylon's forearm. He marvels at it.

"Why was that thrown out?"

"I cut it from a larger piece. No one in town wants small projects for the most part. Come by the shop once a week, we generally put scraps out front before they come here." Waylon nods. Trevor drops the piece down to Jess and keeps looking. He pulls out another piece of light wood, slightly smaller. That goes to Jess, too. He picks out a few more pieces- all light wood, but not quite as smooth as the first pieces. "That should be enough," Trevor nods. "Y'all come on back when you run out." The men jump down. Waylon takes half the wood from Jess and they walk back to the truck. Waylon notices Jess is starting to limp and is grateful they didn't park far. They toss the wood in the bed and Waylon drives back to the house.

Eddie is still building the coop. Jess sits on the couch and props her foot up on the coffee table. Eddie comes inside and glances at her. He goes upstairs and comes back with a pillow, lifting Jess' foot and putting it under.

"Thanks."

Eddie just nods. Waylon brings all the wood to the back and puts it near the sticks. Eddie examines them all, turning them over in his hands.

"What makes this wood so good for carving," Waylon asks.

"It's soft," Eddie replies. He shows Waylon the first piece of wood Trevor had gotten him- the one so smooth looking that it reminds him of paper. "This is basswood. It's a great beginner wood." He picks up another piece of wood, slightly darker than the previous wood with dark lines running through it. "This is aspen. Different color, but still a softwood."

Waylon nods. "How's the coop coming along?"

"Should be done tonight," Eddie says, looking at it over his shoulder.

"Pretty quick turnaround."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Seems like it." He taps Eddie's elbow. "Good job."

Eddie smiles. "Thanks." Waylon sits and watches Eddie work, letting his mind wander. He finds himself actually looking forward to learning how to carve. He's never really created something physical with his hands that he can see and touch. Websites aren't really the same. This would be an object in the real world that he'd be able to show people. He goes inside and to his room, bringing back his carving knife. He picks up his old stick and starts to carve the spirals again. He carefully strips the bark away in small movements, keeping the edges fairly clean. He's so focused on the feel of it that he doesn't notice Eddie standing next to him until he finishes. "Pretty good," Eddie nods. Waylon feels his cheeks heat up.

"Thanks," he manages to say, and Eddie goes inside. Waylon stays out, cleaning the edges and waiting for his flush to go down. He puts the stick aside and stands, brushing the curls of bark and wood from himself. He goes inside and sees Jess and Eddie talking quietly.

"Way, Eddie said that you finished your stick," Jess says. Waylon nods and turns around, bringing it inside. He hands it to Jess, who turns it over in her hands. "Looks great."

"Thanks." He doesn't blush this time and wonders why. It's just that Eddie doesn't give out praise that often. That's all. It has nothing to do with how he was building that coop, moving the boards around like they were nothing and screwing them into place, he lies to himself. I'm married. He looks down at his left hand, where his gold ring would have sat accusingly if Murkoff hadn't taken it. I'm married.

He stifles a sigh and brings the stick back outside, putting it with the others. He looks at the boards Eddie was using to build the coop and then back at his future projects. The boards seem big for a box just to hold wood, but it'll probably fill up quickly once he gets going. He's always been the type to get a little obsessed with things. It'll be good to have personal projects again. It'll keep his mind off of Lisa. The fact that he can't see her, that is. Not off of her specifically, just...he sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing his face. "What am I doing?" He sits down, picks up another stick, and starts carving. He stays out until dark, finishing all the thin sticks. He goes back inside once he smells dinner. The others seem to sense that he doesn't walk to talk, so they don't try to make him.

After they eat, he goes to the computer and looks up 'simple woodworking projects.' He clicks a link that looks promising. He doesn't want to make a whistle, spoon, or bowl. The letter opener looks pretty, but it's not exactly useful. But he thinks he'll make one anyway. Small animals are a given. Then he stops at a 'wood spirit' carved into a thick branch. He marvels it. Eddie puts his hand on the back of his chair and leans in, looking at the screen. Waylon can feel the heat off his body.

"Look up a whittler's puzzle." Waylon does, and looks at the double spiral.

"How do you do that?"

"There are videos on YouTube," Jess says, and she's behind him now. "It's actually easier than it looks. But it looks impressive," she shrugs. "So does a chain."

"Out of what, individual links?"

"2x4."

"How?!"

Jess and Eddie both laugh. "I'll show you one day," Eddie says, chuckling. Waylon warms at the sound. Eddie so rarely laughs, and he wants him to do it more often.

The others move away, bored. They clean up from dinner and Jess comes back.

"Night, Way," she wishes.

"Night, Jess."

"Night, Eddie."

"Goodnight, Jess."

She goes upstairs. "I should be getting to bed too," Eddie admits. "Goodnight, Waylon."

"Night, Eddie."

[jwilsonmajorone2020]

Catullus Poem 64

Pines once sprung from Pelion's peak floated, it is said, through liquid billows of Neptune to the flowing Phasis and the Aeetaean territory, when the picked youth, the vigour of Argive manhood seeking to carry away the Golden Fleece from Colchis, dared to skim over salt seas in a swift-sailing ship, sweeping the blue-green ocean with paddles shaped from fir-wood. That goddess who guards the castles in topmost parts of the towns herself fashioned the car, scudding with lightest of winds, uniting the interweaved pines unto the curving keel. That goddess first instructed untaught Amphitrite with sailing. Scarce had it split with its stem the windy waves, and the billow vexed with oars had whitened into foam, when arose from the swirl of the hoary eddies the faces of sea-dwelling Nereids wondering at the marvel. And then on that propitious day mortal eyes gazed on sea-nymphs with naked bodies bare to the breasts outstanding from the foamy swirl. Then it is said Peleus burned with desire for Thetis, then Thetis despised not mortal marriage, then Thetis' sire himself sanctioned her joining to Peleus. O heroes, born in the time of joyfuller ages, hail! sprung from the gods, good progeny of mothers, hail! and may you be favourably inclined. I'll address you often in my song, you too I'll approach, Peleus, pillar of Thessaly, so increased in importance by your fortunate wedding-torches, to whom Jupiter himself, the sire of the gods himself, yielded up his beloved. Did not Thetis embrace you, she most winsome of Nereids born? Did not Tethys consent that you should lead home her grandchild, and Oceanus too, whose waters enfold the total globe? When in full course of time the longed-for day had dawned, all Thessaly assembled and thronged his home, a gladsome company overspreading the halls: they bear gifts to the fore, and their joy in their faces they show. Scyros remains a desert, they leave Phthiotic Tempe, Crannon's homes, and the fortressed walls of Larissa; at Pharsalia they gather, beneath Pharsalian roofs they throng. None tills the soil, the heifers' necks grow softened, the trailing vine is not cleansed by the curved rake-prongs, nor does the bull tear up the clods with the prone-bending plowblade, nor does the sickle prune the shade of the spreading tree-branches, squalid rust steals over the neglected plows.

But this mansion, throughout its innermost recesses of opulent royalty, glitters with gleaming gold and with silver. Ivory makes white the seats; goblets glint on the boards; the whole house delights in the splendour of royal treasure. Placed in the midst of the mansion is the bridal bed of the goddess, made glossy with Indian tusks and covered with purple, tinted with the shell-fish's rosy dye. This tapestry embroidered with figures of men of ancient time portrays with admirable art the heroes' valour. For looking forth from Dia's beach, resounding with crashing of breakers, Ariadne watches Theseus moving from sight with his swift fleet, her heart swelling with raging passion, and she does not yet believe she sees what she sees, as, newly-awakened from her deceptive sleep, she perceives herself, deserted and woeful, on the lonely shore. But the heedless youth, flying away, beats the waves with his oars, leaving his perjured vows to the gusty gales. In the dim distance from amidst the sea-weed, the daughter of Minos with sorrowful eyes, like a stone-carved Bacchante, gazes afar, alas! gazes after him, heaving with great waves of grief. No longer does the fragile fillet bind her yellow locks, no more with light veil is her hidden bosom covered, no more with rounded zone the milky breasts are clasped; fallen down from her body everything is scattered here and there, and the salt waves toy with them in front of her very feet. But neither on fillet nor floating veil, but on you, Theseus, in their stead, was she musing: on you she bent her heart, her thoughts, her love-lorn mind. Ah, woeful one, with sorrows unending distraught, Erycina sows thorny cares deep in your bosom, since that time when Theseus fierce in his vigor set out from the curved bay of Piraeus, and gained the Gortynian roofs of the iniquitous ruler.

For it is said that once, constrained by the cruelest plague to expiate the slaughter of Androgeos, Cecropia used to give both chosen youths and the pick of the unmarried maidens as a feast to the Minotaur. When thus his strait walls with ills were vexed, Theseus with free will preferred to yield up his body for adored Athens rather than such Cecropian corpses be carried to Crete unobsequied. And therefore borne in a speedy craft by favouring breezes, he came to the imperious Minos and his superb seat. Instantly with longing glance the royal virgin saw him, she whom the chaste couch breathing out sweetest of scents cradled in her mother's tender enfoldings, like the myrtle which the rivers of Eurotas produce, or the many-tinted blooms opening with the springtide's breezes, she bent not her flashing eyes away from him, until the flame spread through her whole body, and burned into her innermost marrow. Ah, hard of heart, urging with misery to madness, O holy boy, who mingles men's cares and their joys, and you queen of Golgos and of foliaged Idalium, on what waves did you heave the mind-kindled maid, sighing often for the golden-haired guest! What dreads she bore in her swooning soul! How often did she grow sallower in sheen than gold! When craving to contend against the savage monster, Theseus faced death or the palm of praise.

Then gifts to the gods not unpleasing, not idly given, with promise from tight-closed lips did she address her vows. For as an oak waving its boughs on Taurus' top, or a coniferous pine with sweating stem, is uprooted by savage storm, twisting its trunk with its blast (dragged from its roots prone it falls afar, breaking all in the line of its fall) so did Theseus fling down the conquered body of the brute, tossing its horns in vain towards the skies. Thence backwards he retraced his steps amidst great laud, guiding his errant footsteps by means of a tenuous thread, lest when coming out from tortuous labyrinthines his efforts be frustrated by unobservant wandering. But why, turned aside from my first story, should I recount more, how the daughter fleeing her father's face, her sister's embrace, and even her mother's, who despairingly bemoaned her lost daughter, preferred to all these the sweet love of Theseus; or how borne by their boat to the spumy shores of Dia she came; or how her husband with unmemoried breast forsaking her, left her bound in the shadows of sleep? And oft, so it is said, with her heart burning with fury she poured out clarion cries from depths of her bosom, then sadly scaled the rugged mounts, whence she could cast her glance over the vast seething ocean, then ran into the opposing billows of the heaving sea, raising from her bared legs her clinging raiment, and in uttermost plight of woe with tear-stained face and chilly sobs she spoke thus:—

“Is it thus, O perfidious, when dragged from my motherland's shores, is it thus, O false Theseus, that you leave me on this desolate strand? thus do you depart unmindful of slighted godheads, bearing home your perjured vows? Was no thought able to bend the intent of your ruthless mind? had you no clemency there, that your pitiless bowels might show me compassion? But these were not the promises you gave me idly of old, this was not what you bade me hope for, but the blithe bride-bed, hymenaeal happiness: all empty air, blown away by the breezes. Now, now, let no woman give credence to man's oath, let none hope for faithful vows from mankind; for while their eager desire strives for its end, nothing fear they to swear, nothing of promises forbear they: but instantly their lusting thoughts are satiate with lewdness, nothing of speech they remember, nothing of perjuries care. In truth I snatched you from the midst of the whirlpool of death, preferring to suffer the loss of a brother rather than fail your need in the supreme hour, O ingrate. For which I shall be a gift as prey to be rent by wild beasts and the carrion-fowl, nor dead shall I be placed in the earth, covered with funeral mound. What lioness bore you beneath lonely crag? What sea conceived and spued you from its foamy crest? What Syrtis, what grasping Scylla, what vast Charybdis? O you repayer with such rewards for your sweet life! If it was not your heart's wish to yoke with me, through holding in horror the dread decrees of my stern sire, yet you could have led me to your home, where as your handmaid I might have served you with cheerful service, laving your snowy feet with clear water, or spreading the purple coverlet over your couch. Yet why, distraught with woe, do I vainly lament to the unknowing winds, which unfurnished with sense, can neither hear uttered complaints nor can return them? For now he has sped away into the midst of the seas, nor does any mortal appear along this desolate seaboard. Thus with overweening scorn bitter Fate in my extreme hour even grudges ears to my complaints. All-powerful Jupiter! would that in old time the Cecropian ships had not touched at the Gnossan shores, nor that the false mariner, bearing the direful ransom to the unquelled bull, had bound his ropes to Crete, nor that yonder wretch hiding ruthless designs beneath sweet seemings had reposed as a guest in our halls! For whither may I flee? in what hope, O lost one, take refuge? Shall I climb the Idomenean crags? but the truculent sea stretching far off with its whirlings of waters separates us. Dare I hope for help from my father, whom I deserted to follow a youth besprinkled with my brother's blood? Can I crave comfort from the care of a faithful husband, who is fleeing with yielding oars, encurving amidst whirling waters? If I turn from the beach there is no roof in this tenantless island, no way shows a passage, circled by waves of the sea; no way of flight, no hope; all denotes dumbness, desolation, and death. Nevertheless my eyes shall not be dimmed in death, nor my senses secede from my spent frame, until I have besought from the gods a just penalty for my betrayal, and implored the faith of the celestials with my last breath. Wherefore you requiters of men's deeds with avenging pains, O Eumenides, whose front enwreathed with serpent-locks blazons the wrath exhaled from your bosom, come here, here, listen to my complaint, which I, sad wretch, am urged to outpour from my innermost marrow, helpless, burning, and blind with frenzied fury. And since in truth they spring from the very depths of my heart, be unwilling to allow my agony to pass unheeded, but with such mind as Theseus forsook me, with like mind, O goddesses, may he bring evil on himself and on his kin.”

After she had poured forth these words from her grief-laden bosom, distractedly clamouring for requital against his heartless deeds, the celestial ruler assented with almighty nod, at whose motion the earth and the shuddering waters quaked, and the world of glittering stars quivered. But Theseus, self-blinded with mental mist, let slip from forgetful breast all those injunctions which until then he had held firmly in mind, nor bore aloft sweet signals to his sad sire, showing himself safe when in sight of Erectheus' haven. For it is said that before, when Aegeus entrusted his son to the winds, on leaving the walls of the chaste goddess's city, he gave these commands to the youth with his parting embrace:

“O my only son, far dearer to me than long life, lately restored to me at extreme end of my years, O son whom I am forced to send off to a doubtful hazard, since my ill fate and your ardent valour snatch you from me unwilling, whose dim eyes are not yet sated with my son's dear form: nor gladly and with joyous breast do I send you, nor will I suffer you to bear signs of helpful fortune, but first from my breast many a complaint will I express, sullying my grey hairs with dust and ashes, and then will I hang dusky sails to the swaying mast, so that our sorrow and burning of mind are shown by rusty-dark Iberian canvas. Yet if the dweller on holy Itone, who deigns to defend our race and Erectheus' dwellings, grant you to besprinkle your right hand in the bull's blood, then see that in very truth these commandments deep-stored in your heart's memory do flourish, nor any time deface them. As soon as your eyes shall see our cliffs, lower their gloomy clothing from every yard, and let the twisted cordage bear aloft snowy sails, where resplendent shall shine bright topmast spars, so that, immediately discerning, I may know with gladness and lightness of heart that in prosperous hour you are returned to my face.”

These charges, at first held in constant mind, from Theseus slipped away as clouds are impelled by the breath of the winds from the ethereal peak of a snow-clad mount. But as his father sought the castle's turrets as watchplace, dimming his anxious eyes with continual weeping, when first he spied the discoloured canvas, flung himself headlong from the top of the crags, believing Theseus lost by harsh fate. Thus as he entered the grief-stricken house, his paternal roof, Theseus savage with slaughter met with like grief as that which with unmemoried mind he had dealt to Minos' daughter: while she gazed with grieving at his disappearing keel, turned over a tumult of cares in her wounded spirit.

But on another part [of the tapestry] swift hastened the flushed Iacchus with his train of Satyrs and Nisa-begot Sileni, seeking you, Ariadne, and aflame with love for you. ... These scattered all around, an inspired band, rushed madly with mind all distraught, ranting “Euhoe,” with tossing of heads “Euhoe.” Some with womanish hands shook thyrsi with wreath-covered points; some tossed limbs of a rended steer; some girded themselves with writhed snakes; some enacted obscure orgies with deep chests, orgies of which the profane vainly crave a hearing; others beat the tambours with outstretched palms, or from the burnished brass provoked shrill tinklings, blew raucous-sounding blasts from many horns, and the barbarous pipe droned forth horrible song. With luxury of such figures was the coverlet adorned, enwrapping the bed with its mantling embrace.

After the Thessalian youth were sated with the desire of gazing, they began to give way to the sacred gods. Hence, as with his morning's breath brushing the still sea Zephyrus makes the sloping billows uprise, when Aurora mounts beneath the threshold of the wandering sun, and the waves move forth slowly at first with the breeze's gentle motion (plashing with the sound as of low laughter), but after, as the wind swells, more and more frequent they crowd and gleam in the purple light as they float away,—so quitting the royal vestibule the folk left, each to his home with steps wandering hither and thither.

After their departure, Chiron came, chief from the summit of Pelion, the bearer of sylvan spoil: for whatever the fields bear, what the Thessalian land on its high hills breeds, and what flowers the fecund air of warm Favonius begets near the running streams, these did he bear enwreathed into blended garlands wherewith the house rippled with laughter, caressed by the grateful odor.

Speedily Penios stands present, for a time leaving his verdant Tempe, Tempe whose overhanging trees encircle, to the Dorian choirs, damsels Magnesian, to frequent; nor empty-handed,—for he has borne here lofty beeches uprooted and the tall laurel with straight stem, nor lacks he the nodding plane and the lithe sister of flame-wrapt Phaethon and the aerial cypress. These wreathed in line did he place around the palace so that the vestibule might grow green sheltered with soft fronds.

After him follows Prometheus of inventive mind, bearing diminishing traces of his ancient punishment, which once he had suffered, with his limbs confined by chains hanging from the rugged Scythian crags. Then came the sire of gods from heaven with his holy consort and offspring, leaving you alone, Phoebus, with your twin-sister the fosterer of the mountains of Idrus: for equally with yourself did your sister disdain Peleus nor was she willing to honour the wedding torches of Thetis. After they had reclined their snow-white forms along the seats, tables were loaded on high with food of various kinds.

In the meantime with shaking bodies and infirm gesture the Parcae began to intone their truth-naming chant. Their trembling frames were enwrapped around with white garments, encircled with a purple border at their heels, snowy fillets bound each aged brow, and their hands pursued their never-ending toil, as of custom. The left hand bore the distaff enwrapped in soft wool, the right hand lightly withdrawing the threads with upturned fingers shaped them, then twisting them with the prone thumb it turned the balanced spindle with well-polished whirl. And then with a pluck of their tooth the work was always made even, and the bitten wool-shreds adhered to their dried lips, which shreds at first had stood out from the fine thread. And in front of their feet wicker baskets of osier twigs took charge of the soft white woolly fleece. These, with clear-sounding voice, as they combed out the wool, out-poured fates of such kind in sacred song, in song which no age yet to come could tax with untruth.

“O with great virtues augmenting your exceeding honour, mainstay of Emathia, most famous in your issue, receive what the sisters make known to you on this happy day, a truth-naming oracle! But run, you spindles, drawing the thread which the fates follow, run, spindles! “Now Hesperus will come to you bearing what is longed for by bridegrooms, with that fortunate star will your bride come, who steeps your soul with the sway of softening love, and prepares with you to conjoin in languorous slumber, spreading her smooth arms beneath your sinewy neck. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “No house ever yet enclosed such loves, no love bound lovers with such pact, as abides with Thetis, as is the concord of Peleus. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “To you will Achilles be born, a stranger to fear, to his foes known not by his back, but by his strong breast, who, often the victor in the uncertain struggle of the foot-race, will outrun the fire-fleet footsteps of the speedy doe. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “None in war with him may compare as a hero, when the Phrygian streams trickle with Trojan blood, and when besieging the walls of Troy with a long, drawn-out warfare perjured Pelops' third heir lays that city waste. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “Often will mothers attest over funeral-rites of their sons his glorious acts and illustrious deeds, when the white locks from their heads are unloosed amid ashes, and they bruise their discoloured breasts with feeble fists. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “For as the reaper, plucking off the dense wheat-ears before their time, mows the harvest yellowed beneath ardent sun, so will he cast prostrate the corpses of Troy's sons with grim swords. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “His great valour will be attested by Scamander's wave, which ever pours itself into the swift Hellespont, narrowing its course with slaughtered heaps of corpses he shall make tepid its deep stream by mingling warm blood with the water. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “And finally she will be a witness: the captive-maid handed to death, when the heaped-up tomb of earth built in lofty mound receives the snowy limbs of the stricken virgin. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “For instantly fortune will give the means to the war-worn Greeks to break Neptune's stone bonds of the Dardanian city, the tall tomb shall be made dank with Polyxena's blood, who as the victim succumbing beneath two-edged sword, with yielding knees shall fall forward a headless corpse. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “Come then! Conjoin in the longed-for delights of your love. Let the bridegroom receive his goddess in felicitous compact; let the bride be given to her eager husband. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles! “Neither will the nurse returning with morning light succeed in circling her neck with last night's thread. [Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles!], nor need her solicitous mother fear that sad discord will cause a parted bed for her daughter, nor need she cease to hope for dear grandchildren. Run, drawing the thread, run, spindles!”

With such soothsaying songs of yore did the Parcae chant from divine breast the felicitous fate of Peleus. For previously the heaven-dwellers used to visit the chaste homes of heroes and to show themselves in mortal assembly when their worship had not yet been scorned. Often the father of the gods, resting in his glorious temple, when on the festal days his annual rites appeared, gazed on a hundred bulls strewn prone on the earth. Often wandering Liber on topmost summit of Parnassus led his howling Thyiads with loosely tossed locks, when the Delphians tumultuously trooping from the whole of their city joyously acclaimed the god with smoking altars. Often in lethal strife of war, Mavors, or swift Triton's queen, or the Rhamnusian virgin, in person did exhort armed bodies of men. But after the earth was infected with heinous crime, and each one banished justice from their grasping mind, and brothers steeped their hands in fraternal blood, the son ceased grieving over departed parents, the sire craved for the funeral rites of his first-born that freely he might take of the flower of unwedded step-mother, the unholy mother, lying under her unknowing son, did not fear to sully her household gods with dishonor: everything licit and lawless commingled with mad infamy turned away from us the just-seeing mind of the gods. Wherefore neither do they deign to appear at such assemblies, nor will they permit themselves to be met in the daylight.

Catullus. The Carmina of Gaius Valerius Catullus. Leonard C. Smithers. London. Smithers. 1894.