#at least in part but i think it goes so much farther and deeper than anyone knows

[tomlinfonda]

Inside me there are two wolves.

One who thinks that the writers are either stupid or cruel, and that the finale was so incomprehensibly bad that I shouldn't try to make sense of it. And that I should move on.

The other one is a subtext-and-metaphor-hungry beast that is manically obsessed with finding a reason, at least subtextually, for the incomprehensible mess they made out of these characters, especially Ted, in the finale.

Everyone is so right to point out that Ted in previous episodes would not have acted like this. I think the reason for the sudden regression in his character is Dottie.

That morning, full of smiles, in a good mood, Ted starts his walk to work.

He cheerfully strolls through the streets, saying hello to his neighbors, making chit-chat with them. He is (as Trent said it in 1x03) out there in the community. He is, more importantly, part of a community. Until suddenly-

"Mom?"

Dottie's arrival changes everything. Ted gets worse and worse throughout the episode. In the hotel room in Manchester, the football anthem "Blue Moon", with the haunting lyric "You saw me standing alone" plays over Ted's lonesome figure, in the shadows, depressed.

Juxtapose that with his first scene: the lively neighborhood and daylight.

At the end of the episode, his conversation with his (manipulative) mom hits him deep. He feels immense guilt over not being there for Henry. And he's been torn over this for the entire season.

His mom, and the way she acts, and the way she manipulates him, push him in the wrong direction: Kansas.

I think Ted has disassociated for most of the finale. But I also think that he is intentionally pushing people away. Maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for him to leave, maybe he thinks that this will make it easier for them to let him go. Maybe he just hates himself so much that he cannot accept their help. Maybe he feels guilty that they're showing him so much love, when he knows he will abandon them.

Either way, he quits. Something that he would not have done, even in season 1. So his regression goes farther than the first episode, deeper into his past. He goes from:

to having doubts on the plane about leaving without winning the whole fucking thing

but leaving anyway.

And this is one of the most curious things to me. Rebecca offers to bring Henry to him in England by helping relocate Michelle:

And yet, he refuses. So, sure, this is about being there for his son. But given the choice between his son with his beloved community, and his son without his beloved community, he chooses the latter.

I've heard the argument that we don't know for sure that Ted doesn't have a support system in Kansas. But from a narrative perspective, it's important that we haven't been shown that hypothetical support system at all. And given that he actually returns to Kansas without the one person who we know supported him before coming to England, it comes across as a terribly isolating situation.

So why would Ted choose to part from his found family, even though bringing his son into that family would be an option? My theory is that he just really fucking hates himself. I think he wants to punish himself, maybe for being away from Henry for so long, maybe for something else. I don't think he believes that he deserves love or even credit for how he helped the club.

I mean, Rebecca and Trent offer him exactly that this episode: credit for what the did for the club.

And he rejects them both, choosing instead to remove himself from their lives, to erase himself from the narrative.

I think he's lower mentally than we've seen him for a while.

I think he's in his dark forest.

So the plane departs and then lands. And Ted is back in Kansas, driven through the prosaic, picket-fenced, isolating, depressing American suburbs to the house where Henry and the ex-wife who doesn't love him are waiting for him.

And the light might be golden, and he might be reunited with his son. But as we close in on the last shot of the show, you can see his smile try to fight the sadness in his eyes and you know.

He's not happy.

[kittlyns]

I don't even know what I'm trying to say here but there's a lot going on and I'm on my period so I'm just a fucking wreck right now.

It's so hard. Reaching out to people. Like, actually impossible. It's just not something I'm capable of. So when something goes wrong in my life, I honestly just don't bring it up to anyone around me. And I know I'm supposed to. Like my grandma tells me my mom has been venting to her and I'm like, oh that's right. That's something mothers and daughters should do. But not me, cuz my mom is dealing with enough on her own, so I can't bother her with my petty shit. Okay, my siblings? God no. I'm the eldest, I'm the one who's supposed to keep it together, I can't fucking drag them down in the muck with me just so I have... what, catharsis??? That's fucking doubtful. More like arming them with future ammunition against me so they can bring up how fucking crazy I am. Gonna pass on that one.

Then it's like, well that's what friends are for, right? I should reach out to my best friends and look for support and comfort. I know they'd willingly give it. But that feels weak and pathetic and vulnerable and they've got enough on their plates without babying me, so I'll just fill them in when everything is better. Or maybe not at all. Who knows. But I'm not gonna bother anyone about shit they can't control or understand just so I can feel even worse afterwards.

But they find out anyways. Cuz of course they do. And then my voice shakes and the veneer slips and they see me for what I am. And then they're disappointed that I didn't go to them! And I feel terrible over that!! But how do you even begin to explain it all. How do you explain that they will never be able to understand the complexities of it all? That yeah, it's one situation, but it goes much deeper than even I'm aware, and the only 2 people I can think to talk to were raised too well by people in much better situations that opening up about it all would make me feel like a goddamn charity case!!

Like, oh, sorry, it's not that I don't trust you with my vulnerability, it's more that I trusted someone in the past and they were also going through some shit and I mistook their silence for annoyance and I know better now but that feeling of rejection embedded itself in me and has not let go of me in nearly 10 years. How do I tell someone, "you fundamentally changed the way I interact with people, forever and ever, but I know you didn't mean to and I'm not mad at you-"? You don't. I don't. Oh, you're going back 9 years? Really?? That's a little- Yes, excessive, I know. But wait! We actually have to go back to when I was 4 to truly understand this situation! Matter of fact, let's just say it all started the day I was born to reallyyy make sure we cover the intricacies of it all!

God. How fucking dramatic. How exhausting. Can't you just say "Here's what's going on," and when people say "Oh No! It'll get better soon 🥺" you just smile and say Thank You, I Know like the good robot you are?? Never mind that it's pointless to even have that conversation, because I can fucking lie to myself all day long, that's what I DO babyyyy, I don't need fucking help there. No, if I'm truly going to sit down and talk about how I feel, you need to know EVERYTHING. And there lies the problem. Who even wants to hear all that? Who would care enough, still love you after? And if they did, what does that say about them? Probably nothing, but let me spiral a little farther and I can come up with something, I'm sure.

But going back to 9 years ago, idek why I'm blaming them for me being like this. Honestly, this is who I was always going to end up as. I can't even cry without holding my breath cuz I don't want anyone to hear me. I even do it totally alone. Been doing that little trick since I was 5 or 6, AT LEAST. Of course there's a part of me that craves being able to lean on someone's shoulder and just letting the dam break, but I know it'll never happen. I am physically and mentally incapable of letting anyone see me like that.

All that to say. I am stuck in the same place I've always been. I am incapable of reaching out to people I love for support, and think I am doing them a favor by not doing so. In turn, this alienates me from them even further. I am alone. I don't have to be, but I am. Conclusion... accept the empty platitudes because that's likely all I will ever be able to accept?

God. Again, how devastatingly sad. The connection and support I need and want will forever be out of reach bc I'm behind a wall of my own construction. I'm totally aware of this but I just cannot. change. Whatever.

[lazyevaluationranch]

On a post about the Blue Haired Girlfriend's quixotic citrus breeding experiments, @voidingintotheshout​ asked:

I mean, if you wanted a hearty citrus relative, why didn’t you just grow Osage Orange? They can grow as far north as Michigan which is surely further north than anyone could reasonably expect to grow a citrus tree. They’re not edible but then hearty orange isn’t either. Osage Orange are so cool and such a interesting historical plant from the Shelterbelt era of American agriculture. Apparently they do smell like citrus.

This is part three of three. Part one. Part two.

Now you've done it! It's time for A Very Brief (But Also Insufficiently Brief) History of Twentieth Century Hardy Citrus Cultivation! Growing citrus trees this far north is kind of nuts, it's true, but I promise you it is not even close to the weirdest things people have done to grow citrus in places where the citrus doesn't think it should grow.

A note: This post will written using the Swingle citrus taxonomy system, including things that are definitely wrong. The citrus taxonomic tree looks like that one box of orphaned computer cords I keep moving with me to new houses "in case I need them" except some sort of adorable five-dimensional kitten has entertained herself with them and some of the resulting knots are not technically possible in our space-time continuum. 

The powers that be gave us citrus because nothing pleases them like seeing a geneticist cry.

1. The Migrant Trees

The Soviet Union wanted lemons for tea, and they wanted to be independent enough not to have to trade with anyone else to get them, which meant they wanted to grow their own citrus. That part of the world is not a great place to grow plants that die when the temperature goes below zero, but at the foundation of the Soviet Union, there were citrus orchards in the warmest part of Georgia, along the Black Sea. Specifically, there was about, uh, one and a half square kilometers of somewhat implausible citrus orchard.

Hang on, it is about to get way less plausible.

This is the great citrus migration: any tree that did well in one spot, they'd try planting its seeds a few kilometres further north, or a few kilometres further east. Prizes were offered for breeding hardier citrus. Slowly the orchards spread, but they were extremely weird orchards.

It's usually a few degrees warmer at ground level than up in the air, and there's way less wind. So as the trees grew, they were bent over and tied along the ground. Some of them had the central trunk run in a straight line along the ground, with branches spreading out from it like the leaves of a fern, like an espaliered tree on its side. Others were starfish shaped, with the central trunk looped down until it ended up next to the base, and the branches sprawling out along the ground from the centre like starfish legs. The citrus trees were no taller than particularly vigorous strawberry plants, but they survived the winters, and you could throw a blanket over them to help them stay warm.

None of that helped if the ground froze solid, so they needed Underground Citrus. You'd dig a ditch, down below the lowest area where the ground froze, and you'd plant flat Starfish Trees or Flat Frond Trees running along the bottom of it, too deep to freeze. In winter, you'd just cover the ditch with boards any time the temperature was expected to go below freezing - citrus would tolerate the lack of light, but not the cold. Mandarins (Citrus reticulata) seemed to do best, so that’s most of what was grown.

It is a nearly unimaginable amount of work to grow citrus this way, along the bottoms of pits and trenches. We are experimentally trying to grow a Soviet-developed mandarin breed of unknown parentage, Shirokolistvennyi, but we will definitely not be putting in that level of effort.

2. The Mixed Up Trees

There are a couple species of citrus that tolerate cold well, but taste awful. A lot of effort has gone into crossbreeding them with more edible citrus. The results are ... mixed.

The Ichang Papeda (Citrus cavaleriei) generally survives temperatures down to -18 degrees C. It is stoic and calm and has mastered emptiness. Unfortunately, it has mastered emptiness too well. The fruit smells like lemons, with maybe a hint of rose, but there's nothing to eat here. It has a rind and seeds. No juice, no flesh.

(Photo by Michael Saalfield)

The Ichang Papeda is the parent or grandparent to several delicious, extremely sour Asian citrus types. Yuzu/yuja smells like grapefruit and clean wet stones from the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Sudachi smells like grapefruit and leaves with dew on them. (I haven't met kabosu or any other papeda hybrids personally, but they are numerous.)  They're all too sour to eat plain, unless you really need to turn your face inside out for some reason, but make for excellent flavouring. 

(We have a yuzu tree and a sudachi tree and they're surviving, but no fruit yet.)

Trifoliate orange (Poncirus trifoliata) can survive temperatures down to -30 degrees C. This may be partly because, uniquely amoung citrus, they can drop leaves in autumn or winter and regrow them in spring, like a maple tree. They also produce an internal antifreeze. They are angry, twisted, thorny little plants that yell swears when you walk past them. They make a great hedge. The fruit is furry, smells like flowers and pine trees and taste like burnt, bitter plastic. It may or may not be possible to breed the horrible taste completely out of trifoliate oranges without losing cold-hardiness, if it's due to their antifreeze chemicals. Here’s Stabby:

(Photo by Rob Hille)

Even the least terrible trifoliate crossbreeds are bitter enough to qualify as “acquired tastes.” There are recipes for trifoliate marmalade: put a dozen trifoliate oranges, a kilogram of sugar, and a kilogram of pebbles in a pot, cook until it gels, then sieve out the oranges and eat the pebbles. 

We are growing a trifoliate orange / minneola orange hybrid. And, of course, someday our own trifoliate hybrids. The Blue Haired Girlfriend planted 200 trifoliate oranges a couple years ago. There are fewer now, but the survivors have lived through two winters of snow and frost, and they might have somehow gotten more stabby. We're going to breed them, to each other or to less angry fruit, try and make something new and good from them.

I've limited this post to twentieth century hardy citrus breeding, but I have to give a shoutout to somatic hybridization, a decidedly twenty first century technique, where you take a cell from each of two different plants, remove their cell walls, put them next to eachother, and shock them with electricity until they merge into a single cell whose nucleus contains all genes from both plants. Then the new plant is like, "Wow, I guess these are all my genes? It seems like a lot, haha, but it's not like somebody made me from dismembered body parts and electricity, that is not how science works. Anyway I guess it's time to do some plant stuff now."

3. The Mutant Trees

In the 1950s, people started using radiation to randomly scramble the genes of plants. You'd irradiate seeds enough to change the genes somehow, and then you'd have to plant them to see what had happened. Maybe it was people horrified by the atomic bomb desperately wanting to find some life-supporting use for atomic fission, maybe it was government-supported cold war "atom bombs are good actually, look how many we have, USSR" propaganda. Probably both. 

This time period also saw serious plans for Orion, a spaceship with a huge metal plate for a butt, intended to be propelled by exploding atomic bombs under it, which I am not actually making up.

Thousands of people in Europe and the US signed up to receive seeds with random mutations in the mail, plant them, and report back on what they heck they grew into and if it had any useful weirdness. (The gamma radiation used to mutate the seeds did not make them radioactive themselves - the seeds were completely safe.) There were also more formal and carefully controlled university research programs in China, Japan, and the US, where plants where grown in a circular research garden with a coverable radiation source at the centre, so that the farther you got from the centre, the less radiation the plants got. Radiation breeding is less popular than it used to be, but Japan still has a very productive citrus radiation breeding program.

The most popular radiation-bred citrus is the "Rio Red" grapefruit and its offspring, which has a much deeper red than non-mutant red grapefruit.

There aren't many radiation-developed citrus breeds noted for cold-hardiness - with radiation you get whatever you get  - but there are a few, and I want one just because I think they're neat, a monument to that lovely human vision that looks at terrible weapons and somehow sees glossy-leaved trees with bright fruit.

4. The Monster Trees

Citrus are usually grown via grafting. That is, you plant a seed from a fast-growing sturdy breed, you let it grow roots and all that, and then you cut the top off and replace it with a branch from a more delicious breed. The two citruses grow together, and you end up with a tree that's disease and cold resistant in the roots, below the graft, but makes tasty fruit above the graft.

Occasionally, this process goes Wrong. 

The first recorded instance is the tree called Bizarria, discovered in 1640. Someone attempted to graft a sour orange branch onto a citron. But instead of a clean line between sour orange branches and citron roots, the graft was damaged somehow, and the two different species of cells got tangled and mixed through the whole tree. It has branches that produce citron fruit. It has branches that produce sour orange fruit. And it has branches that produce, uh ... these:

(Photo by Labrina)

Most graft chimeras are made accidentally, when the graft site is damaged. Trifoliate orange is often used as rootstock, so there are many reported chimeras involving trifoliate orange and a nicer fruit. The mixed-up cells can be arranged a lot of ways, but it's possible to have the outside layer of the tree be trifoliate orange, and the core of the tree be the other citrus (periclinal chimera). This means you could theoretically get a tree with frostproof trifoliate leaves and branches, but fruit that doesn’t taste like burnt plastic rolled in quinine.

This lucky monstrosity has, in fact, reportedly happened. Twice. There is the Prague Citsuma, discovered in a greenhouse in Prague and suspected to have been created by a Soviet breeding program. And then there is the Hormish, discovered in China and thought to have been made by frostbite messing up the clean lines of the graft. The Blue Haired Girlfriend has managed to track down budwood from the Prague Citsuma - I’m so excited! - so we'll see how the fierce thorny monster tree with a heart of gold, or at least heartwood of gold, does for us.

5. Conclusion

Humans have been trying to grow citrus trees where they don't belong for nearly two thousand years, at least since the Jewish Diaspora and people trying to grow holy etrog trees - trunks gnarled as barnacle stones and the whole tree scented like the best dream you can't remember - in Europe. Maybe longer.

The Blue Haired Girlfriend's citrus-breeding schemes aren't going to singlehandedly transform Canada into a net citrus exporter. But history shows us: it might be possible to have a little gleaming sweetness from the stony ground here, with the ravens and the fir trees and the auroras. A sweetness we made ourselves, that exists nowhere else. 

Or maybe we'll just have a bunch of weird inedible fruit. I don't know, but it's worth finding out, worth weaving together leaf and thorn and stone and the light of our hands as the years unwind. Worth it to have a quixotic project we can expect to spend decades on together, hands and hearts. This is how home is made, sometimes, with a balcony full of angry thorny little trees that shout swears at passerby.

[a-detraque-barista]

Sweet Milk Tea

Jeon Jungkook x Shy Reader

Genre: s m u t, 18+, college, soft boi gguk

Word Count:1.8k+

Warnings: big dicc kook, unprotected sex, sensitive thighs??, insecurity (you and jungkook), jungkook enjoys eating you out a lil too much

A/N: wassup my honey buns~ just thought i’d drop this filthy self-indulgent trash here and leave until one of my wips get done...this is straight smut and very little plot :D

“At least I don’t go around parading my dick to all the girls in our course!” your voice cracked but it somehow didn’t throw off the menacing tone.

Everyone looked at you as if you were mental. You couldn’t blame them, it was the first time they had ever heard your voice. The first time you had snapped at anybody in front of them, or in general.

You weren’t one for talking to people you didn’t know very well. It just didn’t come as naturally as it did for others. It’s made you a societal recluse and most of the time, you didn’t mind it. And the looks on your classmates’ faces gave you a major confidence boost. 

“At least people actually like me,” the asshole known as Jungkook hissed.

And there goes that confidence. Sure, you always claimed you don’t care about what other people think. However, just like any other human, we want someone to like us to create friendships and relationships. 

Just like that, you walked out of the classroom and down the long hallway as if it was a normal day.  The only thing different, you had tears in your eyes that were threatening to fall at any moment.

As you were just walking out of one of the exits, you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you back. Your face met a solid chest, noticing the black leather jacket, you knew exactly who it was. When you went to pull away his arms tightened refusing to let go. 

“I’m sorry.”

❦❦❦

Jungkook had you pinned beneath him on his bed. How this happened was a mystery. You had agreed to go to his apartment because he wanted to give you a sincere apology. What you said was over the line as well so you agreed. Everything was fine and dandy until syrup for the milk tea had splashed on your face and neck, even ending up on your shirt.

Seeing you in his shirt had Jungkook growing an erection. You just looked so cute, so fuckable. His cock decided it was time for Jungkook’s wet dreams to come true. 

Especially now with such a bratty look on your face, all he needed was a solid yes, “Tell me, my love. Do you want me?”

You nodded, already wanting to feel him. Jeon Jungkook was sex on legs and you refused to admit how many times you’ve thought about him with your hand down your pants. He clicked his tongue, “I need your words.”

“I want you, Jungkook.”

Hearing his name come from your lips, had a shutter going down his spine. His lips crashed into yours as he firmly pressed his muscular thigh against your clothed pussy. He swallowed your gasps and quiet whimpers. Gradually, Jungkook applied more pressure but now he was rubbing his thigh back forth. 

You were trying so hard to hold back your moans and whimpers making the man above you smirk into the kiss. Even as he pulled away breathless, he had that grin on his face. Your sounds were stroking his ego at this point leading him to lick and kiss your neck to see what else can make such adorable noises leave you. 

He could still taste the remnants of the syrup on your skin. He was so very tempted to lick every part of your neck, just to make sure all of it was gone. But he removed his shirt from you instead. Placing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck, leaving behind a trail of purple and red marks.

You could feel your clit throbbing, begging for more attention. Jungkook could feel your hips move, creating friction against his bulge. He groaned before ripping your bra apart and began palming your breasts. He wanted you so bad but he didn’t want to rush things.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if you would wake up tomorrow and never want to see him again. He wanted to make sure even if you do want to forget about him, you won’t be able to forget the way he made you feel. His insecure thoughts were interrupted once he noticed you squirming from the addition of his muscles flexing.

You were still keeping as much noise in as possible. Jungkook wondered how much teasing it would take until you gave up. With a grin he trailed his hands down your body, squeezing every now and then. One particular squeeze of your upper thighs had made you gasp. He froze before gently digging the tips of his fingers into the area causing you to whine. 

He wanted to hear you whine again and again. 

Jungkook finally tucked his fingers into the waistline of your jeans and panties and slid them completely off. Your lips were glistening and puffy. He couldn’t help but flatten his tongue and dragged it between your folds. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his skull at just the taste of you. The moan that escaped your lips didn’t help his grip on sanity. 

With his control slipping, he started sucking and slurping like he was a man starving. Now you could no longer hold back your moans. And they only encouraged Jungkook even more. He kept his hands busy with massaging the upper part of your thighs making your moans sound whinier. His grip was sure to leave bruises for you to find in the next few days, reminding you of your time with the inky-haired boy.

Jungkook reluctantly let one of your thighs go to slowly slip his index finger into your tight pussy. Moving his mouth up to your clit he licked and suckled to his heart’s content. Your hands found their place in his raven curls, slightly tugging making Jungkook growl.

He couldn’t keep himself from bucking his hips into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He moaned into your pussy as he inserted a second finger. Gently stretching you so you can take him with as little pain as possible. Soon he added a third and picked up the speed he was thrusting at. You began to feel the tell-tale knot in your lower abdomen and Jungkook felt the way you started to quiver.

Right before the knot came undone, he pulled away. But he didn’t pull away enough to make your fingers leave his hair, which you tugged on in frustration.

“Jungkook damn it, I almost came,” you groaned taking your hands away from his scalp to perch yourself up on your elbows. He grumbled with the absence of your hands but loved the attitude you showed. So he sat back on his heels while running his hands along your thighs.

“But I didn’t want you to come just yet, my love. Be patient and I’ll give exactly what you want,” his deepened voice made the blush come back to your face full force. 

Licking his lips, he started to undress. Shirt, pants, and underwear made their way to the floor. His cock sprung up and leaked precum. It was enough for him to slick his dick with, stroking it just for more precum to escape.

Jungkook would love to see your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, gagging on it. But both of you have waited long enough. He tucked his hands under your waist and flipped you onto your stomach, lifting until your hands and knees held you up. The bulbous head pressed through your lips and against your entrance. You were so wet for him, making both his cock and your cunt glisten.

You wiggled your hips a bit, the anticipation beginning to become too much. He chuckled before pushing in. Jungkook took his time, making sure to stretch you out properly. Shifting his hips back every inch before pushing in more than he had previously. 

Never having taken such a girthy and long cock, the sting felt delicious as it made your walls form to his dick perfectly. The slight curve of his shaft made the head rub against that one special spot. Your breathy moans got louder the farther he went in. Jungkook growled and groaned above you. 

Once his cock completely sheathed inside of you, grating his hips against your ass felt like he was trying to go even deeper. Jungkook thrusted slow and shallow, wanting to let you get adjusted. When you pushed back he got the hint and pulled out farther only to slam back into your tight cunt.

His head rolled back as he gradually picked up his pace but it snapped back up hearing your load and wanton moans. God, why did you have to sound wonderful? He wanted to make you moan so much your throat would get raw. Your arms could no longer hold yourself up, causing you to be muffled by his pillows. Jungkook didn’t appreciate the decreased volume of your beautiful sounds so he wrapped his arms under your tits and just above your mound. 

His pace quickened as did his breaths, “Look at you, getting destroyed by my cock. What a mess. Can’t even stop moaning for me.”

You whined in response to his words as you could no longer create coherent sentences. It was almost becoming too much, your denied release coming back even harder. Jungkook’s pace became sloppy, the build-up paying off.

“Want my cum? Tell me, what do you want? Use that pretty mouth of yours,” Jungkook’s voice was now gravelly as he reached down to your clit but didn’t apply pressure.

“Please-please, I want your cum,” you gasped out, barely audible, but he accepted that.

Jungkook made quick, fast circles around your clit, causing your whole body to shake as your walls clenched and milked his cock. Feeling you tighten and quiver, Jungkook’s cock twitched and painted your walls. He laid both of you down, grinding his hips against yours until your cunt sucked him dry. He made sure not to put all of his weight on you while the two of you came down from cloud nine. 

Jungkook kissed the nape of your neck before moving down to your shoulder. He couldn’t help but love the feeling of you breathless beneath him. The feeling of you both spent and tired together, trying to catch your breaths. Jungkook was reluctant to pull his softening cock out of you but he did nonetheless. 

Leaving the room to get a damp cloth and clean the two of you up. You rolled onto your side facing him after he laid back down, also on his side. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. He could see the look on your face that held uncertainty. His mind went to the thought of you regretting ever coming to his apartment. Until you spoke.

“I’m sure you want me to leave now right?”

Jungkook’s eyes widening, just now seeing the insecurity in your eyes. He sighed as he leaned down to gingerly kiss your lips, “No, I want you to stay. Unless you want to leave.”

You shook your head and kissed his nose, “I wanna stay, until you don’t want me to.”

He chuckled before cuddling up with you and pulled the covers over, “Good thing I never want you to.”

[unfoundhoney]

toe the line ; part three ↠

↠ slimecicle x fem!reader ; angst , the fluff will get here eventually i promise

↠ masterlist

↠ part one ; part two ; part three ; part four

↠ @ochabby @kiritokunuwu @pyrotechnics84 @nottheotheruser @d0vesatdawn @ashturnedtomist @bloopi @enderhoe @plaguenecromancer @prickypearpropaganda @phantom-aurora @starswspacey

It’s funny how true the saying “you never miss something until it’s gone” is. If Charlie had to describe how the last two weeks have been, it’d be like that. He didn’t think it was humanly possible to miss someone so much, to actually have every second of every day be taken up by the thought of you. He’d been trying to work but with a blatant lack of you, he hadn’t been able to focus and decided to take a walk to clear his head.

It wasn’t helping.

A man walks past with a big, floofy, white dog on a leash. You would stop to ask to pet it. You always loved dogs and Charlie has no doubt in his mind that if your apartment building allowed pets, there’d be at least one living with you and him.

There’s a bookstore on the corner of a street. You would poke your head in, look around for a while and buy some novel by an author you’d never heard of. It’d probably lay unopened for a couple months until you suddenly remembered it one day and binged it in under three days.

A street musician plays across the street in a park, improving on his saxophone over a jazzy backing track. You would insist on staying to listen, waiting until he finished this song, applauding, and giving him ten dollars or so. Charlie stuffs his hands a little deeper in his pockets and keeps walking.

What was supposed to be a head-clearing (and distracting) walk has turned into the exact opposite. Charlie knows he won’t be getting any more work done today.

It starts to rain as he walks but he doesn’t head back, instead walking farther and into a different park. As it rains harder, he finds a bench to sit on. The cold and wet he finds himself submerged in distracts him better than anything else has been able to.

Water drips inside his collar and soon he finds himself soaked through. Still, he just sits there, staring straight ahead of him and focusing on the uncomfortable feeling of being fully clothed and completely wet.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there. Minutes. An hour. Two hours. But suddenly the rain stops. He’s no longer being showered with water droplets, even as the rain continues pouring all around him.

“Charlie? You okay, man?”

Charlie looks up and funnily enough, there’s Ted. He’s holding an umbrella over Charlie, looking down at him in concern. He realizes how bad this must look, sat in the rain looking dead inside.

“What’re you doing?” Ted asks slowly.

“Just... chilling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You good?”

“I’m doing great.” He gestures generally, tries to crack a joke. “Can’t you tell?”

Ted doesn’t smile. “Dude, seriously. Are you okay?”

Charlie swallows, smile fading. He wants so badly to say “yeah, I am” and be able to mean it. He’s the one who messed everything up; he doesn’t have a right to be feeling this bad with you gone when he was the one who chased you away. And yet here he is, sitting in the rain.

“No.”

“...let’s go back to your place.”

Ted walks Charlie back home, sharing his umbrella despite the fact that Charlie is already totally soaked. Ted doesn’t seem to mind too much when Charlie drips on him; he’s likely more worried about Charlie than his left side getting a little wet.

They get back to Charlie’s apartment and Charlie changes quickly into dry clothes before joining Ted in the living room. It’s painstakingly obvious when Ted unknowingly sits in your spot.

After several minutes of awkward silence and even more awkward attempts at small talk, Ted finally asks the question he’s been meaning to for two weeks.

“How’s um... How’s Y/N?” Ted tries tentatively.

“She’s okay. Sort of. I think.”

“You think?”

“She’s kind of been avoiding me. She’s been staying at Schlatt’s for the past eleven days.”

“She has?”

“I think she needed some space, but it’s been over a week now and I’m kind of deteriorating away in the silence of our apartment alone.”

“Have you tried talking to her about... it?”

“You mean her feelings for me that she’s had for years and I’ve never noticed and then accidentally outed in front of all our friends and neither of us are sure our relationship will recover because we don’t know how to act now that we’re both aware one of us wants more than platonic friendship?”

“...yes.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It sounds really bad when you phrase it like you just did but there’s no way around this,” Ted says. “I know how much you two care about each other. You two would be miserable without each other.”

“We- We’d be... fine.”

“That was the most unconvincing thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

“I-“

“Not to mention the fact that you are literally living proof that you are not fine without Y/N.”

“Doctor Ted PhD is making a reappearance,” Charlie weakly tries to joke.

“Charlie.”

Ted did just find Charlie having a rather severe episode of “main character syndrome,” so there’s really no arguing with him. He is not doing fine without you. It’s only going to get worse the longer he goes without trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of your friendship.

Charlie’s will finally gives way. “I don’t know what to do, man. I fucked up so bad and now I’m terrified I’m never going to be able to get back to where we were. Everywhere I go all I can think about is her and she just- I have never been happier than I am when I’m with her and I just-... I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose her.”

Charlie buries his head in his hands, heels of his palms digging into his eyes. He’s finally letting himself be distressed over the very real possibility of losing his best friend instead of ignoring the situation entirely.

Meanwhile, Ted is connecting some very obvious dots.

“She’s all you can think about?”

“Yeah, like, I’ll just be going to the store or something and it’s like ‘oh, she’d smell those flowers,’ ‘she’d drag me to try that restaurant,’ ‘she’d go to see that movie with me.’”

“And you’re happiest with her.”

“Yeah, man. I’ve had other friends, other best friends even, but no one compares to her and how she just gets me. You’ve seen it; we have this synergy that I have never gotten with anyone else.”

“And you are very worried about the possibility of losing her.”

“...yes. Are you just repeating what I’ve said?”

“Just waiting for you to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

Ted doesn’t respond, holding the silence patiently. Charlie continues to look at him, confused. The apartment is quiet, not quite in the unbearable way it is when he’s alone but it still doesn’t feel right without you here.

For eleven days, you haven’t sung in the shower. You haven’t made breakfast just how he likes it. You haven’t distracted him from work to show him a TikTok, not that he ever minded. You haven’t fallen asleep on movie night and he’d willingly carry you to bed if you asked him sleepily, kind of wishing you’d ask him to stay with you one night.

You would grab his hand and ask him to stay. He’d do so without hesitation. Curled together under the covers, you would be close and warm and intimate in a new but welcome way. He’d hold you tight, your breath soft against his neck.

Wait.

Charlie looks up in horror. “No.”

Ted narrowly stops the shit-eating grin from spreading across his face. “Yes.”

“No. No no no, shit.”

“I am so happy I get to be here for this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Ted,” Charlie cuts him off.

He’s angry. Not at Ted but at himself. He rushes over to the door, shoving his feet back into his still-wet shoes.

“I’ve fucked up so bad. Oh my god, this is all my fault.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“God, shut up, you are not helping.”

“Sorry, just telling it like it is.”

Charlie glares at Ted. “Show yourself out.”

Charlie takes off out of the apartment without an umbrella again, completely prepared to get another set of clothes completely soaked. He prays to whatever higher power may be listening that you have the ungodly amount of forgiveness that will be needed to forgive his stupidity.

[kaijurakunsobs]

If requests are open could you do a Heisenberg fic with a teen or young adult reader(no older than 20 please) who stumbles into the village trying to get away from their parents and after they get attacked by Lycans Heisenberg patches them up and takes them in trying to hide them from his sister and mother miranda. Could you please do it with an AFAB reader who doesn’t identify as female? I am currently dealing with borderline verbal abuse from my conservative father who doesnt like that though I am AFAB I don’t identify as female.

first, baby, I'm so sorry that this is happening to you. I know how bad and mentally taxing that kind of living situation can get, I was in a similar situation and somehow managed to pull through.

you are not alone, you are loved and I hope everything gets better, never forget that it's you who defines yourself, your self worth should NEVER be defined by others

All you can think is...how cold everything is around you, how the freezing air burns your skin and lungs, but, you have endured something worst, physical pain can be healed with time, emotional and psychological pain is what hurts the most, what feels eternal and haunting, it coils around you, it grows and never let's go, like being branded, it leaves marks that never go away.

Running aimlessly through the snow feels like nothing.

What made you get out of the car?

Was it anger?

Desperation?

Does that even matter anymore?

You can't hear their voices anymore, so that's a win.

Farther away you see smoke and fain lights, distant sounds beckoning you closer to that place, and you let yourself smile widely when the silhouette of someone standing so close to you, you could get help, start somewhere new, be happy!

But it's so short-lived, that you question if there's divine retribution, karma, or just the universe laughing in your face.

Your "savior" is covered in blood, a man with a perpetual expression of agony lays in the snow, dead. The monster turns to you and finally the cold freezes you where you stand, it's not alone, and all the other creatures are looking at you, dark soulless eyes fixated on their new prey.

You have felt like that before under his gaze like if you were vermin, it made you furious how you were treated and consider as something lesser than a person. These things look at you the same like you are just a speck of dust in their path, and maybe you are, if the mangled body is any indication that taking a life will be nothing for them.

You see it from the corner of your eye, one of them lunges for you, and then? everything is a blur.

You remember kicking and punching wildly, adrenaline making you forget about the pain of the bites and scratches, there are memories of you running and using something to smash the head of one of the monsters, a rock, perhaps? But in the end, cold, blood loss, and exhaustion are enough to bring you to your knees. One of them grabs a fistful of hair and roars in your face and you know, that, this is it, you fought and did your best, but this is the end of your travesty...so much for your new life of freedom.

"Get the fuck away...I SAID FUCK OFF!" his voice is so loud that it makes you whimper and recoil "LET GO, CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? LET GO, DAMN IT!" the smell of blood and a warm liquid hits you hard, but at least you are free, letting your body hit the snow

"What do we have here?...this one is alive, but ya ain't from around here, do you?" he's smoking and something small and silly wants you to tell him that smoking is bad, which makes you smile so softly "...Interesting"

Heisenberg rarely gets intrigued by anything, he hasn't found anything to spark his curiosity in so long, so of course, he had to come and see what was causing such a commotion. What he thought to be a villager, fist fighting the lycans so valiantly, turned out to be a teenager, he saw you from afar,  furiously kicking lycan after lycan, you didn't even notice the growing red spots in your clothes and the black eye, it was survival and feral like behavior. Truly interesting.

Now, what made him pick you up with care? years from today he will say it was just "Scientific interest kiddo! nothing more", but, it's the pain in your face that makes him act so soft, it's not the agony brought by your wounds, this goes deeper, it's different and he knows it very well.

Under normal circumstances, he would have taken you to Moreau, but he knows the loud mouth will give you to that bitch Miranda and that will be it for you. Dimitrescu is OUT of the equation, so does Beneviento, hell knows what her psychotic ass would do to you. So he brings you back to his home and takes time to clean your wounds, true, his stitching abilities are amazing...on corpses, and a lack of anesthesia and your occasional movements makes it hard for him to stitch you properly, but by the end of everything, you are bandaged and clean, isn't that the important part?

He’s done his part, the rest is on you. If you had the strength to fight and even kill a lycan, you might live to see another day

How long were you out?

You are warm and so fucking sore, cracking your eyes open is a big task and even harder to sit up in the bed you are laying on. The room is black and smells like tobacco, oil, and something you can’t place but it’s nice.

Barefoot and curious you start to get up, wincing deep and loud when pain floods your body, but you get up non-less, you feel the cold air hit your legs, and immediately pull down the shirt to cover yourself. Then it fully clicks, the jagged memories of what happened slaps you in the face and make you lose your footing, falling back on the bed you pry the shirt off from your body, you see bandages and patches placed on smaller wounds, your head is killing you and your right eye hurts like crazy.

With small breathes you pull the shirt back on and force your body to get up and investigate the room. There are piles of clothes and pieces of paper everywhere, picking one of the pants you sigh, these are yours, but they have been destroyed either by the beasts or by however brought you here. Looking around there’s nothing more, time to go out.

The only door leads you to an open room, the kitchen and living room placed together, in one of the sofas you can see someone laying down, their chest rising and falling softly, their face obscured by an old hat.

You try to be as quiet and sneaky as possible when getting back into the room “Where do you think you are going, kid?” his voice is thick with sleep but the sound is enough to make you yelp, slamming your shoulder against the door frame, the man jumps up and in a couple of strides he’s beside you “Can you more fucking careful? the stitches gonna get open and if you get an infection I ain’t risking my neck to get you meds”

He’s a bit taller than you with squared and wide shoulders, his face is stern and it seems like he’s annoyed about something, is it you? Did you anger him? You try to remember what could you have done to make him so mad but nothing comes to you, is not like you remember much, and what you do, is better to be left forgotten.

Heisenberg has seen many people look at him with fear, reverence even, but he has never been in the receiving end of a look like yours, he has to close his eyes for a second, carefully grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the kitchen, almost forcing you to take a seat in on of the wobbly chairs he owns.

“Well now that you are back with us, I can finally cook something to eat. You must be starving! I would too after the way you fought back there” he lets out a howl while he busies himself with pulling ingredients for whatever he’s cooking “I saw ya, you know? That was one hell of a show and I know about putting up good entertainment, you gave those lycans a good beating”

Lycans? So those things have names...uuuh, who would have thought.

"What's your name kid?" you get pulled out of your mind by his voice and the smell of cooking eggs, for a moment you wonder and think, that this is the time to be addressed by YOUR name "...I'm Y/N, sir"

"Cut the sir bullshit, you ain't trying to impress nobody here, you can call me Heisenberg, Karl if you wanna get my attention quickly, got it?"

"Yes...Heisenberg?"

He's rather harsh from what little you have seen of him, but he's careful when serving you breakfast, a steady hand serves you tea and makes quick work of a loaf of bread, whit that you two eat in relative silence, he eats like a wolf and that's enough to make you hide a smile.

"Once you are...better..." he's speaking between bites, eew "I'm taking you to get some new clothes, staying here ain't gonna be free, ok?" with his fork pointing at you he waits and continues without you answering "I'll have to teach you...that's gonna take time..."

"I'm a faster learner!"

Heisenberg laughs at the offended tone in your voice, taking a big gulp from his mug once he stops "I like ya kid, there's a fire in you and I respect that, we gonna get along"

It takes you almost 2 weeks to fully recover and be able to move without crying out in pain. On the day he announces that he must take off your stitches, he's kind when pulling on the thread, talking about how that same day he's taking you to the seamstress cuz he's "done" having you wear his stuff.

The seamstress in the Village seems flabbergasted when "Lord Heisenberg" comes into her house, demanding she makes you good sturdy pants and easy to move in shirts. From that sole visit is enough for people to call you "Heisenberg's assistant" whenever you are sent to the village or just went spotted by anyone. The Duke, the merchant that sometimes you have found yourself talking to, does nothing but fuel the rumor, people already fear Heisenberg on a god day, now they fear you might be spying for him.

You would be lying by saying that, Heisenberg is a normal man, he's flamboyant and loud, filled with pride, and what you can describe as...showmanship, he speaks with passion when explaining to you the ins and outs of the factory. He's always close, never breathing down your neck, just close enough to hear if you need help.

The first time you see him use his gift is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of your life.

You are working on some molds for pieces he needs to make from scratch, he taught you where you should work on that, away from whatever lurks in the lower areas of the factory. You were so engrossed in getting the mold out perfectly, tongue sticking out and heavy gloves helping you to pry open the damn thing open, you don't even jump when a hand lands on your shoulder, but you do when the ghoulish face of a corpse appears beside you.

He's running the second he hears you, a high pitched sound tearing through the noise of the machinery, he sees you bolting it towards him and a Zwei Soldat quickly catching up with you, the drill in its arm too close to your back, the moment you are close enough he pulls you towards and behind him, a metal sheet flying to the thing and beheading it in an instant.

"Kid...Kid, look at me, hey, eyes on me" you are not crying, there's no blood anywhere and nothing seems to be missing, you seem more startled than anything else, but you listen to him, concentrated on him and his voice "Y/N, it's ok kid, I'm here"

Then it happens, you let it slip. "Thanks...thanks dad"

You feel him go tense, the hands-on your shoulders shake for a second and embarrassment comes crashing down on you, you are ready for him to yell or push you away and order you to see if the mold is still useful, but he pulls you close, patting your back like you never said anything.

There are days when you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice growing irritated, and his explosive temper getting worst.

You are curled up in the crawlspace that he turned into your room, listening to him talking with someone, he sounds exasperated and nervous. This time he takes longer to come out from his room, a new cigar in his mouth and hammer over his shoulder, usually, he would tell you that he's leaving for a couple of hours, this time he's just there, tapping his foot and sparing quick glances at you.

"Get your coat, we need to leave"

That's new...he never takes you with him to wherever he goes, but you don't feel like arguing and do as he says, slipping your boots on and grabbing your coat.

Heisenberg is unusually quiet this time, only the snow crunching under your feet make enough sound to fill in the void, he takes you farther from the village and into a rundown church, you can hear new voices and the unforgettable sounds of the lycans snarling.

Inside the candlelight is soft and cast strange shadows of the people already waiting inside. There's a woman in a white dress that probably towers over you, another lady dressed in black and her covered, she sits in a corner with a creepy doll on her lap, and finally, a shy man who battles to cover himself with the torn cloth of his jacket.

"Is this why mother Miranda called us? Did you brought a new toy and never informed her? what a bad dog you are Heisenberg"

"Non of your business, Dimitrescu" Karl does everything to keep you behind him, away from the doll or the twisted man, but especially from the woman, Dimitrescu as he called her.

From where you stood, you could see how beautiful and regal she is, sitting with grace and a sarcastic smile plastered on her face. Noticing you, she moved slightly to get a better look, narrowing her eyes, making you feel small and like food. Before she can't even speak the sound of feathers caught your attention, giving Karl enough time to guide you to one of the pews, making you take a seat beside him.

The four adults greeted the new woman, the infamous mother Miranda, you have heard about her in the village and through small stories shared by the Duke, but mostly, you have heard Heisenberg curse the woman and call her every single name under the sun.

"Usually I wouldn't care for what my children do in their dominions, but, Karl, I must say I'm disappointed in you...to hide this child and avoid telling us?"

"I apologize, Miranda, the right opportunity never came" ooooh he's pissed

"I say you take his toy, Mother Miranda, and if possible, give me that lovely lady to me?" at that your gut twist uncomfortably, it's been some time since you were...addressed like that

"Excuse me?" Heisenberg cocks his head to the side, looking at Dimitrescu over his shades "Are you talking about my SON?"

"YOUR SON?! Don't make laugh, child, I can smell the sweet maiden blood running through her veins, that's a lady not one of your dirty lycans"

"And you are bitch no matter how well you dress!"

"ENOUGH!" Miranda's voice breaks them apart, everyone looking at her "Care to elaborate, Heisenberg?"

Karl takes a second to take a drag from his cigar and blow a cloud of some into the air "I found Y/N here, they fought hard to survive and I took them in, just like Alcina, and her lovely daughters...I decided it was my time to have a child of my own"

"That doesn't change the fact that you brought an outsider and didn't inform mother, and now you are trying to do what exactly? have...them...play house with you?"

"Lady Dimitrescu, that's enough" she's looking at you, mother Miranda in staring, and Heisenberg as a hand on your back, suddenly you are hyper-aware of everything, the sounds and smells, the movements each person in the room does, the way the candles flicker "I allow it, may this never happen again, Heisenberg. Next time there will be consequences"

You feel like passing out after that, the screams of Dimitrescu and the doll get drown by the ringing in your ears, everything keeping you together is Heisenberg's hand on yours cursing up a storm as he pulls you along with him.

The cold air feeling nice against your burning skin.

"Kid? I think you are ready" you are halfway through the trek back to the factory when he speaks again

"Ready for what?"

"To be introduced to the Heisenberg family true work, of course! What kind of father I would be if I don't involve you in our family's business"

You trip with your feet hearing him say that, so...he meant it? what he said in the church...that you are his son?

"Come on Y/N, I won't go easy on you because you are my kid now, quick quick"

Catching up to him is easy and you feel at peace when one of his arms wraps around you, he begins to talk about how many things he's gonna teach you and how exciting is to have a young mind to shape.

For the first time, you are eager to get back home.

[galactic-magick]

Oblivious: Tech x Reader

Request: Could u possibly do a Tech x Reader where the batch is on an ocean planet of sorts and tech and the reader are nerding out over something like tide pools and the rest of the batch is like “how are these two so smart yet so oblivious to their feelings?”

Summary: You and The Bad Batch settle on an ocean planet for the night, and you and Tech seem to know everything except your own feelings for each other.

Words: 1000+

Warnings: none

Author’s Notes: Had to do some research on tide pools for this one lmao, and I made up a bunch of fake star wars science that probably doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, earth science experts don’t come at me pls XD

-

-

-

Laying low has been incredibly difficult for you and The Bad Batch, none of you are exactly the type to “blend in.” You’ve been hopping all over the galaxy, until you come across a planet almost entirely covered in ocean. It’s habitable, but not many people live on it due to the lack of large segments of land.

Thankfully though, you find an island that’s big enough for your ship and make a landing. You run out into the fresh air, the smell of salt water and cool breeze filling your nose. Tech follows close behind, analyzing the planet’s climate and resources, and the rest soon after.

“The tides are going to get much higher over the next couple hours, we’re going to lose much of the land we have right now,” Tech says, moving down the beach. “Don’t set anything up past this point,”

“Can we build a fire?” Wrecker asks excitedly.

“Why would we need a fire? Our ship has a heating system,”

“Because I want to!” he crosses his arms. “And what if the ship runs out of heat?”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Omega pipes up. “I’ve never even seen a campfire before,”

“You haven’t?!” Wrecker takes her hand and points to the small forest of trees on the other side of the island. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Wait!” Tech calls after them, but they’re too fast. “Ugh. The wood is going to be too wet to use anyway, they’re wasting their time,”

“Hey, it doesn’t hurt to let them try,” you smile. “Besides, we’ll only be here a day or two at most, right?”

“I suppose,”

You skip across the rocks and sand, finding a couple tide pools with several sea creatures in them, “Look over here!”

“Careful, those are incredibly slippery,”

“I’ve never seen anything like these,” you poke at one. “Wait, didn’t you say high tide is later? That means the water will go even farther than this, we might be in trouble,”

“Not exactly. Tides are different depending on the gravitational pulls and phases of the moons, and this planet has three,”

“So?”

“So we’ll be fine,”

“This water is fresh, Tech. I don’t see how more moons changes the fact that these waves are going to drown us in a few hours,” you sigh. “Look, I get that you’re the intellectual around here, but I had ones like these back on my home planet, I know what I’m talking about,”

“Every planet is different, this one isn’t due for another tide that high for at least a couple weeks, the pools must just be deeper than average,”

“I guess you’re right,” you trust him, so you refrain from bickering any further. “Oh look! I think I’ve seen that fish before!”

“Really?” he cocks his head, looking towards where you’re pointing. “While interplanetary travel of non-sentient species is uncommon, it’s not impossible, although in most cases it’s considered an invasive species-“

“Nevermind,” you say as you lean closer. “It just looks similar,”

“Ah, I see,”

“You know, I love the kind of creatures in here, somehow they manage to survive despite the harsh conditions,” one of them crawls onto your hand. “They just stick to anything they can so they don’t get washed away by the water,”

“Especially somewhere like this,” he nods.

“What are you lovebirds going on about now?” Hunter exhales, walking up to you and barely holding back a smirk.

Both you and Tech immediately stop talking, avoiding eye contact. Sure, it’s true you fancy him a bit, but no way are you lovebirds of any sort. You bicker too much to ever admit your feelings anyway, and all your conversations are friendly or just exchanging thoughts and facts. Nothing special.

“You know,” Hunter continues. “You guys are the smartest people on the crew, but damn are you oblivious,”

He walks away, leaving you two in silence.

 -

 Against all odds, Wrecker and Omega actually do manage to make a fire for the evening. Omega’s eyes are glued to the flames, watching in awe and drowning out everything else.

You and Tech haven’t talked much since being called out by Hunter, not necessarily because you’re mad or bitter, but simply because you don’t know what to say.

Was Hunter right? Were you actually super into each other and you were just too stupid to see it?

Now that you think of it, Tech definitely treats you differently than everybody else. Not just because you’re not one of his brothers, but he genuinely goes out of his way to help and care about you. He’s super sweet when he wants to be.

As it gets later, most of the crew heads back to the ship to sleep. You’re honestly not that tired, so you stay by the fire, and Tech doesn’t leave either.

“Hey,”

“Hello,” he nods.

You scoot over until you’re sitting next to him, “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“Just…thinking,” he keeps staring forward at the fire. “For the first time in my life, I’m completely unsure about something,”

“How so?”

“Well, all my life, all our lives for that matter,” he gestures to the ship. “We’ve been born, raised, and trained to be soldiers. We’re literally created and grown for that purpose. We accept early on that we’ll probably never get the opportunity to live a normal life on our own terms. We don’t get the luxury of going where we want to go, staying where we want to stay. We don’t even get to choose our clothes or our food most of the time. We don’t get our own home, we don’t get to pick our jobs, we-“ he pauses. “We don’t get to fall in love,”

A quiet “oh” leaves your lips.

“Now that the Republic is gone, and we left the Empire, we’re not just soldiers anymore. We have the freedom to do all those things we couldn’t do. But how do I know what I should or shouldn’t pursue? How do I know what parts of normal life I should experience?”

You quickly lean in and kiss him, “You try it, Tech,”

He stares at you stunned, struggling to process what just happened.

“I…I think I should try it again. Just to be absolutely certain,”

“Of course,” you chuckle, kissing him again.

[tobi-momo]

The Third Set

PAIRING: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

GENRE: Romance | Pining | Fluff | A lil crack (kinda)

WARNINGS: not proofread | a lil ooc and soft at the end (pls dont get mad at me 😭😭)

WORD COUNT: 1k+

A/N: hihihi ok so this idea literally came to me while reading another fic (i cant remember it now im super sorry) and it wouldnt leave my head so i couldnt NOT write it yk? pls keep in mind that it gets rlly soft at the end and really out of character😭 i just hc that does affectionate things during an adrenaline rush, like he's too hyped to care ab what going on around him he just wants to see you, and so this is basically where that came from kasjkhasd- also this is not meant to be spicy at all whatsoever (although some remarks from the others are made that way when you read) its supposed to be romantic and lighthearted, so pls dont think its that sexual😭 also thank you @awmahleebkg my wife for giving me the confidence to post this i love you baby <333

Watching Kei play was one of your favorite things to do. Sure, that might sound a little sad, but watching him and his team working together on the court was something that you wouldn't miss the world for. Until an away game came along, it taking place somewhere farther than they usually are, and since you weren't a part of the team, you couldn't take the school bus with them. So, you took the city bus. He might have told you not to, he might have told you to wait at your house for him to return and tell you about it, but you couldn't help it. This was an important game, and you needed to be there and support him.

He was nervous, although someone who didn't know as well as you wouldn't be able to tell, you were always able to see right through him. Always able to tell when he was nervous or scared, even intimidated. He found it annoying, that you were always there for him, confused as to why you dedicated your time for him, but years after your first meeting he realized that he would do the same for you. You didn't know that his heartbeat the same way for you as it did for him, and he sure as hell didn't know that the reason you stuck by him all these years was to feel that exact heartbeat next to yours.

[3:37 P.M.]

Kei <3: Stay home, y/n

Y/n: but it's an important game! i want to cheer you on!

Kei <3: I'll tell you what happens after I get home if you really want me to. But stop whining at me it's annoying.

Y/n: 😠😠 let. me. go.

Kei <3: No.

Y/n: i hate you so much

Kei <3: Sure you do

You wouldn't listen to him, of course. Why would you? You get your bag ready to leave, filling it with snacks and water bottles to help the team out.

By the time you snuck in, it was half-way past the second set. Tensions were high and sweat was dripping off their jaws while they gain each point. You made sure to stay a little quieter, not wanting Kei's attention to be drifted away from the game, especially since you weren't supposed to be there. By the time they won that set, they were tied with the other team. One more set left, things are getting really heated.

The score remained close to each other throughout the game, Karasuno being two points away from a win with their opponent three points behind them. Watching Kei as he looks at the floor with frustrated eyes, obviously mad at himself for not doing better. He frowns, taking a sip of water so no one sees it. You can see a slight tint of fear in his eyes- he was scared of losing the set. Although all you've seen were blocks of perfection, even a couple spikes that hit the court floor aggressively, points going towards Karasuno once more, he thought he wasn't doing good enough. You knew he was amazing, everyone in the room knew it too, so why didn't he?

He jogs back on the court after a timeout from the other team, getting into a serve/receive position, waiting for the ball to come over the net. The server on the other team hit the ball over, sending it straight to Nishinoya, who receives the ball perfectly, passing it to Kageyama. Backing up into the set, Hinata runs behind Kageyama, surprising the blockers on the other side of the net when Hinata smacks the floating ball down with his might. Instead of the ball hitting the floor, the left-back position receives the ball at the seam, shanking it towards the audience.

Another point.

The crowd goes wild and the air tightens as the scoreboard raises. You bounce on the bleachers and stomp your feet in excitement, knowing that this match would be over soon.

Kei exhales sharply at the whistle, relief, and nervousness seeping out of him. He can do it, he thought. Only one more point. When the ball passes him to the other side of the court, quickly moves to the right side of the net, jumping and completely regretting his decision once the ball hits the floor. He watches the ball trail off in shock, the whistle suddenly getting too loud for him. He grits his teeth in defeat, thinking that it would be over for them. His head faces the ground, his hands are balled up in fists. That's when you decide to take initiative.

Inhaling a harsh breath, you stand up putting your hands on each side of your face before yelling out to him.

"TSUKISHIMA KEI!!!"

His head whips from the floor, his eyes widening once they find yours in the big crowd. You stand out- to him at least.

"DON'T GIVE UP!!! YOU GOT THIS!! LET'S GO!!"

His pupils dilate at your figure cheering him on, suddenly wishing he hadn't told you to stay home. He didn't know you were there, or how you get here in the first place, but he was glad you came. He wanted you there. His shocked expression turned into a smirk of confidence before he turns back around and goes to his position. The whistle blows once more, telling the server that they can go. He refocuses on the court, watching the ball and everyone near it, analyzing everyone's movements and predicting where the ball is going to go. The big spiker on the other team runs towards the net with his approach, swinging his arms back, ready to slam the ball down as Kei quickly beats him to it, jumping and raising his arms on top of the net in defense.

The ball smacks the floor of the court.

Kei's eyes glow when his feet touch the ground again.

They won.

He tries his best to catch his breath, heaving once his teammates trample him on the ground. You scream in victory, jumping up and down, sprinting down the bleachers to the team, them welcoming you with tight hugs and cries of joy. Electricity coursed through Kei's veins, adrenaline making his sight clearer, his hearing less muffled and his breathing a lot clearer.

You see Kei on the other side of the court, getting up and steadying himself on his feet once you two lock eyes. You run towards him with a fast pace, him reciprocating as his legs speed up toward you. You jump on him, clinging to him as much as you could when wrapping your legs around him, digging your head in his shoulder. His hand immediately grab the back of your thighs for support, helping your body balance on his while you tug on his neck.

You praise him, telling him how proud you were of him picking himself up and being the best, telling him how amazing his blocks and spikes were, how amazing he was. You could hear his breathless laughs of joy, a genuine smile painting his face when you subconsciously pepper his face in firm pecks from your lips, showering him in sweet affection for his win.

"YOU DID SO AMAZING KEI!! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!! THAT WAS SO COOL!! YOU SHOULDA SEEN YOURSELF OUT THERE! OH MY GOD THAT WAS- THAT WAS PERFECT!! I KNOW YOU WERE DOUBTING YOURSELF A LITTLE BIT BUT YOU WERE AMAZING THE WHOLE TIME I MEAN-"

Your words muffle when his lips crash onto your- a rough, exciting kiss that has you moaning in his mouth from surprise and desperation from wanting this for the longest time. Your hands slide up from his neck to his cheeks, palming them and pulling him closer while your lips disconnect and reconnect rapidly, not being able to get enough of each other. His hands subtly, but firmly squeeze your thighs while you tilt your head, giving him the chance to kiss you deeper. The amount of emotion going through your bodies, desperation, love, excitement, impatience, relief, mixing with the adrenaline in your system's causing your worlds to finally collide and mix.

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know but I feel like I'm interrupting something"

"I think they're the ones interrupting"

"Just let them have this one, guys"

"They are literally about to do it on the court how am I not supposed to feel uncomfortable, Suga-san?"

"Aw, these lovebirds are finally getting together, I knew it would happen"

"Liar, you bet they wouldn't!"

"Tanaka-san! You weren't supposed to say anything!"

You couldn't hear any of the banter in the background, your only focus was him, and his only focus was you. And all the team could do was watch.

pls i know this was rlly ooc im super sorry

taglist: @combat-wombatus @hitosushi @toosharkinternet @alpha3113 @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @solar3lunar @zerohawks @katsuhera

[just-another-obsessed-fangirl]

slow motion, double vision in rose blush (Renora College AU)

Summary: Ren doesn't need alcohol to know how gorgeous his best friend is or to admit to himself (kind of, sort of) that his feelings towards her aren't exactly platonic. Apparently, he just needs it if he wants to be unable to ignore those facts.

Warnings: Drinking alcohol, some suggestive thoughts

Fic under the read more or can be read on AO3 here

I wrote this for Flower Power Week, but I didn’t see that there was a rule to keep works PG-13 until I was almost finished with this fic, and I figure this fic is already inherently a bit more mature than that, so I don’t think I should use the tag or tag the blog.

Hope you enjoy!

Parties wouldn't really be considered Ren's "thing".

 He much prefers the slightly-hectic-but-relatively-calm get-togethers of his friends that they manage to schedule every week or so amongst all their university classes. But it was the end of some particularly grueling midterms and everyone in their little friend group (and apparently, everyone on campus) had wanted to let loose and let wild after being cooped up with only their textbooks and their stress for so long. So that, and not enough displeasure at the plan to do anything about it, is how Ren ended up in the corner of the front room of some frat house with a red Solo cup in his hand.

 He doesn't know where most of his friends have gone. Ren hasn't seen all of them in one place since basically when they first arrived and Yang had shoved shots of - Ren hasn't drunk enough alcohol in his life to know for sure, but he would assume it's whiskey - into each of their hands. He didn't have much desire to down it in one go like most of the group, would rather let its burn come in little bursts than have all of the pain all at once. By the time he had finished it, Yang had taken Blake somewhere promising to dance, Ruby heard a rumor of a ping pong table and had set off to find it with Weiss so they can challenge each other, and Jaune and Pyrrha went… somewhere. The only friend who hadn't wandered off was Nora, who immediately upon finishing her shot had started pouring ice, orange juice, and maybe a tad too much vodka into a Solo cup.

 She had immediately come back to his side, expressing how much this was needed for her after midterms. Nora then starts rambling about what lengths she had gone to in order to make the information stick and the stomach aches she got from the stress and how she was shaking during her last test partly from how little sleep she had gotten in the past month from projects. At least, that's what Ren was pretty sure she was talking about. The music was so loud that he had to lean in pretty close to hear what Nora was saying, and even then he couldn't pick up half the words said. Which was a shame, because as much as people seem to believe he just ignores her, Ren does listen to everything his best friend wants to say, and he likes listening to everything she says.

 Nora must've noticed how close Ren was leaning in, or his discomfort at the loud music, as she then grabs his hand and walks them somewhere else, still talking all the while. The farther they walk, the quieter the music gets, the more Ren can hear Nora. They arrive at some far-off corner and Ren is more than content to stay there and listen to Nora for the rest of the night. But then a girl dressed more like she was going to a full-out rave rather than a college party rushes up to Nora and begs her to be her partner at beer pong.

 "Kobalt and Ivori are ‘too cool’ for it, and Flynt's our DD, so obviously he can't drink, and you're fun enough and I bet you'd be super good at beer pong-"

 Ren can tell Nora wants to say yes, but she keeps looking at him from the corner of her eye like she doesn't want to leave him alone. If he really had heard her correctly, then she is certainly deserving of some fun right now, and it might be a little awkward standing here alone but it wouldn't be the worst thing.

 "You should go," he says.

 Nora turns her head fully to him. "Are you sure? You gonna be okay here all by your lonesome?"

 Ren gives her a little smile. "I think I can manage."

 "Great!" the girl says with a clap of her hands. "So it's settled". She grabs the cup that Nora was holding and hands it off to Ren. "Now be a good boyfriend and keep this safe for her."

 Nora's face flushes, and Ren can feel that he does too. "Oh no, Neon, we're not-" but before she can continue her denial, Neon yanks her away to the beer pong table.

 They're a little ways away, but they are perfectly within Ren's eyesight. He can see that they're playing against Sun and Neptune. He doesn't know them too well but he hasn't known them as anything other than friendly. Well, Jaune might disagree at least where Neptune's concerned, but it's been ages and he's since got over his crush on Weiss, so he's probably okay with him now. They start their game and on her first try, Nora lands the ball cleanly into one of the other team's cups. She jumps and pumps her fist in the air, showing off that usual bright beautiful smile in her joy that always seems to lighten up every room and flood Ren's insides with warmth.

 He looks away a little, not wanting to acknowledge what that feeling really meant, even if he had finally admitted to himself that what he had felt for his best friend wasn’t exactly platonic. The admission itself is a barely-there kind of thing because no matter how much Ren would prefer it, he couldn't be in complete denial over it for the rest of time so he'll just settle for being as close to that as possible. Nora's his best friend, what they've had since they were kids - it's good. For the most part, he's completely fine with the way things are and Nora seems to also so why potentially ruin or try to change something that's practically perfect already? Before he could uncomfortably spiral into that thought process anymore, mercifully, he is interrupted. But not so mercifully, that interruption is from Nora, laughing so loud and wonderfully that Ren just plummets even deeper.

 Something funny must have happened. Or maybe not. It doesn't seem to take much to send Nora into a fit of laughter. He likes that about her, that she can let joy or other emotions in so easily and that she doesn't really care about how it may look or what others might think. He's glad there isn't some insecurity that keeps Nora from laughing so often. She has such a nice laugh and Ren likes knowing she's happy and it's nice that she does it so much. And her lips are so pretty, especially when she smiles. He can't help but keep his focus on them. That is until she throws her head back, showing off the nice smooth skin of her neck. Ren then starts to wonder what it would be like to press his lips to the side of it and just how she'd react before he realizes the nature of just what exactly he's thinking.

 His mouth goes dry. Without thinking, he raises Nora's cup to his lips to make it go away but it isn't until he's already swallowed and surprised himself with the hefty burn it leaves in his throat that he remembers what was in that cup. Yeah, he definitely took a much bigger sip than he should've, and there is definitely too much vodka in that. But the orange juice masks the taste of it for the most part and the ice soothes away a good amount of the burn, so it's definitely not the worst alcoholic drink Ren's ever had and might actually be one of the more pleasant ones. He takes a smaller sip of it out of a measured curiosity.

 Ren's eyes drift back to Nora. If he had any sense left in him, he'd focus on anything else, keep trying to avoid feelings he doesn't want to feel and thoughts that might be inappropriate, or definitely inappropriate. But it's as if Ren's field of vision can only narrow down to just her. There are clouds of pink on the edges of what he can see, threatening to fill up the entire room, and it seems as if the only way it won't happen is if he keeps Nora right in the center, where all her movements seem to be in slow motion.

 She picked a green top tonight, a color more associated with Ren more than Nora. She bears a little more skin in this top too, the two spaghetti straps unable to hide the nice, toned muscles of Nora's arms and shoulders along with her delicate collarbone. Ren had already noticed this top when everyone was on the way to the party, trying to figure out if it was new as he's pretty sure he had never seen it before. He must've been more obvious than he should've, because Pyrrha had nudged his shoulder then, giving him a coy little smile. "Green's a good color on Nora, isn't it?" Pyrrha had said, as if he hadn't already known that. Nora doesn't have a lot of green in her own wardrobe, but Ren does, and the times when she has worn the color were usually because she was wearing his clothes. She's done it often enough - stolen his sweater to fight the cold in the café while they were studying, hung his jacket from her shoulders walking around town, switched into one of his tees and sweats when she needed to crash at his dorm for one reason or another. It always feels nice seeing Nora in green, especially when it's his green. Ren would let Nora borrow his clothes any time just to see it more often.

 Nora's skirt is still her signature pink, but without the usual volume or swish ability that she loves so much. No, this skirt is… tighter. It clings to the shape of her quite well, accentuating her curves very nicely. She's doing a little dance right now, and it looks like she's singing too. Nora's a really good singer when she wants to be but he can't imagine she's deciding to be that right now. She bumps her hip against Neon's and spins around, does some shimmying movement. Ren's mouth goes dry again. He's starting to feel really warm. He should look away. Nora's his best friend. He shouldn't be getting mesmerized by the movement of her hips or tracing his eyes over the muscles of her arms, or even noticing how her outfit and especially that skirt, while she’s dancing, makes certain areas of Nora more prominent and - okay Ren's taking another drink. He's taking another drink because he needs another drink, because he needs to stop ogling Nora and thinking these kinds of thoughts about her.

 The burn hurts. It's a deserved punishment.

 He's a little woozy right now but he still feels guilty. Nora is beautiful. She's always been beautiful. Ren has known that even before realizing he liked her in that way. But that doesn't give him or anybody else the right to objectify her like that. It's obviously not like her being gorgeous is the only thing to Nora, and neither that nor the idea of them being physical together are why Ren fell in love with her in the first place.

 Love.

 Well, that is… definitely true. It's definitely true but Ren doesn't think he's ever admitted that much to himself before. In fact, he knows he hasn't because emotions are uncomfortable and scary and often irrational and he doesn't like dealing with them especially when it could ruin probably the most important relationship he has. Why did he have to realize this now? Why did he have to realize this at all? This is uncomfortable. He might be panicking. He feels off balance. Ren takes another drink just so that he can distract himself from all of this but it doesn't quite work by the time he's finished off the rest of it.

 There's nothing of this too-much-vodka concoction left and it is immediately apparent to Ren that that was not his brightest idea. He doesn't really drink too much, even at social gatherings. Their friends usually appoint him the designated driver, and he doesn't mind. If he does drink, he'll usually stop by the time he feels a hint of a buzz. This was… more than a hint. He's more off-balance than before, the room sways a little more and he thinks it's grown even pinker. His head feels cloudy. And this is the longest a burn has stayed in his throat. And he is so warm. Ren leans his back against the wall for some stability.

 His eyes come back to Nora because if Ren couldn't stop it before, he can't stop it now. She's still there, being beautiful and charming and full of life, laughing with the people around her, and of course Ren is in love with her, how could he ever try to deny that fact. Neptune comes up to her, leans in kind of close to say something. Ren doesn't like that, or the way he's looking at Nora. Maybe Jaune was right about him. Maybe the problem with Neptune is that he's too friendly. Neptune points his thumb somewhere and - wait, is he pointing at him? He must have because Nora immediately turns her head and catches Ren's eye. There's some expression on her face and she immediately sets off in his direction.

 There's something in Ren that tells him to act casual and he raises the cup to his lips one more time but is immediately reminded of the fact that there's nothing left in it so he figures he just looks stupid.

 "Hey," Nora says as she stops in front of him. "You okay?"

 Ren looks up from his empty cup and pushes himself off the wall. He probably used a lot more force than he should've and stumbles a bit, which Nora remedies by putting her hands on his shoulders. She laughs a little, and he can't help but feel even warmer.

 "Guess that answers my question," Nora giggles some more.

 "I'm fine," Ren says. He is very aware of how her fingers are splayed out on his shoulders, the pressure she's putting that's just enough to still him. It keeps him calm, but also doesn't, and his heart is beating so hard she must feel it where her hands are.

 Her eyes scan over his face. "I've never seen your face so red." Ren's sure it only gets redder then. "How much have you had to drink?"

 He wordlessly brings his attention back to the empty cup in his hand, which Nora follows. "You drank all of it?" she points at the cup, her eyes widening. "Ren, I put a lot of vodka in that!"

 Ren blinks a couple times, having to more manually process what Nora said while he was trying not to stare at her mouth. "I can tell," he says, maybe a couple of seconds too late.

 Nora raises an eyebrow. It's another cute look on her. "You don't really drink that much. There a reason why now?"

 There's genuine concern in her voice when she asks that question, and it's so sweet and Ren's heart beats a little faster and he wants to take that concern away from her. But he doesn't think answering that question truthfully is going to help that. Ren's pretty sure the best-case scenario of saying 'you're pretty and I love you' to Nora is causing her confusion to the point of distortion.

 "I was… thirsty." And that's really about as close to the truth as he can get. Ren shakes his head, but not too hard because the room is moving too much already and… ouch. "I'm sure you've had more tonight," nodding towards the beer pong table. She must've, shouldn't she? Is it just his alcohol-addled mind or does Nora not seem any bit of drunk at all?

 She scoffs. "Maybe not. Sun really doesn't like putting too much beer in those cups. Besides, that's beer, not hard liquor. And I'm more experienced with it than you, so it takes a bit more to get me down. I've had more practice."

 Nora shoots him a cheeky grin, a little closer to his face than she was before. She leaned in a bit when she was talking, migrated her hands closer to the base of his neck. It's nothing new. Nora being so physically affectionate is one of her trademark qualities. And Ren's happy to let her do that to him at any time, but he knows he generally seems unresponsive to it. But what if he responds to it now? He's not going to, he's absolutely not going to, but it's easier to fall into that daydream than usual. Ren could wrap his hands around Nora's waist, lean into this little space between them to ultimately close it. He could press his lips to that grin on her face, and Nora would be a little surprised, but in no time at all, she'd be kissing him back. She'd wrap her arms a little easier around his neck and she could press herself a little more against him, the idea of having any distance left between them as unappealing to Nora as it is to Ren.

 "Uhh, Ren?"

 He falls out of the daydream. "Oh! Ah… umm… huh?" She hasn't been saying anything. Ren has been very focused on Nora's mouth for the past couple of minutes, so much that he had missed the blush on her face. He must've missed something happening. Did he say something? The thought of that mortifies him to no end.

 He might've been emoting his thought process on his face because Nora chuckles. "Yeah. That's definitely more alcohol than you're used to." She grabs his hand and leads him over to a couch nearby. Nora lightly pushes him down next to the armrest. "You stay right here," she says firmly, but full of fondness. "I'm gonna get you some water. And I probably need some too." Nora pats his cheek a little, brushes it with her thumb. Ren almost leans into it but she pulls away too soon.

 Nora turns around and goes in search of some water, and characteristically of him tonight, Ren can't help but keep her eyes on her, until he's forced to because there are too many people in that direction. He sighs, sinking into the cushions as he closes his eyes, feeling the warmth bloom in his chest. She's just so caring. Nora is just so caring and she loves people so much. And she's not afraid to give away all that love and care, to allow people to really see that that's what she feels for them, does it without a second thought. That's one of the big things, Ren thinks. That's got to be at least one of the big reasons why he fell in love with Nora.

 She comes back to him with two large water bottles in her hands. Nora tucks one under her arm in order to open the other, which she gives to him. Ren takes it and continues watching Nora as she settles right next to him, sitting down then kicking her legs up onto the couch. She leans back into the cushions and shifts herself more towards him, letting her head rest closer to his shoulder. Nora moves her head a bit to drink some water and then it actually touches his shoulder. Ren loves her so much. Moments like these are so small, and it's not like they don't happen between them very much. But maybe one day Ren will be brave enough to let them happen a lot more often, and those moments will have a slightly different meaning between the two of them than it does now.

 She looks so pretty in this light. Nora looks pretty in any light.

 Nora catches his eye again. She pushes her hand up beneath the water bottle Ren had forgotten that he was holding. "Drink up."

 And who is Ren to refuse her? He starts to sip his first non-alcoholic drink of the night and already his head is starting to feel less like it's filled with cotton. He drinks until the room feels still again, until everything stops looking like it's in slow motion, until there's no more pink clouds on the edges of his vision. Before he knows it, Ren's finished the whole bottle and his throat feels the best it's been all night.

 Despite the lack of pink clouds and an apparent increase in sobriety, Ren still keeps looking at Nora. She's giggling now. He doesn't know what exactly is so funny but that doesn't really matter.

 "Feel better now?" She asks. He nods because he doesn't know just what he'll admit to her right now if he allows himself to speak. "Great. I'm glad they set out those really big water bottles. That really saved me another trip. And you probably didn't drink enough that you'd need ibuprofen or something. I would've said to take some just in case, but I'm not sure what taking meds when something isn't really wrong with you could do to you. I think you should be fine now. Don't think you'll wake up in the morning with a hangover."

 Ren just keeps looking at Nora, without a word. He doesn't need them right now. He doesn't think he needs to do anything else besides look at Nora and hear her talk for the rest of time.

 But something must be wrong because Nora turns her head away a little, shrinking a bit into herself. "Are you mad at me?"

 That surprises him. "No," that is very much not what he was feeling towards Nora right now. "Why would you think that?"

 She heaves out a heavy sigh. "Neptune said you were staring at me the whole time we were playing." Ren's heart stops a little. Nora keeps shrinking down and her voice feels smaller.  "I don't know- I just figured you might be angry at me for leaving you alone at a place I know you'd rather not be."

 Ren straightens up, shifts fully towards her so she can more easily believe what he's about to say. "I told you to go," maybe he's leaning more forward than he usually would, makes more direct eye contact with Nora. "And being here isn't too bad. I just- uh- I uh-" He puts his head down a little, taking some time to find the right words. How does Ren explain the staring? That he just loves the way she exists and who she is and she deserves good times and it's nice when she gets them?

 "You were having fun," Ren brings himself to look back at her, says these words in all earnest. "I like when you have fun."

 That takes her back a little. Nora's eyes widen but her face softens. For one terrifying but almost hopeful moment, Ren thinks she might've understood what he really meant underneath those words. She smiles and brings her hand up to his face. She uses a couple fingers to sweep his bangs to the side. Ren's eyes almost close at the contact.

 "You're so sweet," Nora says, almost like she's in disbelief. "You wanna go back home? I can walk you back."

 "Are you sure?" That does sound like a good idea to Ren, but he doesn't want to take Nora away from something she enjoys just for him. "I'm honestly fine here. I know you were really stressed, I don't mind if you wanna unwind a little more."

 Nora smiles a little wider. "I think I've had a good amount of unwinding here already. If I stay here any longer and leave you unattended, who knows how many more screwdrivers you'll drink." She moves her hand from his forehead down to his cheek. "And you need to get home safe. For the most part, you seem all right now, but I just… I need to make sure."

 Ren leans into the hand Nora has on his cheek. It's a bit more than he'd usually do, but it feels right. "Alright then."

 "Can I crash at yours' too?" she asks. Ren chuckles a little at that, because when has Nora ever needed to ask that.

 "Of course." And then some daydream starts again. They get back to his single dorm and it'll be just like the other times Nora's slept over there. She'll switch tonight's outfit out for some of Ren's pajamas and she'll look just as good, if not better to Ren. They'll lay down and fall asleep in his bed, and that's all they'll do tonight. And then the morning comes and there's no trace of alcohol in their systems and everything's in the clear, and Ren will kiss her, soft and sweet. Nora will kiss him back because she has wanted this just as much as he has. He'll keep a hand on her cheek and maybe she'll tangle her fingers in his hair. Then maybe they end up never leaving the dorm that day, or even the bed. They'll talk, of course. They'll say what needs to be said, about their feelings and anything else. It's decided between them that Nora can sleep at his dorm a lot more often. And when she does, they don't need to struggle as much to fit together on this twin size XL bed, because Ren can wrap himself around her and they can let their legs get tangled together. He can wake up and bury his head into the hollow of Nora's shoulder and just breathe her in. The next time they see their friends, Ren and Nora won't act all that much different, but it won't take long before they realize something's up. They'll get it out of them, and they'll be happy, and then they'll be mercilessly teased because how did it take you two this long? Ren will get a bit embarrassed, but Nora will take it in stride. She'll kiss the blush on his face, and he'll just blush harder, and she'll laugh a little until he does too.

 But Nora in this reality grabs his hand and forces him to stand. He doesn't know if it's just how much he was in that daydream or if he's still a little buzzed from the alcohol, but it's a little disorienting as he makes movements.

 Before he knows it, they're out the front door and into the cold night air. It's a little windy out. Ren wishes he had a jacket to give to Nora.

 They walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of his dorm. Their hands are still intertwined, their arms swinging in between them. They don't speak, not uncommon at all for Ren but a little surprising from Nora. Ren might've wondered at this if we weren’t lost in his own thoughts.

 How close is that daydream to reality? How close could that daydream be to becoming reality? Is it just Ren or are there enough pieces in place for that to happen? All this time he's been worried about losing their friendship, what they already have. But what kind of future could they have? What could they gain? Is all that Ren really needs to do is get over himself?

 Maybe he's still not in his right mind. It certainly can't be that easy. But he can recall a few times when he's caught Nora looking at him. And maybe some of the comments she's passed off as jokes had more truth to them than she lets on.

 Everything about this still feels scary, but not as scary as it was before. He is at least very lucky to fall in love with such an incredible, amazing woman who's already his best friend. He doesn't know what will happen, but he does know what could. And yes, that may include losing the person closest to him. But as devastating as that is, there's another possibility that is at least that amount of wonderful.

 He peers at Nora from the corner of his eye. She's tucking some hair behind her ear to keep it from flapping in the breeze. Her hand is so warm in his.

 Ren's not going to do anything like confess to her tonight. Or the next morning. But looking at Nora, and holding her hand, and thinking about the good possibilities - he thinks he's starting to build up the courage.

[sapphire-writing]

In the Woods pt. 1

Title: In the Woods pt. 1

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: wanted to kill you, def going to be a good s/o, mediocre writing

Shortly after the other park tower had signed off, you got a call. It was a man who had gone camping and gotten chased off away from his stuff by something. What it was, the man didn't say and that left curiosity burning in your mind. It wasn’t unusual for people to call the tower at night but you decided that just in case it would be best to have him go to the other tower. You didn’t want to end up with a creepy man stuck in this tiny room with you for hours.

You took the radio and walked over to the large map that was pinned to the corkboard on the north wall. You glanced up at the window above the door to your right and a shiver went down your spine. Chased off the path by some mysterious creature sounded like something you didn’t want to deal with tonight. Actually you didn’t want to deal with it on any night but here you were hoping that this man had enough wits about him to make sure that he followed your directions.

It was actually a very simple park with enough land mark and trail markers for someone to follow. Thankfully this camper at least was somewhat prepared to be in the wild and had brought a compass. The glorified pond, that we called a lake, was directly north of my tower. There was even a path that looped around the lake and then branched off in the far north east corner of the map towards the other tower.

When the camper reached the split in the path that would lead him to you, you hesitated. Would he be okay by himself? Would he even be able to get into the other tower to hide? If it was a bear why was it still chasing him? Nothing seemed to make sense.

“Hurry up! I think it’s getting closer! If I get eaten by some creature on my vacation from work I swear-”

You clicked the button and interrupted him. “Continue straight ahead. That path with lead around the lake. I’m going to have you go to the empty park tower since someone will be showing up there sooner than someone will come here. You’ll be completely safe there.”

Mumbled curses came through the receiver. This man sure had a lot of opinions for someone who needed their life saved. If everyone in the world was as picky as this... the world would suck.

Suddenly a roar echoed through the forest and sent the man screaming through the speaker. You winced and put you hand as far away from you as you could. All you could hear was ragged breathing, snow crunching, and the wind howling. For what felt like hours but was only mere minutes, you listened to this camper run for his life from something that wasn’t human.

The corkboard above the bed was riddled with cut out news stories telling about the missing campers from over the years. All of the ones who were never found were labelled a bear attack. You tried to recall what a bear actually sounds like. Whatever it was it couldn’t be what you heard. What you heard was too... human almost.

“I think I lost it.” The radio crackled and gave static. “Lost... It?”

“I heard you the first time,” you said. “Where are you now? Can you see anything that I could perhaps see on the map?”

The camper took a deep breath. “I-I think I see a split up ahead. The lake is still visible too. Uh off to my left and that’s where the path goes. Towards the left.”

You stuck a tack into the map. He wasn’t too far from the other tower now. At least you didn’t think he would be. If he thought the path went towards the left than he should be almost there. The path would branch northeast and northwest leading to the other tower and the abandoned mine respectively.

Some part of you wondered if you should lead him to the tower. Whatever was out there clearly didn’t like him so what was the harm in letting the man get added to the board on the wall. It’s not like you knew him. It’s not like you weren’t risking yourself by letting him go to the other tower.

“I’m... Hungry.”

“What was that?” you asked. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“I never said anything. Are you sure you shouldn’t get a different job?”

You hesitated before responding. “It was probably just the wind. Forget about it. Have you reached the fork in the path? If so you should take a right. That’ll bring you to the tower. Make sure you don’t take the left path.”

The camper paused. “Why shouldn’t I take the left?”

“That leads to the abandoned mine and I’m sure that that is a bad idea if you’re trying to hide from something.”

The rest of the time was spent in a stressed silence. Part of you wanted to try to see if you could see the camper from outside but another part of you didn’t want to face the cold of winter and whatever was out there. You had to trust that the camper was smart enough to get himself to the tower with what you’d told him.

The minutes seemed to drag on. Each second felt like a minute causing each minute to feel like an hour. Time was slowing down for just you leaving the rest of the world continuing to tick on in the same steady manner. You had to have hope that this would work out. The camper would reach the tower. He would be safe.

By the time the camper had reached the empty tower, it was already midnight. The soft red numbers let off an almost eerie glow in the still air of the tower. Everything around you was holding its breath as you listened to the creaking of the rickety stairs underneath the man’s feet.

A small sound of joy was heard from the speaker and the camper’s footsteps sped up. The door to the other tower gave an unhappy creak as it was ripped open and gave an even more unhappy sound as it was slammed shut and locked.

“I don’t think I’m safe here either. This place looks likes its one bad wind away from falling over. How do you expect me to stay here overnight?” He was scared and snapping at you. “This isn’t a funny joke! I need to know I’m not alone out here! I’m going to die in this miserable tower all alone in these stupid woods!”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously you aren’t alone but if it makes you feel better I guess I can turn the floodlights on for a second. Would that make you feel better, sir?”

 “Y-yeah. I guess that thing just is really getting to me. Turing on the lights would be a help. Can you play like a radio or something too? The scratching on the door is sending a chill up my spine like nothing ever has.”

You pulled on your extra coat and opened the door. Snow was once again settling on the deck that wrapped around the tower. Rubbing your hands together, you flipped on the flood lights. After a second of the light filling the forest, you turned them off and headed back inside.

The camper thanked you over the radio. “I owe you my life. That thing even left so maybe I can get some sleep.”

All you did was sigh before telling him that someone would be there in five hours. It was the only thing you could do now. The man was in the other tower, he was no longer being pestered by whatever chased him through the forest.

Just moments later, the sound of something scraping against the metal door interrupted your thoughts. Two red, glowing eyes peered in at you through the window above the door. A shiver went down your spine as you realized that whatever had been after the camper was now at your door.

Despite yourself, you moved closer. There were no horrid scratching sounds from the other side. Just an eerie red stare that seemed too intelligent for any common creature that would go after a human. You knew as soon as you heard the roar the first time. This was way more that a bear.

You ripped open the door causing the cold air of the winter night blow in. Despite the fear and dread in your stomach, you grabbed the clawed and furry hand of the creature.. You tugged whatever it was in and slammed the door shut. You knew that with that move you had sealed your fate for better or for worse.

You dropped the creature’s hand, or maybe it was really a paw, and backed away. The desk was now bare since the winter wind had kicked everything onto the floor. As you proceeded to sweep up the papers that were now on the floor, the monster watched you curiously.

The garbled voice of the camper asked, "What are doing?"

You turned around in shock and ran a hand through your hair. "It's freezing outside. Aren't you cold? You should warm up."

Instead of answering, the creature stepped closer and peered down at you with glowing and curious, eyes. You smiled warily at it and set a pot on the hot plate. You tried to keep your eyes on the creature at all times as you set up two cups of tea. It wasn’t too hard to keep it in your sight though given that It appeared to take up at least a quarter of the space you were in.

You pushed a warm cup of steeping tea into the clawed hands startling the creature. Picking your own up and holding it in your hands, you looked down at the floor in shock. You were an idiot. An idiot who decides that monsters can be befriended and all you have to do is give them tea. At least you provided it with something to wash your body down with.

“What... are you doing?” The voice seemed to be farther from the camper’s own voice and more like your own. “I... kill.”

Your eyes once again met the creature’s before returning to the floor. You didn’t know how to answer that question. Part of you felt fear. Another part of you felt something deeper. Some sort of emotion that was warmer and kinder. It felt like sympathy.

Suddenly you picked up your lunch bag. “It was you who said you were hungry right? I can’t let you kill a camper, at least I couldn’t let you do it emotionally, but I made too much for lunch so you can have the rest. That way no one gets hurt. At least I hope no one does.”

"Honestly I think you're amazing. If you were the one chasing the camper them you move really fast and you're so tall and probably really strong," you spilled. "I just think that your probably better than most people."

The monster sat down on the bed and watched you bustle around the tower. You pulled out the extra blankets and put the papers where they should be. You could tell that it was watching you and you knew that your face was getting warm.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" you asked it. "I think I can probably find something in my lunch bag if you're hungry."

Once again a broken voice spoke, "Aren't you... afraid?"

You hesitated. “Honestly? I’m terrified. But really what’s the worst you’re going to do? I mean yeah dying sounds bad but at least I don’t have to be the weird person who moved here and now works in the forest all alone.”

The creature looked at you with what could’ve been pity before shoving your triple decker sandwich into its mouth. Sharp teeth tore through the sandwich as if it was paper and you felt a new surge of fear run through your veins. If it did that to a sandwich you didn’t want to know what it could do to people.

“Do you... need to sit?”

You glanced around the room for the chair but found it on the floor unable to be used. The only spot would be the bed that the creature had decided to use to fit easier in the room. The red eyes studied you for a moment before shift to perch on the very end of the bed.

“I-I suppose I do. It’s not every day I see someone like you.”

You sat down in silence as the creature raided your lunch. Your hands were shaking and you could feel the almost burning tea drip down the sides of your mug. Part of you wanted to move your hands, set down the mug, and blow on the spots but you were still scared.

“Burn.”

The creature grabbed your hand and looked at the bright red marks that the tea had left. Its eyes seemed to ponder what could’ve made the mark before reaching for your other hand.

“I’m fine! Its just the tea is still too warm. I must’ve made it too hot so be careful with yours.”

Silently, the creature pointed to the empty and discarded mug that was laying on the floor.

“Already had tea.”

With surprising delicacy, the creature took your tea from you and set it on the floor. It brought your hands to its face and gently licked the splotches of red that the tea had left you with. You were in shock and you couldn’t move. You felt like you couldn’t even breath.

“T-thanks. I guess it did hurt a bit.”

You turned your face away from the creature as your mind raced. Where did this kind of sweet and more gentle side come from? Was this really the same creature that had been chasing the camper? Why did your heart start beating faster?

“Must leave. Almost time.”

You felt your heart drop. “Will you come back? I’m usually all alone when I work and just having someone else there would be comforting I suppose. I could even bring you back something else that you’d like.”

Sharp claws gently traces the recent marks on your arms. Glowing eyes gazed at you with a sort of sadness that you didn’t think a dangerous creature could feel.

“Tomorrow,” it said before gesturing to the door.

Hesitantly you opened the door and the creature lumbered out leaving you with no food and a strange feeling in your chest.

This is actually based off the first horror game that I ever watched someone play. It wasn’t even a horror game but I was also in my monster lover phase and two years later I’m finally writing it. I’m actually pretty excited and can’t wait to have this bring me back into writing! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

~Love Sapphire

[ilguna]

Redamancy - Chapter Seven (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE. BRIEF MENTION OF SUICIDE

wc; 14.5k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There’s a familiar feeling of dread when you wake up this afternoon. A bottomless pit in your stomach that sticks with you no matter how hard you shake. You sit in bed for an extra twenty minutes, hoping that positive affirmations will be enough to get some of it to go away. Dread is an unbearably uncomfortable feeling, and it doesn’t go away either.

You have to get out of bed at some point, so you drag your feet around your room, getting shit ready for the shower. Ripped white skinny jeans, an open-back light blue shirt, white underwear. You drop it all onto the white bathroom counter, turn on the shower, and let it run for a couple of minutes as you lean over the sink bowl.

Maybe you’re just hungry. You’ve felt this same hopeless feeling before, and all you had to do was eat for it to go away. You’ll have breakfast, and by the time you get to the betting room, your heart and stomach will be full. It’s hard to convince yourself this lie, knowing that it’s deeper than that.

You take your time in the shower too, no longer feeling sorry for Finnick for taking so long. He’s got Gloss and Enobaria down there, and they’re not so bad when you get to know them well enough. Unlike their crazy tributes inside of the arena, they know when and how to dial it down without causing too much trouble. Every year, it’s like the tributes ramp it up for entertainment. You wish they knew just how fucking insane they looked, how unappealing it’ll get to the gamemakers.

The Capitol likes fun, big and new until it’s gross and they can’t stomach it anymore. It might take them a little longer to get to that point, since they’ve been watching this shit for years, so they’re more desensitized than the rest of you. But it’s going to happen, and the moment it does, the gamemakers are going to censor everything possible to get their exciting program back on track.

It’s sickening, but it’s always sickening.

You wrap it up in the shower, allow the Capitol hair machines to work their magic on your hair. And while you’re at it, you go ahead and decide to let the body blow dryers do the exact same thing. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re not in the Capitol. You’re at home, on the beach surrounded by your friends and family. It’s late spring, early summer. You’ll picnic on the beach after you’re done with the water, and then you’ll play games until sundown. Walking home in the dark is especially fun, Reed drunk is a sight that never fails to amuse.

And then the blow dryers stop, and you’re right back home. You get dressed, one article at a time. Underwear, bra, pants, shirt. To avoid an endless stare in the mirror again, you go out to the dining room. 

You turn on the tv, sit at the table, and watch as the avoxes serve a big breakfast. Good, you want to make sure that you’re full. The sooner the shitty feeling goes away, the sooner you can start focusing on more important topics. You take your time getting through it all. Pancakes, with assorted berries, syrups and candies to place on top. You get orange juice, coffee and hot chocolate served in a heartbeat. If you don’t want the berries, you can opt for oranges, apples, plums, mangos. If not fruits, then vegetables. 

You stick with the pancakes, mixing and matching your food to try and find the best combination. You’re procrastinating, you know it. The longer you take, the less time you’ll have to spend inside of the betting room. You eat and eat, but find that the feeling isn’t going away. This shouldn’t be how today is going, especially not after the shit you just went through yesterday. It might not have been your tributes directly, but it was bad enough.

At least lady fate has been nice enough to give you a warning, right? Right?

It’s one-thirty in the afternoon. Everyone inside of the arena is awake and working on their own projects by now. Nine girl is relaxing off to the left, she’s got a fire started, and she’s cooking some animal that you’ve never seen before, over it. She’s content, and you think that she'll be able to kite the games easily, if she doesn’t go and pull anything like Bauhinia did.

Had Bauhinia just minded her own business and stuck next to the dam, she’d be alive right now. It wouldn’t have made for an interesting day, but that’s okay. You still can’t believe that she thought it was a good idea to try and attack them in the first place. Sure, it was only one of them, but she really didn’t think that she’d get away with it. The careers aren’t just going to let it go.

Sometimes there’s genius tributes, who can make their way around the arena, fight other tributes and survive off of worms in the ground. And they have everyone fooled, right up until they make their first not-common sense decision. A part of you can understand how they made it so far, because they’ve obviously got the skills for it. They’re just lacking literally the most obviously important details.

Bauhinia had the chance of winning, and she blew it for herself.

District Seven is awake, but they haven’t moved from the huts. They don’t look like they’re planning on going anywhere, either. The dam is leaking water, which has them mildly concerned, as they should be. They’ve just decided to ignore it for the time being, take advantage of it while they can before they have to actually go to the stream.

Annie and Marsh haven’t gone out to their snares at all. You don’t think they’re planning on moving today, either. They’re holed up inside of their shack, splitting food and talking about how they’re going to ration it. Maybe they’re finally going to try and make the push to the village tonight? That’s good, they should make one last round with the snares and gather what they can. Just in case there isn’t any food over there, they’d have some rabbits, squirrels and whatever else to hold them over until their next trip. Same thing goes for stocking up water.

As for the careers, they’re getting a slow start to today’s hunting day. They eat, discuss, go quiet, and then repeat the process about a hundred times until they eventually agree on just heading towards the stream. They pack up their things agonizingly slow, keeping the wretched kama with them so that no other tribute can run across it and keep it. It’s smart, but also a waste of space, considering they broke the strap on the outside of the backpack that would’ve held it for them.

And the only tribute that’s left is Five boy, who is a lot farther along than you thought he would be. He’s practically at the stream, and the path he took was on top of the careers. How they didn’t see him is a complete mystery to you. Like every other tribute that moves through the woods, he’s not very quiet. 

Then again, the careers are dragging their feet, so yesterday must’ve tired them out. After walking for several hours, and then running, there’s no way that their legs aren’t sore. Plus, they’re carrying backpacks chocked full of goods they’ll need for a couple of days. At least this shows that they’re some form of human. You’re sure that they’re going to find some way to change that thought in the next day or so. With what you’re feeling today, it’ll probably be in the next few hours.

You finish breakfast, still watching as Five boy gets closer and closer to the stream. With where he’s at currently, Annie and Mash shouldn’t have a thing to worry about. Hell, the kid isn’t even geared up, no backpack, no weapons, he’s just letting the wind decide where he’s going. Even if he did manage to run across your tributes, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He’s harmless.

The careers get ready to go, heading the exact same was as Five boy, of course. Again, if they stick with the path that they’re on, they shouldn’t be a problem with your tributes, either. However, if that were the case, you’re sure your heart wouldn’t squeeze each time you think of the idea of them getting close to Annie and Marsh.

You brush your teeth in your bathroom, no longer taking your time getting ready. You’ve wasted thirty minutes eating lunch alone, dragging your feet isn’t going to delay the inevitable. If today’s going to be a bad day, it’s going to happen with or without you.

Plus, Finnick’s probably wondering where you’ve been this entire time. You know that he didn’t leave to go to the betting room until early this morning. With the confirmation last night that the careers wouldn’t be doing anything else, he decided to sleep for a little while longer. You didn’t really see any harm in it either. The important part is that he got down there this morning.

The elevator down makes you anxious, you press a hand to your stomach, hoping that it’ll ease your nerves. But the more you walk towards the betting room, the more the dread spreads from your stomach to your chest. By the time you’re actually inside of the room, you’re sure that being dead would be better than feeling this for the rest of the day.

Finnick is standing up instead of sitting, arms crossed while he watches the tv screen. Gloss is standing next to him, talking about something. Every now and then they’ll glance at each other, but for the most part, they’re reasonably interested in what’s going to eventually happen. It’s a matter of time before the careers and Five boy run across each other, isn’t it?

As for Enobaria, she’s in a group of sponsors, chatting away. You’d say that you’re surprised or that she’s gearing up for something, but the truth is that it’s a ritual of hers. She’ll lose a tribute, and then she’ll go talk to Capitol people all day to make her feel better. It’s a way to take away from the self-hated. The Capitol people are a fucking escape, with their rich lives, accents and complete obliviousness to social cues. It’s hard not to get lost in them.

Mentors are usually pissed at the Capitol for encouraging the games, but it works a little differently with the careers. You’re supposed to love the Capitol for favoring your districts all because of what you guys produce. The truth is that keeping up appearances is hard, and constantly trying not to be mad at them is even worse. At some point you’re going to snap.

And Enobaria wouldn’t want to ruin the perfect reputation that she’s built up all this time. To be fair, neither would you. It’s hard to get the Capitol to like a district that isn’t very good at the games, and it’s even harder to do when you’ve insulted them constantly. This is why you insult your own district to ally yourselves with the Capitol to make them think that you’re over being a savage.

Anyway, you wouldn’t be surprised if Enobaria doesn’t speak to any of you all today. She should be right back to it tomorrow, though. Nothing is permanent when it comes to her. She could be mad at you today, bounce right back at it the next day. She’ll also probably find a way to blow off steam.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that everyone is still at their respective places. Annie and Marsh are still at a 6-1, Sanguine is at 1-1, and Geare is at 2-1. As for everyone inside of the arena… you wouldn’t say that they don’t have a chance at winning, you’d say that they don’t have a chance at getting sponsored. The higher your odds, the more people are going to keep their eyes on you.

Before Bauhinia died, she was at a 14-1, which isn’t horrible, but isn’t the best either. Nine girl is at a 10-1, you can’t remember what she was yesterday. You can imagine that getting that backpack from the cornucopia has worked wonders for her. The more supplies she has, the easier it’ll be to live out in the woods. You still think that someone should make a run for the village before it’s too late. None of the careers are going to see, and do they really think another, lesser tribute is going to chase them down there?

The village is barren, it’s practically the golden ticket. Plus, Nine girl doesn’t even know about the stream on the right side of the woods! All she probably knows is about the dam leaking water, but that’s not really an efficient way to drink, right? Who knows how many diseases lie inside of the lake water behind the dam. The water probably has concrete dust anyway.

Though, you can’t completely blame them. If you were in the same spot as they were, you’re not sure if going out of your comfort zone would be a number one priority. In your arena, you always went to the pond. And after the pond was slowly being sucked up, you were apprehensive to go to the waterfall because it was uncharted territory… not really claimed, either. On the other hand, though, you knew that other tributes were in that area. Made it a little harder to want to go around there in the first place.

You appear behind Finnick and Gloss, who don’t seem to take notice of your presence at all. With the angle they’re turned at, Finnick could look to Gloss and still not see you. As you listen in, it’s basically meaningless conversation, until Finnick starts asking questions.

“Is she normally this stressed out?”

“You don’t even know half of it. Compared to the last couple of years we’ve known her, this is absolutely nothing.” Gloss lets out a breathy laugh, “I mean, she used to eat, sleep and breathe this room. None of us really understood how she’d survive down here. Sleep deprivation, hours without eating.” Gloss looks at Finnick, “The tributes would die and she wouldn’t even get mad. It’s hard to forget she’s human.”

“Do you think she unintentionally flirts with the Capitol people?” Finnick asks.

Your mouth opens, face twisting in disbelief as you look to Finnick. You have the urge to slap him upside the head hard enough to rattle his fucking brain with a question like that. You don’t mind that he’s asking these questions, he was practically asking the same exact ones last night before you went to bed.

After the Anchor question on the balcony, more followed. He had three years to catch up on, and you guys didn’t even get to finish. You got too tired to go on, so he let you go on the promise that you’d resume the questionnaire another night. He asked practically everything that he could think of.

How you were doing after all these years, what you like to do, how you fill your free time when you’re not in the Capitol. What your brothers have been up to, how Alyssum’s been doing in school, what they do now that they don’t have to work every hour of the day to provide anymore. And then went the questions for Caspian’s family and if you’re still close with them, which is an obvious yes. More questions about Mags, Anchor and Luther.

You think this is a good sign, like it’s Finnick’s own personal way to weasel his way back into your life. You’re practically down for whatever gets him to stay this time around. You don’t want him to be participating in this year’s games but completely fall off the radar by the time next year rolls around.

Anyway, Finnick turning to Gloss to ask these same questions is only natural, you’re sure that if Cashmere and Enobaria were over here too, they’d be more personal. To some extent, you think that Finnick isn’t trying to dig too deep, like he’s unsure of whether or not Gloss is one of your best friends or not. However, if he was going with that path, he wouldn’t have just asked Gloss whether he thinks you’re flirting with the Capitol each time you open your mouth.

“Uh,” Gloss says, smart man. He shouldn’t be quick to answer, but if he’s finding a better way to word whatever he’s thinking, he might have earned himself a hard slap to the side of the head too. “I wouldn’t say that it’s unintentional. We all know that the more you compliment the sponsors, the more willing they are to sponsor. So, I’d say that when she does, it’s on purpose too. She’s good at getting her way.”

“So I’ve heard.” Finnick mutters.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you ask, causing the both of them to jump.

Gloss places a hand over his heart, “Holy fuck, (Y/n). Again?”

You hardly pay attention to Gloss, eyes focused on Finnick, who’s beginning to turn red because of guilt, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“That’s what everyone says when they’re caught.” you roll your eyes, looking at the screen, “What’s up, Gloss?”

“Watching Enobaria unintentionally flirt with the sponsors.” Gloss snorts.

“Ha!” you elbow him, a smile peeking onto your face.

“(Y/n), I just meant that I’ve experienced it first hand. The elevator? The train?” Finnick says, you barely glance at him, “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

You shrug, a cheeky smile on your face, “Hey, I’d be careful next time, though. Who knows what corner I’ll be lurking behind next?” you reach over, fingers finding Finnick’s sides.

Finnick squirms, giving you a glare, “Get your dirty fingers off of me.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll just turn to Gloss instead--”

“I’m not ticklish, living a life with Cashmere will do that to you.” Gloss says.

You pause for a second, “She’s your younger sister.”

“Sisters are cruel.” he says.

You snort, going for his sides anyway, “You’re a liar!”

“Grab her!” Gloss shouts, Finnick laughs.

You move out of the way before either of them can do some real damage. Gloss had been going for your wrists, Finnick for your back. You knew it was only going to be a matter of time before they tried to torture you. But unlike them--the total liars--you’re not actually ticklish. 

It’s always the older sibling that messes with the younger ones. Of course, you’ve had your fair share of impish moments and getting on your brothers’ nerves. But you’ve never had the opportunity to hold down Reed and give him hell until he cried and begged and promised to do shit that he didn’t want to. Plus, the idea of Cashmere going that far on Gloss is heinous. Does he really think you’re that stupid?

“Anyway, hear the tributes talk about anything important?”

“For a while the gamemakers let us hear Annie and Marsh. Catch any of that while you were taking your sweet ass time getting down here?” Finnick asks, giving you a raised eyebrow.

“Not my fault I feel like shit.”

Suddenly, Finnick’s no longer suspicious, “Sick?”

“Probably not, just a gut feeling.”

Gloss lets out a laugh, “Well, that’s not good. Last time you had a gut feeling was last year when… both of your tributes died on the same day?”

“Yeah.” you huff, “And if this year is a repeat, I’m going to fucking lose my mind.”

“I would too. You’ve got quite the streak going on.”

You punch Gloss’ arm.

“So on top of everything else, you’re also psychic?” Finnick asks.

You place your hands on top of your head, “Yeah, something like that. What was Annie and Marsh saying?”

“Village, talking about going there before it’s too late. They both want to go tonight, they’re still worried about finding a water source, though.”

“Figured.”

The further Sanguin and Geare walk, the more they seem to awaken. No longer dragging their feet, conversation has picked back up into its usual vicious state. Mostly about what happened yesterday, and they can’t believe that the chase went on as long as it did. You can’t blame them, at first glance, Bauhinia doesn’t look like a girl that ran track in high school. Then again, appearances can be deceiving.

Five boy has made it to the stream, deciding to take a break. He’s sat on the right side of the bank so no one can sneak up on him from the way he came. He sheds some clothing, dipping his shirt in the water, ringing it out a little to not let him be completely soaking wet, and then puts it back on. You didn’t really consider the fact that it could very well be hot inside of the arena. It looks like it’s the middle of springtime there, like it can’t be more than seventy degrees.

Whatever he does, he doesn’t shed his shoes. He’ll sit in the stream water, let his pants completely soak, but taking off his shoes is out of the question. In fact, he even goes as far as to lift his feet in the air to make sure that they don’t get wet at all. You guess it’s not a completely fruitless idea. Walking in wet shoes isn’t comfortable at all, especially when your skin begins to wrinkle. Plus, if he were to take off his shoes and someone else were to show up, he’d be stuck running through the woods barefoot. If there’s one thing that no one wants to do, it’s run through the woods barefoot.

Rocks, dirt, sticks, needles, poison ivy, beetles, spiders, snakes, whatever can be lying in the grass. Hell, you’ve seen grass that looks like it’s harmless, but it turns out it has razor edges along the blade. It wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that the grass had reached above their shoes, constantly cutting and reopening wounds on their calves. Didn’t make for a very fun time for the tributes.

You can appreciate the determination going on with Five boy. He kinda reminds you of Six before he went and died via forcefield. The both of them have their own set of determinations. While Five boy has, for whatever reason, made it his goal to make it across the woods in a little less than two days, Six boy had been moving to get away from the dam.

Although, you’re really not sure what Five is up to. If he was looking for water, he found it. But you can’t imagine that’s why he traveled across the entire arena. If he’s lasted this long, that means he’s had his own supply off to the far left for a while. Why leave what you know is working? You’re all for taking risks until it’s unnecessary.

Upstream from Five is your tributes, who are still inside of the shack. You can’t hear the conversation, as usual, so you try your best to read lips. You think you catch Marsh saying that they should hole themselves up inside of the shack until tonight comes. Annie asks what they would do if someone came along and wants where they’re saying, he says to fend it off or just make a fucking run for the village.

Annie says splitting up isn’t a smart idea, he agrees, “What choice do we have?” Those words are the clearest. Annie doesn’t really respond, she just brings her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. Then, she shrugs. You can’t blame her, it’s hard knowing what to do when you don’t really have options. And with them being inside of the Hunger Games, everything is a risk at this point.

If they don’t move on, they run the risk of someone coming across them, their shack, their snares and taking one of them out. If they do move on, they leave behind shelter, the way they’ve been getting food, a certain water source, and they go on the chance that they might get caught on the way to the village. It’s not really a winning situation unless all conditions are perfect. Which is hardly ever. Oh, and also if they stay, the dam will eventually be their number one problem.

Marsh says that he’s going to step out and get fresh air, he’ll just be outside of the doorstep. Annie says she’s fine with that, watches him leave and then closes her eyes for a while. They’re not really splitting up, so you can’t see a problem with him just leaving for a moment. If he wanders off, that’s a whole new ordeal, though.

Sanguin and Geare are fast despite their sore legs. The map that the gamemakers show you, tell you that they’re basically on top of the stream. A couple more minutes, and they’ll be able to see it through the trees. And with the path they took, it’s parallel to what Five boy took. This is a fight waiting to happen. Any fucking minute now.

“Back to back.” Gloss says.

“Can’t wait to see what Sanguin has instore for us today.” Finnick says.

Gloss looks over, “You heard what happened?”

“Saw.” you correct, “Showed him what happened when I got back yesterday. Let’s just say that Finnick can eat and watch shit like that all day long.”

“O-kay.” Finnick draws out the world, but he starts laughing along with you two.

And like you predicted, Sanguin and Geare spot the stream through the trees. They’re not really overjoyed, just relieved that they finally found it after all this time. They take their time getting there, dropping off their stuff in the bushes along the treeline. Geare crouches down to splash water on his face, Sanguin complains about her hair being greasy.

They fill back up on water, talking quietly amongst themselves because there’s no use to shout if they’re next to each other. The moment they comfortably fall into silence, Five boy’s voice is heard. It’s not clear, it sounds distant, but it’s unmistakable. You watch as Sanguin and Geare share a look, hands finding their weapons, then dropping the things they don’t need at the moment before they head off toward Five.

A part of you wonders that if Five boy takes off running, if they’ll follow or just let him go. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if they just decided to go after him. But you also couldn’t believe your eyes when you watched Sanguin single-handedly rip apart Bauhinia like she was a fucking animal and not a human.

The careers disappear into the trees for better coverage, taking their time with getting down to where Five boy is. They’re definitely going to chase after him. And if they don’t chase, Sanguin will probably just throw her sword out of nowhere or some shit. Surprise all of you at the same time. If the odds could go to 0-1 with her, you’re sure that they would.

Five boy is humming to himself, turning a rock over in his hand. You watch in silent horror as Sanguin and Geare manage to get closer and closer without being detected. Actually, you’re sure that with their skills, they could easily cross the stream and still not be figured out. If they can do this in broad daylight, what can they do when they have the night as their veil?

You don’t like the chill that goes down your spine.

No words pass between Sanguin and Geare, they must decide that they’ll be able to handle Five boy in whatever way they need. The way that they simultaneously come out of the trees, with their hand-picked weapons brandished and the strict expression on their faces. They look like a pair of villains in a children’s fairytale. However, normally those villains are easy to beat and seem to have a chink in their armour. Sanguin and Geare are not like that.

Five spots them almost immediately, eyes widening and darting up, mouth parting as he watches them. You can see the glint of the sun off Sanguin’s sword land in his eyes for a moment, before disappearing off into the trees. No words come from any of them, he just stares as they get closer.

Sanguin and Geare split, wanting to take Five from both sides, which seems to finally set him off. Five jumps to his feet, crouching over slightly, caught in the decision of fight or flight. Would be he able to hold them off? You don’t think so. Would he be able to outrun them? You don’t think so, either. They’re good fighters, Sanguin’s an even-better runner. There’s no way he’s making out of this alive.

Doesn’t mean he can’t try, though.

And like a fucking psychopath, Five boy screams at the top of his lungs. And while that momentarily catches both of the careers off guard, it also makes Annie jerk to life inside of the shack. She grabs her short blade, throwing the door of the shack open to find what’s the matter. Marsh is already on his feet outside, eyes on Annie.

“What was that?” Annie asks, you can hear her this time.

“It’s not far away.” Marsh says, “We shouldn’t stay.”

“We can’t leave now, can we? Where will we go?”

“Up?” Marsh asks.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

Another scream, Five boy has brought his fists up to his face like he’s getting ready to fight. He’s an idiot, he’s going to get himself killed. If Annie can take out One boy--Colt--without blinking her eyes, Sanguin and Geare can both easily do it with their eyes closed. You have slight hope for him, looking at the Line Odds to see what the gamemakers are making of him. He’s at 15-1, worse than Bauhinia.

“He’s fucked!” you exclaim.

Sanguin bites, swinging her sword right at him. He ducks out of the way, jumping at her legs. He takes her out, scrambling on top of her, getting the sword away from him. He raises his fist up high, and before Geare can catch it, slams his fist straight into her teeth. You can feel the ache in your own front teeth, especially since he gave her all knuckle. She’s got to be feeling something.

Geare grabs a hold of Five, yanking him off and backwards into the water, which is now a huge factor. It’s splashing everywhere, getting all of them wet, slowing their movements down. The stream seems to get heavier, moving faster to make balancing impossible. No thanks to the gamemakers, you’re sure. A little interference never hurt anyone, right?

Sanguin scoops up her sword in her wet hands, which are still stained red from Bauhinia’s blood yesterday. She rinsed them off with the water from her water bottle, but even after that, and scrubbing them in the stream not five minutes ago, they’re stained. And they’re about to be stained again, you think.

Geare holds Five boy in place, raising up the sword. Five stays still eyes on the silver blade that’s about to make its home in his chest. His life is probably flashing before his eyes, every mistake he’s ever made is suddenly at the front of his mind. What he said to his family last before they had to say their goodbyes. It’s all he can think about.

Marsh has now geared up for the fight, completely switching gears from his original intention of running, “What if it’s the careers?”

“What--are you hearing yourself? You’re right! What if it’s the careers--you just want to run right on in?”

“There’s two of them, Annie!” Marsh shoves Annie’s backpack into her hands, “And just in case you forgot, we’re careers too! This could be our opportunity!”

“Or it could be our death sentence!” Annie grabs a hold of his arm, “This is stupid.”

“Come or don’t, I’m going down there.”

He tightens the strap on his backpack, quickly making his way down the hill. Annie stands there for a moment, runs a hand through her messy hair, and then lets out a sigh. She heads down there after him, tightening the straps on her own backpack, and gripping and regripping the short blade in her hand. This is bad, very bad.

The fight is about to go from three to five. The original stakes are now unmatched, now that two more careers have been added to the equation. District Four versus Five boy versus what’s left of the career pack. Who’s going to fight who, you wonder. Will Sanguin and Geare stay focused on their original plan, or will they be completely distracted by your tributes.

The tension in your chest has met its breaking point. Loud, shaking, vibrating. This is it. Exactly what you feared is going to happen. Last year, a couple of tributes had managed to kill both of your tributes at the same time. This year, it’s going to be the careers, since Sanguin is dead set on killing Annie at least, and Geare will naturally go for Marsh to finish District Four off once and for all.

“(Y/n), breathe.” Finnick’s rubbing your back.

Sanguin brings the sword down, she misses Five boy by a hair. He turned sideways just in time, but Sanguin’s not fucking around. She’s desperate to get this over with, tired of outsider tributes slipping through her fingers like sand. She raises her sword much quicker now, and slams it through his arm, pinning him to the ground. He screams.

Marsh quickens his pace, Annie quietly ushers him to slow down. He doesn’t listen to her. They both make it down the hill just in time to see Geare pin Five’s other arm down with his foot. Sanguin holds out her hand, Geare hands over his own weapon. One moment, they’re all still, Five has no way of escaping, Marsh and Annie are an audience to some sick show.

Chaos is what happens next. Sanguin moves faster than Marsh had predicted. She easily kills Five, a cannon going off. But Marsh has revealed where he was, moving towards her, swinging his own sword before she can pull hers out of Five. He brings the blade up high, Sanguin flinches to cover her face with her forearm. The blade slices right through her skin, blood flying, a yelp of pain leaving her.

Annie moves forward too, apprehensive at first, like she doesn’t know where to start. Attack Sanguin or Geare? Does she even want to be placed in the middle of this? If she ran now, she could save herself. Fuck, she could run all the way to the village and none of them would be able to catch her. She’d be able to hide herself somewhere where they’d never be able to find her.

And then Sanguin catches sight of Annie, and suddenly the whole mood is shifted. With her target spotted, Marsh is an easy object to get out of the way. She shoves, rips her sword out of Five, blood gushing down her arm at an unhealthy pace, and storms her way over to Annie.

It’s too late for Annie to run now. Her chin lowers, she makes sure that Sanguin can see the shortblade, and the fight really starts. Sanguin swings, Annie dodges and moves closer. It’s the same dancing game that she played with Colt, except this time, Sanguin knows of Annie’s games. For every step Annie takes forward, Sanguin moves backward to keep her away.

At some point, though, she can’t run any further. It’ll make her look like a coward. Annie is persistent, she won’t let up until Sanguin conforms or runs. Subject yourself to the fight, or find a way to get out of there before Annie does some real damage. And since Sanguin isn’t a career for nothing, she steps up. 

Blade on blade, over and over and over again. Annie swings up, Sanguin blocks, slips and goes downward. Annie will narrowly get out of the way before bringing her blade down as hard as she can, breaking through any barriers that Sanguin thought she had built up. You’ll have to say it, they’re evenly matched.

The adrenaline that must be running through them is fucking nuts. Sanguin swings upward, Annie backs out of the way, bringing her short blade down. Sanguin just barely dodges, but you know that she’s in pain because of her arm. Annie tries to fake her out like she did to Colt, but Sanguin works faster than that. It’s okay, Annie recovers.

As for Marsh and Geare, it’s not as intense. They don’t have problems with each other, not like Sanguin and Annie. All Marsh really has to do is take out Geare before Sanguin somehow gets an upper hand on Annie. Once he’s gone, Sanguin will be too. Her pride is too big for her to just run away from a fight she’s been itching for since she first saw Annie during the bloodbath.

Marsh seems more successful. Geare might have scored a ten, but he’s lazy. Almost like he’s trying not to take it as seriously, as if he could also do this without trying. He can’t, the number that Geare scored was a reach. He too, looks like an eight or nine at most, he fights like it.

Annie keeps pushing, her strength never-ending. She’s got the same amount of stamina that Sanguin has, maybe more. The careers can run for hours on end, but you never saw use in something like that. If they get caught in a fight, they’re going to want to keep going, they don’t want to die. Annie can always go back and forth between running and walking, anyway. It’s not that easy when you’re using a sword, or in this case, a short blade.

Sanguin lets out a shout, moving faster than Annie can catch her. Instead of swinging her weapon, which is no doubt having its way with her arms now, she shoves Annie back hard enough for her to topple over. Annie hits the stream water, creating a wave that briefly reaches into the air, and then it comes all crashing down. 

All at once.

Sanguin rolls her wrist, spins toward Marsh and swings. A strangled scream leaves your throat when you cover your mouth. Geare moves out of the way, far back enough for the blade to not even come close to touching him. However, Marsh is unsuspecting, back turned towards Sanguin. He can’t see the blade coming, much less has a reason to think he’s in any sort of danger.

For a second, it’s not as bad as it seems. Sanguin’s blade forces Marsh to his knees with how it hits the back of his legs. But then Geare moves forward, sword over his shoulder, eyes locked on Marsh. The two of them work together seamlessly, it’s almost like they’ve been brainwashed with how their movements are mechanical. 

Geare brings his sword down, sword connecting with the side of Marsh’s neck. There’s no way he can defend himself, Annie just has to sit here and watch. Sit here and take it. The blade goes clean through without a struggle. His silver sword, glittering beautifully in the sunlight, has blood all along the blade.

Another cannon blasts.

Where Marshs’ head was before, has now been replaced by a fountain of deep red blood. The body falls forward, legs slanted uncomfortably. The gamemakers show Annie, and you can see she’s on the edge. There’s tears in her eyes, face slowly turning red. She’s no longer sitting, she’s already on her feet, knuckles white from how hard she’s gripping the hilt.

A stand still, you think. Where will they go from here?

Annie launches herself at Geare, completely pissed. He’s already covered in her former district partner’s blood, but with the way she collided with him, it rubs off on her. They struggle, Sanguin trying to grab a hold of her too. Logically speaking, there’s two against one. Annie shouldn’t get the upper hand here.

But Annie didn’t volunteer for the Hunger Games for nothing.

With one hand wrapped around his forehead, yanking it back, stretching his neck so that it’s accessible, the other hand has her blade sheathed. And with no hesitance, because the longer you wait, the bigger the chance of interference, she slits his throat, and shoves his body forward.

Like yesterday, with the bloody freckles across her face, Sanguin gets a face full of blood. She catches him, arms wrapped around him to make sure he gets down comfortably. Annie spins her blade between her fingers, and finishes off Geare, her short blade in the back of his head. 

Another cannon. Enobaria and Wade are going home.

Annie places her foot on Geare’s back, pushing him forward while she yanks her sword out. Sanguin can’t handle all the weight, so she falls back, trapping her beneath the dead body. Annie stares down at Sanguin for a moment, breathing heavily. She’s caught in a decision, should she take out the last career, once and for all?

It’ll take away the threat. Four people left inside of the games after Sanguin is gone. But it also goes against her moral dilemma of killing people when it’s not needed. She just needs to do it. Sanguin will keep following her if she doesn’t, Annie doesn’t want to be chased, does she?

She’s shaking, eyes filling with tears, “This is your fault. It’s all your fault.”

Sanguin opens her mouth, eyebrows drawn in. She doesn’t speak, only stares and waits. Annie lifts her sword, taking in a deep breath, and slams the blade right through Geare’s back, and into Sanguin. It doesn’t kill her, but it’ll keep her down.

Annie gathers the backpacks, transfers the goods without a single word, and then scoops up Marsh’s sword, finding a spot for it so she doesn’t have to carry. She takes one last look at Sanguin, and then spits on her. Saliva mixed with blood, it lands on Sanguin’s cheek. 

Only three tributes dead, maybe four if Sanguin’s wounds kill her anytime soon. Annie takes off through the trees, straight downhill and towards the village. It’s a shame that it took for Marsh to die for the plans to finally fall through. Either way, she won’t have to worry about Sanguin going after her. She can take her time getting to the village. 

“Okay,” You breathe, “Okay, it could be worse.”

“Why didn’t she just kill Sanguin?” Gloss asks.

“Because she doesn’t need to.” Finnick tells him, “Sanguin isn’t a threat to her, and won’t be for a while.”

It’s quiet, you let out a slight laugh, “We know how stupid it sounds. If Annie had the choice of running away from Geare and Sanguin instead of killing Geare, she would’ve just run.”

“Huh.” Gloss hums.

Enobaria no longer needs to talk to the sponsors. You watch as they all let her go, she slowly bids each and every one of them goodbye. When she finally has her back turned to them, she gives you three an eye roll. Enobaria stops a few feet away.

“Insufferable.” She huffs, “Had I known Geare would be dying today, I would've just stuck with you guys. They act like I need the condolences.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t talk to them unless I have to.” Gloss gives her a smile, she glares.

“I’ve got to go tell Wade the news.” She hugs Gloss first, even after what he said, “I’ll see you next year. Good luck.” You're next, she gives an extra squeeze. Finnick gives her a one-armed hug.

“It was good seeing you.” You smile.

“Yeah, whatever—“

Gloss snorts, “I’m sorry for your loss!”

Enobaria flips him off, you all watch as she leaves the betting room. You look at the Line Odds next to see that Annie and Sanguin have moved. Sanguin has gone down to 2-1, probably because Five boy got the jump on her, and Annie was able to match her power. Annie has moved up to 3-1, whereas previously she was 6-1.

Good news, it’s all good news. Annie’s alive, she’s moved up on the odds board. Even if she didn’t kill Sanguin, she at least injured her enough to keep her away. You know for a fact that Sanguin’s going to go running to the cornucopia with her tail between her legs. She’s not going to bother to go after Annie.

For the most part, Annie’s fine. She’s got a scratch here and there from not being able to move out of the way in time, but other than that, she’ll be able to easily overpower Sanguin. Beforehand, Sanguin’s idea of revenge could be supported by her health, now it would be a stupid move. It would be stupid for her to do anything but go home.

“Shouldn’t you be loading up a sponsor?” You ask, looking at Gloss.

“I’m going to let her suffer some. Maybe that’ll make her more humble.”

“I’m pretty sure Annie letting her live was grounding enough.” Finnick mutters, you all laugh.

Annie runs through the trees, she’s almost out of the forest. She’s going faster since it’s all downhill, but the clearing beyond the woods is flat. And the hills will slow her down even more. The problem isn’t so much Sanguin anymore, but the other tributes seeing her. Nine girl, who has her own weapon. The Seven tributes, who are working in a pair.

But as far as you can tell, they're not near the tree line. They seem to be stuck where they are, probably confused about the three cannons. One and two are normal, signifies a small fight, maybe the careers ran into other tributes, or the careers lost one of their own altogether. But three is bigger, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

Sanguin is still laying underneath Geare, wincing each time she moves. A moan will leave her mouth when she tries to push him off, the sword blade digging around in her wound. She pants, pauses, and tries again, gritting her teeth. Geare is bigger than her, it’s going to take a moment to get him off of her. She’s probably under some sort of pressure, knowing that everyone is watching, that the gamemakers are waiting to collect the bodies.

She presses her hands against Geare’s shoulders, slowly pushing him off. It’s like peeling a bloody shirt off of a wound, you’ve got to do it slowly if you want little to no pain. All at once is going to hurt like a bitch. However, at the angle she’s going with, it’s probably making things a whole lot worse.

She barely slips out from underneath Geare before he comes crashing back to the ground, sword hitting the dirt next to her. She lets out a groan, fingers finding her stomach. She’s in the same situation that you were in five years ago. Except her wound is all surface, hardly goes that deep. Your entire knife got shoved in, five to six inches, maybe more? Sanguin is going to survive.

She gets to her feet, grabbing her sword. Annie left her nothing, so she’s got to get to the cornucopia before sundown if she wants to be safe. She stands around the area for a couple of seconds longer, looking over Five, Marsh and then Geare. Her face twists angrily, and she shouts.

Sanguin brings her sword up, and then slams it into Geare’s back, “Fuck!”

She leaves, turning the way that she’d come with Geare and Vanilee a day ago, and starts going downhill diagonally. She keeps with this path for a while, a couple of hours, at least. The stream was only three miles off to the right of the cornucopia, with where they had started on the first day, it made it seem a whole lot longer.

Either way, Sanguin makes it to the cornucopia at the same time Annie makes it over the one important hill that’ll hide her from Sanguin. With the village right in front of her, Annie starts running again. The second that she’s stepped foot onto the washed-out soil, she collapses to her knees.

You stand from where you’re sitting with Gloss and Finnick, “Is she hurt?”

“Why would she be?” Gloss asks, he presses his lips together, and then sits up, “I’ve got to send Sanguin some medication. I’ll be back.”

Gloss finds his usual people, always ready on-hand for him to come by so they can send his tributes a gift. They talk for a moment, and then he leads them over to where he’ll confirm and send the sponsor gift.

As for Annie, her hands have curled into fists, body shaking. You’re not sure what’s happening until you’re allowed to hear, just in time for her to gasp and sob, whimpering. She sniffs, slamming her fist into the dirt a couple of times, turning her knuckles red. Annie sits up, staring into the village with bloodshot eyes. She wipes under her eyes and nose, a frown on her face.

The relief that goes through you really is like a wave. She’s not hurt, just grieving for Marsh. It’s natural with tributes that are close to each other. Annie and Marsh have been side by side since the beginning, partners in crime. Losing him was inevitable, they’re so far into the games now. It’s been less than a week and there’s only five left. From here on out, they need to treat the games like they’re almost over.

You take a seat back on the couch, lacing your fingers and leaning forward on your knees. You’re all allowed to watch a split screen of Sanguin receiving her sponsor gift, and Annie pulling herself together enough to find a place to stay for the night. She drags her feet through the dirt, but it’s not deep enough path for a tracker like Sanguin to come around and follow it.

Annie walks for thirty minutes before picking a three-story house. When she walks inside, you can see that the floorboards are rotting, the yellow-flowered wallpaper is curling off the walls, and the staircase on the first floor is missing quite a few steps. Annie doesn’t care, she tightens her grip on her belongings and takes one step at a time. The second floor’s staircase is much sturdier, same for the floors. The walls are just as bad.

She picks a far back room, sets everything down, and rolls out what she’ll need for tonight. With how she’s not unpacking everything, and putting things back after she’s done, Annie doesn’t want to stay where she is. Or she’s keeping everything ready just in case someone does come after her. After today, you can’t blame her, but she’s all by herself inside of the village.

Sanguin sits herself in the grass, carefully pulls her healing cream out of the silver package, disregarding whatever note that Gloss has decided to give her. Speaking of which, he joins you guys back at the couch, sitting on the arm. Sanguin squirts the contents of the tube onto her fingers, and then lifts her shirt for everyone to see.

Not a pretty sight, where the short blade had cut her is a huge gash. Dried blood around it, with how she flexes her stomach when trying to look for herself, more blood surfaces, and runs down her skin. She glares, grits her teeth, and then digs her fingers inside, trying to spread it inside to make the healing process faster. Her face turns a deep shade of red, holding her breath. When she’s done the first time, she lets out a breath of air, recuperates, and then goes again.

It’s six in the evening before anyone in the arena begins to settle down for the night. Annie has made her bed, she eats and drinks water, trying not to cry anymore than she has already today. Sanguin doesn’t have any water, which means that tomorrow she’ll have a decision to make; stay inside of the cornucopia, where she knows it’s safe, or risk going out to get water. You have a feeling that her pride is too much to allow her to just stay inside and be thirsty.

As for Nine girl, where she’s stopped is actually fairly close to where the Seven tributes are. Maybe a mile or so apart, the Seven tributes are at their huts as usual, towards the top of the arena. Nine girl is somewhere in the middle, if she continues traveling up tomorrow, she’ll come across the team easily. For now, she makes a bed of grass and uses her backpack as a pillow.

“I think I’m going back to the apartment.” Finnick says, he yawns and pushes himself up from the couch, “You’ve got it handled?”

“Yeah, of course.” you give him a smile, “I’ll go and get you later. Eat before you go to bed.”

“I can take care of myself.” he says, and then waves to Gloss, “See you later.”

“Bye.” Gloss holds up his hand briefly, and then turns back to the screen.

You get comfortable on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. Not everyone is turning in for the night in the arena, but they might as well be. Something tells you that there’s not going to be another big event in the arena tonight. You can take it easy, probably even go out to dinner and come back and relax.

“When’s Cashmere supposed to be down here?” you ask, looking over at Gloss.

He hums, “A couple of hours, why?”

“We should all get dinner together before you switch out.”

“Sure.”

--

Without the weight in your stomach holding you down to the bed this afternoon, you slip out of bed with a yawn. You stretch your arms over your head, dragging your feet to the closet to pick out today’s outfit. Your fingers fumble, still half-asleep and squinting to be able to see properly. 

Dark blue jeans, a red tank top, black underwear. You throw it all over your arm as you reach to grab the tennis shoes, not really liking all the other options. You’re actually fairly sure that the last time you wore flats, you got blisters on the back of your feet. It’s hard to focus on your tributes when you’re complaining about the pain in your feet all day.

You throw your clothes onto the bed, as well as the shoes. On the way to the bathroom, you lock your bedroom door to make sure that you’re not going to get any unwanted guests. The shower water is warm almost instantly, but as soon as you’re dipping your fingers inside to double-check--a force of habit--you’re quickly turning the knob to make the water more cold.

Naturally, the Tribute Center has an automatic system that adjusts the heating and AC to make it comfortable for everyone inside. But this afternoon, things are particularly hot. It’s been that way since last night, when you had to shed practically everything to even get your body to a normal temperature. For good measure, you took a second shower, also cold.

It must be some sort of heatwave, thanks to the summer. And the window that you’re dealing with inside of your room probably isn’t helping all that much, either. By allowing the sun rays inside, you’re subsequently signing yourself up for the warmth that comes with it. Unfortunately, the windows don’t really come with blinds, so you just have to put up with it.

You do have to say that the heatwave inside of the Tribute Center is nothing compared to what you deal with at home. You have AC in your victor house, of course, but all the years prior when you’d just have to bear the sweat and flushed faces was like existing in hell. The only way to get away from the heat, if you weren’t swamped with housework via your brothers, was to go down to the beach and sit in the water for a while. But shedding clothes meant sunburns, and sunscreen goes up in price during the summer.

You’ve gotten used to it over the years, as you’ve grown older, you’ve also developed the philosophy of not letting stuff like that get to you anymore. Especially with not how Alyssum is getting older. If you pretend to act like everything is just fine with the heat, eventually she’ll have to stop complaining when she realizes that no one relates to her mundane problem.

However, shirts sticking to your back, using folders as fans and the irritating feeling of sweat rolling down your skin isn’t always ignorable. At least she doesn’t have to deal with you, Reed and Mox telling her that she should’ve felt what it was like to live in the shack for all these years. There’s been a silent agreement not to compare the previous living situation to the one you have now. It’s not her fault she’s living the way she is now. Plus, you think that you’d rather save those stories for when you’re old and wrinkly.

The cold water feels nice on your skin for a while, until it begins to make you cold. You step out, tie your hair out of your face and get dressed. Looking in the mirror today, there’s definitely a difference on your face. You’re not as sullen, yesterday it almost looked like someone told you that your dog died. Might as well have, Marsh is gone, and he’s not coming back.

Marsh placed seventh, with a final Line Odd of 6-1. He scored a nine on his training score, he had the Capitol in tears during his interview. He’s memorable, especially with the way that he went charging toward the careers. His intention might not have been to save Five boy, but it was still noble to face them head-on. You can only hope that none of this is in vain, that Annie will survive.

You get dressed, place your ring on your finger and hurry out to the dining room. It’s almost one already, and you haven’t even eaten yet. Dread isn’t the only thing that can ball and chain you to a bed, worry is pretty good at it too. Even better when you don’t fall asleep until late in the morning.

You shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this, Annie is fine. She’s in the village, far away from Sanguin, who’s still injured, as far as you know. All the tributes that she would have had to worry about before are now miles away from where she is now. Hell, Sanguin would have to walk hours up and down hills just to get to Annie. And then what? Annie would be able to defend herself.

The tv is already on when you get out there, which makes you think that the avoxes had done it so that you wouldn’t have to ask today, until you see that Elysia is sitting at the table. There’s a mug in her hand, it has coffee in it, you don’t even have to pretend like you don’t know. It might be the afternoon, but she takes in caffeine like it’s an alcohol addiction.

“Hey.” you say, making her look up.

She raises her eyebrows, a smile crossing her face, “Good afternoon. How are you holding up?”

“Could be a lot worse, Annie’s a survivor.” you sit at the table, watching as cold cut sandwiches, fizzy beverages and potato chips are placed on the table. It’s not much of a fancy feast, the Capitol does this sometimes when it’s a casual afternoon.

“I’d say.” Elysia looks over to the tv.

You look over too, it’s focused on Annie at the moment. It looks like she’s finally unpacked her things, but she hasn’t moved from the back corner. Sanguin, Geare and Vanilee’s bed rolls are placed inside of each other. It’s a good way to keep warmth and make it a little comfortable. 

Food, knives, water are spread around her. She won’t be needing water refills anytime soon, she’s inherited all the dead tributes’ water jugs. You think that if she drinks enough to keep her body going, she’ll have enough to last her a week, maybe two if she really tests her limits. 

She’s sitting in the corner of the room, legs to her chest, arms wrapped around them to keep them from slipping. Her hair is messy, eyes bloodshot, bags beneath her eyes. She didn’t sleep at all last night, there’s no question about it. But at least all the scratches and cuts that were inflicted have healed. She applied the medication last night before she laid down to sleep.

You sat down in the betting room for a while with just Gloss. As soon as Cashmere came around, you kept to your idea and went out to dinner with them. It wasn’t anywhere fancy, you didn’t even bother to get a private room to eat at. It was a soup and bread place, you stayed as long as you could before Gloss fell asleep on the table.

It was nice catching up with Cashmere, she said that she’d seen Enobaria and Wade just before they left for the train. Wade was reasonably upset, but Enobaria didn’t even look phased. In fact, Cashmere leaned across the table and whispered; “Enobaria says that she hopes Annie wins.” You’re glad you have these guys as your friends, even if they have to go home, there’s no malicious intent.

They’re your best friends, through and through.

After dinner, Gloss went back to his apartment, and you were left with Cashmere for a little while. You caught her up on a lot that’s happened inside of the arena, your opinions, how you guys hung around Cecelia for a while. Cashmere agreed that Sanguin’s experience with Annie was probably enough to bring her back to reality. They’re teenagers, tributes in the Hunger Games, they can’t control anything, much less try and play god. 

As soon as the first conversation was over, Cashmere started a second one about Finnick. Which made you groan with a, “It’s not that important, Cash.” But she wouldn’t let it go until you answered her questions. She hasn’t been able to ask you all the juicy details in private like she’s really wanted to.

There’s not much to tell. You let her know that Finnick was asking about you to Gloss while you weren’t there yesterday. And the night before you spent hours talking on the balcony after Bauhinia died. The two of you came to the conclusion that Finnick is deciding that he’s going to stay for a while--which you’d partially come up with by yourself yesterday.

Cashmere said it was a good sign, good for you when it comes to mentoring and the boarding school. You can finally chill out and be there for Alyssum more after school instead of relying on Reed and Mox to take care of her all the time, “You don’t want to be the absent older sister, trust me.” She’s right, it would be a shame to be so focused on saving other teenagers in District four, and completely miss out on Alyssum’s innocence while she still has it. A couple more years and she’s enrolling into the boarding school early.

After that was over, you went ahead and got Finnick before you would be too exhausted to get up this morning. Your attempts were, obviously, futile, as you hardly slept last night and you’re tired anyway. Finnick’s lucky you’re reliable, otherwise you would have considered staying in bed for a little while longer. What ruined that idea is the sweltering heat of the fucking Tribute Center. 

And since the betting room is quite literally under a glass roof, you can’t imagine that it’s very cold in there, either. In fact, you’re sure that it’s going to be worse. Which now makes you partially consider changing into a pair of shorts so you’re not stuck sweating the entire day. The tank top is nice, but it only brings you so far.

Ugh.

Sanguin is up and at it already, heading towards the woods in the direction of the stream. Figures that she wouldn’t wait a little while to give herself time to heal. She’s always on top of it, always moving. A part of you wonders if she put on healing cream as soon as she got up this morning, or if she’s waiting to do it later tonight.

Either way, she’s got a full backpack again, her sword is propped up against her shoulder with the blade flat. Exactly how she’d carried it before she went and murdered the boy from Three. To think that was only two days ago is fucking insane, it feels like forever. But you guess that’s just what happens when you get back to back days of absolute mayhem.

The Seven tributes are wandering around, heading into their own personal uncharted territory of the left side. Well, actually there’s a lot where they haven’t been before, always keeping to their safe bubble. It’s not a bad strategy, but they can get away with it for so long. The gamemakers don’t like comfortable. Comfortable means you need to be pushed outside of your boundaries and experience new things.

As for Nine girl, you think she’s unintentionally stalking the District Seven tributes, with how she’s trailing them. She could very well be tracking, but the path that Seven is leaving isn’t all that obvious. It’s too obvious to be a coincidence, maybe she’s just trying to play it off that way? Or see where District Seven leads her? You’re surprised she isn’t cloud watching today. She’s sitting pretty, does she really need to follow the other tributes around?

You eat your sandwiches, watching the tributes move around inside of the arena. Annie stays put, Sanguin gets closer to the stream, Seven is nearly in the section all the way off to the left. When you’re done eating, you have the avoxes pack up some sandwiches for your friends inside of the betting room, and get ready to go.

You take one step towards the door, before you’re stuck where you are, watching what’s unfolding on the screen. 

Uncharted territory can be dangerous for obvious reasons. The tributes don’t know what they’re heading into, which means that they don’t know what to expect. Foreign animals, plants, traps set up by the gamemakers to ensure a pleasant surprise. Heading off into the unknown means that you’re expecting unpredictable situations. Anything can happen the moment you’re no longer in your safe space.

Because of this, it’s important to keep a schedule. Let the gamemakers come to you, they’ll be playing on your side of the court for this reason. But walk right into what they want, you’re subjected to their own house of horrors. And the only way of making it out alive, is fighting for freedom, or hoping your counterpart isn’t as good as you are.

The gamemakers hardly ever allow both tributes live. If they did that, it would take away the entire entertainment aspect. Not allow the Capitol people to see tributes like Annie fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t have her best friend around her anymore. You’re not sure what’s so fun about a depressed, sleep-deprived teenager but… to each their own.

Seven girl is leading, with the male tribute just behind her. Everything appears to be just fine, there’s no visual signs that they’re about to be submerged into frigid waters. Then they’re warned, a howl loud and clear, telling them to turn back and go away now, before they continue to make the mistake that they’re working on.

Maybe the tributes don’t hear the wolves, maybe they’re so caught up in their own heads that the silence breaking doesn’t register. Or maybe they choose to ignore it, because it’s a couple of wolves, and animals tend to run away once they realize that there’s something much bigger trying to challenge them. Because of their blatant obliviousness, they’ve fucked themselves over.

They’re not any ordinary wolves. They’re Capitol-made and controlled mutts.

The first one breaks through the trees, huge, black, eyes belonging to the devil himself. The girl catches sight of the genetically mutated mutts, comes to a complete stop, and then spins herself around. She takes off running, grabbing onto her district partners arm, snapping him out of his daydreaming daze, bringing him right back to reality.

They run together, arms pumping at their sides. The boy doesn’t care what path he takes, through thickets, thorns, and between trees that shouldn’t be possible to squeeze past. The girl however, is more careful about where she goes, thinking that it’ll help her move quickly, knowing where she’s stepping and that the path is definitely clear. It’s working the other way around. For once, a lack of carelessness is going to be the downfall of a tribute.

She falls behind, the wolves gaining on them both more and more. The pounding of their paws against the dirt is loud enough for the Capitol cameras to pick up. Like a heartbeat, a steady thrum against the ground. It’s also a telling sign that the Seven girl needs to give up her act or accept her death.

It’s frustrating, especially since she doesn’t even seem to notice her mistakes. One of the first rules of being chased is always being aware of how close they are. She doesn’t have to do it by looking behind her, which is always a mistake the idiots seem to make. She can just hear the footsteps all by themselves, getting louder and louder. Doesn’t she have any will to live?

If she does, she doesn’t get a chance to prove it. The lead wolf uses its hindlegs to launch itself at her. It’s mouth unhinges like a python snake, revealing rows of sharp teeth, drool coming out as a long string. It pounces on Seven girl, snarling, and bites straight into the back of her neck. The screaming is loud, you wince and sit back down at the dining room table.

The wolves around the leader continue after Seven boy, which comes as a fair surprise to you. But then again, the girl isn’t necessarily dead just yet. As soon as that cannon goes off, it’s like a whistle to the dogs. They’ll all go back to whatever hell hole they crawled out of. They might even be used a different year, for the exact same purpose that they’re serving now.

The leader bites down, and whips its head to the side. A mouthful of flesh rips out of the girl, her scream loud enough to be heard as a warning to both Seven boy, and Nine girl. Run, and run fast if you want to survive. The blood coats the tree bark around the girl, drips off the flesh that was previously attached to her body. Her hands twitch, eyes open and rolling to the back of her head.

It’s more or less the same situation that Bauhinia was in. But instead of it being done by another tribute, which will definitely leave a permanent impression on mentors and future tributes alike, this is being done by a mutt. The Capitol has specifically engineered these guys to do this. Bite, rip, rinse, repeat. Seven girl’s screams start off loud, but slowly die out like she’s lost her voice.

The next wolf that is leading on Seven boy, jumps at him just like the last wolf did to Seven girl. However this time, instead of all the other surrounding wolves continuing forward, they swarm and maul the boy. Their teeth are just as sharp, but without all the rows. You’d say that his situation is better, but he’s got more mutts going at him from different angles, with no time to breathe in between bites. 

By the time that Seven girl does die, allowing the wolves to go home, the boy is severely hurt. Puncture wounds from the teeth, shredded skin, half his face is missing. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a noise. He just lays in the grass like he’s already dead, the only thing keeping him from being collected by the gamemakers like his district partner, is the cannon. 

He’s a living soul in his corpse of a body. 

It’s like sleep paralysis. He can’t speak, can’t move. He’s stuck where he is, like a suffering dog that just needs to be put out of his misery. But there’s no one to do it. You all will just get the pleasure of watching this poor boy wheeze and bleed. Doesn’t mean much for entertainment, his life is practically over.

The only tribute that’s nearby is Nine girl. But there’s no promise that she was following the Seven tributes in the first place. It looked like it, now you’ll just have to wait and see if it was true. This could take hours, and she has a bigger chance of accidentally missing him than stumbling upon him in the bushes. It’s not like he’s being loud.

You stand up from the table again, “I’ve got to get downstairs before anything else happens.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

You go down the steps and through the door. You punch the elevator button, head down to where the betting room is, bad quietly walk down the hallway. It’s all barren cement, no one hangs out here, and the peacekeepers standing outside of the door are required. Just in case a few mentors get too upset, because the Capitol people hardly ever care about rivalries.

The moment you open the door, a cool breeze hits your face. No wonder why the Tribute Center is so hot, the betting room is hogging all of the air conditioning. The glass ceiling is now blocked by a white cover to reflect the sun and ensure that you all won’t be sweating like pigs. Because of the cover, it’s dark, which is why there’s colored lights strung up on hooks. Almost like Christmas lights, but somehow less fun and more sophisticated.

Finnick and Gloss are already sitting at a white table, so you head over and drop the basket of food in the middle. 

“Did you see what happened?” Finnick asks, watching as you unload the basket.

“Yeah, Elysia and I watched it together.” You then move the basket off the table and onto the floor, sitting down and crossing your legs, “I guess the gamemakers were bored.”

“Or they have a vendetta against the Seven mentors.” Gloss cocks his head in the direction of where they’re standing off to the side. Arms crossed, angry faces. They’ve been screwed over, you can’t really blame them. Their tributes couldn’t even defend themselves, “Thanks for the lunch.”

“Figured you guys were hungry.” you look at Finnick, “What are you making of Annie?”

He shrugs, uncapping the bottled fizzy drink, “Well, besides the obvious fact that she’s some form of depressed, I think she’s in shock. How long did her and Marsh know each other?”

“They were only a year apart. So, since Annie was fourteen and he was thirteen.”

“Four years.” Gloss says, “A long time to build a friendship. What about you and Finnick, how long did you two know each other prior to your Hunger Games? I remember you guys being mentioned as friends at some point.”

You make a face, not entirely sure, “Well, I was a sophomore and he was a freshman…”

“Middle school?” Finnick proposes, but he doesn’t look confident either, “Only a year or whatever. We mostly saw each other in the hallway, and then it went on from that after my girlfriend dumped me.”

“Which one?” you ask, half-kidding, half-serious.

Finnick gives you a look, “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember which girlfriend?” Gloss asks.

You snort, “He has brain damage from all the girls he’s gone through. I can name fifteen he went through while we were just friends.”

“It was not fifteen!” Finnick defends, face turning a shade of red, “Probably only five or something.”

“Probably.” Gloss has a smile on his face, clearly enjoying Finnick’s discomfort.

“Finnick, just trust me for once when I say that it was fifteen.” You muse.

“Except there weren’t fifteen girls in my class that liked me like that. I should know.” 

You and Gloss share a look, and then laugh. He wouldn’t know, it’s not always obvious when girls have crushes on people. Girls learn to hide it when the guy or girl they like is after someone else in that moment. You wouldn’t be surprised if his entire grade of girls had liked him, and only a quarter of them showed it. Finnick thinking that he’s aware of everything is a complete joke.

The Afternoon Line Odds say that all the remaining tributes are standing where they were yesterday. There’s only four tributes inside of the games, about to be three as soon as Seven boy is gone. Annie, Sanguin and Nine girl, who you really need to find a name for to make it all easier to say. 

“Do you guys know the name of the girl from Nine?” you ask, running a hand through your hair for any snarls that might exist in your ponytail.

Gloss’ face scrunches up, eyes finding the Line Odds too, “Uh…”

Finnick tilts his head from side to side, also thinking. They’re just as clueless as you are. You can’t even remember if anyone mentioned her name outside of the training score and interviews. Everyone normally stops paying attention after District Four, for obvious reasons. No one can really compare. The only person you think would know her name is Annie, mostly because she likes to keep track of stuff like that.

It’s not like you can really ask her. And you can’t really pull a name out of thin air, anyway. When it comes to the districts, you guys have ridiculous names just as much as people in the Capitol do. Gloss? Cashmere? Enobaria? What about Anchor and Marsh? Even Sanguin’s name isn’t really a name. It’s an adjective, based off the word sanguine, which means positivity or something dumb like that.

Of course, this philosophy can’t apply to everyone. Finnick’s name is normal, so is Mags, Luther, Scotch, Wade and Cecelia. It only really falls apart when it comes to last names, like Gallows or Golding. At some time or another, you all came from the Capitol, or you great grandparents changed their last names to make them more fierce during the rebellion. That last part is especially true when it comes to your family.

You don’t remember the original last name, just that Gallows wasn’t inherited through a husband. Your great-grandmother had changed it after the nickname she got from the people around her in District Four. She was in on the plan before the rebellion had even started, and got a head start when it came to taking out peacekeepers and Capitol officers in the district. It was suspicious after a while, how every single one of them committed suicide the same way, one by one. After all the known Capitol people were gone, she was onto traitors, and she was good at finding them.

Hanging people from rope relates to the gallows. However, after the rebellion failed, she wasn’t able to go back to her regular life. With the conspicuous last name, and the way that people would talk when she came around, her position was found quickly. She was a wanted woman inside of District Four by high-standing officers. By then, she’d already birthed your grandmother, who was being held at someone else’s house during the day, and went unfound by the peacekeepers when they went looking to wipe out your family.

Your great-grandparents died, as well as any of their siblings, grandchildren, cousins, whatever. The only person left was your grandmother, who got sent into the foster care system with the last name still attached. And since there was no family to help her revert back to the original last name, she just kept Gallows out of spite. What are the peacekeepers going to do eighteen years after the fact? Kill her? She was a baby when it happened, wouldn’t even be able to recall the details, much less looked like she had an inkling to continue her mother’s murder path.

It’s a fun story to tell to the older kids, you know that your brothers enjoyed it when they got to exaggerate every little detail and add in facts of their own. As you got older, they filtered out the bullshit to make it more believable. Even now, the entire story seems like it’s out of some dark fairytale or something. With no happy ending.

“I think it starts with a T.” Finnick says.

“Huh?” you ask, looking at him.

“The girl’s name.” 

“I think you’re right!” Gloss says, he’s rubbing his forehead, “What the fuck was it?”

“Something stupid that ended in a vowel.”

“That starts with a T?” your face twists.

Finnick hums for a moment, listening as Gloss tries out names. Then, Finnick’s face lights up entirely, slamming his hands on the table, “Tekla!”

“Tekla?” Gloss pauses for a moment, “Oh fuck, you’re right.”

You nod slowly, taking their word for it. So, Seven boy, Tekla, Sanguin and Annie. The boy dies, it only leaves the three girls. What an accomplishment, to completely unintentionally wipe out the guys. You don’t want to say that they’re a bigger opponent, but they typically have an upper hand when it comes to fighting. It’s like they’ve been taking drugs.

Finnick and Gloss eat their lunch, you all come down with your final predictions on what’s going to happen inside of the arena. You all think that Sanguin and Annie will be fine, since they’re miles apart and both caught in their own worlds at the moment. The real problem is Tekla and her moving around so often. She knows that Sanguin is alone in the cornucopia by herself, and she also knows that she could sneak up on Sanguin since she has a weapon of her own. Courtesy of when the careers had left the cornucopia alone.

Seven boy is still alive an hour and a half later. Tekla has slowed down in the direction she was heading. She doesn’t look unsure, more that she’s lost motivation, you guess? Or maybe she’s lost the path that the Seven tributes were taking before they stumbled into the Capitol trap. Either way, there’s no telling whether or not she’ll actually be able to find the boy.

Every time you think that the boy has finally breathed for the final time, he inhales sharply, like he’s being pushed back into his body. It’s a shame, watching him struggle like this. You’re sure that he should be dead by now, well past his expiration date. Hell, soon the bugs are going to start to get to him. If you thought the wolves were bad, watching him being eaten alive is going to be worse. Much, much worse.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Gloss says, gathering the trash, “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” you smile, he gives you a mock look before leaving. You turn to Finnick, “I’m thinking of going out and drinking after this. You wanna come?”

“With or without Gloss?” Finnick asks, eyebrows drawing in.

“If it were with Gloss, I would’ve asked while he was here.” you wiggle your eyebrows, “Come on. Me and you, at that awful drinking place, The Victory Speech.”

He purses his lips, “You think it’s a good idea?”

“Annie’s safe inside of her house, what’s the worst that can happen overnight?”

“The dam breaks?”

“You think that the Capitol would do that right after mauling two tributes to death?” you look at the timer above the Morning Line Odds that says how long the tributes have been in there for. It’s a couple hours less than seven days, “The games haven’t been even going for a week, they’ll want to draw it out for a little while longer.”

Finnick gives you a look.

“Don’t start acting like a parent, I’m older than you.” you point at him, “Yes or no. Or I’ll ask Gloss and Cashmere--”

“Yes.” Finnick says.

You grin, “You won’t have some sort of relapse, right?”

“Haha.” he rolls his eyes, “Ready to get shitfaced off the water-tasting alcohol?”

“I am going to have three of those in a row just to see what happens.” you laugh, he does too.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’ll give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“I’ll probably be fine.” You shrug, “Won’t be my first near-death experience.”

Finnick cracks up, shaking his head.

It’s only another thirty minutes before Tekla does come across Seven boy by accident. She wouldn’t have even known he was there if it weren’t for the wheeze he let out as a warning before she stepped on him. He’s hidden under bushes, camouflaged in. The only obvious sign that he’s there is his legs, but even then, they were easily missed by Tekla.

She stands over him, eyebrows drawn in. Her eyes will occasionally flicker up like she’s looking for someone, like it’s some sort of trap and a tribute is waiting for her to be off her guard to attack. Unfortunately, it’s none of those things. Just bad luck, and horrible timing. She crouches down next to him, face twisting as she carefully moves leaves out of the way to see him properly. 

“Gross.” she says, “I don’t even know how you’re still alive.” Tekla shakes her head like she’s getting rid of her thoughts, standing back up on her feet, “It’s over now. Rest easy.”

She raises her weapon and puts him out of his misery. A second cannon goes off, making Sanguin stop in her tracks, looking up at the sky for a moment. The Fallen won’t show until later tonight, but the tributes all have the same reactions, anyway. It’s because the sound comes from above them, so naturally they’re going to want to see where it comes from.

As for Annie, she barely snaps back to life long enough to squint, allow wrinkles to appear on her face, and then she relaxes again. She sets her head back against the wall and closes her eyes, gripping onto her sword tightly. You wonder if she came to the conclusion that she’s one of the final three inside of the arena now. Annie’s made it, she’s beaten all the tributes from District Four that came before her.

Hang in there, Annie. You’ll be home soon.

--

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

[lemons-made-here]

Omgggggg I love the denki headcanons! Can you do some with hikaru?

Sorry Lemondrops,,, I went overboard on a few of these. As always my askbox and taglists are open, enjoy!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Hikaru is such a cuddler oml. After sex he just wants to hold you close, he prefers seeing your face, but anyway he can hold you tight makes him happy. Hikaru would rather clean the sheets later and focus on you, he almost always has water bottles and snacks like dried fruit near him if you need them. If you two got a little rough (Let’s be honest, this is Hikaru, you did) Hikaru will rub lotion or oils into your sore spots until you feel better.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Hikaru likes your lips and eyes, the way you chew your lips or how big your eyes can grow when you’re excited? He melts. On top of that, you know the exact look and just how to kiss him to make him a puddle in your hands

On himself however, Hikaru loves his arms. How he could throw you over his shoulder at anytime, how you giggle and swoon every time he goes in for a bear hug, or how you leave scratches down the length of his biceps everytime he thrusts into you

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Doesn’t have a preference other than your face. He likes to see your lovely face clearly as much as he can during the deed. But if you cum on him? He’ll savor it, he enjoys being marked. Your cum and juices on his face? It only gets him harder. But overall Hikaru enjoys cumming in you if you’re okay with it, he thrives to see his spunk dripping out of your worn out hole.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to fuck you in the music room when guests are still there. Maybe when things are slowing down and everything isn’t as busy, but still populated. On a couch further back, away from the crowds but you’ll still have to be caeful of the noises coming out of your mouth. Hikaru pushing you deeper into the club’s cushions, having your cum stain the couches he’ll use the next day.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Meeeeh He has a general idea, he’s been coped up in his room most of the time, so a high consumption of porn, but he understands that’s not how things always work out. He picks it up as you go along, more than anything Hikaru is focused if you’re having a good time, he’s quick to learn what you like.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Standard missionary for the most part, but for lazy morning sex when neither of you really want to move, he prefers on your sides with your leg over his for easy access so he can still cuddle while he’s inside you

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not goofy whatsoever, Hikaru wants nothing during sex but to shower you in love, adoration and leave you both incredibly satisfied. Though sometimes his “harmless” tickling and laughs leads to groping and feverous kisses. Hikaru’s more of a tease than a goof

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Completely waxed, as a model for his mother’s company its much easier just to get rid of it all together. But underwear model Hikaru? Punk/Peirced Hikaru?...... That kind of stuff... Its already in the works, just ask ;)

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Hikaru’s all about intimacy, taking care of you first is the easiest way of getting himself off, although you’d like to say you’re past the honeymoon phase, it doesn’t quite feel like it. Every time you cum Hikaru reassures you, he wants to make you feel special, because you’re his everything

J = Jerk Off (How often, what are they thinking about, …)

Hikaru tries to not masturbate as much as he did back when you two weren’t together, its kind of weird to him now getting off without you there, he’d much rather cum with you or just try to ignore it. However, there are times that he’s away with the host club or his family and he’ll go through his phone for older nudes or texts, but most of the time he’ll text you.

From Hikaru: I need you so bad (N/N), I’m so hard it hurts

You: Is that so? Let me see

Hikaru sent an attachment

Voicemail from Princess💖

Just like that Hikaru, ooh your dick looks so good, you wish I was there don’t you? Wrapping my lips around your cock and sucking you dry, I want you to come all over my face, give me a pearl necklace baby, hold on for a little longer Hikaru, I want you to wait for me, you want to cum? Then you better beg for it

He has numerous voicemails just like it, its easiest for him to get off when he can hear your voice or smell you, so don’t be surprised when Hikaru’s packing for a trip and a few of your panties go missing

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Biting: Hikaru can get hard from the sight of hickies and love-bites littered over your body, Hikaru loves to make you squirm when you’re on his lap and starts to nibble on your collarbones, or better yet hold you down when he’s eating you out as he leaves not-so-gentle bites along your bikini line

Praising: From or to you, during the act Hikaru makes sure you feel loved and appreciated, deep down he’s a little insecure about his skills so it’d do Hikaru good to boost his ego,,,, just a bit

Exhibition: Hikaru loves the thrill of getting caught, in a hallway of his mansion, the music room a few minutes before an event starts or behind a curtain at a gala, if you do get caught, don’t expect him to stop.

Panty Theft: He doesn’t know why, but Hikaru can’t help but sneakily pocket a pair when he’s over or pick a pair off the floor the morning after. He’s says that he was just interested in style’s for the family business, or just conveniently forgot to give them back to you, but deep down he hopes one of two situation will turn out from this a) You finally break and make him replace the ones he’s stolen (He get’s to spoil you and see your new collection... its a win-win) or b) you don’t have any panties left,,, either way he’s going to show off that shit eating grin

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

As mentioned before, Hikaru really doesn’t care where (or when) you two do the do, there’s been more than once you’ve returned to an event or class with your hair in a mess and your clothes a little more wrinkled

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, little things go way farther than what you’d expect. How you stretch in bed every morning, the look on your face when concentrating or when a do a little dance or wiggle when you’re excited. Hikaru is also a bit touch starved, so running your hands over his chest when you straighten his tie or nuzzling is neck when you two are cuddling gets him going pretty easily too.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesomes, as often as he plays the brotherly card at the host club, he loves no one but you, and believes it should stay that way in the bedroom. In addition, aside from spanking, hair pulling or biting, Hikaru really doesn’t want to harm you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He’s doesn’t have a preference, but in his mind oral should be given with a balance, so its not only one party reciving. Although he doesn’t believe it, Hikaru is up there when it comes to skill, he mostly derives off of your sounds and breathing. If you can barely speak, then he’s doing his job correctly.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood, but most of the time Hikaru wants to feel every part of you, so he’s a bit on the slower side. Hikaru’s so big that the stretch of his dick inside you makes you breathless every time without fail. If you do go rough, Hikaru can’t hold back spilling praises and ‘I love you’s, but fast or slow, Hikaru wants to hold you throughout.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Hikaru isn’t opposed to a quickie if the time calls for it, he just finds it easier to be in a bedroom so clean-up is a little easier and the act is more comfortable with pillows and a mattress for example instead of a wall. Regardless, Hikaru is down for anywhere and anytime if you agree to it, if you two are that horny than he’s willing to fuck you into the floor.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Hikaru’s up for anything once, but if he doesn’t like something afterwards he’s going to tell you. As mentioned before, Hikaru thrives when in the face of getting caught, so something similar isn’t off the table in the slightest. As for other types of risks,,, let’s just say there might be a deeply buried breeding kink in there somewhere.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Hikaru is usually up for three or four rounds, depending on how long you can take it. Hikaru strives to get you to cum first, because its going to take him a while before he snaps, Hikaru can hold off for at least thirty minutes before he truly reaches a full climax, so be prepared for a long, exhausting night.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Hikaru is a big fan of toys, when he’s not spoiling you with clothes or exotic sweets, its with new toys for in the bedroom. On you or him he really doesn’t care, as long as you’re both having a good time. Don’t be afraid to rough him up a little with a cockring, handcuffs and a plug once in a while, not only does he love when you leave him really a little sire the next day, but you deserve a little pay back for all the times he’s teased you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Speaking of, Hikaru will tease you to no end. (Sorry I thought a drabble would be more adequate for this one)

You caught Hikaru’s eye in the sparse hallway, quickening your pace to finally clap your arms around his neck.

“You would not believe the day I had” You muttered into his shoulder, going on to explain the insanity of your lab partner and the test you nearly failed. Hikaru interlocked your fingers with his and continued walking you to lunch, stroking his thumb over yours as you continued. Once you were in the hallway block for the lunchroom, Hikaru walked himself toward you, until you were snugly pressed between Hikaru and the wall. Your head drooped with satisfaction as Hikaru began running his teeth along your neck and running his large hands up and down your waist.

“H-hikaru!” You whispered frantically, whipping your head around to see if anyone was watching,less than fifty feet away was the beginning of the line for students to pick up lunches, anyone could turn at any point and this hallway wasn’t exactly known for being unfrequented. “ We could get caught! We can’t just, just makeout in the middle of the hallway!”

“Oh, we can’t?” He chuckled, pressed his toned hips towards you, he wasn’t completely hard but you could feel the bulge of his glorious dick pressing into you. After a few sweet kisses from Hikaru to sooth his  previous bites, you began returning them, tugging on his tie to deepen the kiss and Hikaru sucked on your bottom lip, your breath became ragged and the heat from your core quickly began to overcome your fear from possible on-lookers. Hikaru dipped his dipped behind you to the small of your back, making small circles into your Venus dimples.

Suddenly, Hikaru pulled away, straightening the magenta bow around your neck and brushing off his slacks. As he began to walk towards the lunchroom Hikaru extend his hand behind him, signaling you to retrieve it. Still dazed from arousal, you took a minute before catching up.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Hikaru’s not a full-on screamer, but he’s not exactly quiet. Its heavy panting and moans for the most part. Hikaru’s dirty talk is on another level, he’s not afraid to pull out his dom voice if you’re being a brat.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Hikaru is quite the switch, he’s happy on either end of the spectrum. When’s Hikaru is domming he can be both an extremely hard or extremely soft dom. Putting you into your place and edging you until you cry, or adorning you with praises, gentle kisses and soothing touches. If he’s subbing however, you’ll have to get the brat out of him first, but beyond that he’s a pillow princess.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

As I have mentioned in numerous other headcanons, Hikaru is t h i c c about six and a half inches, but he’s so hot and vainy that your mind goes blank.

Your lungs seem to rattle as you let out another shaky breath, sinking down on to Hikaru’s cock, biting harder on your lip you try to hold in a sob as Hikaru rubs circles into your back, chest pressed against yours.

“(Y/N), I know baby, just breathe you’re doing so good taking me”

Your brain feels cloudy, hardly registering the praises Hikaru lavishes you with, you’re just so full. His dick throb so hard inside you, you can feel the pulse in your throat as you lift yourself up again and push down harder. The stretch feels like too much and just right all at the same time, as if you aren’t careful, he’ll split you in two. You push aside the thought and start riding him harder, yearning to feel more of him inside you; Hikaru meets your bounces and hits your cervix head-on. Your vision goes white for a second, heartbeat quickening as your ragged breath hit Hikaru’s shoulder.

“You’re so big Hikaru, so so good” You mumble into his neck, drunken off of pleasure you struggle to keep up your previous pace. Hikaru hums in response and flips you on your back and kisses your sternum

“Be good for me alright princess? Its my turn, so just relax, I got you”

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty average, if you’re in the mood Hikaru’s not going to say no, but he’s not the type to try and seduce you every three hours because he’s horny. If you do go at it for longer or rougher than usual, Hikaru is good for a day or two. Hikaru’s not going to leave you hanging or unsatisfied

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depending on when and where you do the do, Hikaru doesn’t necessarily need to sleep for a couple hours. But if you do happen to be completely limp from exhaustion, Hikaru will clean you up, make sure you’re hydrated and cuddle while you fall asleep.

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Show Me Your Eyes.

This is part 2 of Snow In The Dark

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary:Snow get’s locked up with Riddick.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language I think that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P

Part 1

When Johns wanted to go farther away from the ship I decided that was when me and Jack should head back.

Jack whined a bit but she still listened following back towards the crashed ship. Just both freezing when the distant pops filled our ears.

“What was that?” She asks looking up at me.

“Gun shots.” I say picking up my pace.

When we reached the ship we found out there was another survivor. The only problem was Zeek thought he was Riddick, him putting a few bullets in the man's back.

“So you just shot him? Just like that?” I ask, looking down at the deadmans body.

Most people would have been grossed out or bothered by it but when you're raised like I was, seeing a corpse is just another tuesday.

“Johns told me to.” Zeek says as if that explained everything away.

“Who made him the boss?”

“Look there is no point in worrying about it now. The man is dead, bury him with the rest and worry about getting us off this planet.” Paris says, him cleaning his glasses.

“I am gonna worry about it. What if Johns tells him to shoot me or Jack? I wanna know if he is just going to listen.”

“He told Zeek to shoot Riddick because he’s a killer.” Sharon says stepping into my bubble.

“Yeah and now so is Zeek funny how that works. Come on Jack lets go.” I say moving away from them.

I step down onto the sand and walk away from them.

“Why are you so mad about Zeek killing that guy?” Jack asks, walking next to me.

Us not really headed in any direction just away from them.

“It’s not that he killed the guy. We both know I got blood on my hands. It's just I don’t like the fact when Johns said jump Zeek said how high.”

“Johns was the one that busted your lip right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the only thing.” I say thinking about my encounter with Riddick.

Sure he was intense but I didn’t feel scared of him.

“What’s the other thing?”

“Doesn't matter. We should find something to help with no point in just wasting our energy.” I say smiling down at her.

“Okay, do you care if I go help Sharon?”

“Sure kid. Just stay within yelling distance.”

“You got it.” She says smiling and jogging back towards the ship.

Not sure what I could do to help the others I decided I should help myself instead. Scooping my long dark hair up I braid it away from my face and secure it in place with the band wrapped around my wrist.

I was dressed in only black tank top jeans and boots so there wasn’t much I could do for my clothes. 

Heading towards the ship I walked through it seeing if I could find anything as a weapon. I wasn’t the best fighter, but I wasn’t going to let Johns smack me around.

I didn’t get a chance to find anything, the sound of screaming filling my ears. I don’t think as I push myself in the direction of the sound.

I slide to a stop seeing Sharon, Johns and Carolyn surrounding Riddick. Johns jerked his goggles off making Riddick yell in pain like he got hit in the face.

The sound made my fists clench. Anger running through me.

“Hey what are you doing?” I ask quickly moving next to them.

“He killed Zeek, I know it! Just kill him, kill him right now!” Sharon screams trying to jump at him.

Johns uses the butt of his gun slamming it into Riddick’s face, making him go limp.

“Stop it!” I say moving in between Johns and Riddick.

“You're protecting him? He killed Zeek!” Sharon screams at me trying to kick me.

I move out of the way, Johns grabbing my arm.

“Why are you protecting him?”

“I’m not!” I say jerking my arm from his touch.

“I’m getting tired of you lying to me.” He says grabbing me and throwing me to the ground.

“I can’t trust you anymore.” He says yanking my arms back, cuffing me.

“Let go of me!” I yell trying to fight him.

I look up at the others wondering if they really are going to let him do this to me. I get my answer when Sharon’s foot makes contact with my face, everything going dark.

I wake up to my head throbbing, a biting pain in my wrists. Groaning I sit up realizing I’m in the bottom of the ship.

My wrists chained to the floor.

“Must have down something pretty bad to have them lock you up with me.” Riddick says his deep voice makes me shiver.

Looking up I realize he is sitting on a metal box with both of his arms stretched out to each side, he was chained up as well.

“Yeah apparently protesting your abuse was a crime.” I say leaning my head on the wall next to me.

I was only a few feet from him just far enough away we couldn’t touch. I lift an eyebrow as that thought goes through my head. Like I wanted to touch him.

“You call that abuse, you ain't seen anything.”

“Well watching you get hit in the face with a gun wasn’t very pleasant to me.” I say looking up at him.

I watch the corner of his mouth lifts.

“Careful they might think you like me or something.”

I shrug knowing he can’t see it. He’s eyes were closed. Remembering the sound he made before tells me he didn’t like the light.

“You don’t like the light do you?” I ask, wanting to make conversation.

I found I liked the low rubble of his voice. 

“Most people learn to adjust to the dark I was born in it.”

I snort making his head turn towards me.

“Well by that logic I guess I’m built for the cold.”

“Snow.” He says, or more like growls.

“You were born in the snow.”

“That’s what they tell me. Found me between my dead mother's thighs covered in her blood, my cord still attached.”

“Lifes a bitch huh?”

“Tell me about it.” I say closing my eyes.

My head was pounding from either the hit to the face or the lack of food and water. I open them and look up at Riddick.

My chest level with his knee making a weird sensation stur in my gut at practically sitting at his feet.

I blush hearing and watching Riddick take a deep breath through his nose as if he was smelling the air, smelling me.

Wanting him to stop doing that I use my foot to bump his boot with my own making his eyes open. I gasp when his gaze finds me.

His eyes silver, them shining like an animal. They meet mine, reflecting from the light coming from overhead. Them making my stomach flip from, deep part of my brain telling me that I was looking at something wild and unknown. Despite that I couldn’t look away. 

“So that’s what Johns meant.” I say realizing he wasn’t human.

No human had eyes like that.

He cocks his head as if asking a question.

“He made you out to be something other than human. Guess he was telling the truth, about that at least.”

Chuckling he closes his eyes and leans back laying on the wall behind him.

“Well he’s bound to slip up and get at least one thing right.”

“So what are you?” I ask, not getting an answer.

“You tell me.”

“How would I know?”

“Because you smell just like me, only sweeter.” He says the last word coming out deeper then all the rest.

It makes a heat pool in my stomach. Him smirking as if he can smell that as well. I bite my lip and cross my legs not knowing what to say to that information.

“I’ll ask you again, are you scared of me?”

“No, more like intrigued.” I say honestly.

“Good.” He says silence falling around us.

We both sat there neither one of us talking but something told me Riddick wasn’t one for idle chit chat.

I look over him from head to toe thinking about what he said. What did he mean I smelt like him? Did that mean I was like him? Whatever he was. I couldn't lie. I didn’t know what I was. No one did, I was raised in the streets learning to survive on my own.

I wasn’t taken in and treated. No doctor visits to tell me what I was. I might not have been human, but then again what was human?

I look him over once again, the image of straddling his lap filling my mind. I shake my head and turn to look at the floor.

‘What the heck is wrong with you?’ I ask myself surprised by how my own body had a pull towards this man.

This convent, murderer. He wasn’t like a normal man. Anyone could tell that just by looking at him. It wasn’t his features it was more the way he moved. How he carried himself. He knew just how bad he was. He wasn’t cocky about it. He just knew. That made you know as well.

I chew my lip wondering what I would do. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to apparently straddle his lap and have him use me how he pleased but I couldn’t do that.

I had too many things to worry about. How to get off this planet being number one.

Hearing footsteps made me look towards the sound. Fry walked closer to us.

“So where's the body?” She asks, grabbing a beam next to her.

“Well hello to you too.” I mumble looking at her.

She glares at me then looks back at Riddick but he doesn't give an answer.

“Well do you want to tell me about the sounds?” She asks, sounding annoyed.

I look over at Riddick having no idea what she was talking about but it was clear that she wasn’t getting an answer to that either.

“Look, you told Johns you heard something.”

I drop my head on the wall behind me not stopping the smirk that comes to my face at him giving her the silent treatment.

“That's fine...You don't want to talk to me, that's your choice. But, just so you...there's a debate right now as to whether we should just leave you here to die.” She says looking from him to me.

“As for you, Johns said you are free to go.” She says, throwing me a key to my cuffs as if she was scared to get any closer.

I guess she was because of Riddick.

Turning away from us she turns to walk away as I start to uncuff myself.

“You mean the whispers?” Riddick asks, his deep voice chilling the humid air.

“What whispers?” She asks, coming back to join us.

“The ones telling me to go for the sweet spot just to the left of the spine…. Fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta.” He says making my stomach flip for some reason.

I kinda scared myself realizing that someone talking about killing another human was turning me on.

‘What is wrong with you?’ I think, biting my lip.

“It's a metallic taste, human blood. Copperish. If you cut it with peppermint schnapps, that goes away-.”

“Do you want to shock me with the truth now?” Fry asks, cutting him off.

I look at Riddick, my mind racing at what he just said but I don’t get time to process it.

“All you people are so scared of me.” He says once again making me wonder why I’m not.

“Most days, I take that as a compliment. But it ain't me you got to worry about now.”

“Show me your eyes Riddick.” Fry says changing the subject.

I turn and look at her cocking an eyebrow.

“You’d have to come a lot closer for that.” Riddick says a smirk on his face.

I watch as she takes a step forward, gulping.

“Closer.” He says.

I’m shocked to watch her do as he says as if she can’t realize he’s playing with her. Like a cat toys with a mouse before they eat it.

I barely react when Riddick stands up quickly making Fry jump and quickly move away from him.

Even from my spot on the floor I can see the shine of his eyes. The silver glow I saw before. It makes me want to stare at them for hours.

“How in the hell do I get eyes like that?” Jack’s voice asks, making my head snap in her direction.

“You gotta kill a few people.” Riddick says looking at her.

“Kay I can do it.” She says so matter of factly I roll my eyes.

She didn’t know what it was like to kill anyone. It's a lot harder then what people thought.

“Then you gotta get sent to a slam where they tell you you’ll never see daylight again.” He says looking back at Fry.

“Then you dig up a doctor, who you pay twenty menthol cools to do a surgical shine job on your eyeballs.”

“So you can see who’s sneaking up on you in the dark.” Jack says grinning.

“Exactly.” Riddick practically growls out at him grinning at her.

“Leave!” Fry says, making me clench my jaw and stand up.

I wasn’t about to let anyone talk to her like that. Like she was just someone to boss around.

Her eyes jump from me to Riddick then back to Jack.

“Leave, please.” She says this time more softly.

“Go ahead Jack.” I say softly when my sister’s eyes land on me.

Sighing she starts climbing back up the ladder, leaving us alone.

“Cute kid.” Riddick says smiling at me, it makes my stomach flip once again.

“Thanks.” I say not knowing what to say back, too confused by my body's reaction to this man to think straight.

“Did I kill a few people?” Riddick says sitting back down.

“Sure. But did I kill Zeek? No.”

“Then where's the body? We already looked in the hole?”

“Look deeper.” He says hiding a smirk but not before I caught it. Or maybe I just imagined it.

“Whatever.” Fry says starting to walk away, her stopping and looking back at me.

“Come on Johns wants to talk to you.”

Clenching my jaw I sigh and start to follow her. I’m stopped by Riddick placing his boot covered foot on my calf.

I look back at him over my shoulder, then glowing eyes once again meeting mine. The knot in my stomach, tightening.

“Do me a favor.”

“What? Break you out?” I ask since I still had the key Fry gave me.

“No, Johns will do that. It’s something else.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“Stay above ground.” He says his voice sending chills through me as he lets me go.

[esmeraldablazingsky]

I’ve finally hit my limit on the number of bad takes on the Lan parents I can see before I have to lay out all the reasons I disagree, so hello, I’m Blazie, and in this essay I will justify my visceral dislike of the assumption that Qingheng-jun married/imprisoned/had sex with Lan-furen against her will.

    Warning for mentions of rape (in context of Interpretations I Really Hate) and a very, VERY long post below the cut.

    Before I start going off about the finer points of all this, I want to make sure people are on the same page regarding what we actually know about what went down with Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen. What I say is based off the EXR translation of MDZS, for the sake of clarity, and although I don’t think the exact wording should be too important, feel free to let me know if you think I’ve missed an important bit of nuance or something (the whole story is in Chapter 64.)

    The story we get is told by Lan Xichen, and it goes like this: a young Qingheng-jun falls in love at first sight with Lan-furen, who doesn’t return his feelings, and at some point kills one of Qingheng-jun’s teachers over unspecified “grievances.” Although he’s understandably very upset over the murder, Qingheng-jun sneaks Lan-furen back to Cloud Recesses and officially marries her in order to announce to his clan that anyone who wants to hurt her has to go through him.

After that, he locks Lan-furen in one house and himself in another as a form of repentance. Wei Wuxian speculates that this was because “he could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.” 

    A central detail of this story that I think people don’t give the import it deserves is that aside from marrying and protecting her, Qingheng-jun’s other option was to let Lan-furen be executed by his clan. His purpose in marrying her wasn’t just for kicks/out of a possessive sort of love, it was so she wouldn’t straight up die. How she felt about this arrangement isn’t stated, but I’ll get into that in a bit. In addition to that, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen live separately, which was apparently purposeful on Qingheng-jun’s part, and runs counter to the interpretation that he intended to take sexual advantage of Lan-furen.

Though there aren’t many concrete details in Lan Xichen’s retelling, he does specifically inform Wei Wuxian that his mother never complained about remaining in her house. What exactly this signifies is unclear— whether she was simply putting on a brave face for her sons, or whether she was in fact at all content with the situation— but it at the very least serves to further muddy the waters on how she and Qingheng-jun felt about all this. 

Beyond what Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian are saying out loud, there’s also quite a bit of subtext in this scene, especially in light of later events and revelations, like Lan Xichen’s confession for Lan Wangji at Guanyin Temple. 

So what is Lan Xichen trying to convey with all this? There’s a lot of memes about this scene, most of which err too far on the side of Himbo Airhead Lan Xichen for my liking, but one that I do find amusing emphasizes how Lan Xichen draws parallels between Wangxian and the story of his parents (Lan Xichen: [flute solo] please use your one brain cell to connect the dots.) If Wei Wuxian hadn’t completely lost his memory of Lan Wangji defending him against his own clan elders, one would assume that Lan Xichen’s story would have had a much better chance of hitting home. 

In hindsight and side by side, the parallels are much clearer— Qingheng-jun, “ignoring the objections from his clan… told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.” Similarly, according to Lan Xichen in Chapter 99, “for [Wei Wuxian,] not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the GusuLan Sect. He heavily injured all thirty-three of the seniors we asked to come.”

In that context, it makes a lot less sense to interpret Qingheng-jun as an aggressor towards Lan-furen, as in Lan Wangji’s case, the narrative clearly establishes that his actions are to secure Wei Wuxian’s safety. The action of Taking Someone Back To Cloud Recesses is— okay, actually, it’s a little more nuanced than I took into account when I started writing that sentence, so let me go a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s actions and how they relate to his father’s, story-wise. 

My intent is not to dive into the terrifying underworld of novel-versus-drama discourse, but simply put, Novel!Lan Wangji as he is written isn’t exactly the poster child for clear consent. (I’m going to entirely leave off the extra chapters for the sake of everyone’s sanity, so I’m just talking about the main body of the novel here.)

He means well, and I’m sure we can agree that he does actually love and want the best for Wei Wuxian, but his lack of communication on this point means that he accidentally gives Wei Wuxian the impression that he wants to imprison and/or punish him in Cloud Recesses at least twice off the top of my head (pre-timeskip, as we know, and post-timeskip immediately after Dafan Mountain when he actually drags Wei Wuxian back to his room.) 

That all likely has something to do with MXTX’s narrative kinks and regular kinks and all that, and can absolutely be taken with many grains of salt. However, these events establish how easy it is to misinterpret the action of Taking Someone Back To Gusu as an attempt to imprison rather than protect them (much to Lan Wangji’s chagrin.)

Failing to communicate his purpose to Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean that Lan Wangji actually had any intent of hurting or caging him— that was just a misinterpretation on Wei Wuxian’s part, and we, as the audience, find that out in due time— but as written in the novel, it can be really uncomfortable to read. Because of that, many people choose to accept CQL canon regarding Lan Wangji’s more possessive actions or mix characterization from different adaptations, which, to be clear, I completely understand and respect. 

However, Qingheng-jun doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt as often, which I frankly find baffling, because nowhere in the text does it state that Lan-furen objected to being taken back to Cloud Recesses, while even Wei Wuxian clearly objected the first few times. In fact, while we’re on this note, I’ll take it a step farther— I find it baffling that people seem to default to an unsympathetic view of Qingheng-jun, because nowhere in the text does it state that he overruled Lan-furen’s wishes in any way. The text doesn’t clarify a lot of things, actually, and that is part of the point. 

The narrators of MDZS are, in many situations, highly unreliable. This is, presumably, very purposeful! MDZS can easily be read as a sharp criticism of reputation and mass judgment and the concept of condemning people without knowing their motives! And I don’t want to sound mean, but guys… did any of us learn anything from that? Here, I’m going to put it in meme format for a second to convey what I mean. 

MDZS: It’s easy to condemn someone as a villain if you don’t know their story or the reasons behind their actions

MDZS: Anyway, here’s a character whose story and reasons behind his actions you know nothing about

Some Parts Of This Fandom: Ah, a villain 

    Memes aside, here’s what I want to point out. It’s entirely possible to assume Qingheng-jun was a bad person who disregarded a woman’s wishes in marrying and confining her when all you have is Lan Xichen’s (actually very neutral, thank you Lan Xichen for being an eminently reasonable and concerned-with-evidence character) account of what happened. It would also be at least that easy to assume Wei Wuxian was just an evil necromancer if he hadn’t un-died and brought his own story to light, or even to believe that Lan Wangji had somehow tamed Wei Wuxian into submission and being a respectable cultivator if you were an average citizen of Fantasy Ancient China with nothing but rumors to operate on. 

    The thing about Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen’s story, then, is that there is nobody left alive who knows the full tale. Nobody knows what they thought about anything, really. Nobody even knows why Lan-furen killed Qingheng-jun’s teacher. Wei Wuxian asks why, and Lan Xichen can’t tell him, but I think the best answer would be something along the lines of I don’t know, Wei Wuxian, why did you kill people? Your guess on the motivations of your own thinly disguised narrative parallel are as good as anyone’s. 

    So, while it’s not technically impossible to assign darker motives to Qingheng-jun, the cautionary tale of MDZS seems to warn against that exact assumption. 

    I’ve refrained from getting too salty on a personal level thus far, but now that I’ve said a lot of the more logical and story-based points of my argument, I will say that at least some of my annoyance with the interpretation of Qingheng-jun as a possessive rapist and Lan-furen as his victim stems from the fact that I just think it’s straight up boring. Where’s the nuance? Aren’t you tired of reducing these characters to the flattest possible versions of themselves? Don’t you just want to add a little flavor? 

    In a slightly more serious phrasing of that criticism, I find that making Lan-furen a helpless prisoner strips her of whatever agency she might otherwise have. To be fair, she’s more or less a non-character in keeping with the general state of the MDZS universe, but making her a damsel in distress only consigns her more deeply to hapless, milquetoast innocence. 

    It’s perfectly valid to enjoy ladies who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their lives, but like… Qin Su is right there, if that’s your ball game. There’s also really no need to make Qingheng-jun someone who doesn’t respect women. Isn’t Jin Guangshan enough for at least one universe? 

    Anyway, ultimately, you do you. I don’t like arguing on the internet, and will just ignore things I don’t agree with (or write an 1800 word vaguepost) like a mature human being. I’m just saying, if it’s a cut and dry tale of imprisonment and assault you’re looking for… you probably don’t want to turn to a woman who committed a murder and a man who loved her enough to forfeit everything to keep her safe. 

[lovelivingmydreams]

My nieces are fanders

Summary: When you meet a super cute guy and land a date with him, you definitively want to gush about him with someone. In Nico’s case that someone is his oldest sister. The visit holds a surprise for him though.

This is part of a bigger story which starts here

Nico was humming to himself as he walked up the driveway to his older sister’s house.

“I can’t wait to tell Marcia all about Thomas!” Félix gushed. It’d been a week since they met him and while they had yet to look him up, deciding it was cheating a little to watch his content and maybe accidentally see more than Thomas wanted to share before they even went on their first date. Ràmon, his morally flexible, deceptive facet, still thought they should at least just check his accounts to make sure he didn’t oversell himself. “I’m sort of known on youtube” might just have been an exaggeration to impress him. Léon, his fury, was already working himself up over being misled when the others came to Thomas’ defense. He seemed rather humble about all his accomplishments. He deserved the benefit of the doubt. “She’ll be so excited for us!” Fabio, his heart, gushed. “Hope mom and dad won’t be too upset that they aren’t the first we told…” Alejo worried as he bit his lip. “We will tell them about Thomas if we come to a stage where we are ‘officially’ dating him,” Diego, his logic, reminds him. It was how they did things. His parents were a bit too supportive sometimes. If he mentioned Thomas, mom would start insisting he come over for dinner no matter how Nico insisted they weren’t that serious yet. His father would ask questions he didn’t have answers for and he would feel entirely too pressured… Best to tell them after he and Thomas got a bit farther. And he really hoped he would get to tell them about him soon. He rang the bell and soon the door opened to reveal a beaming Marcia. “You smelled my cooking didn’t you?” she asked. Nico chuckled. “You caught me,” he confessed as he threw his hands up in surrender while letting her embrace him. “It’s good to see you again hermanito,” she sighed before letting him go and leading him inside. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Yi will be home soon and he’ll entertain the kids afterwards so you can tell me what’s got you sparkling like the fourth of July.” Marcia looked back at him and quirked a brow curiously. Nico blushed a little. He was that obvious huh? His sisters eyes lit up and she was grinning like th cat that got the cream. Well he just confirmed her suspicion. “Okay, sounds good,” he muttered casually. Luckily Marcia let it go for now. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked. “Just a glass of water is fine,” Nico assured her while he leaned against the kitchen counter to watch her work. “Tio Nico!” Nico looked up and saw Marcia’s oldest, his 15 year old niece Carla run up towards him to give him a hug. He embraced his niece with a smile and ruffled her hair. “How are you kids doing?” he asked as the teen girl let go. “Fine. Felicia hasn’t finished her homework yet, but she will be down in a minute.” Nico nodded taking note of cousin’s pronouns for today. It had been an adjustment for everyone when Fabien came out of his room wearing a skirt for the first time and asked to be called Felicia on days she felt more feminine, but they hardly slipped up anymore. “We have something awesome to show you!” Carla continued her eyes sparking with excitement. “Oh?” he asked curiously. “What is it?” “Don’t start without me!” Felicia exclaimed as she rushed through the door and hugged Nico as well. “Now I’m getting nervous,” Nico chuckled as he let his nieces push him into a chair and sit down next to him. Carla was looking something up on her phone while Felicia seemed to be using hers to film him. “Tio Nico. Have you ever been serenaded by a stranger?” Felicia asked. The general confusion in Nico’s head left him with no other response other than cocking his head. “Um… no…?” he replied. His nieces giggled. And then Carla pushed her phone in front of him and they shoved earbuds into his ears. She pressed play and before he knew it he was faced with…. “Thomas!!!!” Félix  screeched in his head. It was unfair of him to look so handsome. And then he started singing! “Nico, radiant and pure. Always so, accepting and secure. Never knew anyone so kind. So funny and sharp of mind. All this to say… Have a nice day.” And then he winked! Nico’s nieces were giggling at his flustered face. Alejo inspected the screen and found a description in the corner. “This week’s #shout out Sunday goes to all the nice Nico’s of the world” he read out as he slowly relaxed. Nothing that insinuated Thomas was thinking of a particular Nico. His nieces had probably just thought it was fun to show him the video. Perhaps they thought he’d be enchanted by the handsome stranger with the voice of an angel seemingly singing for him. They weren’t entirely wrong. “That’s Thomas Sanders. He’s our favorite youtuber,” Felicia explained. Nico nodded a little dumbfounded. “He’s a singer?” he guessed, though he knew he was more than that. But he was not ready to tell his nieces he’d met this man and was going on a date with him next week. “And an actor, and the nicest person alive!” Clara explained. “He lives in Florida and he is gay…” Félicia added not too subtle, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Stop teasing your uncle girls. Set the table. We’ll be eating soon.” Nico was relieved. The rest of the evening he struggled to pay attention to the conversations at the dinner table. His mind was absolute chaos “He serenaded us! Actually serenaded us!” Felix gushed dancing around unable to contain his elation. “And it does sound like he is somewhat successful in entertaining his audience. He was telling the truth it seems,” Ràmon allowed. Leon nodded, calming down significantly. Leon had been part of the deeper recesses of Nico’s mind for a long time. Until one day he was called by a panicked Carla who was hiding from bigots with her sister. Nico had hurried over and gotten them out. But he’d been so close to hitting one of those kids. It had been Alejo who, in his worry for the girls’ well-being, had managed to hold Leon back enough to allow Fabio to reason with him. His writings had taken a much angrier tone for a few days after. Ever since that day,  Nico was aware that he could get violent when angry and he’d been working on managing Leon without pushing him away. Like Alejo he was mostly overprotective of the others and Nico’s loved ones. He just jumped more on Alejo’s fight aspect than the flight part. “He was so nice!” Fabio gushed. “Does he really think all that about us?” Alejo wondered flustered. “It seems quite likely that he does,” Diego concluded. “Just as we have made some observations about him that may or may not be accurate,” he added, soothing Alejo’s worry a bit. Shifting him more to the excited side of his spectrum. “Well? Spill!” Marcia insisted when they found themselves alone on the patio after dinner. Nico sipped from his glass and didn’t look at his sister while he just spilled the truth. “I met a really cute guy at the mall this week, and we’re going out for lunch in two days.” Marcia barely contained her squealing. “Finally! Tell me everything!” she demanded. And just like that, his excitement at being able to gush about the whole meeting returned. Marcia was a good listener. She knew the story ended well but she acted like she actually thought he might miss his shot with his determination to get some work done and not to bother the mysterious stranger. When he got to Thomas’ confession she was vibrating with excitement. “He sounds so adorable!” Nico flushed. “Yeah… He’s an actor and singer…” “Ooooh, someone to sing your songs!” she exclaimed. “And his name is Thomas Sanders…” Maricia’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on her. “Now that explains the look on your face when you saw that video…Wait that was for you? If mama ever sees it then she’ll insist you marry him you know that right?” she laughed. So not only did she know of Thomas, she had seen the video in question. “Yeah… She probably will. Have you seen anything else of his?” “I try to be aware of what my kids are watching online. He has two channels and about 3,4 million ‘Fanders’ last I checked.” “Oh my god!!!!” Felix gushed. Overwhelmed by both the cute fandom name and the dazzling number of fans. “Definitely not a liar,” Ràmon breathed in relief. He had been reluctant to get his hopes up until now. He was cautious, wary of things that were too good to be true. Just like Alejo. But their anxious look out was, in his eyes at least, compromised on the subject due to his close tie to the butterflies clouding all their feelings and thoughts. Now however, it seemed that his biggest doubts were adressed, he felt free to look forwrad to the date like everyone else. “He is a good guy, going by his content. And he is really cute.” Nico chuckled. “Yeah he is,” he agreed.

When he got home he was actually planning to freak out a bit more and debate over whether or not to watch some video’s. If for no other reason than to just see him do something he loved. Was that stalkerish? Luckily his phone alerted him to a text. Thomas. It was a cute dog picture. Nico smiled. He did that sometimes. Sent him things just to make him smile. N: You are such a dork. TS: I refuse to apologize for that! TS: I can’t wait until our lunch date! Nico hesitated for a moment. But then he went all in. N: Missing my radiant presence that much? God that was cheesy. Was it too cheesy? He is not like this! Not usually. Or maybe he was and Thomas just brought it out of him. TS: OMG you saw!!!!? N: My nieces thought it would be funny to see how I’d react when a ‘stranger’ serenades me. TS: Fanders!? Oh my goodness that is amazing! TS: You weren’t bothered? I get that it might seem a bit weird. “He is so precious!!!!” Fabio squealed. “I know right? This is not healthy for us! It can’t be,” Félix exclaimed clutching his heart and leaning on Alejo for support. Who promptly stepped away and let him fall to the floor with a grin. “Not a couch,” he reminded his friend who was pouting for a bout two seconds before his excitement overpowered his annoyance. N: It was awesome, don’t worry. I was very flattered. Your singing voice is amazing. TS: Thanks. Should he ask? If Thomas says it’s okay then it’s fine right? N: Okay if I watch some more of your singing? There he asked. No backing out. TS: Of course! Fair warning, if you find vines, some are cringy and sometimes I play a straight man. Vines huh? Wow, that felt like ages ago. Thomas had mentioned his misleading complements when they talked. N: Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Goodnight. TS: Goodnight. “Are we really doing this?” Alejo wondered as Nico typed in ‘Thomas Sanders Vines’ in the search bar of Youtube. One look at the results had Nico in stitches. “He’s such a goofball!” Fabio squealed clapping his hands as he saw Thomas’ smiling face on every thumbnail in various goofy situations. How was he supposed to choose? “Oooh! That one is him reacting!” Félix exclaimed pointing at a three year old video.  Nico nodded in agreement and clicked on the video. First this and then see if he could find some more videos of Thomas singing. He didn’t know it. But he was in for a wild ride.

I might write one more chapter, but then it’s over until Thomas posts his next video in three years. I want to stick to the canon as much as possible. You’ll hear from me if that changes though! Enjoy!

@rich-flower-17 @maryann-draws @selenechris @meowthefluffy @chibibunnis @whatishappeningrightnow @floofyconfusednerd @destinyiscallingus  @98prilla @catsarebestest @falpiancaraxus @queer-mattress-king @verysharkbakerydeputy​ @sarenicide @kitcatgirl600 @stariimayplayz @queer-devil @celestialviper @hennehennehennehoo​ @1americaninapool @firstorderfilms @xxmoonmorquanxx @naturallyunstablegamer @ciannathegiver58 @reeaninenine @pdvzh2 @rubixcubes-and-crowbars @not-a-possum-i-swear @nadja-chamack16 @ayidakira @theclassyghost @such-as-we-are-made-such-we-be @theblackveilinreverse @lucasdrawblog @erinriver5 @theshortgothicpunk @titheinironside @shipsarebeautiful @hoppe-ideas @i-died-50-years-ago @just-a-thing-to-do @the-magicalpotato @ rosethevoid @justfinsworld @supanxietysworld @kay-is-kid @devoteddeceit @friskthefallenmonster @liveonmercury @impalasquiptyseven @frida0043 @meow-face @baguettewoman2020 @sing-it-for-the-gays @perfectly-princely-emo-nightmare @snowcatwhiteangel @to-many-hotpockets @greenlasagagramfel @elliwashere @errors-in-my-heart @xxstill-i-risexx @ontheground15 @stubbornness-and-spite @potatiowatchingyoutube @nina-maee @sablesides @alias290 @s0n-of-a-peach @starlightnyx @idrawdumbstffsometime @shadowqueen88 @stars656 @lets-go-emma-of-the-100-fandoms @avocados26 @hanna10hanna10 @astrozei @thunderboldt1312 @galaxy-girl1999 @toknowaliar @musicobsessed1505 @tired-yeetling @athenashipsthings @firegirl156 @pomegranate-ghost @jerasings @strangest-loser @kittylikesflowers @pollyparrot8 @atdffpetra @altheaudaku @amberpeltsstuff @smallwaffle224 @cdragontogacotar @angelic-cali @fandoms1reality0 @contemplativespectrum @hedgiehoggles @alicethetrueunicorn @disasterlesbon @marguii-14 @emo-nightmare-without-the-emo @onecannotbebrave @confused-bi-and-ready-to-die @aelingalathynius6 @hetacon @booksfoodmusic-minion @maya-custodios-dionach @iwispkid @virgofoxy @simplification @emoghost-boy @hickledickle @crackedcurse @softballobsessed @hi-fellow-demons @mygenderisbees @lavenderchaitea @greekgeekgoddess @kuroyurishion @pauleyester

[fandomsalive]

Guide Me Home

Guide Me Home | Reddie | Teen and Up | 21,365 words

Summary: “I am here to offer you a choice,” Maturin explains patiently, finally seeming to answer Eddie’s questions. “You can move on from this world,” he says, and a plain wooden door appears, suddenly, out of nowhere, to the left of Eddie. It’s not close to him. It’s close enough that Eddie can see clearly what it is, but far enough that Eddie know’s he’d have to make the conscious decision to walk all the way to it. “Or I can take you back,” Maturin says, and another door appears to the right of Eddie, just as far as the first, but in a bright, gleaming gold this time.

For a second, Eddie doesn’t breathe. The choice seems so simple, so obvious. Of course he wants to go back! He’s only forty years old, he has a whole life ahead of him! He’s only just got the Losers back, and they killed that fucking clown! There’s nothing left to hold him back! He has a life in New York to get back to, a wife and —

A wife and…

A wife and nothing else but lies lies lies.

**

This has been such a journey to write! I don't remember how long I've been working on it, but it's been at least a few months because I just wanted to get it right. My first rough draft was only 11,500 words, and it quite literally doubled in size and I can't believe it! Here it is, finally, and I am so excited to share it! I hope that you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Thanks as always to my best friend and beta @imnotinclinedtomaturity.

Ao3 Link

**

After the world goes dark, Eddie doesn’t expect to open his eyes ever again — it’s therefore a surprise to him when he does.

As his eyes flutter open, he notices immediately that the heavy feeling pressing on his chest, the one that had been making it difficult for him to breathe, is gone. The realization is enough to cause him to inhale deeply, if for no other reason than he can. The feeling of his lungs inflating without any discomfort or pain is a relief, and Eddie lets the breath back out again slowly.

He realizes as he does so that he allowed his eyes to drift shut again, and he opens them slowly.

The world around him is white, nothing but white in every direction. He’s laying down on something, and as Eddie looks down, he realizes it’s a bed — well, a cot, more specifically. The kind you find in a hospital. For a moment, Eddie actually believes that he is in a hospital, but then he looks up again and realizes that he can’t be, because there’s nothing else here.

His brow furrows in confusion as he sits up slowly, wincing reflexively as he does, only — there is no pain. He looks down cautiously and moves his hands to his abdomen where, what felt like moments ago, there had been a huge gaping hole ripped straight through him.

There’s nothing there, now. He’s completely whole, as if the fight with It never happened.

A sense of foreboding starts to clog Eddie’s throat, and he stares wide-eyed at the sheer whiteness around him as he pushes himself free from the bed. At his sides, his fingers curl into fists, and he turns in quick, anxious circles as he searches for something, anything, in the vast nothingness that surrounds him.

Eddie can feel his heart starting to cramp with terror, a stutter caught in his chest, and aches for the inhaler he’d thrown into the fire what must have been at least an hour ago.

What the fuck is happening? he wonders anxiously. Where am I? Where the fuck is this place?

Wherever he is, it strikes fear into Eddie’s heart, and he wants nothing more than to get out. He’d never known what true silence was until now, and he can feel his skin prickling uncomfortably. The more he checks out his surroundings, moving swift on shaky legs, the more it becomes clear that there is nothing else here, and the sheer force of the vast emptiness nearly knocks Eddie flat on his ass with terror.

It’s just as the panic is truly beginning to set in that Eddie hears a voice.

“You’ve been asleep a long time,” it says, echoing all around him. Startled, Eddie jumps in place, and immediately raises his hands defensively.

“Who’s there?” he demands, glaring into the vast nothingness. He cranes his neck to look above him, the only place he hasn’t looked, but finds nothing.

Oh god, oh fuck, oh shit, he thinks, twisting his body around again to check behind him, and then again to make sure nothing has appeared in the short moment he wasn’t looking.

As tends to happen when Eddie doesn’t know what to do, he gets angry. “Hey!” he shouts, when the person still hasn’t answered him. “Answer me you fucking asshole!” he adds rashly, shuffling backwards, towards the hospital bed.

His hands are shaking.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” the voice replies, a calm, deep tenor. Eddie’s back locks up with rigid terror.

“How do you know my name?” he shouts defensively, eyes still darting around the bright nothingness he’s found himself in, even though he knows that it’s useless.

There’s nothing here.

“Who the fuck are you? Where are my friends?” he asks, voice quavering in the quiet, but there is no immediate response. Eddie is left, again, to his own thoughts and fears, and he scrambles at the back of his mind for some kind of memory that’ll tell him what the hell is going on. The last thing he remembers is Richie telling him he’ll be right back for him, and then —

Well… dying.

Oh god, he moans inside his own head, and lets out a whimper into the quiet air. What happened to Richie? What happened to Bill? And Ben, and Bev, and Mike… Are they dead? Is he dead? What the hell is going on? he asks himself.

“I know all of you,” the voice says, calm, and Eddie jumps, pulled abruptly out of his panicked spiral of thoughts, only to be launched into a brand new one.

Pennywise, he thinks, and trips backwards, until his back hits the hospital bed. True fear grips him hard, as he imagines what’s going to happen to him now. Pennywise has him trapped somewhere, maybe inside of his own goddamn mind, like he had Beverly twenty-seven years ago. Did he get caught in the deadlights? No, that was Richie, not him, and he’d thrown the spear straight into Pennywise’s throat, hadn’t he?

Fuck! Pennywise should have died, then! Eddie killed him, he killed that motherfucking clown, and now he’s back and he’s going to torture Eddie and —

Running on sheer adrenaline, Eddie shouts “I’ll fucking kill you, asshole, I swear to god! Don’t come near me or I swear I’m going to—” Eddie’s voice cracks as he fails to come up with a proper threat. He can feel his throat closing up as he waits for some kind of response, but it doesn’t come.

Eddie’s mind scrambles for answers, for any indication of what the hell might be going on. He doesn’t really remember what happened, his memories a tangled blur. He’d told Richie to go, hadn’t he? Before he… before he died, maybe. He told Richie to go, but why? Where had the others been, while Eddie was laying there bleeding to death on the cistern floor? Fuck, where had they been?

And then Eddie remembers — he remembers telling the others how to kill Pennywise. Make him small, he’d said, and all the others had run off into the main cavern to do just that. Eddie remembers hearing them shout insults at him, remembers telling Richie that the others needed him, that he needed to go, now.

They’d killed Pennywise. Surely they’d killed him?

“You’re dead!” Eddie screams when he finally manages to get his breath back again. “We fucking killed you!” he adds, desperate now. He can feel his legs give out on him at the same time as his ass hits the side of the bed, misses the landing, and hits the ground hard. Tears fill his eyes, half from pain, half from fear, and he glares up into the blank sky and screams, “We killed you!” around a sob stuck in his throat.

Oh god, he thinks, Oh god, we came back here and for what? he wonders, allowing the tears to overwhelm him. He shoves his face into his hands and just lets himself cry, shoulders shaking as he thinks of his friends. If he’s here, in whatever the fuck this place is, all alone, what happened to the rest of them? Are they somewhere here too, or maybe in their own nightmare of Pennywise’s devising? Eddie thinks of Richie, of one of the last things he’d said to him (“I fucked your mom.”) and wishes more than anything that he could change it.

Suddenly, just as Eddie’s tears are reaching a crescendo, a sense of calm settles down on his shoulders and floods through his veins. Eddie shudders at the touch, hiccuping over another broken sob, and raises his head to stare up into the sky.

“What—” he tries, voice cracking. “What are you doing to me?” he tries again, this time managing to shape the words with his tongue. The calmness settles deeper inside of him, and then an all-consuming knowing settles into his soul.

“He is dead,” the voice promises, obviously referring to Pennywise. The tone is soothing this time, grandfatherly, deep, and even before the voice speaks, Eddie knows what it's going to say.

Pennywise is dead. He’s really dead. He can’t hurt Eddie anymore.

The knowledge sits there in Eddie’s mind for a long moment, seeping into him. He feels his limbs relax as he lets it in, and closes his eyes. His lips are still parted on half-spoken words, but after a moment, they drift shut too.

Pennywise is dead. He’s dead.

Eddie shudders at the thought, and finally opens his eyes. He stares dumbly at nothing. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, “Okay.” He just needs to sit with that for a minute. He knows somehow that it’s true, and sure this could all be some crazy, made-up mind game that Pennywise is playing on him, but it doesn’t feel like it is. Pennywise had always felt like madness, but this voice? It feels like benevolence.

Inhaling deeply, Eddie lets out a slow breath before managing to compose himself.

“Who are you?” Eddie asks again, quieter this time. His voice is shaking, and his ass hurts from falling so hard, but the fear feels farther away, now, just out of reach, like the voice is blocking him from feeling anything but calm.

“Maturin,” answers the voice finally.

Eddie nods his head. Maturin. Okay. Sure. Maturin. Whatever that means.

Before Eddie can ask another question, however, an image floats through his mind of a large turtle swimming through the stars in the sky, galaxies and nebula rushing by. On its back sits world, after world, after world — and then it's gone.

Eddie blinks, shocked. He doesn’t know how Maturin did that, put that image in his head, and while it’s a more thorough answer than Eddie could have asked for, it’s still vaguely horrifying to have something shoved into his mind like that. He shakes it off as best he can, and considers it.

“Uhm, so are you like… a god?” he asks disbelievingly. Eddie’s never really believed in god, but if he’s being honest with himself, after what he’d seen down there in the cistern, after what he’d seen when he was thirteen, it wouldn’t much surprise him.

“I am a guardian,” Maturin explains simply but dismissively, to the point where Eddie feels like he shouldn’t pry further. It sounds almost like Maturin wouldn’t tell him even if he asked, like a disgruntled adult who doesn’t feel the information is relevant.

Without missing a beat, Maturin repeats, “It is dead,” and another wave of knowing overwhelms Eddie.

It is dead. Pennywise is dead.

Right. Eddie understands. Pennywise is dead, but… “What happened to the others?” he asks. Some of the forced calm that had been holding his emotions hostage seems to drain out of him, a little at a time, and Eddie finds himself able to worry again.

It’s a question Eddie needs an answer to, and yet an answer that Eddie dreads.

“They are safe,” Maturin assures him.

Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief, and he nods mindlessly at the news, his head spinning. Fuck, they’re safe. Thank god they’re safe. Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if anything had happened to them. Not after everything they’d done.

And Richie. Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if something had happened to Richie, especially not after Eddie had done everything he could to save Richie from the deadlights.

But what about Eddie? Is he dead? Where is he? Why is he here?

“And…” Eddie hesitates, after a moment. “And me?” he asks a little breathlessly, nervous for the answer.

He expects a sense of sadness to imbue him the same way Maturin had made him feel calm, like Maturin’s feelings had been covering Eddie’s, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, Maturin simply repeats, “You have been asleep for a long time.”

Eddie immediately feels frustrated by the answer, and he glares up at the nothing above him furiously.

“You already said that!” he snaps, annoyed again. His anxiety over his own death is bad enough without Maturin acting all fucking mysterious about it. He just wants a straight fucking answer, is that too much to ask? “What the fuck does that even mean? And where am I? What am I doing here?” he demands, questions quickfire in the still air. His chest heaves with the ache of asking them, and he has to force his mouth shut before he can ask anything else, afraid, already, to know the answer to these.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Maturin replies, voice gentle but stern, “I try to help where I can,” he explains ambiguously. Eddie feels his hands curl into fists at his sides again, ready to angrily snap what the fuck does that mean, but Maturin doesn’t give him the chance, instead continuing, “You are between life and death. Your life hangs in the balance…”

Through the white nothingness comes an image, pressed to the center of Eddie’s eye. He can see himself, clothed in a blue hospital gown, face paler than the sheets and so fucking bloodless Eddie is shocked to witness his chest move with each breath. He can hear the beep of machines, and a soft, blurred sound in the background, as if someone is speaking. It’s a voice that Eddie thinks he recognizes, and then it’s gone.

Eddie blinks the image out of his eye, and stares, shocked.

“I am here to offer you a choice,” Maturin explains patiently, finally seeming to answer Eddie’s questions. “You can move on from this world,” he says, and a plain wooden door appears, suddenly, out of nowhere, to the left of Eddie. It’s not close to him. It’s close enough that Eddie can see clearly what it is, but far enough that Eddie know’s he’d have to make the conscious decision to walk all the way to it. “Or I can take you back,” Maturin says, and another door appears to the right of Eddie, just as far as the first, but in a bright, gleaming gold this time.

For a second, Eddie doesn’t breathe. The choice seems so simple, so obvious. Of course he wants to go back! He’s only forty years old, he has a whole life ahead of him! He’s only just got the Losers back, and they killed that fucking clown! There’s nothing left to hold him back! He has a life in New York to get back to, a wife and —

A wife and…

A wife and nothing else but lies lies lies. Slowly, the same thoughts that had been going through Eddie’s mind since before they’d descended into Its lair drift back through his mind. He hadn’t wanted to die, but… he’d been so sure that he would. He’d wanted nothing more than to go home, but to what? The same thing he’d left twenty-two years ago, when he’d stepped foot out of his mother’s house for what he thought would be the last time, and walked right back into two months later?

Everything that he’d learned with the Loser’s that summer — the manipulation, the placebos, the realization that he was brave — had disappeared within two months of leaving Derry, and Eddie had found himself right back on his mother’s doorstep.

He never really left it again. Myra was everything his mother had been, and he’d gone right ahead and married her anyway. His life was a constant refrain of fear and illness and you’re too weak, Eddie bear, you need me, let me take care of you. When he’d packed his bag to come out here to Derry, he’d filled almost an entire suitcase with medications that Eddie didn’t even need, and it had only taken a few hours for Eddie to remember that he wasn’t sick, that he’d never been sick, and yet back in the cistern, he’d still used his inhaler as if it weren’t filled with camphor water and… and… what did Eddie really have to go back to?

He was stuck in a dead-end, boring job that he’d held for fifteen years, even though he hated it. He was a senior risk analyst with no hope of going anywhere else, making more money than he needed for a man who never spent a dime on himself outside of doctor's visits he didn’t need and medication that did nothing for him. His marriage had been dead in the water from the moment he’d said I do — probably even before that, if he’s being honest — and he and Myra both knew it.

He didn’t really have anything to go back to. He didn’t have a life, not really. He’d been living a goddamn nightmare for twenty-two years, and he couldn’t even begin to fathom how to make a change big enough to make a difference.

He did have the Loser’s now, though. Surely they would be there to help him? But they also had lives of their own to get back, and Eddie couldn’t imagine any of them could have also fucked their lives up so bad that they wouldn’t want to go back to them. Maybe Bev, because she had always been in the same boat as Eddie in some way, with a parent who hurt them in different but fundamentally similar ways. But Bev would have Ben, and would Eddie have anybody, really? Would any of them really want to put up with all of the bullshit that had eroded Eddie away into a nervous wreck? He’d always been a hypochondriac, he knew that, but this was somehow different.

Would they even stay friends, after all of this? It had been twenty-two years for some of them, twenty-seven for even more of them. They didn’t know each other anymore. They might have acted like best friends back in the Jade of the Orient, but that was akin to a high school fucking reunion. You might stay in touch for a few weeks, maybe a few months, after seeing each other again, but eventually, it all faded away...

What if they forgot each other again? The very idea of it makes Eddie’s soul ache, and he gasps back a sob stuck in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut in pain just remembering them. Remembering that summer, and the summers that came after as they each slowly started to drift away until there was no one but him, and Richie, and Mike… and then they were all gone. For twenty-two years, Eddie had forgotten the people who had meant the most to him, and the idea of getting them back, only to lose them again, is more than Eddie can take.

It takes a long moment, but eventually Eddie opens his eyes to stare up into the nothingness and blurts out, “I saved their lives, didn’t I?” He asks it like a question, but it’s not really a question at all. He says, “I saved Richie from the deadlights, and I told the others how to kill Pennywise, and I…” Eddie trails off, chest aching with the bone-deep knowledge that he has done so much more with his life in the past forty-eight hours than he has in twenty-two years.

Maturin says, “Yes.”

Eddie nods. He doesn’t have a reply for that. All he can think is, isn’t that enough?

Before he knows it, hot tears are streaming down his cheeks again, and Eddie reaches up in astonishment to wipe them away. He hadn’t even realized he’d begin to cry. His chest hurts so bad. Slowly, Eddie wraps his arms tight around himself and squeezes hard.

“Fuck,” he gasps and shakes his head. He can feel himself shaking, but it isn’t from the cold. Something like a burning pain rips through his heart when he thinks about dying, but more than anything he just wants to know — “Will they be okay?” he asks through shaking lips.

Maturin makes a deep noise that Eddie can’t begin to articulate, and then he says “Let me show you.”

For the third time, images ripple forward against Eddie’s eyes, until it’s all that he can see. He gasps, and he’s back in the blackness that was Its lair, a stark contrast to the white place he’d been in before. It’s too dark for him to see anything here. There are strong, warm arms wrapped around him, a desperate grip against his skin, and hot, warm tears soaking into his neck. He can hear screaming around him and the roar of a collapsing building.

“Come on Richie, we have to go!” someone is saying, but all Eddie can really hear is the desperate, wet gasping pressed into the column of his neck. “Let’s go man, let’s go!” another someone is saying — Ben, or Bill maybe…

“No,” Eddie hears Richie whimper against his ear, and, with a shock, Eddie realizes who it is that’s holding him. “No, no, no!” Richie screams, and there’s a grappling sensation, like Eddie’s body is being shoved around. Richie doesn’t let go of him, and then Eddie hears “We can still help him guys, we can still help him!” screamed in a desperate plea so heart-wrenching that Eddie can’t bear to hear it.

He gasps out a choked sob of his own, but it goes unnoticed in the flurry.

Someone pries Richie’s arms from him.

“No, please, let go of me!” Richie screams, scrabbling for Eddie, his fingertips grasping at the edges of Eddie’s jacket, and then slipping on through. “Please, no, we can still help him, we can help him!” Richie begs, and Eddie feels another sob wrench free of him. The sound turns into a gasp, and despite the fact that it’s a memory Maturin is showing him, the reaction seems to have happened in real time because Richie screams “He’s breathing! Guy’s he’s breathing, please, help me!”

There’s another desperate scramble, another scream, this time of pain, and then Richie’s holding him in his arms again. Eddie knows it’s Richie because of the shudder in his breathing, the tears dripping down onto Eddie’s face now, the way Richie’s hands are cupping his cheeks, searing in their warmth.

“Stay with me Eds,” he begs, gasping the words around broken sobs, “We’re going to get you out of here…”

“Richie, come on!” Someone yells — Mike?

“We have to get out of here!”

Eddie can hear it, the sounds of the cave falling apart around them. His heart drops to the pit of his stomach, and for a moment he wonders did we make it out alive until he remembers that Maturin had promised him yes, that Maturin had shown Eddie himself in a hospital bed.

“He’s alive, guys, help me!” Richie screams again, and finally, finally, more arms grab at his body. Eddie can feel it as someone grabs his legs, as Richie releases his face, and scrambles around to grip him under the arms, and lift him up. Eddie feels himself be cradled against Richie’s chest even as he grunts, even as he runs, and feels warm.

“Why did you show me that,” Eddie gasps as the images leave his mind. He can feel the tears dripping freely down his face now, and his heart hurts. He doesn’t understand. “I asked if they’d be okay, why did you show me that!?” he demands, letting out a harsh sob. His hands are trembling as he reaches up to dash the tears away, and he swallows thickly, glaring into the white nothing. “Why!?” he shouts, when he still hasn’t received an answer.

“To show you what you missed,” Maturin answers. Eddie expects him to sound remorseful, but he doesn’t.

“Well, I didn’t want to see them when it happened!” Eddie screams, clawing at his face in frustration. “I — I — I knew they’d — They’d be upset and they’d — They’d mourn me but —”

“Did you?” Maturin accuses, piercing Eddie straight through the heart in a place of deep, deep self-hatred that told Eddie that they might cry, but that they hadn’t known him long enough as an adult to really mourn him.

At that moment, he hates Maturin for understanding him so well.

“Show me something else,” he demands, shaking his head roughly, glaring into the nothingness. “Show me — you said I’ve been asleep for a long time. Show me how they are now. Show me how they’re doing now,” he begs, his breathing harsh and heavy as he attempts to pull himself together and stop crying.

He just wants to know that they’ll be okay. He just wants to know if he can move on without leaving something important behind.

Maturin says, “As you wish.”

Eddie feels his eye open to the images again, and shudders at the sensation. He feels rubbed raw, as an image solidifies around him. He’s in the hospital room again — he can tell from the mint walls and the beeping of a heart monitor. He isn’t looking down on his own face this time, but at the ceiling. As Eddie settles into the moment he realizes that this time, he can move his own gaze, as if he’s inhabiting his living body and borrowing it to take a peek into the real world. He’s certain that he’s not actually moving even as he turns his head and gazes at the man sitting beside him.

It’s Richie.

Maturin hadn’t told him how long he’d been sleeping — all he’d (rather unhelpfully) said was “a long time”. Eddie isn’t sure how long “a long time” is, but from the sound of it, it had been at least more than a few days. So why is Richie still at his bedside?

Richie… does not look good. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days, a dark scruff dotted around his jawline, and his eyes have dark bags underneath them. He’s dressed in a clean t-shirt with a zip-up hoodie tight around his biceps and Eddie realizes — that’s one of his hoodies. One of the blue ones he’d packed into his bag before he’d come to Derry.

It doesn’t fit Richie very well, and Eddie can’t imagine how he’d gotten it other than Richie going through his luggage to find it. He’s not sure he can bear to consider why.

It looks good on him, despite the small size.

The heavy sensation of crying is still crowding against Eddie’s chest, and the sight of Richie in Eddie’s jacket makes it strangle him tighter. He has to swallow thickly to kick it back down, and even then only because he worries what’ll happen if he cries just then.

He can’t be certain, but when he’d sobbed during that memory of Eddie’s near-death, it had felt like Richie had heard it. He doesn’t want Richie to hear him cry again.

Instead, Eddie takes in the deep lines on Richie’s face, the obvious signs of pain and fatigue, and wishes that he could wipe them away.

“What are you still doing here?” a voice Eddie had almost forgotten about over these last couple of days says, cutting through the thick silence of the hospital room. Eddie only realizes that Richie is staring at Eddie’s face when Richie doesn’t look away to answer her.

“The same thing I do every day, Pinkie,” Richie says in a hollow tone. “Taking over the world.”

Myra doesn’t laugh, but Eddie wouldn’t have expected her to. She scoffs instead, clearly unimpressed with Richie’s sense of humor — not that Richie seems all that jazzed about it right now, either. Eddie doesn’t remember a time he’d heard Richie sound like this.

Eddie hears the sound of a chair being dragged closer to his bed, and turns his head to finally take in Myra. She looks as put together as she always does as she slips into a chair on the opposite side of Eddie from Richie. She’s done her hair and makeup, and in contrast to Richie, doesn’t look as if she’s lost a day of sleep.

“Well I don’t know why you keep coming back here,” Myra sneers, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, and reaching out to take Eddie’s hand in hers. It dwarfs Eddie’s, and Eddie can feel the soft clamminess of it. He tries not to recoil in disgust, but now with his memories returned to him, with the knowledge that Eddie never loved Myra and she was just a replacement for his mom when she died, he can’t stand the thought of Myra touching him.

He knows it’s unfair. She’s his wife, and he’s lying in a hospital bed in what appears to be a coma. She’s allowed to be worried.

The problem is, Eddie can’t help thinking that she doesn’t look worried at all.

“There’s been no change in the last few weeks,” Myra mutters in a volume that is much too loud to really be a mutter, but sounds just as begrudging. “All the rest of your little friends are long gone, so why are you still here?” Myra asks shrewdly, and something about her tone reminds Eddie so distinctly of his mother that he doesn’t know how he never noticed it before now.

Richie doesn’t answer her.

Myra makes a “harumph” noise. “Don’t know why I even let you in here,” Myra snarls to herself, squeezing her fingers tightly around Eddie’s.

“You couldn’t make me leave if you tried,” Richie snaps, and his tone is so hostile that Eddie’s head snaps to look at him. There’s a look of deep resentment in his gaze, a flash of anger that burns hot there.

Even before Myra responds, Eddie knows it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m his wife!” she challenges him harshly. “And I could have you kicked out of here in a heartbeat,” she hisses, glaring at Richie. Eddie can see the way that Richie clenches his jaw in reaction to this, how his teeth grind together for a moment, before he inhales deeply, and lets his shoulders sag in defeat.

“I know,” he mumbles back, avoiding Myra’s gaze now. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he adds, and at best it's begrudging, but it seems to pacify Myra. Her grip loosens on Eddie’s hand.

“You’re welcome,” she replies pompously, and they both shut up.

In the silence, Eddie finds himself wondering why Myra is letting Richie stay. If he’d had a moment to think about what would have happened after Myra showed up, it would have been the Losers being banned from Eddie’s hospital room. At best, he’s shocked at Myra’s kindness, and at worst, he’s wondering what it is she’s angling for here.

It only takes a moment for Eddie to make the connection. It had been the same, with his mom. Once Eddie had gotten old enough to realize that he didn’t have to do every single thing she said, she’d started using Eddie’s friends as bargaining chips. She’d allow him to stay at their houses for longer and longer periods of time, knowing that if she did, Eddie would turn around and take his medicine just the way she’d asked, or stay home watching movies with her on her birthday, or allowing her to coddle him when he got sick.

Myra had always been much the same way, giving Eddie what she thought he might want because she knew if she did, then Eddie would owe her.

She was allowing Richie to stay because she thought it might get her something from Eddie when he woke up.

Eddie clenches his teeth at the very thought. He hates that he’s allowed both his mother and Myra to use him like that. He hates that he ever thought it was okay. How much of a tyrant has Myra been to Richie, to the rest of his friends, just for the satisfaction of knowing that she’s doing Eddie a favor by letting them stay here?

Eddie wonders if Myra ever blamed them for Eddie’s… accident. The thought of it makes him ache for his friends. He knows his wife well, can only just imagine the venom she’s spit at them, and he wonders how Richie can still be around to take it.

Eddie blinks away a new set of tears, and suddenly the vision fades from his mind. His brow furrows immediately, and he blinks a few more times in confusion before he finally asks. “Wait, that’s it? What about the others?” He can’t help the frustration in his tone as he waits for a response.

“You asked to see them as they are now,” Maturin responds gravely. Eddie feels himself inflating with frustration, ready to scream, but Maturin continues, “I can only show you what your body has been there to witness.” His voice is calm, not unkind, but very serious.

Eddie deflates almost immediately.

“Right,” he mutters dully, and crosses his legs on the floor. He swipes a hand through his hair roughly, shoving it back against the top of his head for no other reason than to avoid yanking on it the way he’s so sorely tempted to do.

Of course, it’s not as simple as — as — whatever the fuck Eddie had been imagining. Maturin has done nothing so far to suggest that he can show Eddie just anything. Eddie himself has been in all three visions, so it makes sense that the only things Eddie can see are things he was there for or whatever. It’s just that… Eddie had really been hoping to see more than that.

He just wants to know if his friends are going to be okay without him. Would it be so bad, if he died? The idea of going back is terrifying to Eddie. He doesn’t know if there's anything worth going back for — that was the whole reason he’d asked — and so far all Maturin has shown him is Richie falling to pieces over Eddie’s nearly dead body and Myra treating Richie like shit, neither of which has done anything other than make Eddie feel sad.

He wants to know how long it’s been.

A long time, Maturin had said, and Myra had commented that there’s been no change in Eddie for weeks. Richie’s still there, though, sitting at his bedside, refusing to leave, and it just doesn’t make sense. Why is Richie still there? When did everybody else leave? Had they forgotten Eddie already, now that they were gone? Was that why Richie hadn’t left his bedside?

There are so many questions that Eddie wants the answers to so bad, but more than anything else, he just wants to see his friends.

He rubs his hands over his face and begs Maturin, “Please just… let me see them. All of them, or as many of them as you can get into one room. Before they left.”

Maturin doesn’t answer this time, but he does drag Eddie along into another memory.

“The doctors say he’s recovering well,” Bev announces as she walks into Eddie’s hospital room. Eddie’s already looking in her direction, so he doesn’t have to turn to see her.

She looks much the same as the last time he’d seen her except cleaner, more put together. She’s still in kids’ clothes, faded blue jeans that hit her mid-calf, and a long-sleeved white shirt. The only thing she’s missing is the key around her neck that she’d worn the summer of ‘89 and the thought makes Eddie smile.

She looks healthy, too. There’s a glow in her cheeks that hadn’t been there at the restaurant, and her eyes are bright. Eddie almost wants to say she looks happy, except she isn’t smiling as her eyes land on Eddie’s body. In fact, she frowns the moment she looks at Eddie, and the crease in her brow becomes obvious. There are worry lines all along her face that hadn’t been there before, and Eddie wonders, how long had I been asleep when this happened?

Unaware of who else is in the room just then, Eddieisn’t sure what kind of response to expect, but when Richie asks, “Then why hasn’t he woken up yet?” in a shockingly loud, harsh tone, Eddie immediately flinches. He turns to his right to find that Richie is sitting at his bedside again, only this time he looks a hell of a lot worse.

The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent than in the last memory, set into this sallow skin. His face looks gaunt, like he hasn’t been eating very much, and the messy, greasy look to his hair suggests he hasn’t showered in a few days either. His beard is even more grown in than when he’d been with Myra, making it rather prominent on his face, and it isn’t exactly a good look for him, either. The bottom is a lot more grey than the rest, betraying Richie’s age.

Looking at him, Eddie can see the grief pure on his face, and it makes his heart ache. God, is this what he’s doing to his friends? To Richie? Making them suffer, because he hasn’t decided whether or not he’s going to wake up?

Unable to face that thought just now, Eddie forces himself to look away. He almost regrets it, when he takes in the look of deep sympathy playing out on Bev’s face. There’s a gentle understanding to her gaze as she steps forward, moving into the space on the other side of Eddie’s bed.

“His body has been put through a lot, Richie,” she explains sadly, taking Eddie’s hand gently in hers. Unlike Myra’s touch, it doesn’t make Eddie want to recoil. In fact, it’s soothing, her skin soft and warm against the cold of his own.

Growling in frustration, Richie snaps back, “don’t you think I know that?”

Bev flinches back, eyes a little wide and wary. Richie glares at her for a long moment, his chest heaving with anger, and then, suddenly, it’s like he deflates. His face absolutely crumples and Eddie wants to cry. He’s never seen Richie look like that, ever.

“Sorry,” Richie mutters, sniffling. It doesn’t occur to Eddie that Richie is holding his hand until he lets go, and he misses the warmth immediately. Richie shoves his face into his hands roughly, miserably, and his shoulders start to shake.

“Oh, Richie,” Bev whispers, biting her lip and staring at him sadly. She doesn’t reach out to touch him, to comfort him, something that confuses Eddie. He wants to beg her to go to him, but she doesn’t. She looks tempted, almost desperate to do just that, but she doesn’t, and Eddie doesn’t understand why.

If he were awake, he’d already have Richie in his arms, hugging him tight and allowing him to cry into Eddie’s shoulder instead. Eddie’s done it before when they were kids, on nights when Richie couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares and cried softly in Eddie’s bed, unwilling to tell Eddie what was actually wrong.

Eddie still doesn’t know what used to make Richie cry like that, but it hadn’t been near as bad as the look on Richie’s face just a moment ago, before he’d hid it in his hands.

He aches to hold Richie, to make all of his sadness go away.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bev finally says after a long moment of allowing Richie to cry. She bites her lip, tears welling in her own eyes, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Richie, I promise.”

“How do you know that?” Richie asks hoarsely, voice thick with tears. When he looks up at Bev, his face is shiny and wet, eyes and nose a deep, painful-looking red. It offsets the darkness under his eyes, makes them look even more hollow.

Bev offers him a watery smile. “Because he’s still alive, Rich. Against all the odds,” she explains soothingly, the tears thick in her throat as well. Eddie watches as she swallows heavily past them, and keeps talking. “He’s been in and out of surgery for weeks, and the doctors say he’s getting stronger. He’ll wake up, Richie, I promise.”

Her eyes are gentle as she nods at Richie, her voice as encouraging as possible for someone holding back tears. Richie stares back at her brokenly, before nodding as well.

Richie goes back to crying softly into his hands, and Bev closes her eyes to visibly compose herself. After a moment, she takes the seat to the right of Eddie, and stares up into his face instead.

“Hey baby,” she murmurs softly to him, petting her fingers over the back of Eddie’s hand. Eddie wants to close his eyes at how gentle and tender it feels. When was the last time someone touched him like that? Not Myra, certainly — she could play gentle with him, but it didn’t feel tender, and more often than not she was likely to grip onto Eddie firmly and direct him to where she wanted him to be.

Bev touching him like this is everything that Eddie hadn’t known he’d been missing, and he finds himself crying again.

“We’re all waiting here for you when you’re ready to wake up, okay?” Bev offers sweetly after another moment. “And we’re not going to forget each other again, I promise,” she adds with a little laugh. “We’ve already checked. Ben had to head out a few days ago, and I was just talking to him this morning. He still knows who we all are,” she explains, sounding a little happier now. “He misses you,” she continues thoughtfully, as if she can feel that Eddie needs to hear it. “He’s sad that he couldn’t stay — work, you know — but I told him that you would understand,” she reassures him and pats the top of his hand.

Eddie wishes that he could tell her that he does understand. He does. He’d known his friends had lives outside of Derry now, lives that they would need to get back to, and just hearing that Ben hadn’t wanted to leave is more than enough.

And he remembers! He still remembers them! Maybe the magic died with Pennywise. Maybe Eddie doesn’t really have to be so scared.

Having said her piece to Eddie, Bev turns back to Richie again. He’s still sitting quietly on Eddie’s other side, sniffling now, but not crying. When Eddie looks at him, he can’t help feeling like Richie looks a little dead-eyed.

“Rich,” Bev says, drawing Eddie’s attention to her. “We’re all here for you, you know,” she tells him confidently, nodding her head fiercely when Richie doesn’t immediately respond. “We’re not going to leave you, either.”

Eddie doesn’t fully understand what she means by that, but Richie seems to. His lips twitch in a smidge of a smile, and he nods in return. “Yeah. I know,” he agrees.

Seeming appeased by this, Bev releases Eddie’s hand and gets up. “Well, I better step out and let Bill come say goodbye. He’s leaving this afternoon,” Bev explains as she turns around to leave. “I’ll be by tomorrow, give Mike a chance to visit with Eddie before Myra comes in,” she explains quietly.

She’s quiet as she leaves. For a moment, Eddie wonders why Bev had to step out for Bill to come in, and then it occurs to him that he might still be in the ICU. They mentioned he’d been in and out of surgeries, and if he’s in the ICU, he’s probably limited to two visitors at a time.

Bev had stepped out so that Richie wouldn’t have to.

Eddie’s chest tightens. He watches Richie closely then, realizing a little belatedly that Richie had mentioned being on tour at dinner the other night. Something melts inside of Eddie as he realizes that Richie clearly hasn’t left his side in weeks. He’s dropped everything for Eddie. For Eddie. Eddie doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so he does both.

It hurts, seeing this whole thing tear his friends up. A part of him is shocked that any of them are still here, and yet deep down inside of him, he isn’t surprised at all. Of course they’re still here for him. Did he really expect them to just up and leave? Did he really think that after twenty plus years of being without each other, they’d be willing to let each other go again?

Eddie knows that he isn’t willing to. Eddie knows that if it were any of his friends in this situation, he would do the same thing. Hell, he’d risked his own life to save Richie’s because Eddie doesn’t know what he would have done if Richie had died.

If Richie had been the one to get hurt down in the cistern, Eddie probably would have reacted just as passionately. And he knows that if it were Richie in this bed, Eddie wouldn’t leave his side either.

“Hey,” Bill says, drawing Eddie out of his thoughts, and sitting down in the seat Bev had vacated some time ago. Eager to see his friend, Eddie turns to look at him, and feels relief fill his veins. There’s just something so comforting about seeing the other Losers alive and well.

Bill looks healthy, and like Bev before him, there’s a lightness to him that hadn’t been there at the Jade of the Orient. It looks like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, a weight Bill had forgotten he was shouldering. He looks good, dressed up for travel and well put together.

“Hey,” Richie replies hoarsely. He clears his throat awkwardly, and tries to hide the fact that he’s been crying.

Bill doesn’t buy it. “How are you doing?” he asks gently in a voice similar to Bev’s, like he’s treading lightly. His gaze is sympathetic.

Richie shrugs, rather than answer, and turns to look out the window. Bill stares at the side of Richie’s face for a long time, before sighing audibly and turning his attention on to Eddie instead.

“Hey buddy,” Bill greets him, smiling. “I heard you’re healing pretty well,” he adds, eyes flickering to where Eddie is sure the bandage is wrapped around his body underneath the hospital gown. Bill’s lips twitch, like it’s hard, even now, to imagine Eddie’s injuries. He looks away quickly, back to Eddie’s face, which seems to be a much safer area to look at.

“We really miss you, you know,” Bill tries to say jokingly, in an obvious attempt to relieve some of the tension filling up the room. He glances over at Richie, and then back to Eddie when Richie doesn’t so much as twitch in response. “Especially Trashmouth over there,” Bill stage whispers, like it’s a secret, and obviously trying to drag something out of Richie, though what, Eddie doesn’t know. “I’ve never known him to be so quiet,” Bill teases, winking at Eddie’s prone body.

For the first time, Eddie realizes that Bill’s stutter is gone, and he marvels at that. Ben hadn’t forgotten them after leaving Derry, and Bill’s stutter is gone. Maybe the magic really is dead.

Bill’s humor is quick to disappear when Richie doesn’t immediately jump in to tease him back, or otherwise defend himself. It seems to bring Bill back to himself, because he sighs and says, “But you know, I really can’t stay much longer. I wish I could, I really do, but… I have to get home,” he explains regretfully, and he truly does look like the last thing he wants to do is leave.

Eddie aches with the knowledge, his heart swelling with a mix of happiness and sadness. His friends love him, there could be no clearer truth in the world, and he was hurting them.

Eddie doesn’t want to hurt them. He realizes then, with sudden clarity, that he wants to go back.

Seeming to pull himself back together, Bill smiles at Eddie and says, “So it would be really nice if you could maybe wake up now,” he teases, but there's a sadness to his voice this time that hadn’t quite been there before, like he knows that Eddie isn’t going to wake up for him, but he wants it so so bad.

There’s a beat where no one says anything. The beep of Eddie’s heart monitor is the only sound in the room.

Bill sighs.

“Tried that already,” Richie finally interrupts, turning to offer Bill a half-smile. Bill’s eyes are a little wet when he meets Richie’s gaze, but he huffs a quiet laugh regardless. “Asshole intends to keep us waiting,” Richie adds with a soft huff of his own, and glares playfully at Eddie. “I told him if he wakes up I’ll…” But Richie doesn’t continue. Instead, he turns to stare back outside the window, his lips trembling slightly.

Richie tangles his fingers together in his lap, and holds on tight.

Eddie feels his brow furrow. Richie’ll what?

Bill doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stares at the side of Richie’s face cautiously, thoughtfully, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or not. Finally, Bill leans in closer to Richie and asks, “Are you going to tell him?”

Richie doesn’t move. He doesn’t so much as twitch. He looks frozen in place, like the smallest move could break him. Bill bites his lip, but presses on, “You should tell him.”

Eddie blinks in confusion, and the memory dissolves.

Tell him what? What should Richie tell him?

“Have you decided?” asks Maturin, breaking through Eddie’s thoughts before he can even truly begin to consider what Bill had been talking about. Eddie’s eyes snap upwards, in the space where he’s decided Maturin must be, regardless of whether or not Eddie can see him, and nods his head slowly.

“Yeah… I mean,” Eddie mumbles, shaking his head to clear away the haze of confusion. He frowns, thinking about Richie and the way that he’d looked, sitting at Eddie’s bedside for so long. Sure, Bev and Bill had looked sad when they’d come to visit Eddie, but they hadn’t looked like Richie. Richie had looked absolutely destroyed. He’d been the only one there, too, in that first vision, and hadn’t Myra said that the rest of his friends were gone?

Eddie doesn’t understand.

He looks up again, and asks, “Why is Richie still there?”

There’s silence, for a long time, and then Maturin says, “He’s waiting for you.”

There’s no warning this time. Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to blink before he realizes that he’s back in the hospital room — only this time it’s dark. The lights are on, but the window is open and it’s clear that it’s nighttime.

For a moment, Eddie doesn’t understand what’s going on. He thinks, briefly, that he must have woken up without an answer to his question, and it makes him irrationally angry. He starts to rail against Maturin in his mind, thinking what the fuck does that even mean!? before he hears a quiet sob.

Eddie turns his head. Richie’s face is pressed against Eddie’s palm, and Eddie can feel tears dripping down Richie’s cheeks. He’s crying quietly, hiccuping over sobs the same way he had been down in the cistern, only softer this time, a little less frantic. He’s bent in half over Eddie’s bedside, so much so that Eddie can’t really see his face, but he can feel the heat of him from where Richie has pressed Eddie’s hand to his cheek.

“Wake up, Eddie,” Richie whispers, begging. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been crying for a very long time. “Please, just wake up,” he says again, “I’ll do anything just to hear your voice again.”

Eddie feels his heart launch into his throat, and suddenly he’s crying too. It hurts so fucking bad to see Richie falling apart like this.

Eddie wishes he could talk to Richie, that he could hold Richie back. But despite looking through his own eyes, Eddie knows that he can’t actually move his body. He knows, in fact, from Richie’s perspective, Eddie’s eyes aren’t even open. And he knows, above that, that this is just a memory.

Eddie couldn’t comfort Richie in this moment no matter how much he wants to, because it’s already happened.

“I just got you back,” Richie gasps after another moment, his voice sounding almost loud in the quiet room. Eddie’s lips tremble with anguish, because Richie looks so alone. “I’m not leaving you until you wake up,” Richie adds roughly, squeezing tight to Eddie’s hand.

Eddie closes his eyes, because looking at Richie like this hurts too much.

“Fuck,” Richie mumbles after a long moment of silence, and turns his head against Eddie’s palm. Eddie feels the soft, warm pressure of lips against his skin, and realizes that Richie is kissing the center of his palm.

It sends a jolt of shock through Eddie’s body, and he feels warm all over. His breath catches, surprised at the unexpected touch. Something like excitement sparks deep inside of him, and Eddie scrambles to understand.

“I never even got a chance to hold you,” Richie whispers against his palm, turning his head again so that Eddie is cupping his cheek. Eddie holds his breath, straining his ears to catch every last word of what Richie has to say. “You can’t die, Eddie,” Richie whimpers, shoulders shaking with his sobs. “Not yet. Fuck, Eddie, please… I never got to tell you…”

Tell me what!? Eddie wants to scream, but he knows that Richie can’t hear him. A thought claws at the back of Eddie’s mind, a memory, something that he’d felt back when he’d first seen Richie in the Jade of the Orient. Something that he’s felt for a very long time, but that he’d buried long before he’d even left Derry.

He hears something of that in Richie’s voice, and begs him tell me, Richie, just tell me.

Richie doesn’t. He just continues to cry.

“Please wake up, Eddie,” Richie whispers, “Wake up and I swear to god, I’ll tell you. But you have to wake up first. Please.”

Richie doesn’t raise his head, but he does turn his face and kiss the center of Eddie’s palm again. His lips are so warm and chapped against Eddie’s skin. It doesn’t feel like anything Eddie has ever felt before in his entire life — not when his mom used to kiss him on the forehead, not when Myra used to kiss him before bed. It’s not quick and perfunctory, it’s long and leisurely and so fucking fierce that Eddie burns with it.

It’s something that Eddie has wanted for a long time, and as he stares at Richie he sees something in his eyes that tells him that maybe Richie has wanted it just as long.

Eddie’s heart bursts, and he remembers.

When Eddie was sixteen, the summer just before his senior year, his mom decided that they were going to move to New York to live with Eddie’s aunt. Her health had been declining for years, and Eddie’s mom had volunteered to come and care for her.

Eddie hadn’t had a choice. He was too young to live on his own, let alone fight his mother to stay behind in Derry, and he wasn’t naive enough to think that he could get away with running away, so he’d been forced to accept his fate.

He, Richie, and Mike were the last of the Losers left in Derry at the time, and even before he left, Eddie knew that everything was about to change. They’d watched Bev, Bill, Ben, and then Stan leave, and while all four of them had promised to call, to come back and visit, they never did. It was like something happened to you when you left Derry, because none of them could really believe that their friends would have just forgotten them like that.

The first time, sure. Maybe Bev just didn’t want to think about what had happened in Derry anymore, maybe she didn’t feel as close to the rest of the Losers as they had to her. But then Bill had gone, Big Bill who Eddie had been friends with since first grade, and it just didn’t make sense.

So, by now, they knew. They knew that the moment one of them left Derry, they’d never hear from each other again. The realization that this was Eddie’s last chance to tell Richie how he felt had been a difficult pill to swallow, but in the end, he’d decided he had nothing left to lose.

This time, when Eddie remembers, it's not an image pressed to his eye by Maturin, it’s just a memory.

Eddie’s lying in the middle of his bare mattress, sheets stripped away and shoved into a bag at Eddie’s feet. He can hear the movers downstairs, dragging furniture out into the front lawn. He knows it’s going to take them a while to pack everything downstairs into the moving van, so he has time to laze about and wait for Richie to come say goodbye to him.

He’d reading a comic book Richie had given him for his birthday last year — X-Men #4, The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants!

(Eddie had kept that comic for sixteen years, until his wife found it buried in a box full of Eddie’s old college things and threw it out. He hadn’t remembered what it was, then.)

He remembers now, and though the comic hadn’t really been anything special, it had been one of the few items not already packed up before the move. He and Richie had always read comics together, from their days in the hammock all the way through high school. It felt like home, holding that comic, flipping through the pages and scanning over the art, and Eddie was comforted by it.

He’s anxious. He hasn’t decided yet what he’s going to say to Richie when he arrives, but he’s promised himself that he won’t let Richie say goodbye without telling him how he feels. He keeps tapping his foot against the edge of his bed, his eyes darting from his comic to the door and back, over and over again. He’s not looking at his door when Richie comes in.

“Hey loser,” Richie announces himself, pushing Eddie’s door open without knocking. Eddie jumps at the sudden arrival, and frowns at his best friend, but doesn’t comment on the nickname.

“Hey,” he greets back instead, his voice a little subdued, and watches as Richie approaches the bed and flops down on it next to Eddie, uninvited, laying down too. Eddie rolls his eyes but knocks shoulders with Richie companionably anyway. He feels warm all the way down his arm where they touch, and only pulls away reluctantly.

“What’cha reading?” Richie asks, plucking the comic book from Eddie’s hands. Instinctively, Eddie snatches the comic back quickly and shoves it to the other side of his bed, next to his open backpack. Richie stares at him in shock, and Eddie grimaces.

“Woah, Eds, calm down,” Richie teases him, though he looks concerned. “You hiding a playboy or something?” he asks with a nervous grin.

Eddie huffs angrily and glares at the ceiling. “No fucknut, don’t be disgusting,” he spits at him, thinking I just don’t want anything to happen to the comic if we screw around with it. He doesn’t say the words aloud, though, because he knows he sounds ridiculous. It’s just that… Richie had given that to him, and Eddie doesn’t want anything bad to happen to it, not when… when soon it’ll be all Eddie has left of Richie.

“Right,” Richie replies dubiously, arching a brow at Eddie. Eddie groans, and shoves his face into his hands.

“Stop being an asshole, Richie,” Eddie hisses defensively. “I’m leaving today, remember?” he snaps at him, more harshly than he’d intended. He winces at his own words, but avoids Richie’s gaze, staring up at the ceiling instead.

“I know that, Eds,” Richie replies softly, his voice quiet and a little sad, and all it does is remind Eddie of why Richie is here right now. He’s been trying so hard not to think about it, not really. For the past week, he’s acted like nothing has changed, but now he has to face the fact that he’s leaving in the next few hours and… it’s just, this is all so fucking unfair.

He doesn’t want to go to New York. He doesn’t want to leave Derry. Or, well, fuck, he doesn’t want to leave Derry like this. He and Richie had promised each other months ago that they’d leave Derry together, that they’d apply to the same schools and leave at the same time and force themselves to remember each other if it was the last thing they ever did, and Eddie wanted that so bad, but then his mom had to go and screw it all up.

The anxiety and pain bubble up and over until Eddie’s blinking back tears, avoiding Richie’s gaze. He’s been pushing it all down for so long that it’s almost not a surprise that he’s falling apart right now, even if he doesn’t want to be.

He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to talk to Richie, because now Eddie can’t even think of confessing to Richie when all he wants is to stay here.

Holding back his tears, Eddie reaches down between his and Richie’s body and scrabbles for Richie’s fingers. He takes Richie’s hand into his the moment their palms touch and hangs on tight. Richie jumps at the contact, but it’s only a moment before Richie locks their fingers together like they used to do as kids.

Eddie’s heart squeezes tight, and he bites his bottom lip.

Fuck, fuck, he’s going to lose this. In just a few short hours, he’s going to lose this forever, and he doesn’t know how to come to terms with it.

“Eddie?” Richie murmurs when Eddie doesn’t say anything else. He squeezes Eddie’s hand comfortingly in his, and waits him out. Richie is so rarely patient, but even for how much of a loudmouth he is, Richie has always known when to simmer down and take care of his friends.

And Eddie’s going to lose all of it.

“We can still try, right?” Eddie finally bursts out, his voice thick with tears. “We can still try to like… see each other again?” Eddie begs Richie, finally opening his eyes and turning his head on the bed to stare at Richie. Richie mimics his movements until they’re both staring at each other. Eddie has tears in his eyes that he’s trying to blink back, and Richie looks so, so fucking lost that Eddie wants to throw up.

“Of course, Eds,” Richie murmurs back, offering him an unconvincing smile. “You’ve got that list of schools we agreed upon, right? We’ll just pick one and…” But even as Richie suggests it, Eddie knows that it won’t work. There’s no guarantee that they’ll both get in, and even if they do, there’s no way to be certain that Eddie will remember which school they’d agreed upon.

Eddie suddenly lets out a broken sob, and rolls over to shove his face into his mattress. His arm hurts from the way he’s laying on it, but he refuses to release Richie’s hand.

“Eddie,” Richie whines, rolling into Eddie’s side and pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Hey, Eddie, don’t cry,” Richie begs him, shoving his face against Eddie’s cheek so that his cold nose is pressed against Eddie’s skin. Eddie can feel his breathing hot on his face, and wishes more than anything that he had the courage to turn and kiss him.

He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s crying too hard, and he can’t think of confessing to Richie right now when all Eddie wants to do is crawl into his arms and never let go.

He doesn’t want to go. He so desperately doesn’t want to go.

“Shh,” Richie whispers into his ear, rubbing his arm up and down Eddie’s side and squeezing the fingers of his other hand. “Hey, shh, it’s going to be alright,” Richie promises him.

“No, it’s not!” Eddie wails into his mattress, sniffling hard. Richie holds him tighter.

“Hey, you don’t know that,” Richie soothes him, “We don’t know what happens when you leave Derry, Eds, it’s all just —”

“You forget everything!” Eddie interrupts him, hiccuping over another sob. “You forget all of your friends and you promise to call and then you never do and — and — and —”

Eddie isn’t capable of completing that thought, merely continuing to cry into his stripped bare mattress. He’s getting tears and snot all over it and it’s gross, okay, it’s so fucking gross, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care.

“But we don’t know that for sure, Eds,” Richie reasons with him, voice so quiet and soft against Eddie’s ear. Eddie shakes in his arms but doesn’t answer. “What if… what if it’s not like that?” Richie suggests. Eddie goes to interrupt him, but Richie cuts him off and says, “No, listen. What if once you're on the other side, you just can’t communicate with those in Derry?” he asks, voice filled with hope.

Eddie wants to scream that doesn’t make it any better, but he doesn’t. He hangs onto Richie’s words, and begs the universe to let them be true.

“What if, once I get out of Derry too, I remember you and I come and find you, hmm?” Richie suggests, petting Eddie’s side. “What if we pick somewhere to meet in a year, and promise we’ll both show up? You can write it on one of your planners, and I’ll write it down in my old yearbook, and we’ll see each other again,” Richie promises him, jostling Eddie in his arms a little, and asking, “hmm? Hmm?”

Still crying, Eddie nods his head and says, “Okay,” even as he knows that it’s possible they’ll never see each other again. He wants nothing more than to hope Richie is right, that somehow this will all work out in the end. Maybe he’ll cross the Derry border and he’ll still remember Bill, and Ben, and Bev, and Stan, and maybe he’ll hunt down their numbers and they’ll remember him too, and they’ll all sit and wait for Richie to graduate so that he can come join them at last.

Maybe they haven’t forgotten, Eddie thinks, hopes… Maybe Richie’s right, and they just can’t reach us here in Derry.

Eddie sobs harder, the fear bone-deep that it isn’t true.

Richie continues to hold him, rocking Eddie gently in his arms as he continues to cry. He murmurs, “it’s going to be okay,” over and over again, like a mantra they’re both holding on to. Eddie imagines turning to Richie and pressing his face into his chest, imagines digging his fingers into Richie’s shirt and never letting go.

He imagines kissing him, and Richie kissing him back, and Eddie still having to get up and go downstairs and leave for New York.

He can’t do it. He can’t put himself or Richie through that. He can’t imagine how much it would hurt to find out Richie likes him too, only to lose him almost immediately afterwards. What kind of a goodbye present would that be for Richie, anyway, to leave him behind with all of his memories of Eddie still intact, knowing that Eddie has forgotten him? Or if Eddie hasn’t forgotten, knowing that he won’t be able to see him again for over a year?

Eddie can’t do it.

He cries himself hoarse, and then cries for a little bit longer, and then finally sits up and wiggles out of Richie’s arms. He rubs his face raw against the palms of his hands, and then rubs his hands against his jeans, scrubbing the tears away.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles regretfully, avoiding Richie’s gaze.

“It’s okay,” Richie murmurs back, and knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s.

They sit in another long silence, in which Richie drops his head onto Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie sits there and lets him. They don’t speak again until Eddie’s mom calls him downstairs, and then Richie grabs a pen and a piece of paper from off of Eddie’s desk, and sits down to write.

“Times Square, August 18th, 1993. One year from now,” Richie declares heartily, and nudges it into Eddie’s hands. Eddie takes it carefully, tears blurring at his eyes again. “I promise to meet you there.”

Richie’s grin is so young and boyish, filled with a fragile hope that Eddie is sure is reflected on his own face. Eddie forces a grin, and says, “I promise.”

When Eddie opens his eyes again, he’s back in that empty, white space, aching for what he’d lost. He doesn’t regret not telling Richie he loved him back then, especially not knowing what he does now. It wouldn’t have changed anything — Eddie still would have gone to New York, and by the time he was halfway there, he would have already forgotten Richie. He still would have gone twenty-two years without his best friends, and he still would have married Myra.

The only difference might have been that Eddie would have had one, last, shining moment with Richie before he walked out of his life for so long, but even then, Eddie doesn’t regret not doing it. If Richie means what Eddie thinks he means, if he wants to tell Eddie what Eddie thinks he wants to tell him, then Eddie is glad he didn’t leave Richie behind to suffer without him.

But that means that Eddie can’t leave him now.

He wants to go home. He wants a second chance. He wants to see his friends again, and have the life that had been stolen from him twenty-two years ago. He wants to see Richie and find out what it is that Richie wants to tell him, and even if it isn’t what he's hoping, he wants a chance to tell Richie that he loves him.

Richie stayed at his bedside for weeks, endured Myra and what Eddie can only assume was her hatred for a group of friends she’d never met. His friends had carried him out of the cistern and stayed with him in the hospital for as long as they could, and Eddie… well Eddie survived.

He wants to keep on surviving.

“I’ve made my decision,” he tells Maturin.

That same, grandfatherly air is in his voice when Maturin replies, “I am glad when I can help.”

Eddie asks, “How long has it been?”

“Fifty-eight days, Eddie Kaspbrak,” Maturin explains, and says, “Your family is waiting for you.”

Eddie smiles, because he knows that it’s true. He turns and faces the golden door, and without looking backwards, he moves towards it. It takes him fifteen steps exactly to reach it, and when he takes the doorknob in hand and opens it, the world goes black.

**

Eddie opens his eyes slowly. There’s a dull throbbing sensation in his head and in his torso and in his back that hadn’t been there when Maturin had shown him the Losers, and Richie, and Myra. It’s a new, annoying sensation that reminds Eddie he’s recovering. He can hear the heart monitor beeping behind him, the sound a little less steady now that Eddie is stirring, and there's light streaming in through the open window.

He’s groggy, unlike when he was in that strange, white, nothingness, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize that it’s because there are drugs in his system. It takes another minute for him to become aware enough to actually look around, and when he does, he’s disappointed to find that Richie isn’t in the exact same spot he’s been in every other time that Eddie has seen him.

Myra’s there, though, and she’s reading a book, her back turned towards Eddie. She hasn’t noticed that he’s awake yet, which Eddie has to admit is a relief. He needs another moment before he can even think of handling the incoming freak out he’s sure is coming

Eddie takes his first real, deep breath in a long while, and groans when it causes a searing pain to rip through his body.

Myra jumps, and turns to him.

“Eddie!” she shouts in shock, immediately dropping her book to the ground and reaching out with clammy hands to take Eddie’s in hers. Eddie recoils automatically, thrown off by her soft touch, and missing Richie’s calloused hands. He struggles against her, but her grip only seems to grow tighter, so Eddie gives up before he hurts himself.

“Eddie bear, how are you feeling? Are you alright? Are you in any pain, discomfort? Should I ask the nurses for more painkillers?” she asks him, leaving no room for an answer. A concern that Eddie hadn’t seen previously suddenly seems to reside in the soft, puffy grimace of her face.

Eddie hates it, recognizing for the first time in his life just how false it really is. He can see his mother in that look, the faux concern that had controlled Eddie’s life for so long…

Without waiting for any answer from Eddie, Myra immediately launches into a rant. “Oh, Eddie I told you not to come here! I told you that you couldn’t look out for yourself! I told you, didn’t I?” she demands of him, brow folding into a worried line, her lips trembling. “And now you’re here, in the hospital, and the doctors aren’t even sure if you’ll ever walk again! They said there could be brain damage, Eddie! Bain damage!” she presses, squeezing his hand between hers, and practically dry sobbing around the words.

Eddie doesn’t miss the fact that there aren’t any real tears, and he squirms under her touch. This all reminds him too much of his mother, and he doesn’t know how he’s never seen it before. Crocodile tears, they were called. Myra had been using them on Eddie their entire marriage, but this time he isn’t buying it.

“Where’s Richie?” Eddie croaks, finally finding his voice.

Myra immediately stops wailing, and stares at Eddie with wide eyes, as if she’s never seen him before in her life. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, astonished. Then her face hardens, and she straightens up in her chair. The worry and concern are gone.

Eddie hadn’t answered any of her questions. Eddie hadn’t told her it was going to be okay, the way he used to when Myra made a fuss about something. Eddie wasn’t playing the docile husband Myra was so used to, and it was clear she didn’t know how to handle it.

“You mean that awful comedian?” Myra spits after a long moment, scoffing at Eddie. She finally releases his hand and tosses her hair over her shoulder, glaring hard at nothing. Eddie watches her bend to pick up her fallen book and place it on the table next to Eddie’s bed, all without looking directly at him. “He’s gone home, and it’s about time, too,” Myra says, her nose in the air. “He and the rest of your little friends are who put you in this position in the first place, and look what they’ve done! They’ve left you here all alone to fend for yourself! This is why you need me, Eddie bear. I’m the only one who can take care of you,” Myra continues in a haughty tone, talking too fast for Eddie to keep up with. His brain is still slow and sluggish from the drugs, but eventually Myra’s words seem to register with him, and Eddie goes still.

Richie went home? No… he couldn’t have. That doesn’t sound right. Eddie had just seen him, hadn’t he? When Maturin first showed him what was going on in real-time. Surely it hasn’t been that long since the first vision?

Besides, why would Richie have left? It’s been almost two months, and if Richie hadn’t gone home already, why would he go now?

Because it’s been nearly two months, and you still hadn’t woken up, some part of Eddie tells himself, and he goes cold inside. Fuck, had he been too late? Had Richie really given up on him and left, after all this time? Before he could tell Eddie — whatever it was he was going to tell Eddie?

A slow trickle of panic seems to make its way into Eddie’s brain despite the drugs, and he turns his head away from Myra to check the other side of his bed again. There’s no sign of Richie there, not that Eddie even knows what to look for, but… had Richie really gone?

Eddie’s heart plummets, and he frowns hard at Richie’s empty chair. He knows, logically, that it’s not Richie’s fault if he finally went home. There were no signs that Eddie was going to wake up any time soon, and it doesn’t reflect badly on Richie if he needed to get back to his own life now. Eddie also knows that this isn’t his only chance to ever see Richie again, he knows all he’d have to do is call him and Richie would come running right back but… Eddie wants Richie to be here now. He doesn’t want Myra, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want to go home with her.

Before he can really think about it, Eddie croaks, “You’re lying.” He’s surprised at himself for all of a moment, and then the thought rings true. It would not surprise Eddie at all if she was lying.

Myra stops dead again. Her eyes are wide as she stares at Eddie, clearly shocked at his words, and then they narrow.

“What did you say, dear?” she asks, sickeningly sweet, daring him to repeat himself.

Eddie grits his teeth and manages, “Where’s Richie?”

Myra glares at him. “I told you, he’s gone home, where he belongs,” Myra dismisses him easily, but she’s avoiding Eddie’s eyes. She’s looking somewhere around Eddie’s chin, and her chest is heaving like she’s holding back from screaming at him. Eddie’s eyes narrow, and he shifts on the bed, looking for the call button on the side of his bed. The moment he finds it, he jams his fingers against it over and over again.

He needs someone else in here to tell him what’s going on and where Richie is. Surely someone knows where Richie is, and maybe one of the nurses can go and get Richie for him. Anything would be better than being stuck here with Myra all alone, with her lies and deceit and crocodile tears.

Suddenly, Eddie wants nothing more than to be free of her right fucking now.

“Eddie?” Myra asks him, half-hysterical, “Eddie, what are you doing? Who are you calling?” she demands, grappling for Eddie’s hand and finally forcing it away from the call button. Eddie struggles against her for just a moment, until his chest starts to hurt too badly and he’s forced to stop, gasping roughly through the pain. Myra opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something else, but then someone knocks lightly on his room door and strides right on in.

It’s a dark-skinned nurse in green scrubs, her hair a little wild around her face, and the minute Eddie sees her he just knows that she hates Myra near as much as Eddie does. She looks like she’s barely hiding her annoyance at whatever racket Myra is making now, and she’s side-eyeing Myra in a way Eddie recognizes all too well.

Her eyes go almost instinctively to Eddie, however, and the moment she realizes that Eddie’s awake, she gasps “Oh!” entirely cutting off whatever she’d been about to say to Myra, and hurries over to Eddie’s side instead. “You’re awake,” she says, smiling down at him as she bustles over in front of Myra and starts taking his vitals. Her index and middle finger press against his pulse point, and she stares at his chest as she counts his respiration rate.

Eddie smiles wanly at her and nods. He means to ask her where’s Richie? but before he can, she launches into a series of questions of her own: do you remember your name, do you know where you are, are you feeling any pain?

Myra keeps trying to interrupt her, making a huge fuss about the poor lady “harassing” her husband, and demanding that she move out of the way so that Myra can hold Eddie’s hand, but the nurse merely speaks over her, clearly quite adept at dealing with Myra after nearly two months.

Eddie dutifully answers her questions, hoping the faster they get through this, the faster he can ask about Richie: my name's Eddie Kaspbrak, I’m in the hospital, I’m not in too much pain.

The first two answers are true. The third one, perhaps, is a bit of a lie. But Eddie doesn’t want the nurse to pump more drugs into his system, to make his head any cloudier than it is.

The nurse grabs Eddie’s chart from the end of his bed and begins noting things down as she talks to him. She reassures him that everything is going to be okay and that the doctor will be with him after he’s recovered a little more to discuss what’s happened. She asks Eddie to just stay calm and let her know if the pain gets any worse, and then reminds him that he’s doing very well considering his condition. She admits that he’s been in a coma for a couple of weeks, and pats his hand reassuringly as she says, “But you’re healing very well, Mr. Kaspbrak. The doctor will be glad to hear that you’re awake.”

Eddie endures all of this, and when the nurse finally seems to be done talking, he asks her a little impatiently, “Richie, where’s Richie?”

The nurse looks at him oddly for a moment, equal parts concerned with Eddie’s lack of concern with his welfare, and understanding of Eddie’s desire to locate his friend but eventually she smiles. “Your friend went down to the cafeteria about twenty minutes ago. He said that if you woke up, I should tell you ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’” she explains cheerily, a pleased smile on her face.

Eddie feels his chest fill up with warmth, and he finally relaxes, closing his eyes.

After checking over the monitors keeping track of his vitals, the nurse pats at his foot and takes her leave. Myra had shut up around the time the nurse was telling Eddie about his prognosis, and she’s still silent now. The silence feels heavy in the still room, both of them aware that Myra has just been caught in a lie.

Eddie knows, even before he opens his mouth, what’s coming next.

“Myra,” he starts, doing his level best to keep his voice steady.

“Oh Eddie bear, I’m so sorry!” Myra immediately wails, bursting into more fake tears. She shoves her face into her hands, and blubbers there. “I just — I just — he’s such a horrid man. He’s been horrible to me, Eddie bear!” she cries, her shoulders shaking, hiccuping around the words, and Eddie hates her. He hates her with every fiber of his being, because he knows that she’s lying, and he knows that she isn’t really crying, and he just wants her to leave so fucking bad.

“Myra,” he says again, interrupting her. Myra wails harder, as if she can drown out the sound of Eddie’s voice if she’s just loud enough. “Myra, listen to me,” he urges, his voice raspy and hoarse from the weeks of disuse. He can feel himself growing angrier and angrier with her until finally, he shouts as loud as he can “Goddamn it Myra! Shut up!”

Immediately Myra goes silent. She draws her face away from her hands and stares at Eddie in such stunned disbelief that he remembers the same moment he’d stood up to his mom a million years ago. She’d looked just as shocked as Myra does now.

Her eyes are red, and there are actual tears on her face, but Eddie isn’t falling for it this time. He can see right through it now, and he’s sick of it. He’s sick of being told that he’s weak, and that he can’t take care of himself, and that there’s something wrong with him, because there isn’t.

There isn’t.

He and his friends killed a supernatural space clown recently. Eddie is far from weak.

“Myra, go home,” Eddie says, and rolls his head away from her so that he doesn’t have to look at her anymore.

Myra makes a squawking noise. “What? Eddie bear, what are you saying?” she asks, her voice high pitched and strained.

“I want you to go home, Myra,” Eddie repeats, clearing his throat in an attempt to get rid of some of the raspiness there. It doesn’t help. “I don’t want you here,” he insists, glaring at the ceiling.

From his peripheral, Eddie sees Myra shaking her head. There’s a little disbelieving smile on her face as she reaches out to take Eddie’s hand again. Eddie snatches it away from her.

“Eddie, what are you talking about? You’re sick, and I need to take care of you, now,” she explains patiently, as if Eddie really does have brain damage. “I can’t leave you. I’m your wife.”

The very concept burns deep in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, and he spits “I want a divorce,” at her with as much vitriol as he can manage.

Myra gasps. “Eddie!” she shouts, appalled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You hit your head when that house collapsed, and now you’ve lost your mind!” she contends, beginning to cry again, big heaving sounds in the small hospital room. “I cuh-cuh-can’t leave you like this!” she wails, begging, “Please don’t make me go, Eddie bear!”

Myra throws herself at Eddie, as dramatic as possible even now, and clings to his arm. Disturbed, Eddie fights against her, straining his body and crying out in pain with each jerky movement. “Myra, get off me!” Eddie yells at her, “You’re hurting me!” he objects, gasping when he pulls too hard to the right and feels his body scream in protest at him.

Immediately, Myra releases him, looking miffed.

“Eddie bear, you’re hurting me,” she whines, and takes his hand roughly in hers again. Eddie doesn’t manage to dodge the touch this time, but he does reach over the side of his bed and slam his fingers into the call button again, still wrestling against his wife.

Myra gasps. “Eddie!” she cries, “What in the world are you doing? Why are you acting like this?” she whines, finally releasing Eddie as the same nurse from before turns the corner into Eddie’s room.

Before Eddie can so much as open his mouth, Myra demands, “Nurse —” and then cuts herself off without completing the title, as if she’d never gotten around to remembering the nurse’s name. She seems to shake it off quickly enough, as flippant as she’s always been with people whose jobs she thinks are beneath her notice. “My husband has clearly lost his mind,” she alleges angrily. “I think he needs to be put back to sleep until he calms down. He’s speaking absolute gibberish, and I implore you not to listen to a thing he says!” she demands very seriously, crossing her arms over her chest with her left hand facing outward, her wedding ring glistening under the fluorescent lights — some kind of poignant gesture meant to intimidate.

The nurse stares at her for a long moment, her mouth turned down into a deep frown. Something about her expression suggests that Myra has been making impossible demands of her for weeks, and she looks just about fed up with it. She turns her gaze onto Eddie and asks him, “What’s going on here, Mr. Kaspbrak? Are you alright?” she asks seriously.

“No, I am not alright,” Eddie explains hoarsely, clearing his throat ineffectually again. He can feel his head spinning now with the impossible flurry of activity he’s been putting his poor body through in the last few minutes. “My wife refuses to leave. I don’t want her here,” Eddie says clearly, staring the nurse down and begging her to listen to him.

The nurse considers him carefully for a long moment, before turning to Myra. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she starts, only for Myra to start screaming over her.

“You can’t make me go, I am his wife!” she screeches. “I am his primary caregiver, and you have to listen to me!” Myra insists, standing and stomping her foot against the ground.

The nurse glares at her, arms crossed over her chest. “Ma’am, you are disturbing my patient,” she starts, only for Myra to scream, “He’s my husband, and he is in a very fragile state of mind right now!”

The nurse argues back, “Your husband seems to be in complete control of his faculties, and until the doctor has assessed him fully and decided whether or not he needs someone else to make his decisions for him, it is my job to comply with any reasonable requests he may have!”

Myra stomps her foot again, and goes red in the face.

“He’s just woken up from a coma!” she bellows, “He needs me!”

“He needs medical treatment, ma’am,” the nurse shoots back, and points to the door. “And you are impeding his healing. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Do not make me call hospital security,” she declares darkly, and stares Myra down.

Myra’s lip wobbles. Her hands clench into fists at her side, over and over and over again, until she finally slumps, defeated. Her eyes are a storm of anger when she turns to grab her things, her movements hostile. She doesn’t touch Eddie again, but her gaze says we’ll talk about this later.

Eddie doesn’t care, as long as she’s out of his room. His hands are shaking, and it takes him a long moment to realize that his heart rate has spiked as well. His breathing is a little uneven, something that seems to concern his nurse, because the moment that Myra has left the room, she’s at his side and coaxing him through a few breathing exercises.

Eddie’s just stood up to his wife for the first time in eight years, and through the foggy haze of pain, he feels nothing but relief.

The nurse fiddles with Eddie’s IV for a moment, and then pats at his hand soothingly. “We won’t let her back into your room until you give the say so, okay Mr. Kaspbrak? It’s going to be okay,” she says with a soft smile.

Eddie stares at her a little foggily. His limbs are beginning to feel lighter, his heart rate returning to normal, and some of the pain begins to seep out of him.

The nurse must have given him more pain medication.

Unable to process words at the moment, Eddie just nods his head gratefully at her.

She leaves after another moment of fussing, and Eddie feels his eyes start to slip closed. He doesn’t know how long he’s actually been awake, or how long he’d fought with Myra, but he does know that he feels suddenly exhausted. He doesn’t want to go to sleep, not before he sees Richie, but he’s not so sure he has much of a choice anymore...

There’s a knock on his door. Eddie snuffles at the sound, and opens bleary eyes, realizing after a moment that he had, indeed, drifted off. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it of the fog there, and blinks at his doorway a few times, willing it to come into focus.

When it finally does, Eddie feels his heart jump in his chest.

Richie.

He smiles automatically, soft and bleary-eyed, as he takes in Richie’s face.

He looks the same as he had earlier, when Eddie had asked to see how the Losers were right now — scruffy, tired, and all bundled up in Eddie’s jacket. He looks warm and soft, and Eddie wishes he could hug him.

Richie, on the other hand, looks a little bit like he’s in shock, his lips twitching uncertainty, and his eyes wet with tears. He isn’t crying yet, but it seems like he might start any second. Eddie wishes he could stop making Richie cry.

“Rich,” he whispers, his voice somehow even more hoarse than when he’d first woken up.

“Hey, Eds,” Richie replies, his voice cracking a little. His lips are trembling even as he breaks out into a smile, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Richie lets out a soft huff of a laugh, and then sniffles quietly. “Heard you were asking for me,” he says, his voice teasing, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, asshole,” Eddie croaks with a fond laugh, and tilts his head in Richie’s direction so it’s easier to see him. “I missed looking at your stupid face,” he teases back, grinning softly.

Richie laughs too, his grin growing bigger as he steps into the room. He’s staring a little dopily at Eddie as he says, “Missed seeing yours too.” His lips wobble a little, and he swallows thickly, staring a little stupidly at Eddie. Then he breaks out in another laugh and says, “Glad to see you're awake.”

His eyes are blazing with something Eddie’s fuzzy brain struggles to pick out, but it makes him feel warm all over and reminds him of why he wanted to see Richie in the first place. He opens his mouth to bring it up, but Richie starts talking before he can.

“Where’s the missus?” he asks, dragging his gaze away from Eddie and frowning at the other side of the bed. His voice is more stilted than before as he makes his way to what Eddie now considers Richie’s side of the bed.

Right. Myra. Eddie sighs, and feels his shoulders relax a little with the knowledge that she’s not here. “Myra’s gone. I sent her home,” he explains, his voice coming out sort of raw and a little bit dazed, because there’s a part of him that still can’t believe what he’s done. Richie seems just as surprised, because the moment the words leave Eddie’s mouth, Richie is reeling back from him in shock.

“You what?” he asks, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in his throat. “Eddie, you just woke up and you’ve already kicked your wife out?” he jokes, though his tone is more unsure than anything else, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He still manages to laugh, clearly unable to help himself as he stares at Eddie.

Eddie nods his head, not quite able to muster up any laughter of his own. “I also asked for a divorce,” he adds, sounding almost astounded at himself. He’d done that, hadn’t he? He’d really done that. Eddie goes to smile at Richie, ultimately proud of himself for standing up to his wife, but Richie isn’t smiling back. In fact, he’s stopped laughing entirely, and he’s looking at Eddie with a half concerned, half assessing glance. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that, so he frowns. “Is that really such a surprise?” he asks warily.

Slowly, Richie nods his head. “Yeah, it kinda is Eds,” Richie admits, his voice a low murmur. His face is doing something weird that Eddie can’t figure out, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to cry anymore. Instead he looks… something. It’s difficult to tell with his mind so addled with the drugs, but he forgets to be confused about it when Richie settles down in his usual chair and reaches for Eddie’s hand automatically, holding it gently.

Oh, Eddie thinks to himself, and smiles. He grips Richie’s hand back and squeezes tightly, feeling reassured that Richie is here.

Surprised, Richie startles a little and looks down at their hands. When he meets Eddie’s gaze again, all of the tension seems to have drained out of Richie’s face, and his cheeks seem slightly flushed, like he’s been caught out. Eddie can’t stop looking at him and the way his entire demeanor seems to have softened. He’s staring at Eddie with this look in his eyes that feels so fucking familiar, and his lips are twisted up like he’s trying not to smile but he’s smiling anyway, and —

Eddie knows that look. He’s seen it a thousand times since they were kids.

For the first time, he understands what it means.

Eddie thinks he’s always understood, on some level, but after watching Richie sit as his beside for two months, after hearing him cry over Eddie’s broken body, there’s really no room to ignore it anymore.

Eddie takes a deep breath to settle himself, and squeezes Richie’s hand again.

“Richie,” Eddie murmurs, peering up at him ardently.

“Yeah, Eds?” Richie hums, still looking at him like Eddie is his whole world. Eddie shivers and doesn’t hesitate.

“You told me if I wake up,” he rasps, watching as Richie’s eyes slowly widen in shock, “You’d tell me something,” he continues, and squeezes Richie’s fingers hard.

“You —” Richie starts, shaking his head in disbelief. “I —” he tries again, and stops. “Eds?” he asks finally, voice having gone a little breathless. Eddie can’t tell if Richie is terrified, or just confused, but he definitely looks stunned.

“What did you want to tell me, Rich?” Eddie urges, heart beating harder with every second that passes. Richie seems to notice it too, because he glances behind him to the heart monitor and then back at Eddie with wide eyes.

He’s trying to figure out how Eddie knows what he said, Eddie’s certain of it, but there’s no way Richie will be able to put it together, not without Eddie explaining it to him.

He will. He’ll tell Richie all about it later, but for right now, he just wants to hear Richie say it.

“Richie?” Eddie asks, prompting him gently.

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie whispers, shaking his head. When he meets Eddie’s gaze again, he looks nervous. He starts to rub his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand, before clearing his throat. “I, uhm,” he starts, tripping over the words already. He huffs out a laugh, and shakes his head. “Of all the dumb things I said to you while you were —” Richie stutters to a stop, avoids the words in a coma entirely, and continues, “that’s the thing you heard?” His grin is shaky as he stares at Eddie.

Eddie grins a little stupidly, and nods his head.

“Well I did promise,” Richie mutters to himself, and stares down at Eddie’s hand. His fingers squeeze reflexively around Eddie’s and then relax again, but Richie doesn’t say anything else. He just stares at Eddie’s hand in his until Eddie can’t take it anymore.

“I love you,” Eddie blurts out around the lump in his throat, and stares up at Richie breathlessly.

Richie’s gaze snaps back up to his, his eyes wide and a little disbelieving. “God, Eds,” he gasps, sounding absolutely stunned, and suddenly his eyes are wet again. “I love you, too,” he manages in a strained voice, and brings the back of Eddie’s hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there. His lips are trembling as he drags Eddie’s hand up even further to hide his face, and he sniffles quietly, exhaling shakily, like he really can’t believe this is happening right now.

Eddie can’t believe it either, and he lets out a giddy little laugh as he says, “That’s good,” a little fuzzily. “Because I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t said it back,” he teases quietly, laughing again. Richie laughs too, the sound a little sniffly as he starts to cry for real, the feeling of warm tears starting to drip against Eddie’s hand.

Normally, he’d be grossed out about it, but this is Richie he’s talking about, and he’d put up with anything just for Richie not to let go of him again.

“Yeah, it’s not like you can run away right now,” Richie attempts to tease back, but his voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat three times to get the words out around what seems to be a lump in his throat.

If he could, Eddie would shuffle closer to Richie, but whatever medication they’re pumping through him, Eddie can hardly feel his own body anymore.

“Eds?” Richie asks abruptly, finally lowering Eddie’s hand from his face. He places both their hands down gently on the bed, still holding on tight, and leans in close like there’s something he wants to say. Eddie smiles dopily up at him, waiting, and Richie laughs. “Oh my god, look at you,” he mutters to himself, and reaches up to cup Eddie’s face tenderly in the palm of his hand. Eddie nuzzles against it a little.

“Nevermind,” Richie finally says, shaking his head indulgently at Eddie, “You should sleep,” he suggests sweetly, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” Richie adds in a reassuring tone.

“Promise?” Eddie croaks out, trying not to whine.

“I promise, Eds,” Richie whispers lovingly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie nods his head approvingly, still staring up a little dreamily at Richie. He knows Richie is right, he probably should sleep, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at Richie yet. He never wants to stop looking at Richie, has never wanted to stop looking at Richie — not from the moment Eddie met him. And now he doesn’t have to.

Which reminds him.

“Rich?” Eddie asks, blinking in an attempt to focus. His brain feels all foggy, and it’s beginning to grow really difficult to concentrate.

“Hmm?” Richie replies when Eddie doesn’t immediately continue, reminding Eddie that he’s trying to tell Richie something.

“L.A.,” Eddie breathes, shaking his head to clear some of the fog, “Need an apartment in L.A.,” he elaborates as best he can, trying to articulate the I’m never leaving you again that he’s too tired to verbalize.

Richie is silent for a long time, and then he says, “You’re coming to L.A.?”

Eddie smiles, and lets out a huff of a breath. “Yeah, asshole,” he mumbles, trying and failing to concentrate long enough to have this conversation. He blinks his eyes at Richie in an attempt to look at him, and watches as Richie’s face splits open into a grin. His eyes are fond as he cards back some of Eddie’s hair from his face.

“Yeah?” Richie teases him, eyes glittering, “What for?”

Eddie wants to roll his eyes so badly, but he doesn’t know if he manages it. “For you, fucknuts,” he says, aiming for patronizing and landing more on affectionate. Richie laughs at him, but it’s fond.

“So you wanna go apartment hunting, then?” Richie asks him in a tone that Eddie would normally consider teasing, except he can’t figure out what he’s being teased about. Frowning, Eddie nods his head. “I know a place,” Richie assures him with a laugh, “But there’s just one catch,” he explains.

Even more confused now, Eddie asks, “What?”

“It’s actually a house, and I’m already living in it,” Richie replies proudly.

Eddie blinks a couple of times in confusion, trying to piece together what Richie’s getting at, and then snorts inelegantly. “Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Eddie gripes at him, but he’s grinning as he lets his eyes slip closed, finally feeling like he can sleep peacefully now that everything important is settled.

Richie is still laughing at him when Eddie feels the medication starting to pull him under. He’s just giving in to it when Richie boops his nose and asks him, “You good with that, Eds?” in a tone so full of confidence that Eddie wants to smack him.

Instead, Eddie fights to open his eyes and fixes Richie with a look that he hopes is at least a little bit alluring. “‘Course, Rich,” he mumbles sleepily, the words almost a slur as he offers Richie a smile. “It’s got you,” he breathes affectionately, and laughs when Richie immediately turns bright red.

Instead he says, “‘Course, Rich,” as sweetly as he can manage, peering up at Richie enticingly. “It’s got you,” he murmurs coyly, and laughs when Richie immediately turns bright red.

**

6 months later

It takes a month after Eddie moves into Richie’s house in L.A. for the Losers to make arrangements for them all to come out and visit them on a Friday and stay for the weekend. Eddie knows they would have come sooner, but between Eddie getting settled in, Mike’s tour of the United States, and Bev’s divorce and subsequent re-settling of her company, it’s been a bit difficult planning a time that works for all six of them.

Unfortunately for Eddie, the Losers are set to arrive within an hour of his last physical therapy appointment for the week, and while Eddie had wanted to reschedule it, Richie had been quick to put his foot down. He’d made the point that Eddie’s physical therapy appointments were more important than looking nice for their friends, and while Eddie knew Richie was right, that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

He’s been in physical therapy for nearly six months now, something the doctors had started about a week after Eddie had woken up. As it turns out, Myra hadn’t been lying when she’d told Eddie the doctors weren’t sure he’d ever walk again, but he’s been making some pretty significant progress. In fact, he’s able to rely on his cane rather than his wheelchair for longer and longer periods of time now, and while the doctors say he’ll probably need some level of support from his cane for the rest of his life, Eddie is at the very least excited to have a sense of independence again.

Eddie knows it’s his hard work that’s gotten him this far, but he’s thankful for Richie’s voice of reason on days when Eddie can’t work up the energy to fight against his own limitations, and he’s glad to have Richie around to remind him just how important his physical therapy is, even if it does suck.

So now, he's in their bedroom attempting to quickly get changed out of his physical therapy clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a collared shirt that Richie had laid out for him.

“Bill just texted me!” Richie shouts down the hall, his voice muffled through the walls but steadily moving closer as he continues, “He just caught a cab. He said he’ll be here in about twenty minutes!”

“Sounds good!” Eddie huffs back, finally managing to kick himself out of his sweatpants. His legs are still sort of shaking from the last hour of his workout routine, because his therapist has really started pushing him thanks to all the progress Eddie has made. Unfortunately, it also means that Eddie tends to come home extremely exhausted.

He’s just managed to grab his jeans when Richie turns the corner into their room with a huge smile on his face. He doesn’t offer to help Eddie get dressed, which Eddie is grateful for — sometimes he just wants to do things on his own, even though he knows Richie would jump at the chance to help him if Eddie so much as asked.

“What’s up?” Eddie asks, arching a brow at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the living room?” Eddie grunts at him as he shoves his trembling legs into his jeans and begins to pull them up.

“All done,” Richie says with a shrug, nodding his head back towards the front living room. “I’ve vacuumed, taken out the trash, and cleaned up all the shit that should have been in the office,” he explains proudly.

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie grunts, exhaling sharply as his legs spasm painfully and he’s forced to relax his body onto the bed. He’s got the jeans up to his thighs now, bunched just under his ass, and he’s temporarily given up. He knows he’s going to have to use his aching abs to lift his ass off the bed to get the jeans the rest of the way on, and he just isn’t ready to put in that energy right now. “What about the guest room?” he asks, turning his full attention onto Richie.

Richie nods his head immediately. “It’s all set for Ben and Bev. Brand new sheets and everything,” he reassures Eddie, leaning in the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a challenging look on his face. Eddie narrows his eyes at him.

“And the air mattress?” he asks.

“Sitting in the office ready to be blown up before bedtime. And,” he exclaims brightly, waggling his eyebrows, “I’ve even set out pillows and blankets for both the air mattress and the pull-out. Sexy, right?” Richie teases.

Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes fondly, but it really is kind of sexy that Richie had thought ahead about all of this before Eddie could even ask him to do it. It’s just that they don’t have a lot of room to host their friends and they’re working with what they have. Richie’s place isn’t the largest of their friends’ houses by a long shot, and definitely isn’t the first place any of them would have picked to have a group sleepover, but Eddie’s still recovering and not really up for traveling, so all of their friends have graciously agreed to come to L.A. for the weekend.

“What about the others?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at the clock on their bedside table. “When are they expecting to arrive?”

Richie hums and pulls out his phone to check his messages. His hair hangs cutely in his face, and if he were closer, Eddie would push it back with his fingers and comb through it. “Mike said he just got off the 90 freeway, so he’ll probably arrive about the same time as Bill, and Bev said she and Ben will be here in five minutes about… three minutes ago!” Richie replies cheerfully, grinning like a cheshire cat when he meets Eddie’s gaze.

“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie chastises him, suddenly finding the burst of adrenaline needed to yank his pants up over his ass. He manages to balance himself on the balls of his feet in an attempt not to strain his abs too much, and gets his jeans all the way on, all while Richie laughs at him. “Why didn’t you warn me!?” Eddie yells at him breathlessly, sitting back down on the bed, red in the face. He thinks he can feel a cramp forming in his right calf, and decides that tonight is definitely a wheelchair kind of a night.

“Relax, Spagheads,” Richie shushes him, still chuckling lightly. His eyes are shining brightly as he pushes off the doorway to meet Eddie on the bed. He settles in close until he’s standing between Eddie’s legs, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie cranes his neck back to stare at him. “You know they wouldn’t care if you’d stayed in your sweatpants and workout shirt, right?” Richie asks him softly, head tilted in a way that Eddie refuses to think of as cute.

Grumbling, Eddie shrugs his shoulders and says, “Yeah, but the last time any of them saw me, I was still in the hospital wearing that stupid plastic gown.”

The rest of the Losers had been quick to come back and visit Eddie after he’d woken up, and they’d kept up the visits the entire five months he’d been stuck in Derry, though he wasn’t great company and they couldn’t stay long. It had still been nice.

“I’m sure they’re going to miss that sexy sight,” Richie quips back, winking playfully at Eddie and reminding him rather abruptly about the way Richie used to stare at his ass through the stupid open back of the gown.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie complains, reaching out to swat ineffectually at his chest. Richie might have enjoyed the view, but Eddie’s pretty certain nobody else had.

Richie laughs, and before Eddie can land a strike, Richie catches Eddie’s wrist and leans in to kiss him.

It’s a quick kiss, more of a peck than anything else, and it leaves Eddie dissatisfied. He immediately pouts at Richie and tugs on his wrist in an attempt to pull Richie back in.

“So needy,” Richie teases, though he goes willingly. Eddie growls at him but chooses not to reply, instead drawing Richie in to press their lips back together again. He nips playfully at Richie’s bottom lip and sighs, tilting his head just so to deepen the kiss.

Eddie hasn’t let Richie get away with a peck like that since the first few weeks of their relationship when Richie seemed too terrified to do anymore, and now Eddie takes every chance he can get to deepen their kisses.

Richie pretends to hate it, but the secretive smile he walks away with every time isn’t nearly as secretive as he thinks it is.

“Come on, grumpy pants,” Richie says as he pulls away, the soft suction of their lips parting making Eddie shiver. “I think I just heard Ben and Bev pull up.”

Eddie frowns, but lets go of Richie. “I’ll never understand how you can hear shit all the way outside from here,” Eddie mutters and pushes himself to his feet.

“It’s because I’m blind, Eds,” Richie replies cheerfully, offering Eddie his hand wordlessly. Eddie takes it, but only because his legs are still shaking. “The rest of my senses have to work double time to make up for it.”

“You’re not blind, Rich, what the fuck,” Eddie mutters back, taking three shaky steps over to where he’d left his wheelchair next to the bed. He collapses into it gratefully and releases Richie’s hand. “And that’s not how it works,” he adds matter-of-factly.

“I might as well be,” Richie shoots back just as the doorbell rings. He drops one last kiss onto Eddie’s lips as Eddie gets himself settled in his wheelchair, and then turns to answer the door. Eddie watches him go with a small smile on his face, so fucking thankful that he gets to have this.

After everything he’s been through, he feels like he deserves at least this much.

It seems to take no time at all for the rest of their friends to arrive once Richie has let Ben and Bev in, and then they’re all squeezing in around Richie’s dining table. Richie ordered take-out — not Chinese — and filled up everyone’s glasses with the fancy wine from his wine cabinet. Eddie isn’t partaking because he’s still on a couple of medications and despite Richie reassuring him one glass of wine isn’t going to hurt him, Eddie isn’t willing to risk it.

Conversation starts out light that night, the focus more on how Eddie is settling in than his actual recovery, and Bev takes it upon herself to tease Richie mercilessly.

“Married life really suits you, Trashmouth,” she jokes, nudging him in the shoulder with her own, and subsequently knocking Richie’s body into Eddie’s. Eddie turns to glare at her balefully for it, but his lips are twitching uncontrollably at her tone of voice. “I didn’t know you could be so domestic. You’re quite the little housewife,” she teases him, gesturing broadly around the kitchen, and then nudging her chin out towards the living room. “I honestly assumed you must live in a pigsty, but Eddie has done a great job whipping you into shape.”

Richie gasps mock-offendedly, and says, “Why I never!” in a southern drawl, pitching his voice up high. “I don’t know what you are trying to insinuate,” he says primly, “But I assure you that I am a proper lady, and I don’t need no man to tell me how to behave!”

Eddie dissolves into giggles at the voice, leaning into Richie’s side and soaking in his warmth as the rest of them start to laugh too. Bill sounds as if he’s dying he’s laughing so hard, and Bev is giggling into Ben’s shoulder, her eyes wet with tears. Richie throws his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, and drags him in even closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

Eddie tries to roll his eyes at the casual affection, aware that Mike is staring straight at him, but he can’t muster up any real annoyance and recognizes that the expression falls flat. With the way that Mike smiles at him, Eddie knows that he isn’t fooling anyone.

“Oh my god, you two are so cute,” Bev coos once she’s gotten herself back under control, and she props her chin in her hand to stare happily at them. Eddie immediately turns bright red and frowns at her.

“Not cute,” he mutters at the same time as Richie says, “Cute, cute, cute!” and pinches Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie turns and knocks Richie’s hand away from his face, and then shoves his wrist down onto the table. Richie is laughing even as he moans “ow, ow, ow, ow, Eddie!” but Eddie doesn’t let him go.

“You know I hate it when you do that!” Eddie whines, carefully avoiding looking at their friends. He can already imagine the looks on their faces, and Eddie is embarrassed, dammit! It’s bad enough when Richie calls him cute when they’re by themselves and Eddie can’t hide the way it makes him feel — it’s even worse to have their friends witness the way it makes Eddie absolutely melt for Richie.

“I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Ben jokes, staring meaningfully at the way Eddie is still holding down Richie’s hand.

“Believe me, it’s a close call at least three times a day,” Eddie replies dryly, finally releasing him. Richie draws his hand up to his chest to cradle it gently, making exaggerated wounded eyes at Eddie that Eddie ignores.

“Eddie,” Richie whines, pouting at him, “You’re so mean to me,” he complains, knocking their shoulders together again. Rolling his eyes, Eddie leans in and smacks a quick kiss against Richie’s cheek until Richie wilts into him, smiling like an idiot.

Bev coos again, and Bill makes a retching sound. Eddie does his best to ignore them and grabs his water to sip at it, hiding his blush against the glass.

“Stan would hate you guys so much,” Mike laughs, shaking his head at the two of them, his voice only a little bit forced. He swallows thickly as he meets everyone else’s gazes, and says, “He’d say you’re disgusting, but we all know he’d really mean ‘I love you,’” Mike adds affectionately.

It takes a beat, but the rest of them laugh quietly as well, if a little solemnly, and glance at the empty table setting Richie had put out. He’d said they couldn’t have a proper Losers club meeting without Stan, and despite the way it had made Eddie feel at the time to see Richie preparing a seat that wouldn’t be filled, he’s grateful for it now. Eddie reaches over and squeezes Richie’s thigh, resting his hand there gently.

“I miss him,” Ben whispers softly, offering everyone a small smile.

“We all do,” Bill agrees quietly. They all quiet down for a moment, just soaking in the moment, thinking of Stan, before Bill finally clears his throat. Slowly, he raises his glass of wine into the air and says, “To Stan!”

“To Stan!” the rest of them say in unison, lifting their glasses in his honor.

After a long swallow, they each place their glasses back down onto the table, and smile at each other. Richie reaches down to squeeze Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie smiles up at him.

“So,” Ben starts, the first to interrupt the silence, “How are you doing, Eddie? Are you settling in okay?” he asks, waving his fork around in the air at them. The others nod their head in unison, repeating Ben’s question in one form or another:

“Richie better be treating you well,” says Bill.

“Are you sleeping alright?” asks Bev.

“How’s California treating you?” asks Mike.

Eddie smiles up at his friends and nods his head. “I’m good,” he replies, “I’m really good. California is… exactly what I needed,” he hedges, and, avoiding Richie’s eye, adds, “So is Richie.”

Eddie can feel it when Richie turns to look at him, and he doesn’t have to see Richie’s face to know what it’s doing — Richie has this way of looking at Eddie like he’s still in awe that he gets to have this, and Eddie doesn’t know what do with himself everytime he sees it. It’s an overwhelming feeling for both of them.

“Aww baby,” Richie murmurs, leaning in close to press a kiss to his cheek. He’s smiling, and it makes him smile too. “I knew you loved me,” Richie continues, and it’s obvious he’s attempting to sound teasing for their friends, but the words come out too sincere for anyone to fall for it.

Eddie’s heart flutters, and he feels his insides go all gooey, but the moment he catches sight of the looks on his friends faces — amused but affectionate — he squirms under the attention.

“Get off me,” Eddie grumbles, shoving at Richie’s chest lightly, his cheeks on fire. Richie doesn’t fight him, just laughs affectionately and pulls away without saying another word.

“I’m so happy for both of you,” Bev says warmly, her eyes shining. “You deserve to be happy,” she continues sincerely, reaching across the table to grasp Eddie’s hand in hers.

“Thanks, Bev,” Eddie manages to croak out in response, a lump in his throat, because while he knows what Bev is saying is true, it’s still difficult for him to internalize sometimes.

It’s Richie who eventually changes the subject, turning to the others and asking them what’s going on with them.

“Well, I’ve got a new contract in Dubai,” Ben tells them, shrugging modestly when the others cheer. “I’ve gotta head out there for a couple of weeks next Friday, so I won’t be around much, but…” he trails off, looks at Beverly softly, and reaches out to grasp tightly to her hand, like he doesn't want to leave her.

“But he’ll have cell reception, so don’t be afraid to harass him,” Beverly teases, gripping Ben back just as tightly.

Mike tells them about his tour of the United States, and how he’s been interviewing the locals everywhere he goes. He admits that he’s heard all kinds of amazing stories, and explains that he’s been thinking about starting a podcast.

“I just think that more people deserve to hear these stories,” Mike pitches hopefully, peering around at their friends like he wants their approval. “There’s so much culture out there that we’re missing out on, and I feel like if we just shared more of this stuff, there might not be so much violence in the world,” he continues passionately.

“I think you could really make a difference, man,” Richie says solemnly, and he shares a look with Mike like he understands exactly what it is that Mike is trying to do.

Mike meets his eyes, and nods at him, a silent conversation moving between them that Eddie isn’t privy to.

“And I’m about to launch my new summer line,” Bev announces excitedly, deftly avoiding the topic of the current legal minefield she’d been navigating for months surrounding both her divorce and her company. “All the designs are based on that summer,” she explains simply, obviously referring to the summer of ‘89 when all of this had started, “Because, despite everything, that was the best summer of my life.”

Eddie feels warm all the way down to his toes, because it was the best summer of his life too.

“Each look was inspired by one of you,” Bev admits brightly, and her eyes are sparkling as she looks at all of them, “and I fully plan on sending each of you your own special outfit.”

Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to consider what his might be before Bev meets Richie’s eye and winks at him. Eddie immediately lights up bright red, and turns a murderous glare onto Richie.

“I’ve got this really cute pair of little red shorts that I think will look amazing on you, Eds,” Bev teases all too knowingly.

“Richie,” Eddie hisses, but Richie isn’t looking at him. He’s an entirely darker shade of red than Eddie is — even brighter than those damn shorts were — and he doesn’t seem capable of meeting anyone’s gazes.

Eddie knows what Richie thought about those shorts — he’d admitted to Eddie that they’d kind of been Richie’s sexual awakening, and Eddie can’t even begin to imagine why he might have shared that information with Beverley, but he kind of wants to kill him for it.

It seems like all the rest of their friends seem to know as well, because as Eddie goes to kick Richie under the chair, the rest of their friends burst into amused laughter. Eddie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and before he can launch into an argument with Richie over it, Richie cuts him off to pointedly, and very loudly, ask Bill, “So I heard you were offered another movie deal?”

Eddie slumps back in his seat, defeated. He’ll let Richie get away with it, for now at least. He makes no promises to himself about not bringing it up again when they go to bed.

“Oh, yeah!” Bill exclaims, as if he’d forgotten all about it. He composes himself quickly, red in the face from all of his laughing, and says, “That reminds me. The casting director asked me to let him know if I had any names in mind for any of the characters, and, well, if you’d be interested Rich…” Bill offers, trailing off and staring at Richie in question.

Completely distracted from his previous anger, Eddie looks at Richie with wide eyes, waiting for his answer, but Richie seems appropriately stunned. He stares at Bill blankly for a long moment, before bursting into a bright grin. “What, you want this ol’ mug to star in one of your movies, Bill?” Richie teases loudly, putting on a show. “You must really be desperate if you’re asking me,” he jokes, avoiding the question entirely with a self-deprecating joke. It’s obvious enough to all of them that Richie is deflecting, and the slight hysteria to Richie’s voice is answer enough for Bill, who merely grins at him.

“You can come down to the office with me on Monday, we can talk about it then,” he replies easily, turning away from Richie and changing the subject to the actual script for The Glowing and how he’s already thinking about a new ending for the movie.

Eddie reaches over to squeeze Richie’s fingers between his, but doesn’t say a word. He’s just thankful to Bill for the offer, because in the last few months, Richie’s been doing a lot of voice acting gigs, and has admitted to wanting to try his hand at acting. Eddie doesn’t know if Bill knows that, but even if he didn’t, the offer means a lot to both of them.

The conversation continues jovially, with Richie mocking Bill for his terrible endings, and Ben piping in with suggestions for the set. Eddie sits back quietly and watches, sipping at his glass of water. He takes a moment, when the others are distracted, to check in with himself the way his new therapist has been pushing him to do over the past few weeks.

He feels good, content to have all of his friends here surrounding him. It’s something he’d nearly given up in that weird, liminal space he’d inhabited while he was in a coma, and he’s so fucking glad that he chose to live, because he’s never been happier.