#gotta go back to my cartoony roots

[acatpiestuff]

pose practice.

[looniecartooni]

Been getting back into Little Shop of Horrors lately. Although- I just saw the 1960 original movie and I’ve gotta say...

I kind of feel like the play did Audrey dirty. I mean- I can understand trying to make her more of a prominent character and why certain parts of the movie were switched around for the stage play (Seymour’s mom was a weird character. She was a little funny in her own right, but really felt out of place). Audrey did lack a bit of character and personality aside from being a sweet girl, but she at least had a bit of standards.

In the movie, she was weirded out by Seymour’s mom’s weird food items and didn’t like when “Seymour” started acting strange and demanding all of a sudden. Poor Audrey in the stage play gets abused by the sadistic dentist who had a rather minor role in the movie, but seriously got dialed up in the musical. And when confronted with the idea that she was dying- she was seriously way too willing to be sacrificed to the thing that tried to kill her and many others while in the movie, she well... lives.

I can understand wanting to give her more of a personality and more of a role to relate and sympathize with so that Seymour gets the girl in the end (which happens in only the 1988 movie version for sequel purposes and because the 1988 test audience didn’t like the dark ending clashing with the film’s rather cartoony silly vibe). But still- Audrey feels robbed of being at least having slightly more standards.

And there was one scene where she was seemingly on a date with Mushnik (which felt out of place too so I can kind of see why that was switched out) while the dentist and her are never seen together. I can get trying to make skid row seem like a much more awful place than the movie made it and giving the dentist a bigger role to where is death almost seems to be rooted for, but making him Audrey’s abusive boyfriend instead of being someone like Mushnik who almost left without paying the check... well it makes sense for theater since its dramatic and again makes Seymour feel like he’s the hero, but then it also makes Audrey suffer in more ways than one. 

I’m not saying she needed to be like a hero with no man’s help or entirely a lousy character for being a woeful girl that just dreams of a better life outside of her awful town and abusive relationship. I’m just saying compared to the source material, she feels a bit reduced from what she was before. And in turn, in the musical it makes Seymour almost feel like a “nice guy” who is clearly the better option Audrey wants- duh! Seymour's given lines like “I don’t like that guy, Mr. Mushnik. Especially how he treats Audrey. She deserves a prince” and “Wipe off your make up, let me see your clean face”. And then in turn Audrey basically says, “Oh sure, I’ll die in a plant for you if it means you’ll continue living good. Even if you did kill my ex boyfriend and our ex-boss.” 1960 Audrey at least was kind of willing to ask, “Why are you acting this way, Seymour? I don’t get what’s come over you. At least sort it out before you go out with me again.”

Now granted- the 1960 film, the musical, and the 1988 adaptation are all extremely good with a couple questionable things here and there for good reason and a lot of funny jokes. Each has their own unique way of telling their story and they tell it well. The musical was aiming to tell a Faust like story in a time when female love interests usually were displayed in a certain way so that the main male love interest can kind of be seen as the better option. And obviously on the stage, it needs to be dramatic. 1960 Audrey wasn’t a feminist icon or anything and there wasn’t a lot to her. The only thing we really knew she wanted was Seymour because he was sweet and Seymour did things like name a plant after her. I’m not even sure why Mushnik and Audrey went out on a fancy dinner together- neither really expressed interest in one another aside from maybe extending Mushnik’s flower business. But Audrey seemed less... ditzy in the 1960′s version which isn’t always common for 1960′s movies and Seymour wasn’t really given motives to kill (which did make kind of silly things happen that were understandably turned around- like Seymour getting hypnotized by Audrey Jr. and pursued by a seriously persistent hooker).

Well- long essay short, I can see why certain parts of the 1960 version was changed around for the play, but that in turn may’ve made Audrey’s character feel robbed of what standards she had. But the play version also shows a girl so broke down by the abuse she went through that she thinks in her perhaps dying moments, sacrificing herself to her new love interest means she’s giving him and herself serenity. Just a part of me wishes that there was at least able to be a blend between the original Audrey and the musical Audrey so she’d at least seem slightly less passive.

I’m also not saying that Seymour was a hero by any means either. The decision to make Audrey II play on his desires makes for a slightly more interesting take than a hungry plant that eats bodies Seymour accidentally killed. Audrey was one of his greatest desires and him feeling like he was somehow just in his attempt to kill Orin (rather than somehow accidently stab him in a silly duel- the 1960 movie relied heavily on comedy more than deep motives like the musical). But in making Audrey more damsel-in-distress kind of, we also end up getting a more pick me/ nice guy Seymour rather than the 1960 sorta clueless Seymour that just really likes Audrey and that Audrey supported. Of course, Seymour needs sympathy as well and at least some form of seemingly noble intentions when being the protagonist that wants the girl, but having Audrey being too willing to die for him when movie Audrey is willing to walk out on him (granted a little unfairly because it was Audrey Jr. who kept being “weird”) and asking he’d get his act together while asking why he won’t explain himself at least gave her at least some form of grit in the situation.

Perhaps it only makes sense in context of the movie rather than the play, but I stand my ground... Audrey I deserved better.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Little Things in Life - 1

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark!Steveand explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: I’m still working on Syster and BJB and all my other WIPs. This was supposed to be a one shot but I got about 22 pages out and realised that we weren’t even close to an end. Anyways, hope you enjoy a subtle Steve. Slow burn. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You liked to do your gardening early. Even on the weekends. You let your husband Logan sleep in; your daughter, Kayla too. You basked in the morning balm as you rooted around for stray roots and watered the leaves which looked a little too brittle in the dew. The birds sang as the neighbourhood still slept. It was a rare moment of your own.

Well, almost all yours. 

You turned at the steady beat of sneakers on the pavement. You stood and dusted off your gloves. Steve, your neighbour from just across the street, stopped as he reached the end of your walk. He smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” You said. “You’ve got a newborn keeping you up all night and here you are, running the entire neighbourhood like it’s nothing.”

He laughed. “Never got much sleep to begin with,” He said. “You know, if you ever get bored of the dirt and grubs, you’re welcome to join me.”

“You know I couldn’t keep up with you, Cap,” You grinned. 

“Not anymore,” He said. “I hung that shield up.”

“Oh yes, Logan told me you let him toss it around.” 

“Well, he tried,” Steve said. “I… you know, I’m happy I ran into you. Me and Sharon, we’re having this thing next weekend. A party for all us restless parents. No kids.”

“Yeah, she was saying the other day.” You replied. “I’m sure I could get the sitter and Logan never says no to a beer or two.”

“Maybe we could hit the felt again. It’s been a while.” He ventured. “We had to move the table but I got the cues all ready.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You said. “So she let you keep it.”

“It’s in the garage now but it’s still in one piece,” He preened. “You should pop by some time. After dinner, I like to try a few trick shots.”

“I’ll try,” You said. “I’m usually the one cleaning up dinner and Kayla. But, maybe we could do doubles sometime. Nap time, maybe.”

“I might be able to convince Sharon,” He rubbed his neck and glanced over at his house. “Speaking of, I should go check in on her. Got a serious diaper run to go on this morning.”

“See ya,” You said. “Say hi to Sharon for me.”

“See ya,” He turned and jogged across the street. 

He stopped at his front door and turned back to look at you as you collected your watering can and basket of tools. He waved and you waved back. A coffee would be nice before you roused the little monster. Saturday was pancake day and she rarely forgot it.

🏠

That day you kept thinking about your neighbours. Steve and Sharon used to be your weekend buddies. You’d stop by after you put Kayla down for the night and have a few drinks. That was until Sharon had gotten pregnant and they’d both descended into full blown panic mode. Baby this, baby that! It was a peculiar type of excitement which had them both beaming and baffled.

You’d seen Sharon for lunch every now and then and at her shower. She was so swept up in it all that she wasn’t as social as before. You were glad to hear she was throwing one of her parties. She was finding her balance again.

As for Steve, you only really saw him in passing. Doing yard work or random chores around the house. He was always busy it seemed. Well, that was life.

You went about your usual Saturday routine; pancake breakfast, dishes, play time with Kayla, lunch, nap time, a walk to the park, dinner… The days only varied when you worked and most times, you did so from home. You were lucky enough to spend much of your time with your daughter, though you wished you could say the same of Logan.

He worked hard, you couldn’t fault him that. Most days, he stayed late. By the time he got home, he was so wrapped up in it that it was all he could talk about. But he was a good dad when he was there. He loved Kayla and he treated you well enough.

Sunday was lazy. The afternoon was disappointing as Logan spent much of it on the phone with his boss. You took Kayla out to the garden so she couldn’t disturb the call. She helped, or tried to help you transfer some flowers from your garden into a pot. Proud of your creation, you took her across the street and knocked on the door.

Steve answered it to your surprise. Sharon was usually quick to the punch. You greeted him with a smile. 

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb, I just thought… well Sharon said she liked the flowers so we brought you some.” You held out the pot.

“You can put them in your garden,” Kayla said cheerily.

“I need to make a garden first,” He grinned at her and took the pot. “Thank you. I’m sure Sharon will find a place for them. She’s just sleeping with the baby right now.”

“I get it,” You said. “We were a bit restless and just wanted to say hi. She wanted to give them to Ethel but you know she has terrible allergies.”

“I appreciate the thought,” He leaned down to talk to Kayla, “You’re getting big, kiddo. How old are you now?”

“Four,” She chimed. “Mommy says I’m old enough to go to school.”

“I would think you are,” He replied as he stood straight. “I’ll let Sharon know you came by. Oh, and… the pool table is still open.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” You offered. “Logan’s taking Kayla to a Paw Patrol show.”

“Tomorrow,” He accepted. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“What happened to that friend of yours; James?” You wondered.

“Bucky. He’s around now and then.” Steve shrugged. “But not as much as I like. And he prefers poker.”

“Ah,” You took Kayla’s hand before she could wander away. “Well, I’ll see ya.”

“What time’s the show?” He asked before you could back away. 

“Six.” You answered.

“Then I’ll see you at six-thirty. How’s that?”

“Six-thirty it is,” You confirmed as you picked up Kayla and turned away. “Okay, you little brat, let’s go bug your father.”

🏠

You were glad Logan was getting some time with Kayla. You wished you could go with them but keeping to your new budget, two tickets were all that could be had. The upside was that you didn’t have to sit through the cartoony mascots dancing in an arena full of hyper children.

You gave Kayla a kiss on the cheek and barely sneaked a kiss on Logan’s lips before she tugged him away from you. He strapped her into her seat and gave a smile as he climbed in the front. You smiled as they left but when they were gone, you felt restless. There were only a few times you were without Kayla; at work and during your early morning gardening sessions.

You went inside and wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes. You poured yourself a glass of wine and looked at the clock. You were suddenly very grateful for Steve’s invitation. The game would keep your mind off your listlessness.

You finished your chardonnay and rinsed the glass. You stepped out the front door and found Steve’s garage door open as he ducked beneath it to wave you over. You looked down the street before you crossed and jogged up the drive. 

“Hey,” You entered the cool garage. The pool table took up much of the space not occupied by the aged motorcycle Steve had been working on for years. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, getting some practice in,” He grabbed the cue leaning against the table and another from the rack on the wall. He handed you one. “Hope you’re not too rusty.”

“You know, I’ve been playing online but it’s not quite the same,” You kidded. “What’s Sharon up to?”

“I asked her if she wanted to come out and join us,” Steve shrugged. “But she’s been on the phone with her mother all day.”

“Maybe next time,” You watched as he set up the balls in the frame.

“You want a beer or something?” He asked as he stood.

“I shouldn’t. I just had some wine. I don’t like to mix drinks… or rather, my body doesn’t.” You chuckled.

“I’m sure I’ve got some wine,” He went to the mini fridge. “Aha, pinot… grigio.” He squinted at the label as he turned around. “Sharon hasn’t touched the stuff in ages. It hasn’t been opened though.”

“Really, I shouldn’t.” You waved him off.

“Come on.”

“Is this some sort of tactic?” You teased. “To get me off my game?”

“Maybe,” He twisted open the bottle and handed it to you. “It’s open. You gotta at least have a sip.”

You tilted your head at him.

“I don’t have any glasses out here,” He grinned.

“Just a sip,” You took the bottle and drank less than a mouthful. You placed it on the metal side table against the wall and fiddled with your cue. He returned to the fridge and grabbed a tall can of beer. “Thought that stuff didn’t get to you.”

“Doesn’t, but it’s comforting,” He approached the other side of the table. “When I was… serving, the men didn’t have much to do but drink on their time off.”

“Ah,” You leaned your cue on the top of your shoe. “It’s like how tequila makes me wanna run as far as I can in the other direction.”

“I guess,” He said. “Guest’s honour. You can break.”

“Alright,” You went to the head of the table and lined up the cue ball. “Wait.” You paused as you bent over the table. “What do I get when I win?”

“If you win,” He corrected. “And, I don’t know. Twenty bucks.”

“No fun. How about… I get to try on the helmet.”

“Helmet?” He blinked.

“That old war relic you have in your den.” You said. “You know I always wanted to try it on.”

“It’s an antique now,” He said. “Rusty.”

“Like you?” You taunted.

“Like me,” He rolled his eyes. “Fine. And what about if I win?”

“Name your price,” You narrowed your eyes at the table and set up your shot.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a touch of that green thumb,” He said. “I… wanted to do something special for Sharon. Clean out the garden, replant everything that’s died.”

“That’s not really an even trade,” You mused as you hit the ball. “But it’s a bet.” You stood as the coloured balls shot in all directions. Three solids plopped into the corner pockets. “Oh, I also get a selfie in the helmet.”

🏠

You glared at the felt. Then the bottle of wine. You should have stopped at a sip but you had gotten carried away in the game. You’d also missed your last shot and set up Steve to sink the last stripes before he set his eyes on the eight ball. He called the top left pocket and you hoped he missed. Crossed your fingers around the cue.

The clack of the balls echoed in the garage and the black ball made a slow path to the pocket. It tipped over the edge and you curse. You stomped your foot and spun the cue in your hand.

“No fair,” You pouted. “You’ve been practising.”

“And… I’m sure that online pool is quite the workout.”

“Only for my finger,” You held up your index. “So… the garden?”

“Can we start this week?” He asked.

“Sure,” You smiled. “You’ll have to grab seeds or whatever. Please, anything but rose bushes.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know where to begin but I’m sure I could ask someone at the greenhouse,” He mulled.

He went to the table and reached into the pockets. He pulled out a yellow ball and a red ball. He place them parallel at the other end.

“Or maybe… I don’t know, I know you’re busy but you could help me?”

“That wasn’t part of the bet,” You said. “But sure. I can do Wednesday afternoon. I hope you don’t mind if Kayla tags along.”

“Of course not,” He lined up the cue ball in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You stepped away from the table as he grabbed his cue.

“A trick I’ve been working on,” He said. “I saw it online and gave it a go. It’s fun.”

He bent over the felt and hit the ball. It hit the yellow ball which bounced off the red one and sent both of them into opposite pockets. He stood and smirked proudly.

“Your turn,” He rearranged the balls and you frowned.

“I can’t,” You argued. “I think I had too much of that wine.”

“Come on,” He said. “Just give it a try.”

You looked at your phone. It was already past eight.

“It’s not that late,” He urged.

“Fine,” You took your cue and approached the table. 

Your shot was less successful than his. The yellow ball hit the red in but came to a halt several inches from the pocket. You shrugged and stood straight.

“See.” You huffed.

“Practice,” He positioned them again. 

He came around the table as he placed the cue ball before you. He stood behind you as you relented and lined up your shot. You paused as he adjusted the end of your cue and neared. He leaned over you and helped you position the nose of the cue. He was almost flush against you, just for a moment before he backed away.

“You just gotta put some force behind it,” He said as he walked along the side of the table. 

He stepped back to see the table. You hit the white ball and shakily retreated from the felt. The yellow and red split off and the latter plopped into the pocket while the former bounced off the edge of the corner.

“Close,” He said and went to the table. He shoved his hand in the small pocket. “Night’s not over til you get it.”

[sinkingwmyships]

General MDZS modern (AU?) headcanons

(I’m not sure if this can be considered a full-fledged modern AU? so let’s just call it modern hcs.)

(I haven’t finished the live-action or the novel, so most of my knowledge comes from the donghua. pls forgive me if the canon stuff is wrong asf ;_;)

the Yunmeng Jiang siblings all have little silver bells as cellphone charms, and they basically jingle wherever they go

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji (ofc) still plays the xiao and guqin, bc their family is traditional and wants their sons to be connected to their roots

which seems to be cool w/ both bc damn if they aren’t godly on those instruments

Wei Wuxian takes up the flute as a joke bc he wants to impress LWJ (“his brother plays the xiao and he seems to like his brother so if I play the flute he’ll like me too right?”), but ends up being so mfkin good at it for some reason

which annoys the hell out of Jiang Cheng bc he can’t music for shit

he can’t even cook

he’s asked Jiang Yanli many times for her help but “the kiTCHEN JUST WON’T COOPERATE WITH ME HELP I GENUINELY CAN’T DO THIS”

supportive JYL “what do u mean ofc u can oh no JC did u cut urself again”

LXC, the next day: “JC what’s wrong w your hands, why do u have so many band-aids on” JC: “I’m fine” WWX: “he was trying to cook, y’know I always tell him he’s gotta master it soon bc it doesn’t look like he’s gonna have any girlfriend to do it for him” JC: “shUT UP”

LXC: “it’s ok JC I can cook” JC: “what (//∇//)”

JC is ambidextrous (lowkey canon if you watch the donghua)

JYL owns a cooking channel on youtube, and is hella popular bc she cooks so well and everything just looks so nice and ~aesthetic~

her fans often asks how she can be so cute even when literally only her hands can be seen on screen

sometimes Wen Qing joins her (she has a home cafe channel) and they make baking videos which are just heaven for their fans

Jin Zixuan is usually their featured guest (aka lab rat) but he doesn’t mind bc 1) the food is always so good and 2) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ who knows? but the fans ship him and JYL

WWX and LWJ co-run an instagram account for their rabbits. the posts are mostly videos, only in 3 forms: ASMR of rabbits eating while LWJ calmly & silently feeds them; WWX playing with them and getting even more excited than the rabbits themselves; and WWX bringing the rabbits along to witness whatever shenanigan he’s about to get LWJ involved in

WWX: “welcome back everyone today i’m going to leave a rabbit in JC’s bag and see how he reacts” LWJ: “Wei Ying you’re just torturing the rabbit” WWX: “don’t worry JC loves animals to death it’s fine, besides we can ask your brother to look out for it” LWJ: “… fine”

LXC agrees (!!)

“What why is there a rabbit in my bag” “No no stay in there” “Don’t come out I’m busy oh my god you idiot I almost stepped on you” “Xichen do you know where this thing came from??” “I gotta w o r k can you please just hold it” “Fuck it looks hungry is it hungry? Do you know?”

LXC: “No?:3??”

JC: “... I feel so bad, let me go buy it some food”

(the rabbit is returned to WWX and LWJ later by LXC, safe and sound)

Wen Ning always carries around colorful cartoony band-aids. you want it? he got it.

some of them even make it onto JC’s hands once in a while, but JC threatens WN into promising he’ll never tell WWX

both WN and WQ are extra scary when they’re sleepy/tired/moody

WWX calls JZX “Young Lord Jin” as a joke and it pisses JZX off sooo much (but JYL laughs at it so like whatevs it’s all cool :’D )

part 2!

[notalone91]

i heard you calling (it hurt so much to let go of your hand)

Summary: Every year, like clockwork, on the Anniversary of the day they defeated It, the Losers make a point to crash back down on Derry and wreak some havoc. One stop they have to make is Neibolt Street.

I saw a post on tumblr and was inspired, so, taking a break from my Major Canon Fix It writing to bring you this little nugget. A choose-your-own-adventure of sorts.  This is unbeta'd and fell out of my hands and unraveled quickly, so just... take that with a grain of salt.

This is a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story of sorts. After the read-more, hit ctrl+f and seek Option A (Camp Denial) or Option B (Camp Canon).

also available on AO3

Every year, like clockwork, on the Anniversary of the day they defeated It, the Losers make a point to crash back down on Derry and wreak some havoc.  They drink. They swim in the quarry. They drink. They laugh. They drink. They watch all the horrible old movies they used to see at the Capitol. They drink.  They reminisce. They drink. They cry. They drink. They visit the vacant lot on the corner of Neibolt street. They’re very sober. They all stand around for a moment before Richie steps forward to drop a flower he’d kept hidden in his jacket onto the rubble.  He runs his hands through the dirt, looking at the sprouts from where the flowers from the last four years have begun to take root. He swallows thickly and kneels, closing his eyes for a moment to block out the other Losers' hushed chatter. He knows they’re talking about him.  He’s heard it all before. Still, he has to do it. He has to let him know...

“So, uh, Eds,” he says, tongue feeling too large in his mouth.  “It’s been another year.” Another year makes five. It’s been five years already.  He can hardly believe it, even though it’s been a huge topic of discussion for the last two days.  “I, uh… I washed my sheets. Like twice.” He lifts his eyebrows and smiles, pleased with himself. He laughs to himself, raking a hand through his hair.  “I showered a couple of times.” He shrugs, trying to remember all of the things he’d want to tell Eddie that happened since the last time he was here. “I hosted SNL again.  They never wanted me as a cast member, but now that I’m all cool and relevant, they’re all over me. Figures, right?” Another laugh. The other Losers look on, none of them ready to interrupt his ritual.  They knew too well what happened when they intervened. “My manager threatened to bring in ghostwriters again because my new act wasn’t raunchy enough.” He sank back onto his heels, with his hands folded in his lap.  “I think I’m getting too old for the Trashmouth routine. Gotta grow up sometime, I guess.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose and stares at the sky, feeling tears start to bloom in his eyes. “New York is nice, but I gotta say…”  he takes a deep breath and exhales, close to a laugh, “it’s filthy, Eds.” He hiccups a little, a single tear beading under his glasses. “How did you live there for so long and not go on a city-wide cleaning spree? I get off the subway and feel like I need to light my skin on fire.  It’s disgusting. And the smell?” He bunches up his nose like the wafting steam had followed him to Maine. “I mean, I’m getting used to the smell, but I can’t picture you ever getting used to it.” He laughs, thinking about how many jokes Eddie could make about his Trashmouth being the source of the stench.  But he can’t get distracted. He can’t. “I got a dog. She’s a pit bull. I know,” he places a hand over his heart, gasping in shock, “not a pomeranian.” He gives a little sideways smile. “I’m still terrified of the yappy little things. But she protects me, just like you did.” He tries not to remember Eddie’s proud face when he thought he’d killed It with that fucking fencepost.  “Anyway, I named her Sunny. It’s supposed to be short for Sonia, but something in me decided that having to remember my lost love every time I looked at her sad brown eyes…” He can hear the Losers shuffling behind him, stifling their own emotions at his rambling. “Your mother did have the most beautiful eyes, Eds.” He bursts out a breathy laugh, “Sorry. I know you hate that.” He thinks over the present tense and realizes it’s not accurate anymore and the laugh dies on his lips.  “Hated,” he corrects, shaking his head. “Hated that. Even though, I don’t think you really did.” The tears that had been threatening to fall for quite some time begin to crash against his cheeks. “I miss you,” he shakes his head, sobs wracking his body. “All the time.” He buries his face in his hands, words building in intensity. “I never got to tell you how much I love you.” He doubles over and feels himself begin to lose his composure, picturing his Eddie alone in that dirty fucking sewer, clutching his old, beat-up leather jacket to his chest like a lifeline.  “God, you died alone. And I just… I just let you.” He takes off his glasses and puts them down beside him, wiping the tears away with balled fists. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” He tries to settle himself, but his sobs have become overwhelming and he can do nothing else but repeat, “I’m so sorry.”

OPTION A

Leaning against the fence, unimpressed with his husband’s performance, Eddie crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.  “You know, that’s still not funny, asshole.” Richie lets out a loud, exaggerated wail, signaling that his protests have been heard.  “I’m right fucking behind you, Richie,” he sing-songs, waving.

“It’s almost like I can still hear his voice,” he whimpers, covering his mouth in a stifled cry.

“STOP ACTING LIKE I’M DEAD, FUCKNUT!” Eddie groans, kicking a pebble in his direction.

Richie reaches up to the form that has closed in behind him, pulling Bev closer as she drapes her arms around his neck, kneeling.  “I’m sorry we made you leave him down there, Rich. There was no other way.”

Jaw dropping a little, Eddie huffs out a shocked, “Bev, not you too.”  Normally, Richie’s little monologue goes on by himself and everyone else lets him go.  Maybe because five years is a big anniversary or maybe because there’s enough distance between them and It now, there seems to be a bigger emphasis this year.  “Don’t fucking encourage him.”

“We just, we couldn’t risk it.  The building was crumbling and we never would have made it back out,” Bev adds over his protests, her own voice quivering.

Eddie looks over at the man next to him and smacks him in the arm.  “Ben, come get your woman,”

He just shakes his head in response, looking down at his feet.  “Your man started it,” he points out. At least he can find comfort in the fact that Ben won’t joke about his near-death experience.  Unlike Mike and Bill, who’ve moved forward, adding themselves to the unfolding melodrama.

“It never would have happened if I hadn’t called you all back here.  But,” Mike chokes out, reaching his hand for Richie’s shoulder, “it’s over now.”  Richie rubs his hand over the top of Mike’s and accepts his glasses being replaced on his face.  “It’s done. We can move on.” He nods, locking eyes with him. “We’ll find you someone new, Rich.”  

Sniffling pathetically, he gives an exaggerated shake of his head.  “Nope, never.” He flings himself forward as though trying to dig through the rubble to get into the sewers beneath Derry.  “There’ll never be anyone to replace my Eddie Spaghetti. Just let me be with him.”

Eddie turns around, resting his elbows on the fence and hanging his head.  “Oh, here he goes,” he adds as soon as he sees that Bill has opened his mouth.  Beside him, Stan shakes his head, bewildered at their antics.

“I’m sure that, in time, you’ll heal.  In the meantime, the three of us are always open to making it a foursome.  Isn’t that right, Stan?” Bill asks, looking up at the missing member of their triad.

“Could you not bring me into this?” he responds, stepping closer to Eddie in protest.

“I appreciate the offer, but it would all be meaningless, just like my whole life.  It would be empty sex and I couldn’t do that to you boys,” Richie says, patting bill on the cheek.  “I love you,” he looks between them sadly. “I love you all, but not in the way that I loved him.”

Eddie turns back to the dogpile of Losers in front of him.  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he calls out his trump card.  “I’m running away with Stan and Ben. You know, people who don’t make light of me almost dying to save your sorry ass!”  Richie sits bolt upright, one ear turned up like a dog. “I’m leaving you, Richie,” he adds for emphasis.

Turning around on his knees, Richie blinks at him, as though he had risen from the dead.  “Eddie?!” He stands, taking a few slow, hesitant steps toward him. “Eds?!” He lifts his husband from the ground and spins him around, shrieking out a blissful “EDDIE SPAGHETTI!!!!!”

Swatting at his arms and kicking his feet, Eddie squirms.  “Put me down, asshole.”

Doing as he’s told, but only to suit his own needs, he places his hands on either side of his neck and observes him carefully, turning his head from one side to the other.  “Could it be?!” he asks, tracing his finger along the fading white scar on his cheek, “Is it you?!”

“Stop it, would you?” Eddie says, fighting off laughter.

Richie leans back for a moment and untucks the front of Eddie’s shirt, raising it to expose the scar on his chest and kiss it once before moving on to smack a cartoony kiss on his mouth.  “Back from the dead! My one and only wish! My one true love!” He pulls him forward by the hands and spins around. “Bert to my Ernie!” He stops and kisses him. “Lime to my coconut!” He pulls him closer and kisses him again, a little more tenderly, knowing Eddie can’t complain about this part.  “Frosty to my french fries!” Eddie scrunches his nose because Richie knows that particular quirk grosses him out. “Chill to my Netflix!” He adds, pressing their hips together first before kissing him again.

“Are you done?” he asks, wanting to get the fuck away from this part of the trip as quickly as possible.

Richie gives a sideways smile.  “Almost,” he says and Eddie sighs, staring up at the sky.  Richie almost wishes he hadn’t lied about being almost because he can’t think of another one, but he can’t back down now.  He spits out the first thing that comes to mind and instantly regrets it. “Red Balloon to my sewer grate?”

There’s a collective groan from the Losers, including not one but three separate iterations of “Beep beep, Richie,” one from Bill, one from Bev, and one from Stan,

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, laughing and accepting every smack and kick that lands his way.  When their assaults die down, his town grows serious and he locks eyes with Eddie. “Every day, I wake up knowing how close I was to losing you and…” he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image of Eddie’s pallid face, mouth dripping blood, gasping for breath from his mind.  He can hardly remember the minutes between Pennywise’s death, pulling Eddie to his feet, Ben taking him from him, suddenly understanding everything, and arriving at Derry Gen, but he knows that, in the deadlights, he saw them leaving him and he couldn’t let that happen. “I can’t.  I can’t imagine going on. You know that’s why I do this every year, right?” He laughs when Eddie shakes his head no. “It’s a very…” he trails off for a moment, looking for the right words, then nods, slipping into a dead-on Michael Caine impression, “‘Young Lad, what day is it? Why, it’s Christmas day, Mr. Scrooge!’ feeling every time we come back here and the deadlights-of-Christmas-Yet-To-Come scared the shit out of me.”  He rests his forehead against Eddie’s, sighing a little. “I saw that broken man and…” Richie rubs his thumb over Eddie’s and smiles. “I’m just so grateful that you’re here. And you’re alive. And you love me.”

Eddie smiles back, definitely understanding the second chance they were given.  “I don’t know why sometimes.” He pulls Richie closer when he gives an overdramatic pout, “But I love you more than anything.”  Tugging Richie into a kiss, forgetting momentarily that the other Losers are, indeed, right there, he feels himself melt into his husband.  He’d let him give that performance once a week if it would help him remember that this is real. When they pull apart, he nods over his shoulder at the street where the rest of the Losers have started heading back toward town.  “Can we get the fuck out of here now?”

Draping his arm over Eddie’s shoulder, Richie acquiesces easy enough.  “Whatever you wish, Jelly to my Peanut Butter.”

Bumping his hip against his, he laughs, “Okay.  I wish for you to stop.”

As soon as he laughed, he recognized his mistake, having given Richie all he ever wants.  “Cheese to my cracker?” Richie suggests, kissing the hand clasped in his own.

“Someone help me,” Eddie calls out to their friends, trying to catch up to them, but never letting go of his hand. Richie gives himself a smack on the forehead, “Spaghetti to my meatballs!  How have I never used that one before?!” he cries out, capturing Eddie in his arms and kissing his neck exaggerated.  Eddie thinks, for a moment, that this must be the closest thing to riding off into the sunset they’ll ever get.

OPTION B

Ben looks down at Richie, sympathetically.  Over the last five years, he’d let himself wonder occasionally what would have happened to him if it had been Bev that died and he still can’t fully grasp it.  All he knows is that he will let Richie do whatever he needs. “Let’s give him a minute,” he suggests, pulling the rest of the Losers out into the street, giving him some privacy to grieve.

Weeping, Richie rocks back and forth a little, arms wrapped around his middle.  “Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry. I should have done something. I shouldn’t have let them…”  His breath hitches in his throat and the thought falls away. “They dragged me away. I wanted to stay there with you.”  He clamps his eyes shut, hoping that he can stop the tears from falling. When that doesn’t work, he just stares forward into the rubble.  “You never fucking knew. You died alone. You never should have been alone. I…” He tries to steady his breathing, but can’t. He’s too far gone for that.  “God, the next morning, I tried to come back and find you from the Barrens side. I tried. The caves had all collapsed. I couldn’t get to you. Fuck, I tried.  I walked the canal, trying to find another entrance, but every one was blocked.” He wondered, then, how Derry hadn’t flooded. Now, he wonders how he’s not drowning in his own pathetic tears.  “I love you. I’ll love you every day until I die.” He says, out loud, for the first time since his memories returned. Sure, he’d admitted it to himself, even let the other Losers guess it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.  Even now, he didn’t think it could do him any good. He was just talking to hear himself talk. But isn’t that what he always did? “I don’t know if I ever would have told you. You married a woman. You were married. I’m disgusting.” He pulls a necklace out from beneath his t-shirt like Eddie could see it.  “I wear your wedding ring on a chain around my neck like you were married to me. I just…” He trails off, realizing how truly fucked it sounds. “I found it in your room and I, uh, I couldn’t leave it. What kind of fucking psycho wears his dead ex-boyfriend’s wedding ring?” He gives a bitter laugh to himself, imagining for a moment that it was Eddie who said it and not him.  “I never would have told you that I still loved you, knowing you were married.” He shakes his head a little and finally lets his arms fall to his thighs. “I mean, I’m better about myself now. I even, uh, I even joke about my sexuality, now. Like, openly,” he widens his eyes a little, an unspoken ‘yeah, I know,’ that needn’t be done, “in public even.” He takes a deep breath and thinks about the first time a paparazzi picture surfaced of him with his arm around Bev and some late-night host asked him about it and he’d laughed openly, brightly.  When the guy asked why, he answered that the plumbing wasn’t right. He didn’t care about mentioning it, but his phone hadn’t stopped ringing to the point that he just shut it off when he got home. “My manager isn’t crazy about that but it’s not the 80’s anymore. It’s still not safe but, I figure, fuck it, I came out of the sewer unharmed, I owe it to myself to have given the closet the same treatment.” He smiled, remembering all the times Eddie had tried when they were teenagers and together, to make him more comfortable with the idea of being out publicly.  He could only hope that Eddie could see him and be proud. That’s what Stan’s letter to him had said. Be proud. “I owe it to you.” Hearing the shuffle of feet heading back into the yard, he sniffled, fighting to regain his composure. “Okay, well, the other Losers are starting to get restless, staring at me crying and all. Ben and Bev are getting married.” Pausing for a response that would never come, he smiles. “I know, finally.” He stands up and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Mike and Bill are getting used to one another again. It’s cute… I think.”  He swallows thickly and glances over his shoulder. Just Bev, still giving him a respectful distance. He’s glad. “Being around them just sort of hurts,” he admits to no one. He smiles a little, wiping away the slowing tears. “I remember when the four of us would go down to the clubhouse for double dates and ignore each other, just being safe together. It was nice.” It was. He misses that terribly, he thinks. He feels like he’s floating and chases the unwelcome phantom voice from the back of his head. “Now… I just… uh…” He stammers ineffectively, trying to come up with more things to say.  He doesn’t want this moment to be over. When it’s over, he’ll have another year before he has another excuse to be in the place that makes him feel like his conversations with Eddie can be heard. “I can hardly be in the same room with them alone. It makes me wonder what we could have been. If you’d have left her. If we’d have…” He trails off one last time and chokes out a sob. “I fucking hate the word ‘If.’”

“Richie?” Bev calls from the garden gate.  Her voice is quiet, but he hears her. He just… He doesn’t want to let her talk him away from him again.

He leans forward and touches the flower gently.  “I love you,” he whispers.

Heading up the path, she reaches a gentle hand out to his shoulder.  “Rich, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m coming,” he says, moving toward her and letting her arm drop to his waist, edging him forward, but not before casting one more look back at what remains of the house on Neibolt street.  What remains of Eddie.

“You okay?” Ben asks when they reach him, before heading to where Bill and Mike stand a few houses down.

He shakes his head and accepts his outstretched arm around his shoulders, appreciating the steady, grounding weight.  “No,” he says quietly, for once telling the truth, and not letting some bullshit fall out of his Trashmouth.

“That’s okay.  You don’t have to be,” Ben says, nodding.  

Bev squeezes him tighter.  “Not today, and not with us.”

When the five remaining Losers find themselves together once more, they wrap Richie in a tight hug.  He appreciates it, but he knows that once they pull away, it’ll be back to his new normal. Alone.