#Perhaps that was the moment Jamil realized that he wants to marry her.

[villain-in-love]

Literally Prefect proposing to Jamil:

Or Jamil proposing to Prefect, doesn't matter at this point. They both think the same thing.

[phoenix-manga]

[DCA Event] - Six Queens Event Part 5

Warning: Dark Jokes

[Howard - All you wanna do] 

It was Cerule’s turn, the ghost sends a promiscuous feeling thorugh her soul. They expected Cerule to be like Briar, vulnerable to being possessed completely not because of a relation in their situation, but more like Cerule is a bit impulsive at times. But surprisingly she was just as strong willed as Vidya, it could be perhaps because of her family’s hereditary power.

Using her voice, the ghost is blocked by the magic that her voice possesses. She gets into center stage as her eyes glowed a bright pink. She gets her act on stage and the audience thought this was just the sexy type character. But they won’t realize that this act was the darkest part of the play.

Cerule starts to ‘roast’ the queens as they tell her that she can’t compete with them in terms of having the worst life. The crowd chuckles at her sarcasm, Jade and Rook were invested in this act and with how she carries herself with such confidence. They stan a queen who knows how attractive they are and doesn’t regret flaunting it.

Cerule: Yeah… yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna need all the luck I can get, your lives sounded terrible and your songs… really helped to convey that.  I mean, Catherine, almost moving into a nunnery and then not? It almost could’ve been really hard for you.  And Anne! Anne, getting your head chopped off? Surely, that means you’ll win the competition— oh, wait, wait, hang on a sec. Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded… oh, wait, nevermind.  Audience:

And Jane, dying of natural causes? When will justice be served?! And surviving…  Audience: *Laughs as she skips Rozeline* Seriously, seriously, Anna, all jokes aside, being rejected for your looks legit sounds really rough. I wouldn’t know anything about that.  Audience: 

Cerule: I mean look at me, I’m really fit. So yeah. I can’t even begin to think of how I’m going to compete with you all. Oh wait, like this... 

She snaps her fingers as the lights flash pink and the song starts. Cerule had been practicing on using her voice for the act, since there was a lot of times she’s lost control over it. The harsh vocal training with Professor Faustus was worth it, she uses her voice to make the audience feel the wave of sensual excitement, but for only a small portion, it was enough to get them to focus on her. 

Crowley feels the need to tell her that she shouldn’t be dancing so sensually, but Divus just pulls on his shirt collar again and reminds him that it’s a play, chill out or he’ll be tempted to tighten his tie. (Poor Crowley, his view on the perfectly well-behaved students are being dragged through the gutter, for real though... chill Bird Dad let the Serpent King do the scolding XD)

Jack was now praying to whatever Gods who might be listening to not have Idia kill him as Ortho sits there still with a curious expression. Like the majority of the audience, he can feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Others who are affected are Epel who is red as Riddle who happens to be clutching Trey’s sleeve as the third year was covering his mouth with his hand, Ace is affected too but he’s focused on laughing at Deuce who is covering his eyes with his hands whenever Cerule coincidentally makes eye contact in his spot of the crowd. Cater was just vibing with the music, typical playboy not affected.

Azul is blushing too but he is struggling to NOT look away because he can feel Jade glance at him from time to time. Floyd was just enjoying the music, go figure. For Azul, if he looks away that would mean that the twins would NEVER shut up about this incident for weeks! He’s having a battle, internally with himself and the twins. Cerule’s dancing just makes it worse because it looked so damn convincing! Not to mention the way she sang the song! OCTOBOY IS REACHING PUBERTY XD

Cerule: All you wanna do, all you wanna do baby~ Touch me, love me can’t get enoughsies~ Azul:

But when she reached the climax of her song the feeling of excitement faded as she her expression morphs from playful to a near meltdown, her dancing stops as she shakes off the hands of the queens when they make contact on her body. The crowd goes silent as the feeling of dread and pity washes over them like a raging wave.

Vil, let’s just say that he can find things that he can relate to being fairest. He may or may not have felt like this when he was pursuing his path of reaching ultimate beauty. He applauds Cerule’s acting, it looked so convincing, as if he was seeing the actual young queen go through the trauma of being used by the men in her life.

Cerule: Touch me when will enough BE ENOUGHSIES?! Audience: *silently realizing the real situation*

When the song was over, she could barely feel the possession fading since it was mostly blocked by the magic of her voice. At the end of the song, people were clapping loudly but there was little cheering. 

Not because they didn’t like the act but because it took such a dark turn. But they admire the acting because some were in tears, we now know whose been in that situation before.

[Queens Fight]

Cerule lightens the atmosphere by explaining that’s how she was beheaded. This was the part where the queens would start to argue.

It starts when Cerule claims that she is the winner because she’s had it way worse. But the others seem to disagree with that.

Briar comes up to Cerule and states that she may have had it bad but it wasn’t the worst they have heard this evening.

Cerule retorts back by stating that she had sung four choruses, that’s the amount of SH*T she has had to deal with.

Allison speaks up by saying how the situation was similar to hers so she ain’t the only one who has experienced that.

Allison:  Wow, yeah, being manipulated by men and paying the price, none of us could possibly imagine what that— oh wait, yeah, I did experience that. Evonie: Yeah, for like that last five minutes of your marriage, Anne! Men had manipulated me from day one. I was literally shipped over from a foreign country, not knowing a single word of English, to marry some random dude. Vidya: Oh my god, same! Audience: *laughs*

Evonie tries to argue again about how the king didn’t even say goodbye but was cut off when Allison and Cerule said that they’ve been there too except she got to keep her lovely neck. The two high five while giving Evonie the stink eye.

And her last statement about the king not allowing her to see her only child who had the chickenpox, which sets Briar off. And the outburst shocks everyone, the motherly queen lashing out in anger.

Evonie: when my one and only child had a raging fever, Henry didn’t even let me, her MOTHER see her- Briar: OH BOOHOO! Baby Mary had the chickenpox and you weren’t there to hold her hand! You know, it’s funny because when I wanted to hold my newborn son, I died!

Malleus: *Was just accepting it at face value and has no energy left to be shook anymore*

The entire room was silent as they gawked at Briar’s outburst.

Vidya buts in by yelling how she has the plague and the queens all turn to her, concern written on their faces.

Vidya: Guys I have the plague! Queens: What?! Vidya: Lol I’m just kidding my life’s amazing~

At the sight of a smug queen with the other five giving her a displeased look, the crowd erupts into laughter.

Kalim is laughing while he’s clinging to Jamil, Ace was choking on his spit and is trying not to laugh because he is going to lose more oxygen. Floyd is cackling because he would probably do this joke too if he had the money to back it up. Azul is scowling a bit because, let’s face it he had a bad life at childhood.

Although Vidya adds that she was humiliated on an international scale but Allison sarcastically asks who could possibly relate but Evonie snaps at her at what would she know about humiliation. This was the moment that sh*t went down.

Evonie: You seriously wanna talk about humiliation?! Well, when I was queen... Henry had not one, not two but three historically confirmed mistresses! Allison: Oh no, mistresses.. GET OVER IT! When I was queen I had not one, not two, but THREE... M I S C A R R I A G E S!

*Record Scratch*

Vil, Divus, Cater, Rook, Jade and Lilia:

Riddle, Azul, Jack, Sebek and Malleus:

Ace, Deuce, Epel, Ortho, Floyd and Silver:

Crowley:

The audience went apesh*t at that and it got crazier when Evonie one-upped her by yelling how she had five miscarriages. And the five queens started going at each other’s throats and yelling.

Rozeline stopped the fighting by yelling, “That’s ENOUGH!”

[Extra]

Rozeline yelled so loud that it shocked the five queens. To the audience it was just acting but for Rozeline this was going out of control. She could feel the ghosts nearly take over the dorm leaders as they argued. Their eyes glowing brighter and even Vidya and Cerule who had really strong wills to resist were being crumbled down almost becoming vulnerable themselves.

That was a close call for sure, but Rozeline thought back to the moment they got possessed. She had a song prepared about the life of the sixth queen but looking back at it, what was the point of making their pain known? She sympathized with the queens because they were in the same position as her, they felt powerless against the man who held the power to take away their lives. But should she just end the show with their suffering?

What about the happy ending? She wanted them to be recognized but would she want them to be recognized like this?

The six wives of Henry VIII who suffered in his hands? 

That was what they were, just HIS wives. Nothing has changed and Rozeline was not about to settle for this!

They’ve had enough suffering, she regrets not seeing this sooner but she’ll make the ending count. Hopefully the girls wouldn’t mind if she went off script for just a bit, right? Time for a histo-rewrite to ensure the legacy of the Six!

She just needs the ghosts to realize that they are so much more than just their history with the king.

[yeartwentyeight]

Year 27, Day 366.

Birthdays have always been difficult for me.  It has recently occurred to me that I have a fear of aging and as I think about turning 28 in less than an hour, I can’t help but think about the fact that ten years have already passed since I turned 18.  I am almost certain that’s not possible.  When I was 18, I had the expectation that by the time I turned 28 I would be married, own a house, and perhaps be planning for a child.  As it turns out, I am married, I do own a house, and I have loose (okay, not that loose) ideations of starting to try to get pregnant by the end of summer.  So sure, maybe it is possible that it’s been ten years since my 18th birthday.  In just a year I will officially be the age that my mom has joked about being for just about as long as I can remember. That can’t be helpful for her story, not to mention the fact that I have a sister who’s seven years my senior.  Sorry, mom.  Cat’s out of the bag. 

My 27th year managed to check off a couple milestones on my internal to do list.  I got married, bought a house, lived through a global pandemic...ya know, pretty standard stuff, especially the pandemic thing.  I even decided to begin grad school. Pandemic aside, I was blessed with a lot of really wonderful things during the past year.  So many people commented about what a great year this has been for me and how I’m “thriving”.  I guess I’ve also managed to put on the right mask for my 27th year. 

As it turns out, a year full of seemingly good fortune and blessings is difficult to enjoy when you're numb from depression, panicked about life not being just right, and consumed by anxiety. The year in which I appeared to be “thriving”, I was doing just the opposite. I’ve dealt with anxiety from a very young age and experienced bouts of depression on multiple occasions, but this was different.  As per usual, I thought I could figure it out and take care of it on my own.  I pushed on while the pressure built.  I thought going to grad school would somehow halt the intense feelings I’ve had of being stuck for so long.  Making the decision to pursue a master’s degree on a whim seconds after a panic attack wasn’t one of my better ideas (shocking), but that’s a story for another day.  As my mental health worsened, I grew more anxious, irritable, and exhausted.  On Christmas Day, I snapped.  It took a full on meltdown, locking myself in the living room while having a panic attack, trying to destroy the Christmas tree, and getting caught by my husband and mother in a pile on the floor among broken Christmas ornaments to realize I could no longer handle it on my own.  The mask I was trying so hard to wear perfectly each day finally fell off.

As I sit here and reflect with only 5 minutes left of my 27th year, I’m at a loss.  I don’t know how I should feel or how to feel at all, really.  I’ve never been all that great at emotions and the numbness I’ve felt all year certainly doesn’t help.  My birthdays aren’t only difficult because of the fact that I’m aging, but because of the unrealistic expectations that I have for absolutely everything in my life.  Somehow these expectations have a way of bringing out any emotion I do have and it’s never positive.  Birthdays have never been a big deal for me.  I don’t even necessarily want them to be, and yet I am always left feeling let down by the end of the day. I don’t know what it is that I expect and why I let it happen every year, but I’m going to try something different this year.  As I watch the clock strike midnight (happy birthday to me), I am choosing to make a conscious effort to be aware of any expectations I have for the day and to let them go.  I am choosing, instead, to reflect upon my 27th year, its important lessons, and to check off a newly added milestone to my internal to do list.

I guess my 27th year was beautiful in its own way.  I am thankful for the experiences, the wonderful people in my life, and the very messy roundabout route that led me to the realization that I no longer want to live this way.  I spent the 366th day of this crazy year furloughed from work and as a grad school dropout. I slept (very poorly) until 9, got ready while listening to the podcast “The Hilarious World of Depression” (this episode featuring Jameela Jamil, much love), and joined my best friend as she looked into leasing a new car from the local Honda dealer.  We enjoyed soup, salad, and breadsticks for lunch at Olive Garden and then napped on the wildly comfortable sectional in my living room. I had my second (ever) meeting with my therapist online and made dinner for myself and my husband. I curled up on the couch with my husband until he eventually stumbled off to bed, half asleep.  I watched the first couple episodes of “Emily in Paris” and then took a shower.  On paper, today was nothing exciting, and yet for the first time in such a long while, I feel like the day was in its own way, just right. 

I don’t know what I am meant to do in this life and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  I do, however, know that I want to be happy and that I can’t keep doing the same things while expecting different results.  I am trying to recognize the beauty in simplicity and in the little moments.  I am going into my 28th year with no expectations but instead, with a feeling of optimism.  Today was a good day.  I know that for a while I will likely have more “bad” days than good, but a few bad days don’t make for a bad year and they certainly don’t make for a bad life.   

Take active steps toward improving my mental health: check. 

[cvteeds]

ME!

minnesotamemelord on AO3

Richie adjusts his bow tie one last time in the side mirror of the limo. He can hear the seemingly deafening roar of the crowd, of the reporters and nominees and everyone else outside. His manager sits across from him, spouting off reminders. Richie barely hears him.

”-and if you lose, look happy anyway. No one likes a sore loser, and if you want another season, you’ll-“

”I got it,” Richie says, cutting him off. He can’t take it anymore. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” His agent and former manager, David, sighs.

“Fine.” He checks his watch and looks around nervously. “Are you sure you don’t want someone to walk the carpet with? It’s not too late, I hear Zachary Quinto’s still available-“

”I don’t need a date,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. “I’m still married. Even if he’s not here.”

”Of course.” Before David can say anything else, Richie opens the door and steps out into the Los Angeles evening, his brand-new converse sneakers sinking into the plush red carpet. The sneakers are his signature, and it’s written into his contract that he gets to wear them everywhere. Even, as is specifically stated in the writing, to the Emmys. They do not go with his tuxedo, and he has been reminded of this every single minute of every day since his nomination was announced. Well, nominations.

”Richie! Richie, over here!” Some reporter shouts. He vaguely recognizes her from a popular morning talk show that he always gets up too late to watch, but hears about constantly from his early-bird husband. He puts on an easy smile as he approaches, hoping it doesn’t look too fake. It’s not fake, not the excitement, but he can’t help but think that he should not be alone right now.

”I’m here with Richie Tozier, writer and star of the hit new horror-sitcom, ‘The Losers Club’, streaming now on HBO. Now, Richie, you’re famously very good friends with author William Denbrough.” It takes all of Richie’s self control not to laugh. Hearing people call Bill ‘William’ is like hearing himself called ‘Richard’, which only ever happens when Eddie gets mad. “Lots of people have drawn comparisons between ‘The Losers Club’ and Denbrough’s books. Was there any inspiration that came to you from reading your friend’s writing?” Richie laughs good-naturedly.

”Wow, starting off with the tough questions. Aren’t you going to ask me who I’m wearing?” The reporter chuckles politely. “No, but seriously, both Bill and I take our inspiration from our childhoods. We grew up together, and the kids we write about are definitely inspired by ourselves. So in a way, yes, I do take some of my inspiration from Bill, but it’s more from the person himself than his books.” She nods, clearly surprised by the eloquence of his answer. “And, uh, this suit is Gucci. Just so you know.”

He fights his way through the crowd (metaphorically, of course. He still stops for photos and interviews, and to talk to the odd acquaintance) and finally gets inside. He finds his seat between two of his co-stars, a young woman who resembles Bev in almost every way except that her hair is black, not red, and a man who resembles Eddie so heavily that Richie has, much to his husband’s annoyance, mistaken for him at least five times. The lights dim, the show begins, the host launches into her monologue, and Richie hardly even notices. It is a blur of standing, sitting, applauding, laughing, of lights and sparkles and the swish of gowns and tuxedo pants. Jameela Jamil leans back for a selfie. Tony Shalhoub accidentally knocks his glasses off on his way up to collect his award. John Mulaney cracks a joke so funny it takes all of Richie’s effort not to laugh through the ‘In Memoriam’ video. And then it is his award, Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series. The announcer, a young woman Richie vaguely recognizes from this summer’s biggest action movie, flashes a brilliant white smile and lists off the nominees, ending with “...Richie Tozier as Bradley Thompson in ‘The Losers Club.’” She opens the gold envelope with delicate hands and Richie can feel his breath catch in his throat. He hardly expected to be nominated. He would not win. And yet, he has never been more anxious in his life, except on the day he asked Eddie to marry him.

“And the Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series goes to... Richie Tozier for ‘The Losers Club!’”

Richie doesn't register the shock at first. He thinks perhaps it is a dream, and when he stands on the stage to collect his award, he will be in his underwear. Or maybe it's Eddie, who had mocked him with this since his nomination was announced (lovingly, of course). But no, it's real, and he realizes it when his female co-star throws her arms around him, squealing excitedly. He rises to his feet, smiling unsteadily, and scoots out to the aisle. He was not supposed to win, he thinks. That's why they put him in the middle of the row instead of the end, where he could get out more easily. The probable winners are always in the aisle seats because it gives them an easy path to the stage. It's an odd moment of clarity, and it passes quickly, and then he is rising the stairs, and he's being handed the golden statue, and his face is warm under the lights. He blinks, expecting the glare of light on glass, but it never comes. He wears contacts now, he remembers, and laughs at his own short-mindedness. He has to bend down a little to reach the microphone, and as he pats his jacket pocket, realizes he has forgotten his speech at home. Fuck. He's going to be "that guy", the guys who forgets his notecards and has to make the whole thing up on the fly. Still, it's probably better than standing in awkward silence, which is what he's doing right now.

"Um... as a kid, I told a lot of jokes. And mostly, they weren't funny. But if you told that kid that one day, he'd be standing on this stage, he probably would have said 'yeah, right' and then made a crude joke about your mom." There is a smattering of polite laughter. He is building speed now, snowballing. "But that kid from Maine couldn't have gotten here without a lot of help, so there are some people I need to thank. My parents, Maggie and Wentworth, for always laughing, even when I was being a complete idiot. My agent, David Lukas, who convinced me to make the move from stand-up to TV. I'd like to thank my co-stars, who are the funniest, sweetest, best people I could have asked to work with, and for never being dicks about being more attractive than me, even though you clearly are. You're the best minions I've ever had. But seriously, I sometimes feel like the show was written for you guys, even though I literally had no idea who any of you were before the first day." Richie scans the room. He sees a hundred people he knows and a thousand he doesn't. He sees friends and idols and people he doesn't even recognize. And in all of them, he sees the one person he wishes were here most, the one person who isn't here.

"And last, but absolutely not least, there's one more person I need to thank. My husband, Eddie, the light of my life. Without him, this show wouldn't exist. When we got together three years ago, I was still using a ghostwriter. It was writing jokes about Eddie that got me to write my own material, and then my agent approached me about writing a pilot for this show, and now here we are, and it all came from him. This show is inspired by our childhood, growing up together, then reconnecting as adults. He's my constant inspiration. I do everything I do for him. He's at home with our son right now, because he said he wasn't going to come all the way from New York to LA just to watch me lose- that's a direct quote. And as he knows damn well, there's nothing I love more than proving him wrong."

He looks directly into the camera now, smiling wider than before. "I won, baby, I did it. And I did it for you. I love you, Eds." He blows a kiss to the camera and flushes, maybe from the heat of the lights, maybe from the out-of-character gesture. He embraces the announcer, kissing her cheek gently as he exits, desperate for the first time in his 43 years of life to be out of the spotlight. He is almost back to his seat when he stops fast, nearly slamming into the figure that he hadn't seen before in the dark theater. His gaze travels up from the impeccably polished shoes to the neatly pressed tuxedo pants, to the burgundy velvet jacket he had custom-made as a birthday present last year. It is Eddie, he knows it is, before his eyes finally meet the tear-filled, puppy-dog brown ones of his husband.

"You came," he says, his eyes turning from gray to a watery black.

"You won," Eddie replies, and Richie's tearful face breaks out in a huge, toothy grin. He cups Eddie's cheek (the one with the scar on it) in his broad, hairy hand, and leans down, pulling Eddie into a long, feverish kiss. The cameras catch every second, but they don't notice, nor do they care. Richie leads Eddie by the hand into the row of seats, and they sit beside each other, their legs scrunched together in the limited leg room.

"I know you didn't come just because I won," Richie whispers. "You would've had to leave seven hours ago. At least."

"I realized, like, two hours after you left that I was basically being a massive piece of shit. So I hopped on the next Delta flight here- way less nice than the Cessna, by the way- changed in the airport bathroom, and came straight here. I had to call David and have him talk to security just so I could get in. Apparently, the photos of our wedding are not enough to prove we're married."

"I'm glad you're here." Richie intertwines his fingers with Eddie's, then gasps. "Fuck. What'd you do with the baby?"

"First of all, you gotta stop calling him 'the baby.' Stan's almost three."

"Yeah, but he's my baby."

"Good luck with that once he hits school age, my love. And in terms of what I quote-unquote 'did with him', I called that sitter, the one Blake and Ryan recommended at poker night. And before you asked, yes, I interviewed her; yes, she speaks three languages; yes, she can bake, play guitar, and has half the best doctors in Manhattan on her speed dial. She's perfect, and has been texting me updates every half-hour." Richie's head lolls onto Eddie's shoulder, and they nestle into each other like puzzle pieces. Richie's show wins again and again, the articles the next day will say it swept. Richie's hotel room is paid through for another day, but Eddie helps him pack. They load what little luggage they have into the back and take off (the first thing Richie did after returning from Derry was get his pilot's license). The palm trees and city lights below give way to dark, lightless desert, and then mountains, then cornfields and lakes and long stretches of empty plain. And then, just as the dark violet sky begins to fade into the faintest streaks of yellow and pink and blue, just as the star begin to disappear and the moon becomes almost translucent, the silhouette of the New York skyline appears against it.

"Home again," Eddie says, his eyes tired, but he has never looked happier, except maybe the first time he saw Stan.

"Finally." The plane touches down at an airfield in Queens, and they step out, stretching their tired limbs. Richie stares up at the sky, in which the sun is steadily rising. They go home to their Upper East Side condo, careful to shut the door behind them as quietly as possible. The windows are dark, but a thin stream of light flows out from under one of the bedroom doors, the one with a big green 'S' tacked to it. They open the door as softly as they can and look in on the young, curly-haired boy asleep, his Star Wars nightlight the source of the light. They leave him asleep, and the Emmy on the mantle. Eddie steps into the bathroom, and Richie can hear the shower start. He tosses his jacket on the chair in the corner and yanks his shirt and tie over his head. He goes to the terrace and looks out at the East River below. It's a chilly early morning, very early, and the breeze ruffles the thin layer of dark hair on his bare chest. He hears a honking horn, a couple arguing, glass shattering and water crashing. They are all sounds he heard before, in Derry, in Chicago, in Los Angeles. But they sound different here. Or maybe he is just seeing the world through new eyes, different eyes. The eyes of a man who has everything he wants. He feels cold tears on his face and brushes them away half-heartedly. He has not realized until now that his life is perfect. Legitimately, genuinely, certifiably perfect. Out of the closet? Check. Dream job? Check. A loving husband and son? Check. And now, one last validation that he is, in fact, on top of the world. It's sitting on his fireplace right now, but it's nothing compared to the boy with the Star Wars nightlight and the man in the shower. They are worth every award, every affirmation, every positive review, every selfie with a fan, everything.

Richie hears the shower shut off and the snap of the towel as Eddie pulls it off the hook. He sits on the bed and wiggles out of his tuxedo pants, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He does not turn around when he hears the door behind him open, nor does he move when the other side of the bed sinks under Eddie's weight. A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, folding around his upper arm. Feather-light kisses brush his other shoulder, tracing a line across his shoulder blades. He twists his upper body around to face Eddie, who smiles serenely up at him. Richie places a hand on his chest, his thumb gently circling one of Eddie's two black star tattoos.

"How's it feel to be back?" Eddie asks, leaning into Richie.

"I liked the ocean air, but I have to say... I missed the smog." Eddie chuckles and fidgets with his his inhaler (it's new, and he carries it with him everywhere. It's more of a security blanket than anything else.)

"I don't know, I mean... since we spent those few months out there shooting the show, I've given it some thought, and... what would you say to moving? Somewhere else? Anywhere else?" Richie looks up in shock.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's not like I want to move back to Derry or anything, but think about it. If we went to Pasadena, or Santa Monica, or San Diego-"

"You really liked California, I take it?"

"I did, but if you think about it, it'd make perfect sense for us. And we wouldn't have to live in the middle of the city. I- I love New York, Richie, I do, that's why I moved here, but it's never where I imagined raising kids, if I imagined that at all. But we loved it there. And Stan loved it there. And if we went there, he could grow up on the beach instead of the sidewalks, and he might actually be able to see the stars at night, and-"

"Okay, Eds, calm down." Richie laughs and flops onto his back. Eddie falls beside him, and they turn to look at each other. "Let's do it?" Eddie cocks an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. You're right, as always. And besides, it's warmer there. It's too goddamn cold here." Eddie curls an arm over Richie and buries his face in Richie's chest.

"I love you, you know that? And I literally couldn't be prouder of you if I tried." Richie pulls Eddie in closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"It's all for you, Eddie. All of it. That statue out there is yours, baby. And so am I."