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wordstro · 3 years ago

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[2:48 PM] + hero/villain au + "we're quite a pair, aren't we?" + part 7

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 masterlist

a/n: 2.5k, gender neutral as always, I know I said this is the last part but i'm gonna need a couple more or else this will be too long! warnings for cursing, wooyoung being toxic, and an astrology joke because I couldn't help myself lol

jung wooyoung's fiery gaze is unwavering, unrelenting, and it has you frozen to your spot. you do not know whether you are terrified or in awe of the sheer power displayed before you. flames curl around him like wings, heat scorching your skin as he moves closer. despite his promises to you, to selfishly keep you alive, you think this is it. either you will stop wooyoung, or you will die trying.

a hand on your elbow pulls you out of your thoughts and back to reality. back to the screams of civilians, to the skeletons clawing themselves out from the cracks in the concrete, all headed your way at a slow, daunting speed. there are so many of them, like moths swarming a flame or those zombie movies you used to watch on movie nights with your team, with wooyoung wedged between you and san and popcorn nestled in your lap. your heart withers in your chest, but the terror the looming army of skeletons dredge up within you does not quell.

hongjoong levels you with a sincere, determined look, his voice low, "you are not going up against him alone," his fingers drop from your elbow to your hand and he squeezes it as he used to when you were both in university, "not again. not anymore."

at any other time, the show of sincerity would bring you to tears after everything, but you don't have time that. not now. instead, you give him a grateful smile before you switch gears.

"it's fine, joong. you need to find seonghwa and jongho and make sure yeo...that he's..." your heart sinks in your chest as you trail off at the thought of yeosang's fate.

"i know." hongjoong sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, before he swivels on san. they have a silent exchange, one you can't decipher, but san nods in response and hongjoong grits his teeth. hongjoong's gaze keeps flickering to wooyoung's approaching figure even as he looks between you and san.

hongjoong says, "protect each other."

you both nod. hongjoong steps back, his eyes lingering on wooyoung, before he disappears into thin air, no doubt stepping into one of the many dimensions he can flit through. he's likely already on the other side of the army to confront seonghwa. the skeleton army spreads into the city streets, like ants, aimless as they descend upon the city. you ignore the guilt surging within you as you block out the screams and cries of civilians, turning your focus entirely on wooyoung.

"you think this is poetic justice or something?"

"what?" you blink sideways at san. he cranes his neck as he stares at wooyoung, and his expression is the calmest you've seen it in a while, as if all the anger has melted under wooyoung's scorching heat. all that is left is a sad sort of resolve.

"two of the three people who love wooyoung most," san gives you a sidelong glance and a knowing half-smile, "teaming up to beat his ass into the next decade. the alliance's pr team could never set something up like this."

your heart twists at his words, but you manage a small smile back. "should you really be romanticizing a beat down, san?"

"i can't help it," san shrugs, "i'm a cancer. we romanticize everything."

you snort, and san smiles, and you know right then that you are not the only one who's resolved to stop wooyoung or die trying.

before you can say another word, flames burst up into the sky all around you, a fire wall that cuts you and san off from the rest of the city. you watch some skeletons burn to crisps before you, blackened bones clattering into the rubble, cement melting.

you hear wooyoung laugh.

then a molten piece of rubble is soaring in your direction at a speed you can barely fathom, let alone dodge.

~.~.~.~.~

you come to all at once, and you feel as if you've been hit by a truck. a burning truck made of solid metal. multiple times.

you don't have time to assess the damage, only that you know your vision is blurred and you have burns and the smell of burning skin and hair is not pleasant at all and that you're - holy shit, you're practically embedded into the side of an office building, half your body hanging in the air, unsupported. you blink away the spots in your vision, shaking the ringing in your ears, and grip a steel pipe protruding from the gaping hole you've caused and look over the side of the building to -

"- fucking asshole!"

"you've said that already."

you recognize san's shout and wooyoung's infuriatingly nonchalant response, drifting from beneath you.

you lean over and recoil at the sight of san swinging at wooyoung with a vengeance you only imagined from him until this point. wooyoung dodges each hit with ease. he knows san's fighting style, even after all these months. wooyoung and san used to train together often, alongside yeosang.

"i knew you were bad at throwing punches, but i didn't know you were this bad. heartbreak made you this soft?"

wooyoung's tone is mocking, mean. you bristle, yanking at the protruding pipe beside you. it groans in protest, but you don't have any other weapons, so a giant corporation can handle a missing plumbing pipe or two.

san lands a punch. "that one's for y/n," then san tackles wooyoung to the ground, straddling him before he lands another punch on wooyoung's face. the sickening crunch seems to echo despite the chaos in the city. san's biting words echo as well, "and that's for yeosang."

wooyoung merely laughs, "is that it? yeosang hit harder than you."

san blinks, and the silence that follows has you pausing in your attempt to wrench out the stupid pipe from the cement building.

"hit?" san's voice echoes up to you, "past tense?"

wooyoung doesn't respond. san grabs him by the collar, yanking him close to say something you can't hear from up here. you finally pull the pipe from the building, water bursting from the severed pipe and spilling over you.

whatever san says to wooyoung flips a switch in him, one that you've seen too often in that underground apartment. in the blink of an eye, wooyoung has san by the throat, fire bursting from his other palm, poised and ready for the finishing blow. you lock eyes with san over wooyoung's shoulder, even as he grips wooyoung's arm. his lips are moving, and whatever he's whispering to wooyoung has anger rolling off him in waves. you jump from the side of the building, landing right behind him as you swing at his head. the road crumbles beneath you at the force of your jump, making you miss wooyoung by an inch. he turns his fire on you and it whizzes past your head, inches from your ear. the smell of burnt hair floods your senses once more.

wooyoung meets your gaze.

your grip remains tight on the pipe in your hands, but your voice wavers when you whisper, "is yeosang...is he dead? did you kill him?"

"those are two very different questions."

"woo -"

wooyoung grabs the pipe and it starts to melt in his hands, molten metal dripping between you both. you yelp at the way it burns your hands, pulling your stinging hands away just as san lunges for wooyoung's feet. without turning, wooyoung swings the pipe straight down into san's lunging hands. the movement is too fast. the instant rotting scent of burning flesh causes you to lurch back, even as san lets out a loud scream. he phases away fast enough to avoid the brunt of it, but from the way san cradles his hand against his chest as he scoots away from wooyoung, you know the pain is bad.

wooyoung rolls his eyes, brandishing the molten pipe in his hands. "this is fucking pathetic," he eyes san in annoyance, "you're fucking pathetic."

if you hadn't known what to look for, you'd have missed the way san's shoulders deflate at the insult.

you push your way between them, blocking san from wooyoung's harsh gaze. you shove wooyoung so hard he stumbles back, his eyes widening slightly as if he'd forgotten your strength. maybe he has, since you spent months unable to use it on him. then, he turns his angry, mocking eyes on you, stepping towards you.

he tilts his head to the side, eyes boring into your face, "did that hit too close to home for you, y/n?"

your fists curl at your side. his gaze flickers to your fists. his smile is vindictive.

"you think after this, they'll let your crimes slide?"

he takes another step closer, flicks his wrist, and all you hear is san shout behind you before he is blocked off by a wall of fire. you're encircled by fire, by wooyoung, and wooyoung merely laughs once more.

you shove him away from you. his back hits the fire behind him, but it only seems to push him back into the circle. wooyoung is unaffected by the strength of your shoves, his gaze unwavering. each time you push him back, he stumbles back only to step forward. sometimes his flames push him back to his feet when you push him to close. he continues to advance on you as if your strength is nothing. as if it isn't enough.

if you wanted to, you could shove him a hundred meters into the ground or toss him into the sky, into one of the office buildings peeking over the wall of fire even. but you don't. despite everything, you can't. yeosang doesn't need to be here to speak the strength out of you. you know it, and so does he. san knows it too, you realize, and that's why he landed punches for you.

"stop it. don't come any closer." you grit out, shoving him once more.

he laughs. there is nothing amusing about it, "do i need to remind you what you've done?"

"i'll kill you, wooyoung," you stand your ground, arms raised, but your voice wavers when wooyoung steps even closer, until his chest brushes against your raised knuckles, "i swear i will."

"come on, y/n. we both know you can't," wooyoung snorts, "you can barely even hurt me. we're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"don't compare me to you. you've hurt me time and time again," you remind him, pushing him back once more, "you just threw a fucking lava rock at me."

he shrugs, "but did it kill you?"

you let out a scream of frustration, lunging at wooyoung, tackling him to the ground. you grip his tattered collar, ignoring the way his heated skin almost burns, and you raise your fist.

he says, with such ease, as if you aren't seconds away from breaking his nose, "killing me won't stop a thing. it won't stop your anger or any of the fighting. this is only the beginning, y/n. kill me now and you'll only create a martyr."

your fist shakes midair, your grip tightening around his collar. he's right. his ideologies have already found a foothold within disenfranchised communities. you could tell that much from the brief bits of news you were able to catch on television between serum injections and blank spaces. wooyoung is always fucking right.

wooyoung's eyes flicker from your raised fist to your face, and his eyes are unreadable.

his voice is the softest murmur, but his words cut right through you, "all i have to do is say the words, you know. then we can have the city by nightfall."

you can't imagine the idea of mindlessly joining wooyoung's side. after reconciling with hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and san. after yeosang risked his life to get you out. you can't fathom why wooyoung insists on making you go through that again.

you drop your fist to his collar, and you yank him up with both hands, the sound of his collar tearing further filling the silence between you both. you search his gaze for a long moment before you whisper, "why are you doing this to me?"

it's a genuine question, and for once, wooyoung appears entirely genuine as he thinks over his response. "there are two sides to every war. those who win, and those who are dead," wooyoung's eyes flicker over your features, "i don't know what i'll do if you die, so i'm picking your side for you."

his tone is quiet, an admission almost, and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. you need to get away from him. bile rises in your throat at the thought of his words, the meaning behind it, the way a miniscule part of you still stirs at the admission. you always used to wonder how he felt about you, and when he betrayed you all, you used to lament that you were not enough to make him even consider staying. now, you're getting an admission under all the wrong circumstances and for all the wrong reasons. you continue to back away, until the heatwaves emitting from his fire wall burns at your skin, sweat dripping down your back.

wooyoung merely sits up and watches your reaction with unreadable eyes.

"you're doing this because you care about me?" your voice curls around the word care. your heart hurts.

wooyoung drags a hand through his messy hair, his gaze falling to his feet for just a moment. he nods. he appears subdued like this. vulnerable.

"that's fucked up," you whisper, "it's unfair. it's - it's -"

"i know," wooyoung says, sighing as he tugs at his hair, "i know, y/n."

his brown eyes meet yours, and he holds you in his gaze for a moment too long. your fingers curl into fists as you look away first.

"what about," you grit your teeth as you address the wall of fire behind him, "what about san? joong? mingi and yunho? you don't care if they're dead?"

"if the villain alliance needs their powers, we'll have them take the serum."

he doesn't answer your second question, and you can't help but look at him again. you can see the way your question affects him though, the tick of his jaw and the brief flicker of guilt. but his words sit heavy on your shoulders.

one day, he'll take their autonomy from them as well and you'll be forced to help.

"i hate you," you tell him.

wooyoung's voice is soft with pity, "no you don't."

jung wooyoung is always right, and you hate that most of all.

another siren breaks through the city, and you're suddenly aware of just how eerie and silent the world has become. the siren doesn't sound like anything the alliance had trained you on, the low hum of horns grating on your ears. wooyoung seems to know what it means, though, craning his neck as a small grin tugs at his lips. he brushes the dirt from his tattered clothes and flicks his wrist. the flames around you dance further into the sky.

"that's your cue," he says to you.

you shake your head in a last stand of defiance. you hope he'll listen. for once. but, he sighs, as if you are merely a child throwing a tantrum.

then he says the words and your vision spots.

you disappear.

#wooyoung angst #ateez angst #ateez #ateez scenarios #wooyoung #hero/villain au

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angelbrock · 4 years ago

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con artist love - c.b oneshot

summary: two con artists hate each other but they're set on a mission together to rob a money laundering-staged bank. however, some things go out of hand. - A/N: This is my first ever imagine, i really hope you guys like this! <3

warnings: SWEARING! SOME SWEET LOVIN

AU - SOME PARTS OF THE STORY IS BASED ON A TIKTOK ABOUT GOING FROM ENEMIES TO LOVERS - THE FALLING OFF A ROOFTOP THING - AND SOME OF IT IS BASED ON THE NETFLIX SERIES ‘THE GREAT PRETENDER’.

masterlist

your point of view

i woke up to my alarm being blared at my face, to which i groaned at. i slammed my hand over the snooze button, burying my face back into my pillow as i slowly dozed off; until i felt something poke me from behind. i swatted it off, covering myself with my blanket. then, i felt something poke me once again.

"mmmh." i swatted at it for the second time.

"wake the fuck up!" i jumped up, spuinting my eyes as i adjusted myself to the light. i rubbed my eyes, furrowing my eyebrows intensely, "finally. you're such a heavy sleeper."

"what the fuck are you doing in my apartment, and why are you waking me up at," i looked over at my alarm, "seven in the morning." i rasped out.

colby, the asshole who woke me up, smirked in response, "sheesh, quit being a bitch," he rolled his eyes, chucking a piece of paper at me, "our boss assigned us to a mission, and unfortunately, it's with you." he stuffed his hands into his pockets. i groaned, throwing my head back in annoyance. "nice hairdo, by the way."

i shot a glare towards him, flipping him off before tying my hair up in a bun. "what's the mission." i asked blandly, taking the blanket off of me and getting out of bed.

"i just gave you the mission, cant you read?" i rubbed my temples.

"okay first of all smartass," i walked towards him, pointing my finger directly at his face, to which he brought his face back to avoid, “it’s 7am and i only fell asleep at four in the morning, so you either tell me what our fucking mission is, or you tell boss to find another partner for you. and i’m sure that you don’t want to get on his nerves either, do you bud?” his eyes were widened at the end of my sentence. i let out a gasp, feeling breathless when i finished talking.

“jesus christ, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” he spoke to himself more than anything, grabbing my finger and pushing it away from his face. “we have to rob a bank. but nobody gets hurt, the whole bank is just a setup for money laundering.”

“is that it?” colby nodded, “that’s easy. when do we start?”

“we have to be there by four.” my mouth went agape for a moment,

“then why the hell did you wake me up so early?!” i pushed his chest slightly, a yawn escaping my mouth. he smirked a little,

“because you’re cute when you’re mad.” he nudged his shoulder against mine, “i’ll see you at two. and be ready with the equipment, i’m not lending you mine if you forget any.” i rolled my eyes at his statement. he walked out the door, flashing me a snarky smile before leaving.

i pressed my tongue against my cheek, replaying his comment, you’re cute when you’re mad. hm, is that so? i sighed, well i cant go to bed now, since that blue eyed bastard woke me up. might as well start preparinng myself now. i picked up the paper that he that thrown at me earlier, actually bothering to read it. i pouted slightly then nodded, sounds good.

TIME SKIP - 3:45PM

i jumped when i heard a harsh knock on my door, but before i could even go and answer it, colby barged inside without warning. “yo grumpy, let’s go.”

“do you always have to barge in like that, or?” i sarcastically questioned, grabbing my backpack and swinging it over my shoulder. he shrugged,

“yeah, it’s just you. i don’t need to be polite to you, do i, hm?” he spoke back, smiling just as sarcastically.

“i wish i hadn’t known you since sixth grade.” i scrunched my nose out of mockery. “let’s go.” he huffed out a laugh, walking ahead of me. i shut and locked the door behind me before i caught up to him. “okay, what’s the plan?”

“we need to find the roof to this place, apparently there’s some spare room where the security cameras are located, you need to disable them and i’ll get the guards.” i nodded, the elevator ride being awkwardly silent after talking.

“right, why exactly did boss choose me and you to be partners again?” i rose an eyebrow, fixing my beanie.

“i don’t know, he said something about us two being compatible for this job,” i gave him a look, “yeah, that’s what my reaction was too. but apparently as much as me and you hate each other, we work really well together. skill-wise.” i just hummed back in response as we walked to my work car; a black jaguar sports car. “i’m driving.”

“uh, what?” i fake laughed out, “i hope you realise that this is my car.”

“and i hope you realise that i’m the main getaway driver.” he snarkily replied back. i rolled my eyes, tossing the keys at him. he swiftly caught them, smiling sarcastically once again. i got into the passenger seat, putting my backpack near my feet, “aaalright,” he started, buckling his seatbelt, “you got your gear, or did you forget again.”

“fuck off.” i grumbled, looking out the window. god i hate this guy. or do you? the small in my head scolded me. i shook my head at the accusation.

once we got to the destination, i furrowed my eyebrows at how fancy this ‘bank’ looked. “damn,” i shut the door of my car, getting my bag. “for a money laundering scheme, this place is fucking huge.” colby hummed in response, slinging his gear bag over his shoulder too. “okay, i see a back exit. there must be an emergency exit right above it, maybe we could climb up the ladder to it.”

“you’re smarter than you look.” he pushed past me, i squinted my eyes at him in annoyance.

“fucking dick.” i whispered to myself. walking behind him, keeping a close eye behind me. god, i wish i had a different partner. compatible, pshh. boss is fucking stupid to even think that.

we eventually found an emergency exit, climbing up the ladder and into the building. we hid behind a wall that led to the security room, colby looks over his shoulder, “okay, we have to distract those guards, then we can get in there.” i didn’t respond, waiting for the sign for us to go.

“hey! what’re you guys doing here!” my eyes widened,

“oh shit.” i whispered, “we’re um-” before i could even finish my sentence, colby had already shot the four guards that had approached us with tranquilizers, which also caught the other two security guards’ attention, to which he did the same thing to them. “colby, what the fuck are you doing?!” i whisper yelled at him, opening the door quickly and walking in.

“saving us! what else?” i rolled my eyes,

“are you saving us, or are you trying to get us caught?!” i took my jacket off, sitting down at the computers. “because whatever you’re trying to do, is 100% going to get us killed!” i whisper yelled again.

“shut the fuck up, as if you could think of anything better. ‘uh-i-we’. pfft.” he mocked me, chuckling to himself. “damn relax, it’s just tranquilizers, it’s not going to kill them. they’ll be awake in like two hours.” i clenched my jaw, staying quiet and focusing on hacking the security systems to disable them.

“there’s so many cameras here, holy shit.” i typed in some codes, switching computers a few times. i had my eyes all over the screen, but colby’s eyes were on me. i could feel it. “stop staring at me dipshit, i can see you through the screen.”

“don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. it’s not everyday that you have guys staring at you.” i turned my hand back to flip him off, causing him to chuckle. after a few seconds, all of the cameras had finally been disabled. i got up from the seat,

“let’s go, let’s go!” i quickly hurried out of the security room, colby following me close behind. “i’m going left, you go right. there shouldn’t be any workers now. if anything happens-”

“-i’ll buzz you in, gotcha. now go.” we split up, i took my gloves out of my bag, putting them on and using a screwdriver to get the locks off. i stuffed one of my trash bags with all the money that was in the safe.

i repeated this to about five other safes, i now had two big bags filled with $1000 bills. i was going to do my final round, just when colby had buzzed me in. “y/n! the dude that owns this money laundering place is outside the building, head up to the roof! and then i’ll tell you what to do! over n’ out.”

“oh fuck,” i buzzed him in, “yes, copy that. over n’ out.” less than a second later, i hear some other guards screaming out at me,

“whoever’s there! surrender now!” i slung the bags of money over my shoulders, sprinting past them, “GET HER!” i ran as fast as i could. i bolted up the stairs, taking one of my tranquilizer and shooting it at them.

“y/n, we have backup here waiting, just make sure the money bags are tied and throw them over the roof. we’ll catch them.” colby buzzed in with me, “be careful, please don’t get hurt.” my eyebrows furrowed at the last sentence, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach.

“o-okay. th-thanks.” i buzzed back with him. please be careful... never thought he’d be the person to care about someone like me..

i reached to the roof, doing as colby said; throwing the money bags over, “you got nowhere to go now, pretty girl.” i breathed heavily,

“colby, help.” i whispered into the earpiece.

the group of guards began walking towards me, causing me to walk backwards towards the edge. i slipped a little, gasping then catching myself. “y/n, i’m gonna need you to trust me with this one, okay? please.” i furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“what?-”

“just trust me,” he said into the earpiece, “i need you to jump.” my eyes widened.

“what?!” i whisper yelled,

“what the fuck have you done to our money, bitch.”

“just trust me y/n! jump!” i mentally cursed to myself, here goes nothing. i’m gonna die.

“you’re stuck with us now, get her!” before they could get close to me, i pointed my fingers into a gun position,

“bye bitches.” then saluted to them, stepping off the edge. they all shouted for me, i was falling down two stories. yep, i’m dead. the air grew more tense and heavy around me.

i closed my eyes just as i thought i was going to land on the concrete grounds, i felt as if i was being embraced by someone. then, i heard the grunt of someone familiar, “are you alright?! y/n?!” colby’s worried voice called out for me. i slowly opened my eyes, seeing his face inches away from mine.

“colby?” i whispered lowly, feeling my eyelids getting heavier, i felt insanely dizzy. i hummed a little. he had caught me in his arms, holding me tightly.

“oh shi-” was all i heard before passing out.

TWO HOURS LATER

i heard faint voices as i slowly woke up. i was now laying on my bed. “congratulations to both of you, you both did amazing on this mission.” “thanks boss.” colby’s deep and tired voice responded back, i felt shivers down my spine when he spoke. “alright, i’ll leave you to it. tell her i hope she feels better.” i was now laying on my bed.

the door opened and shut. i heard colby sigh, then i felt his hand cup my cheek; his fingers gently brushing a few strands of my hair away from my forehead, those same butterflies fluttered in my stomach. i shut my eyes tightly before slowly opening them, he retracted his hand away from my face. i gulped a little, opening my eyes completely. “bgh.” my hand went to the side of my temple, “ugh.” i groaned, my head was pounding.

“grumpy’s awake,” i turned my head to the side, making eye contact with him. “how you feeling?” he quietly asked.

“like ten pounds of bricks took a shit on my head.” he laughed a little, watching me get up slowly. i groaned, my hand slipping,

“woah, be careful.” he held my waist, getting up a little and helping me sit up. “you’re still a little drowsy.” i looked into his eyes as he helped me, trying to ignore the tint in my cheeks, his face was turning a little red too, he cleared his throat and sat back down.

“what happened anyways?” i asked, pressing on the side of my neck, feeling it ache.

“one of those douchebags shot you with a tranquilizer dart.” i huffed, “but, we succeeded on our mission.” he smiled a little, “i guess we do make good partners.” i shrugged a little,

“yeah, i guess we do.” i smiled a little. “thank you for saving me, by the way..”

“of course, i wasn’t going to let you die.” he looked away, “i can’t let that happen.” he mumbled under his breath. i bit the inside of my lip, trying to fight a smile. “thank you for trusting me.”

i breathed out a small laugh, “no problem.” it then fell silent for a long time before he spoke up.

“hey, grumpy,” i giggled to myself at the nickname, humming in response, “um..” i rose my eyebrows, indicating him to continue, “i- i just wanted to say that i’m sorry for treating you like shit all the time.. i just-” he sighed, gulping. “i-”

“just say it colby,” i softly spoke to him.

he bit his lip out of nervousness, “i’ve liked you for.. years now..” holy shit, “and-and i know i don’t have a chance with you, but, after seeing you in danger today, i couldn’t see the sight of you ever getting hurt. and i completely understand if you don’t feel the same about me, but i-” i cut him off, getting up and cupping his cheeks before caressing my lips over his. he was taken aback from the kiss, but slowly melted into it.

he brought his hands over my hips, pulling me on top of his lap. i ran my fingers through his hair as our lips moved softly. fitting together perfectly. i pulled away for a moment, “i can’t believe i’m saying this,” he pecked my lips gently, “but i like you too colby.” he smiled, i copied his expression before kissing him once again.

“thank fucking god.” he mumbled against my lips. i giggled. continuing to kiss him. he got up from the chair, my thighs wrapped around his waist as he led us back to my bed, laying me down and getting on top of me. “who knew con arists like us could ever fall for each other.” our noses brushed against each other, looking deeply into one another’s eyes.

“who knew.” we smiled before kissing once again.

that, is cliche isn’t it. oh well.

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby brock stories #colby x reader #imagines #youtuber x imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock oneshot #traphouse x reader

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dear-yandere · 5 years ago

Text

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク.

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream.

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them?

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole.

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life.

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant.

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp—

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

#jotaro kujo x reader #kujo jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #jojo's bizare adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jjba scenario #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #diamond is unbreakable #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #*oneshot #not yandere

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benperorsolo · 4 years ago

Note

Ben’s arc in the sequel trilogy is basically a ‘did the chicken come first or the egg’ type of problem. Was he always meant to be a straight up villain but Rian switched gears to make him sympathetic, or was he always meant to be sympathetic but JJ doubled down on his villainy in response to the haters? Did Lucasfilm have Ben kill Han because Ben was meant to die anyway, or did Ben die because the fans never forgave him for killing Han? I guess we’ll never know.

Not to be a contrarian but Ben being a sympathetic character is not something Rian made up, and neither is Han forgiving Ben or Han's murder not making Ben the evil villain he hoped he was. That part was in the TFA script.

I'm sorry but this just touches a nerve with me because despite TROS fucking up Ben living, his sympathetic nature and redemption were absolutely things you could and should have called from TFA, and anyone who actually said so in 2016 was mocked and then after TLJ gaslit about how nobody could have predicted Ben being sympathetic before Rian. I know this probably isn't what you meant but it's very Tiring for me to constantly have to see this fandom get selective amnesia about just what exactly was predictable from TFA just because they were too stubborn to see it until Rian made it impossible to ignore.

That said it is baffling why Ben's character was made to exist at all if this is what they were going to do with the last Skywalker.

#asks #nonnie

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talesofphantombandits · 5 years ago

Text

Zero to Six ~ Chapter Eleven.

CSorry, this feels really lame but I tried my best, then I was about to upload it when tumblr went down.

Here’s chapter Eleven though! enjoy <3

Again, let me know if you want to be tagged.

Warnings: Swearing.

tags: @i-am-sarah , @whothefuckstolemykeds , @drowsyrrog , @culturefiendtrashqueen , @rogue-barnes-16--main-account–main-account , @alliwantfromyouistomakelovetome, @valerie-weasley , @sueeatstheworld , @bleona2808 , @pippin248 , @myfatbottomedgirls , @httpfandxms , @cooliosmosh , @speckles-s , @walking-disgrace , @itsmeaudrieee , @fight-the-freaking-fairies , @irrelevant-pumpkin , @captain-sparkles-who , @podcasts-8-my-heart , @foulvintagenature , @imjustboredso , @loophoria

___________________________________________________________

“So Billy eh, I mean it’s cute but it’s a little common.”

We were driving through a forest, Four in the driving seat with Five in the passenger seat. I was sat in the back in the middle, leaning against the seat with my tinted blue sunglasses on.

Four just scoffed.

“Well we can’t all be like you, miss my names unique.”

Five turned in her seat to smirk at me.

I looked from Five to the rear view mirror to find Four staring at me, I just smiled and raised my eyebrows. “Well I didn’t have a choice in picking it did I?”

“Well Neither did I with mine, sweetheart.”

I leaned forward, putting my hands on his shoulders. I was essentially back hugging his seat.

I leaned into his ear and whispered. “I love when you call me that.”

He peered over his shoulder at me as I sunk back, biting my lip.

He just shifted uncomfortably in his seat, double taking at Five who gave him a shocked but stern look.

“Hey you don’t have to tell me. She’s the one riling me up!” Billy defended.

“Let’s just get this over and done with, no distractions please Zero.” She looked at me pointedly.

“Sure.” I said with a smirk, catching Billy’s eye in the mirror again.

We got to the location about an hour later, parking 30 minutes out as to not cause suspicion.

We kept low in the brush when we finally reached the communications disc on top of Turgistan Mountains.

Guards where just at the top of the base but that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Hey, you afraid?” Five said breathlessly as Four got the wire cutters out of the bag.

He just looked at her with an unreadable expression and cut the chain. She looked to me, I just sighed giving her my best smile.

I managed to hack the cameras getting the screens up while also being in a position where I could keep an eye on the guards. Four had already started his acsent up the big disc.

In and out with no disasters, just how I like it.

On the way back Five decided to get in the back seat while I was packing the gear in the trunk.

Which meant was was sitting shotgun, about 10 minutes into our journey back she’d fallen asleep.

Four coughed shuffling in his seat. “You okay?” He grabbed my hand from my lap with his free hand.

“I’m fine, what about you.” He interlocked our fingers and rested them back on my lap.

“Am good just a little nervous. Listen about us? What are we.”

I stared at him. Why was he doing this now.

“I like you Billy.” I laughed. “Dam I’ve liked you from the first insult you threw at me.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Crazy I know.”

Now was his turn to chuckle. “But?”

“I think we should finish what we started here first.” I raised our hands so I could lean my chin on them. “We never know how a mission is going to go, we’re nearly there though.”

I kissed his knuckles and he just sadly smiled at me.

“I guess you’re right. But as soon as this is over and we both come out of it alive. Which we will! I’m taking you on the best date you’ve ever been on. And if you’re lucky at the end.” He leaned in to me trying to be all seductive.

“I’ll give you that decking you’ve been asking for.”

I let go of his hand scoffing. “You’re such a cocky little shit.”

He just give me puppy dog eyes, to which I rolled mine and interlocked our hands together again.

“Happy now?”

He just deeply hummed at me and kissed my cheek.

I smiled at him, deciding I too would nap. We had along way to go.

Finally the day of the dead came, I just hope all the preparations where going to be worth it.

“And this is yours.” I looked up from where I was sitting to see Two holding up a very expensive looking green velvet dress.

“Oh shit, it’s gorgeous.”

“Fours going to die when he see’s you.”

“I think everyone will be too focused on the mission to care what’s on my body.” She just shrugged in agreement then left to get changed herself.

I just looked at the dress, sighing before changing and doing a natural but darker makeup.

Our first job was to accompany the same man, one woman on each arm. I stayed quiet while I examined the scene and let Two do the wooing.

He pulled me in by my waist, it took all the strength in me to not show how uncomfortable it was. I just started a conversation about how beautiful the boat was.

Hoping to god the guys would get here fast so we could get this show on the road. Luckily Two was here with me.

Suddenly a load explosion came from across the water, everyone stood shocked while me and Two just looked at each other. A faint smirk came across her features.

Everyone started running in a panic, we just stayed where we were. Calmly we made our way deeper into the boat.

We finally made it into the control room, as Two delt with the guard I started messing with the controls.

“Side doors open.” I mumbled flicking the final switch. God I hope Billy gets on board safely.

“Coms cut, we’re good.” I let out a sigh of relief at his voice coming through my ears.

We climbed back up going to meet the rest of the team, when Two opened the door she was met with a gun in her face curtesy of Seven.

“Bonjour.”

A round of heys and we were back on track.

“Hey Papi, don’t you ladies look nice.” Three came hobbling out of another door, winking at us.

I just stood there awkwardly while One and Three started having a little tiff.

“Children please, god and you have a go at me and Four for starting things.”

“Because that’s awkward.”

“What and this childish bickering isn’t?”

“I hate that she gets sassy and more sarcastic everyday.” Three groaned.

“Yeah I wonder where she learns it from.” One looked between Two and Three.

Two just raised her hands in a ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ position.

One stormed away.

I pointed between Two and Three. “Best adopted parents ever.”

We all followed One out.

Following Two again we made our way to the kitchen area, champagne glasses in hand this was where the acting classes would kick in.

Putting on our best drunken ‘am a lost guest’ act, I surveyed the area and found the back door to Rovach’s suite, radioing the information to the others.

I looked around to make sure the space was clear enough before I learnt against the wood, Two was about to take the men down that were surrounding Three and honestly I was excited for the show.

I’d heard and see little bits of how amazingly skilled this woman was, obviously watching now I was kind of wishing her skills were in something a little less violent.

She walked up to me to check I was okay.

“Why don’t I have a gun? I think I need a gun.”

They both just started laughing at me.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Am not giving you a gun Princess, I know you’re probably fully capable. But! I’m definitely not giving you a firearm until we’ve fully tested you back at base.” Three lectured me.

“So how exactly am I supposed to protect myself?”

Three looked around and found a metal pole from god knows where. “Here, use this.”

I just stared at him, mouth open. “What. Am I the all powerful Rey now?”

“Hey don’t mock Rey! She’s amazing in Star Wars, plus she really knows what she’s doing with that stick.”

I just tilted my head and squinted at The tall dark dumb idiot.

“Enough with the movie references!” Two shouted, dragging Three away.

“Guess it’s just you and me now.” I looked down at the metal pole and prayed for the best.

Chapter Twelve

#ben hardy #ben hardy fanfiction #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy four #6 underground #6 underground four #6 underground fanfic #6 underground fanfiction #6 underground billy #four fanfiction #four #four fanfic #billy #billy fanfiction

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bella4rosy · 4 years ago

Text

Record Player

Description: In which Steve Rogers discovers that his neighbor shares his taste for big band/swing music, and she plays him some records of her own. Mildly inspired by the french movie Blind Date. Set between Winter Soldier and Civil War.

((Contains: Domestic Steve Rogers. Old movie references. The Rat Pack. Bucky taught Steve how to foxtrot. Tony Stark making old man jokes. Tony Stark and Natasha playing matchmaker.))

The first time he heard the music, he thought he was having a stroke. He spent at least five minutes scrambling around his apartment trying to figure out how he was hearing a big band even though his record player was off. He was one more minute away from calling Tony, thinking he was under some kind of attack, before he realized it was coming from a different apartment.

He wasn’t sure if this revelation confused him more than the mysterious source of the music itself. Not a lot of people listened to the stuff from his time, this he knew. Playing those songs or requesting one or two of them at Tony’s galas had often earned him a mocking joke or two from his teammates. “Old man” or “grandpa” were the most popular, albeit uncreative, nicknames.

But here he was, hearing one of his favorite albums being played by someone else loud and clear.

It was coming from behind the bathroom wall. The building had been laid out so that the bathrooms of most units were back to back, meaning tenants shared a bathroom wall. His neighbor had never made much noise before, and he was rarely reminded that there was another person with their own life and routines occurring on the other side of that thin plaster. Until now.

He racked his brain trying to figure out if his neighbor was someone he’d met before. Maybe in passing in the stairwell, or in the laundry room? Was this a man or a woman? Were they a real neighbor at all? He remembered bitterly the time his neighbor in the last apartment building had turned out to be a Shield agent. Maybe Tony or Sam were playing a joke on him? He briefly considered calling the scientist again. Regardless, whoever this neighbor was, they were familiar with the old soldier’s music taste.

It was seven in the morning. Tony probably wouldn’t be awake yet, if he’d even gone to bed at all. Steve made coffee and started some housekeeping he’d put off during a mission.

The neighbor let the whole album play before the music ended. They didn’t replay it afterwards.

The second time he heard the music there was singing with it. That’s how he found out his neighbor was definitely a woman. A lovely mezzo-soprano voice lilted through layers of orchestra and running water.

Steve, upon the discovery that (1) his neighbor was female, (2) she could sing beautifully, and (3) she was currently singing in the shower, had the decency to blush like a gentleman. He sat like that on his couch, legs propped up, book in hand, face red as a tomato for six minutes until his gaze could refocus on the printed words in front of him.

She sang through the whole album, a different yet familiar one this time, continuing after the shower stopped running. When the album was over, there was a brief pause until he heard the door down the hallway open and shut. She was leaving her apartment.

It was eight in the evening.

He looked up from his book towards his own front door. It was at that moment that a seconds-long daydream, like something from a Gene Kelly film, played out in Steve’s head. A daydream in which he hopped off his couch with an appropriate degree of urgency, book discarded. He would open his door to see the flash of her hair disappearing down the stairs. He would call after her and ask for her name. He would stop at the top of the stairs and lay eyes on her for the first time, and she would be beautiful, probably dolled up to go out with her own friends. She would look up at him with a dazzling smile and say--

Steve shook himself. His heart was pounding in his chest. The heat returned to his cheeks. What a silly thought.

The third time, he had started it. He hadn’t been aware she was in her apartment or he wouldn’t have played it so loud. He had spent the day cleaning the apartment and listening to some records of his own. He was up to his elbows in bleach, scrubbing his bathtub when the current album finished in the other room. He wasn’t in a hurry to switch discs.

It was maybe two minutes before he heard her voice on the other side of the wall. It was distant, like she wasn’t in her bathroom, but rather, deeper in her apartment. She was singing the words to the last song he’d played, unaccompanied. The rhythm was perfect, and she imitated the vocal tone of the time period in a way he didn’t know was possible. When she came across a line or two that she didn’t know, the lyrics faded into light humming.

Steve realized he had stopped scrubbing to listen better.

He wondered briefly if she knew how to dance to this kind of music. Evidently, it was something she had an interest in; surely she could have the musicality to dance. Then his thoughts were bombarded by the revolutionary notion that if she couldn’t, he would love to show her how.

Before the serum, Steve had trouble finding partners to go to dances with. Bucky, of course, had been kind enough to teach him a couple dances anyways, for practice. It wasn’t until after the serum that Steve had been confident enough to actually invite a girl or two onto the floor for a foxtrot. And by the time he went into the ice he wasn’t half bad at it.

Peggy would have been impressed with it, he thought bittersweetly.

It had taken him a long time to make peace with the dance he missed with Peggy, but he realized by now that it wouldn’t be fair to deny himself the chance to dance again. Or fall in love again, for that matter.

Steve’s thoughts came to a halt.

He had stopped scrubbing a while ago. The singing had stopped too, although he couldn’t place when.

As confusing as these thoughts and feelings were, when he took up the scrub brush again, Steve wished with unmatched desperation that she would sing some more.

The fourth time, she was playing an artist he did not recognize at all. The big band style and the songs were the same as the ones the two neighbors had listened to before, but he couldn’t place the singer. This troubled Steve greatly.

It was practically routine by now. She would play music and sing at seven in the morning, presumably while she got ready for work; and every once in a while, she would do the same in the evening while she got ready for bed or maybe to go out with friends. If Steve was home to hear either, and he usually was, he spent the time in a trance, listening attentively while drawing, reading a book, or drinking his coffee.

The songs however were typically ones he’d heard before, so this new voice was decidedly not part of the routine. After the fourth or fifth track, the curiosity ate the supersoldier alive, and he picked up his cell phone.

“Cap-sicle. Are you calling me from your rotary phone? How long did it take you to dial this number?” Tony Stark was relentless.

“Shut up, I have an important question for you.”

“Is it something you could Google? We’ve shown you Google,” Tony rambled. “Pepper, haven’t we shown Cap Google?” He could hear Tony yelling, aside.

The phone couldn’t pick up Pepper’s response. There was the sound of a toolbox falling followed by explitory grunts.

Steve padded closer to the bathroom door, and continued, “Do you know who this is?”

He held the phone out, microphone first in the hopes that it would pick up the music through the wall.

It was Pepper who answered, “Oh, that’s Harry Connick Jr. We hosted him at a fundraiser once, I think. He’s wonderful”

“He’s alive?” Steve asked curiously. He didn’t know people alive today still made music like this.

Steve was scribbling the name into his notebook when the neighbor started to sing again.

“Oh my god, Cap, is that a girl? Pepper, that’s a girl!”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat at Tony’s question. He pressed the phone back to his ear and ran as far from the bathroom as he could. Yes, it was a girl. Steve wanted to say, But not one I’ve met.

Pepper’s voice floated through the phone, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

“I don’t,” Steve said before hanging up.

After the fourth time, Tony teased Steve about the music as often as he got the chance. They would be gearing up for a mission, and Tony would ask if Steve needed to play a pump up song and then suggest some sappy track title by The Rat Pack. Natasha caught on the fastest, as did Clint shortly after that. As far as Steve could tell, though, the others on the team didn’t quite know a girl was involved. Tony had enough respect not to let that cat out of the bag yet. But it was only a matter of time.

The mockery and chuckles would die down as soon as they got on-site for their missions, and by then Steve would be pushing any thoughts of thin walls, showers, and record players far from his mind. For the sake of his survival, of course. He couldn’t imagine what would happen in his line of work if he was caught daydreaming.

It wasn’t until he was on his way back to headquarters that Steve let his mind wander to thoughts of his neighbor’s voice or her showering habits. (Bucky would have elbowed him if he’d heard that thought, either proudly or disapprovingly, depending on the day.)

It hadn’t taken long for Steve to realize that he looked forward to coming home to the music a little too much; but it was taking longer for him to acknowledge that coming home and hearing her was so relieving to him because it meant they were both safe and sound again.

That wasn’t a bad thing to look forward to, right?

The fifth time Steve heard the music, Natasha and Tony heard it too. The minute it started, Steve knew he was done for.

The two avengers had come over to his place, he wasn’t sure what for specifically; maybe they had just been bored since their respective partners were preoccupied with work and thought bothering Steve would be a good use of their time. They were standing in Steve’s living room bickering about some bet Tony had made with Clint the previous weekend, when an enthusiastic, syncopated band intro played audibly from behind The Wall. Natasha and Tony’s words died on their lips as they slowly turned their gazes towards the bathroom doorway. Then, as the lyrics began, they turned their heads perfectly in sync with each other to look at Steve, who (until now) had been turning the pages of a newspaper mindlessly while they argued.

It was too late to duck behind the pages. Natasha’s critical gaze had already caught the pink undertones overcoming the supersoldier’s cheeks. As embarrassed as Steve was, he was fighting hard to keep a smile off his face at the sound of the voice.

Tony pointed a hand at the offending Wall, and said, “She’s your neighbor?”

“Is this what you do now?” Natasha asked Steve. “You don’t go on dates, because you have a crush on the record player from the apartment next door?”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say she sounded offended.

“You’re dating your neighbor?” Tony asked again, his hand still pointing.

“We’re not dating,” clarified Steve. “I’ve never even talked to her.” He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

Now Tony and Natasha looked even more shocked.

“You’re joking?” Tony yelled.

Steve winced. He hoped his neighbor hadn’t heard that.

Tony started marching towards the front door. Steve leapt off the couch to stop him before he did something Steve would never recover from.

What ensued in Steve Rogers’ apartment in the next few minutes could only be described as a superhero, sibling-style brawl. The object of the game was simple. Tony and Nat did everything they could to get out the front door to meet the mysterious jazz singer, embarrassing Steve in the process. And Steve did everything he could to stop them. Everything.

He and Tony exchanged kicks and punches. There were some illegal bites and scratches on Romanoff’s part. Headlock, armlock, leglock. Steve tried it all. The coffee table got smashed to bits under Steve’s weight when Nat thought it would be smart to flip him over her shoulder. He was just pulling himself back on his feet when he heard the unmistakable sound of Tony’s Iron Man suit repulsor. Then silence.

Sure enough, his arm was outstretched, the Iron Man gauntlet encasing his left hand. Steve’s gaze followed the direction of the blast from his position on the floor.

There was a hole in Steve’s wall. His bathroom wall. Which also meant Tony Stark had just put a hole in his neighbor’s wall.

Steve’s eyes rolled, and he let his head fall back onto the floor with a thunk. At least the shower isn’t running this time.

Nat was stepping over debris from the living room fight to the bathroom to peer through the hole, her boots on the floor making the only sound in the two units. The hole was about the size of a teacup saucer and was smouldering at the edges. She straightened up and looked at the boys.

“Well, you better go apologize, Steve,” the redhead exclaimed, not without smugness.

“Yeah, Steve, that doesn’t look good,” Tony said, delighted.

Steve, jabbed the back of Tony’s knee with his elbow. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it was enough to make Tony stumble and scowl.

Steve wasn’t too quick to get back on his feet. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his face felt hot. These nerves reminded him of when he’d asked girls out before the serum, when he’d been nervous because he knew they’d say no. After the serum, it was easier, because he knew they would say yes. Now he was nervous because he didn’t know what his neighbor would say at all. He’d just put a hole through her bathroom wall!

Tony was already in the hallway, gauntlets retracted and concealed. Steve approached the door, as Tony lifted his hand to knock. Steve looked over his shoulder at Natasha who was leaning nonchalantly against his own door frame.

The door in front of him swung open.

“Hi,” Tony began, charmingly, “Sorry to bother you, but my friend here has been enamored with your music tastes, and hasn’t had the guts to talk to you.”

Steve tried to ignore the fact that Tony had just used the word “enamored”, and that the word “taste” made Steve’s eyes drop to the woman’s lips.

“Sounded like there was a fight,” she said, almost teasingly. Almost.

“Anyways, I put the hole in your wall, which I can pay for by the way. But it’s all his fault.” Tony gestured plainly to Steve.

There was quietness in the air as the two neighbors laid eyes on each other for the first time.

The woman’s body language came across as confident but curious. She’d opened the door ready to argue with whoever had done that to her wall, common love for music aside. The fact that it turned out to be Tony Stark hadn’t made her irritation vanish. She did look like she wanted to know more, though. Her arms were at her sides, and her lips were slightly parted, ready to make another teasing quip.

The woman’s hair was the color of chocolate and dripping water onto the shoulders of her shirt. She had flushed cheeks which were dotted with freckles. Her eyes made Steve’s heartbeat stutter a little bit. They were dark and framed by naturally thick lashes, but they danced the line between being green and blue. He wondered to himself if they ever changed color and decided in that moment that he would love to find out. She was average height and build for a woman in her twenties, which he surmised she was.

She observed that Steve’s blond hair was slightly mussed from the roughhousing, and there was sawdust stuck to the back and shoulders of his shirt from the shattered coffee table. His hand was rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly, and his complexion was having a hard time hiding his shame. Sure, she’d seen Steve Rogers’ pictures in the news before, but none of the pictures did him justice. He was gorgeous. Despite his nervous body language, he exuded fortitude and strength, and she decided she wouldn’t mind if this neighbor of hers did a little bit of fighting on her behalf sometime. She hoped her breath hadn’t caught too audibly when her eyes met his ocean blue ones. He had the kind of eyes that could give away any emotion she asked them to.

Steve and the neighbor broke out of their trace when the door down the hall clicked shut. Tony and Natasha were gone, they’d disappeared into Rogers’ apartment. Neither neighbor had even noticed.

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “He will fix the hole from the repulsor blast,” he assured her. She gave him a funny look at his vocabulary.

“I’m Steve.” He offered his hand to her like a gentleman.

“I’m Rita.” They shook hands. “Can he fix the record player too?” she asked.

Steve grimaced, and muttered an inaudible “oh no”.

She left the doorway and came back a minute later with the record player. It was completely mangled from the energy blast, vinyl Harry Connick Jr. album practically fused to it.

“It was within the line of fire, I guess.”

“It’s a good thing I have one you can borrow,” Steve quipped, respectfully.

Rita chuckled, and they both looked shyly at their feet. “Won’t you miss it?” she asked.

His gaze snapped to her face. “I like what I hear from your side better anyways.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, but once they were spoken, he decided he liked her reaction far too much to ever take them back.

The record player almost slipped out of her hands completely. While she fumbled, he caught it from the bottom with one hand easily. She tried not to notice the way her heart leapt from fleeting fright or the way his arm flexed under the machine.

“Can I take you out for dinner sometime?” he asked earnestly.

“To say sorry?” She baited, meeting his eyes.

“The first time, yes. I would use the dates after that to say other things, if you would have me.”

“Yes.”

They smiled at each other, as she hefted the defeated record player back into her own arms.

Just then Tony yelled from Steve’s unit, “Did you do it? Did you ask her?”, followed by a muffled grunt that was undoubtedly from Natasha hitting him on the stomach.

“Yeah,” Rita and Steve yelled back together.

“Atta boy,” Nat called proudly through the hole.

Tony really was going to fix that.

#Captain america #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanoff #fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #vinyl #records #neighbors au #blind date #the rat pack #gene kelly reference #marvel #writing #steve rogers x oc #mine

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 9

The next day brought sharks and gunfire, squids and murder. Dr. Coomer, with newfound vigor from the previous night’s rest, was racking up a pretty impressive kill count, growing in power as more of his clones were eliminated. Tommy drifted away in his head most of the morning, dwelling on his father’s words and the guilt that came with them.

He kept an eye on Benrey, as always, but there was little need to. The entity had chosen to cooperate for the most part, aside from pestering Gordon every step of the way. Gordon had learned to just go along with Benrey’s gags, giving him space to blow off some steam until he got bored. It was a surprisingly effective method of dealing with the guy, and Tommy once again found himself struck by not only Gordon’s strength and tenacity, but his remarkable resourcefulness. Maybe that doctorate from MIT really was worth something.

Controlling the entity (as far as the entity would allow himself to be controlled) was pretty much the only win they had that day. The rest of their journey had them swimming through drowned, claustrophobic tunnels, avoiding the jaws of the creatures that slithered within. Tommy wasn’t a fan, but Gordon outright hated it, coughing and spluttering every time they surfaced, waterlogged and exhausted.

The adrenaline in Gordon’s blood was pretty much the only thing keeping him moving, yet he fought on, intent on making his way to the Lambda Lab. Right. The Lambda Lab. Find the lab, close the rift, and then they could all go home.

Tommy very, very badly wanted to go home.

When Gordon nearly had a panic attack after mistaking a soda can for a grenade, Tommy finally pried himself out of his mental fog. Knock it off, dude. Now wasn’t the time to zone out and brood. People could die, and one of them in particular did not have the ability to regenerate himself if that happened.

Bubby and Benrey had begun whispering among themselves, which was a cause for concern. Tommy listened in when he could and caught mostly insults - something he was inclined to dismiss - but the way Benrey’s eyes glinted when Tommy looked his way didn’t quite sit right.

“Can’t friends talk?” Bubby had asked hotly.

That was it. Benrey didn’t have friends. Tommy let his gaze slide away, swallowing his words but keeping his suspicions close.

After rendering a perfectly good server room completely useless, they came upon one of Dr. Coomer’s clones, who had posted himself up outside a heavy lead door. He actually recognized Gordon, which was unexpected. You’re the guy in the HEV suit, he told them. We’ve been tracking your progress, he told them.

Dr. Coomer scratched his chin and swept the group with a troubled look. “Gordon, that means you’ve been leading the military to us this whole time,” he concluded.

“What? But - I mean I can’t even take it off.” Gordon gave himself an up-and-down gesture.

“Oh,” Benrey noted flatly. “Maybe you need to die.”

“What?” Gordon demanded. “I don’t need to die.”

Benrey responded by nonchalantly raising his firearm. He pulled the trigger and contents of the clone’s skull splattered against the wall. Gordon took a step back, nauseated.

“I was gonna ask him a very valuable question,” he uttered, averting his gaze.

“I’ve absorbed his power, Gordon,” Coomer brightly informed him. “Ask me.”

Tommy was staring hard at Benrey as Gordon went back and forth with Dr. Coomer about the possibility of ditching the suit. The entity’s pupils were haloed with reflected light as he returned his gaze, baring his razor smile in a challenge. Tommy didn’t say anything, his eyes wandering instead to the peculiarly shaped door. Something radiated from the back of his skull as he studied it, as if the heavy barricade itself were a warning.

“This door is ominous,” he murmured.

When the science team all cast him curious looks, he realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “It’s shaped like a B,’ he elaborated. “What could that mean? ‘Buh’ door?” That was a silly thing to say, he thought in retrospect, but it was what came out of his mouth.

Gordon gave him a mystified smile. “‘Buh’ door?” he repeated.

“No, I think those are glasses,” Benrey said.

Gordon shook his head, passing a glance between them. “What are any of you saying?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Gordon, smiling despite his unease. “Buh,” he reiterated, just to make him wheeze with laughter.

Benrey and Bubby began repeating the sound, too, and Tommy wasn’t sure if they were having fun or mocking him. At this point, both options were plausible.

Gordon was still grinning. His teeth were so even; he had definitely been a braces kid. “Working on your phonics, Tommy?”

Sure. Yeah. That was it. Most people didn’t look at a B-shaped entryway and immediately feel a crawling beneath their skin. Well, except for some very particular interior designers, perhaps. He held Gordon’s gaze and didn’t respond.

Dr. Coomer, restless, was already heading through the door. “The B stands for ‘bye!’” he called cheerfully.

The room that followed was freezing, the floors slick with ice. The creatures within were a low threat, slipping and sliding around as they were on the frozen surface, but that meant the team of scientists was equally ineffective at shooting them.

“Whoah, guys, it’s icy!” Gordon called, flinging his arms out for balance.

“It’s cold as hell in here.” Bubby observed with exasperation. He fired at an alien, corrected his aim, and fired again.

Tommy made a deal with the laws of physics for a brief time, allowing him to traverse the frozen room with relative stability. Benrey was more brazen and simply sauntered on through as if the ice wasn’t even there, paying the creatures no mind as he went. Weirdly enough, they seemed to be ignoring him back. Before Tommy could think on that much longer, Gordon’s excited voice drew his attention.

“You guys like ice skating?” he asked, eyes alight as he slid across the room. “I was never one for it. I don’t got really good balance.”

Laughing with delight, breath fogging in the chilly air, Gordon whirled with his arms above his head in a wobbly pirouette. Tommy watched him, unable to keep the smile off his face as he did. The fact that Gordon was still finding joy after almost three days in this hellscape nearly made the ice melt beneath Tommy’s feet.

Bubby’s irritated voice came from around a pillar. “Gordon, now is not the time for jokes.”

With some effort, Gordon stopped spinning. “Bro, lemme have a little fun,” he shot back. “It’s serious, but like-”

“My life is in danger!”

“So is mine!” Gordon insisted. “But like, when you guys have fun, when you’re fucking with me-”

“Your technique is sloppy, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer chimed in, sliding into the vicinity with a flourish. “Perhaps we should practice once we get out of the Black Mesa facility.”

Gordon’s smile returned in earnest. “Oh?” he asked. “Show me your form.”

The old man spread his arms wide, as if gearing up for a complicated maneuver, and then collapsed dramatically onto the icy floor. Tommy bit down on his knuckles to hide his laughter while Gordon waved him off, chuckling.

The three of them caught up to Benrey and Bubby, Gordon keeping up his skating routine as he went. Tommy trailed after him, gunning down encroaching extraterrestrials so the guy could have his fun. At one point, Gordon spun and stretched out a hand to Tommy, bowed at the waist, mouth quirking in wordless invitation.

Tommy paused, staring at his open palm, wishing more than anything that he could take it. Just forget about the creatures and the soldiers and the rift in space for one fucking second and let himself get swept away by this charming gentleman in front of him. He felt his throat tighten. He positively ached for it.

Declining with a polite smile, he shook his head. Perhaps once this nightmare was over, when they were no longer concerned about staying alive. Something to look forward to, something to make horrors they fought through worth it. Tommy owed him a dance. For now, however, he offered Gordon something he could always give.

“B stands for ‘below freezing,’” he quipped.

Gordon laughed, warm and genuine, and withdrew his hand. “Oh, now I get it.”

---

The price they paid for seeing the sky again was an onslaught of new adversaries. They were fast . Bubby scouted up ahead and immediately scampered back to the group, a wild look on his face as he murmured, “Oh my god.”

Gordon was peering around a crate, eyes narrowed. “Did you see that?” he asked. “Was that a woman?”

Tommy’s eyes could barely track their movements, agile as they were. They didn’t really look like anything to him, much less women, and he was about to turn his head to say so when Coomer charged ahead of them with fervor.

“Look out, Gordon!” the scientist exclaimed.“Hotted boobs up ahead! Tits, big ones!”

Gordon’s subsequent shriek of laughter was so forceful he almost misfired his weapon. Beside him, Tommy could hardly keep it together enough to provide cover fire. When Gordon sprinted after him, calling a hesitant, “Dr. Coomer, I don’t think that was very respectful,” he lost it all over again.

Bubby and Dr. Coomer took out the majority of the nimble creatures, while Gordon mostly missed his shots and Benrey slouched indifferently through the crossfire. After checking themselves over for injury (and a moment of questionable target practice on some moths), they found the surface access switch and kept moving.

Tommy felt that dark prickle near the base of his skull again as he habitually brought up the rear. They were going the right way, right?

“I’m a little nervous,” Gordon said, vocalizing Tommy’s unease. “What about the airstrikes?”

Oh, right, that was a good point, too. The threat of heavy military artillery sometimes slipped Tommy’s mind. Perhaps they could find another route to the lab.

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Bubby asked, striding ahead with confidence. “We’re going home.”

Benrey idled in the back next to Tommy, fingers laced behind his head like he was lounging in a hammock. “Look at all - all that room,” he said, shooting Tommy a sly look. “We’re going on a mystery walk.”

Nothing about that sounded good to Tommy, and he was suddenly on edge. He gave Benrey a piercing stare, but the entity only showed him his shark teeth and meandered after the party. Tommy followed, pulse on the upswing.

“Gordon, if you play it carefully, this will cut down our travel to the Lambda Lab by about three hours,” Dr. Coomer declared.

“Down to thirteen minutes!” Bubby added.

“Oh,” Gordon remarked, taken aback by such fortuitous news. “That’s the whole duration. That’s the entire thing.”

“Yes!” Bubby went on excitedly. He pointed to a room down the hall. “And look, there’s even a medical station in there.”

Gordon considered. He had taken a few hits in the last fight. Nothing life threatening - Tommy had made sure of that - but it was likely still painful. “A med station… I could probably-”

“Medical stations can be used to recover from wounds, Gordon,” Coomer interrupted helpfully.

Benrey was apostrophe shaped as he lounged against the doorway. “Wow,” he murmured, tossing a look inside the adjacent room. “They got TV and Blu-ray… high definition…”

Gordon waved him off in disregard. “We don’t need that. I’m-

“They got a couch,” Benrey added, as if this would sweeten the deal.

“I’m not interested.”

“I heard Blu-ray is better than DVD,” Tommy couldn’t help commenting dryly.

He didn’t like this. This was weird. Well, on par for Benrey, but Bubby’s firm insistence that Gordon enter the room before he did was setting off alarm bells in his head. His fingers tightened around the grip of his handgun.

Gordon was still bickering with the two of them, hampered by the semantics of laser disc technology. Tommy quietly moved closer, darting his eyes around the area for anything indicative of danger. He caught the gaze of Dr. Coomer, who was just standing there patiently with an idle hand on his crossbow. He looked unbothered as the argument escalated.

Benrey’s eyes were beginning to flash in a wordless threat. He leered at Gordon, revealing his pointed teeth. “You wanna go in?” He was no longer asking. “Please?”

Gordon, who had learned by now to pick his battles with the entity, relented. “Alright,” he sighed. “Okay. I guess… I’m gonna go for it.”

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. Panic shuddered like a javelin down Tommy’s spine, and as he reached out a hand to pull Gordon back, the lights cut out. Some outside force locked onto Tommy, pinning him to his position in space like an insect on a corkboard.

Gordon faltered. “Okay, uh, who’s fucking with me?”

“What the hell?” Bubby asked, voice lined with a facetious edge. “What is happening?”

Benrey, on the other hand, sounded like he was having the time of his life. “Ohhh, it’s dark in here,” he groaned, barely attempting to hide his glee.

Tommy, nerves alive, fought against whatever had nailed him to the spot. This didn’t happen. Tommy didn’t just get stuck, and there was a very short list of beings who could make him do so against his will. He cast his gaze around frantically for any clue of what was happening, but it was so dark he may as well have been blindfolded.

Gordon was irritated now. “Who the fuck knocked out the lights?”

Dr. Coomer’s response was as neutral as it was useless. “Hello, Go- Has anyone seen Mr. Freeman?”

Heavy footsteps came barreling at them, accompanied by Bubby’s cry of, “there he is - get him!”

There was the sound of impact. The rush of air being forced from a pair of lungs. Then… Tommy didn’t remember much of what happened next.

Shouting. There was plenty of that. Tommy thought maybe he yelled something, but he couldn’t be sure. All he could register fully were the sounds of Gordon crying out in pain and the feeling of his own doomed grief as his muscles failed to work.

And help. Help. Gordon was pleading for help, and Tommy thought his heart would stop if he had to listen to it anymore.

The blade cleaving through bone was the loudest sound in the world.

Gordon fell horrifically silent. The scent of blood saturated the air like a stain. Tommy’s stomach bottomed out as he heard the soft slide of a body being dragged away.

“Now, gentlemen,” Dr. Coomer’s voice echoed off the darkened walls, “let’s get out of here before they peel us apart.”

Footsteps dispersed as the team made itself scarce. Whatever had been holding Tommy in place finally released him, and he dropped numbly to the floor, trembling in the dreadful aftershock. His hands slicked through blood and he almost threw up. The truth, heavy and unrepentant, settled in on his shoulders.

He was alone.

Alone.

Chapter 8 <-----> Chapter 10

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #violence #guns #blood #gore #amputation #hlvrai

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loridrabbles · 5 years ago

Text

Rally | Platonic 501st x Reader

Warning(s): Graphic depictions of violence and death.

(Y/n) stood in front of thousands of people at a rally her and a small group of activists had started. It began small, but people walking by kept joining in the masses to listen to what she had to say. The crowd was growing so big, police began peppering in the crowds.

She spent a lot of time with the 501st, 212th, and 104th. She often asked them about rights given to them by the Republic or what would happen to them after the war, but they all gave the same amswers: "I don't know," or "I don't think we have any." She even spoke to Padmé about her grievances and was told that as of the moment, they don't have any rights and after the war, they may even be sent back to Kamino since they are property of their government. (Y/n) was furious.

"Where is their social security?" The crowd cheered as she shouted.

"Where is their healtcare? Where are their stipends? Where are their fundamental human rights?"

"The clones did not start this war! That's we are fighting for! The clones did not start this war! That's we are fighting for!" The crowd chanted as she lowered her megaphone to tale a breath, a bead of sweat dripping from her brow. After a moment of cheering and jeering, she brought it to her mouth again.

"Did you know, soldiers accused of crimes and put on trial were not even appointed attorneys?"

"Down with the system!" A few people shouted.

"These men are slaves to the Republic! They are being forced to fight in a war they don't very well understand! They are being forced to live a life they didn't choose! Do you know what happens if they refuse to fight? They're executed!"

"Put an end to slavery! No more clones! Put an end to slavery! No more clones!" The crowd chanted again. The chanting was starting to turn, as policemen pulled out their riot shields. People who agreed with (y/n) were getting assaulted for their beliefs and vice versa.

"How many men have to die for us? For us! We should be fighting the war not them! Its not their responsibility!" She switched to a mocking tone. "But (y/n). The death of the clone troopers has no effect on the population of the Republic."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see policemen dressed in riot gear and droids moving towards her through the crowd.

"Who gave you the right!" She shouted, making the crowd scream and cheer and riot.

"That's enough." A policeman grabbed her arms and put them behind her back. "The crowd is getting out of control. You are not under arrest, but there are people here who want to hurt you. Admiral Kak would like to speak with you. Come with me."

(Y/n) sat in front of a desk inside the Republic base on Coruscant. The building was massive and housed nearly eight hundred thousand clones. The Admirals office was drab. The uniform grey of the rest or the base, and his desk, empty. Time ticked by, and she pulled out her communicator to message Fives. After two of them had the most riveting conversations about clone rights. After waiting quite a while, a burly man stepped into the room. Medium tan skin, grey and white hair gently slicked back, a trim beard and a mustache.

"Miss (y/n)." He said, sitting in front of her. "That was quite a performance you put on out there." He leaned forward and pulled the top of a cylindrical canister up and open. "Cigarette?"

"Please." She took one, put it in her mouth for him to light, then leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, puffing on the cigarette.

"Of course, you can understand why I'm upset with how things happened and what you did."

"I can imagine. I opened Pandora's box to people who have never even considered the lives of them fighting for us."

"I'm sure they have. But they realize the clones are an asset to them an to us."

"Did you know that just last month, twenty thousand men died taking over an outpost on T'bak. As I'm sure you know, that planet produces nearly 80% of the Republic's tobacco." She blew a puff of smoke on his direction. "What's your favorite blend, Admiral

I'm sure you could have a platoon lay down their lives and have a bark expedited right to your office."

The admiral stood up and put his cigarette in the ash tray, then pressed a button on his desk.

"Let's go for a ride."

She got in the back of his small speeder as he told the driver where to take them. They flew down and down to the lower level until they reached the doors to a massive warehouse guarded by at least twenty guards and (y/n) was sure they were surrounded by snipers.

"I want to show you something. I want to show you that those clones you call friends are expendable tools of war. He entered an access code and the doors opened.

Inside were huge floor to ceiling cages that looked like they were meant to house animals spanned either side of the room. Inside of them were thousands of clones, some older, some young, some were even children. They stood in nothing but their black leggings, some with shoes some without. They were packed into the damp, dirty, cages so tight they could barely move their arms from their sides. They were all silent. Some of them in the front had their hand up against the cage, their fingers intertwined I'm the chain links. She looked around, walking slowly down the dimly lit corridor, looking them in their barren, glossy eyes.

"I know you." She said, walking closer to one side of the cage, linking in her fingers. "Commander Colt."

"Its CC-3734 now." He grumbled weakly as he brought his hand up to brush her fingers. It was clear he hadn't been given food or water in days.

"You're going to kill them." She said solemnly.

"They are no longer useful to us or underperformers. Kamino will give us 1 new clone for every 5 we dispose of. There are one hundred thousand here."

"There's children." She spat, her voice trembling.

"Their numbers don't look promising."'

"T-this is wrong. This is murder. You can't do this.

"I'm not. But you will." He said. "Five of them get to live. You get to choose which five. You can look at their records. Review their accomplishments and who they served under, their ranks and overall performance."

"No!" She shouted, turning to face him after scanning their empty faces again. "I'm not going to be responsible for their deaths. I'm not!" She stormed for the door, stopping in her tracks when he spoke.

"Then they all die." He said.

"Its not my fault. It's your choice. Not mine!" She shouted her last words. She yanked the door to the speeder open and sat inside, crossing her arms. "Take me back."

The 501st chartered in their bunker, almost ready for lights out. The door sliding open grabbed their attention and they all turned to watch (y/n) stumble in, her face red and eyes stinging with tears.

"What's wrong ad'ika?" Fives said walking to her, putting a hand on her back. "What happened with the Admiral?"

Rex, Kix, Hardcase, Jesse, and Echo listened in as she spoke.

"It was horrible." She said through her sobs. "He took me to a warehouse filled with cages full of thousands of clones. He said he was going to kill them all."

"What?" Rex asked, infuriated, almost shouting.

"Colt was there. And children. They were so young." She sobbed with her hands to her face, Fives' arms around her. "He said 5 could live, but I had to pick who. I couldn't do it. I couldn't."

No one knew what to say. They didn't know whether to be furious or sad, or whether they could do something or not. No one spoke. The only sound filling the room was (y/n)'s sobs muffled by Fives' shoulder. Her communicator rang. Jesse answered it and up popped the Admiral.

"Have you decided yet, little (y/n)?" He asked.

"No." She spats wiping her tears.

"Time is ticking." He said, watching her as she approached his hologram, her fists balled at her side.

"I won't do it, you sick bastard!" Her voice was seething.

"I know. I knew you never would. I already took care of things, my darling." His voice was soft, but rough and could comfort a dying man while making him hate him for watching him take his last breath with such indifference.

The hologram transitioned to a wide screen, showcasing the cages lined up in the secret warehouse. Everyone in a different cage recieved a different fate.

In one cage, flames still trickled out of throwers on the wall and floor. Some had tried to climb the cages to escape the flames, but died in their efforts, frozen in a statue halfway up the wall.

The next cage, blaster marks were prevalent on the walls, hot wounds still burning on the lifeless bodies as they lay on the ground.

The next had wires dangling from the ceiling and several attached to the metal links of the cages. Wires still crackles with electricity.

(Y/n)'s heart jumped to her throat and her stomach sank, then turned over making her want to vomit. Her shoulders went flush and she got lightheaded as she tried to sputter out her words.

"You-you killed them." She whispered, the words cracking in the back of her throat.

"Do remember, (y/n), that platoon of young cadets who visited the 501st just a short while ago? Do you remember that little boy with the red hair who said he wanted to be just like Captain Rex one day and you told him he could do anything if he put his mind to it?" The Admiral asked her. "If only you could have saved him. I bet you didn't even look at the list did you?"

The screen changed to that little cadet, rope tight around his neck, his face still contorted in a scream and tear stains leaving tan streaks down his face where soot and sulfur was washed away.

She felt faint and stumbled to a table where she braced herself up with her arms. Her breaths were shaky as she focused on staying awake.

"If you had chosen the five, they would have all lived. Stop trying to make a difference. Stop trying to be important. Stop trying to be some renegade pathing the way for a new clone rights movement. You accomplish nothing with your foolishness. Stupid girl." He spat, evil dripping from his tongue. With that, he hung up.

(Y/n)'s sobs turned to screams, as she dropped to her knees, trembling on the floor.

"Its not your fault." Rex said, kneeling down to put a hand on her shoulder. "He's just playing games. He would have killed them all anyway."

"You don't know that." She cried.

"Yes I do. I know." He said putting his arm around her shoulders, resting his chin on her head. "He would have found any way could to turn this on you. It's not your fault." He plased with her. "None of us think its your fault."

#clone trooper echo #star wars fanfiction #swtcw #captain rex #the clone wars imagine #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars #501st #clone trooper x reader #clone trooper fives #arc troopers #arc trooper echo #arc trooper fives

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chubbyooo · 5 years ago

Text

A Recipe for Disaster: A Blurred Lines Spinoff Chapter 3: Family

hey hey I’m in the writing groove so I’m back with another chapter

Gacen discuses his decision to help Ash with Risha and old secrets come to light

Gacen took a deep breath as the holo switched off well this was gonna be difficult, he turned around to see Risha looking bewildered at him.

her mouth hung open confused “um what was that?” Gacen gritted his teeth he couldn’t think of any way to spin this positively

Gacen cleared his throat “I know I know, I’m sorry but I have to do this” Risha frowned at him clearly not impressed, he stood up and began to walk towards their quarters this should probably be a private conversation

Risha followed him “why?! why do you have to do this they can handle it” Gacen imagined they could but he needed to be on the mission not with her at stake.

Gacen had to come up with an excuse and quick “look without me they would have to hire another smuggler and I don’t know about you but I don’t really trust any other smugglers, I think 90% of them would sell those guys out” that was half decent he guessed, they made their way to their quarters and Gacen made sure the door was closed

Risha put her head in her hands “Gacen I thought you said you were done running off into republic danger and trying to be a hero” Gacen sighed he had said that and he’d meant it he was definitely being a hypocrite right now but how could he even begin to explain this

he put his hands on Risha’s shoulders “I know and I meant it, it’s just this one time I swear Rish just this once” she didn’t seem convinced, that was totally fair Gacen had made similar claims in the past

she took his hand “but it already seems so dangerous Gacen, just this once could be enough to lose you” that hit Gacen hard, he knew she was right this was extremely dangerous but what was he supposed to do leave her to die “I thought we agreed no more risking our lives for either of us” Gacen felt a lump in his throat he’d feel bad for using this

he folded his arms “then why are you still investigating Dubrillion, we agreed we’d wait” Risha’s eyes widened in surprise before she looked at the floor

she spoke quietly “how long have you known” Gacen already felt bad for bringing it up it wasn’t fair.

he held his neck “I never didn’t know but I never minded, you could’ve told me I get it it’s your home, your family it’s worth the danger” Risha looked up at him with a slight smile Gacen was always up for helping Risha with Dubrillion it was just about when. “That’s why I uh have to do this Risha it’s about my family” Risha frowned at him looking almost angry

but her anger melted away quicky as she sighed “I thought I was your family” Gacen felt a huge pit in his stomach she was right idiot why couldn’t he let this go.

He sighed he didn’t mean it like that now she was upset with him, he couldn’t just leave it but he couldn’t begin to explain what was going on or why what was he going to do how could he make her understand without telling her the whole story would she understand would she hate him for keeping it from her so long would she even know what to say he had no idea but he had to say something quick she was just staring at him. He began to hyperventilate as he stayed silent Risha could see as Gacen get more and more nervous her worry for him was clear and she quickly rushed over planting a long kiss on his lips.

Gacen felt the nervousness pass with her embrace as she whispered “whatever it is Gacen you can tell me I promise I’ll understand” Gacen felt tears well up in his eyes maybe it was time someone else knew and after all she was on his side no matter what

Gacen sat down on the bed “first of all you are my family Risha, my whole world please don’t ever forget that” he sighed “but this isn’t about found family” Risha sat down next to him looking confused

she frowned “what do you mean? you’ve never mentioned your family are they involved somehow?” Gacen had never talked about his home but it unfortunately had become rather hard to avoid these past few years.

He picked up a datapad “have you ever seen a picture of Darth Nox Rish?” he began to search her up on his datapad

Risha shook her head “no not really I’ve only hear stories of her well exploits” Gacen passed her over the datapad with the image of the red headed Zabrak woman without a word. Her eyes widened looking between Gacen and the picture “wait... no?” Gacen nodded slightly it really wasn’t so complex with the context he had kept hidden

Gacen sighed “that cruel all powerful sith lord Darth Nox is my little sister Kyradia” Risha still looked bewildered “and now she has been captured and is in danger” he paused taking a breath “do you see why I have to do this now” Risha’s mouth hung open as she put the data pad down

she took his hand “I guess but you still don’t have to, she isn’t your responsibility Gacen you know that right?” Gacen shook his head he knew he couldn’t leave her not like before

Gacen made eye contact with Risha “I used to think that, then something happened, something bad. Everything that’s happened since has been partly my fault the least I can do is try to save her” Risha nodded she seemed to understand what he was trying to say

Risha shuffled up next to him “Gacen I get why you have to go and I will try to accept that but I know you dumbass and I can say without a doubt this wasn’t your fault even with zero information” Gacen felt tears well up in his eyes as he hugged Risha she was wrong but e appreciated it.

Gacen held her for a few seconds “I love you Rish” Risha held him tight before letting go

Risha sighed “it’s uh wow kinda hard to process, have you known this whole time? does she know about you?” Gacen tried his best to clear his head

he held her hand “I’ll tell you everything after the mission I promise but until then I think I need to focus” Risha nodded looking him in the eye

“Ok I can handle that but you need to promise me you’ll be careful on this mission ok I still don’t want you going but I get why so you NEED to promise you’ll be ok” Gacen felt bad he didn’t know if he could keep that promise

he took a deep breath “I promise I’ll be ok Rish I wouldn’t leave you for anything” he planted a soft kiss on her before getting up.

As if on cue the door opened with Guss still covered in monster saliva “um not to be a tattletale but Bowdarr may have tracked goo all over the ship” Gacen and Risha both audibly sighed as they heard a distance wookie growl

It had been about a week since Ash called Gacen and finally they were gearing up for the mission, to avoid any chance of failure they couldn’t use his ship for some reason so he’d be leaving Risha in charge of the ship. This did mean he had to leave his precious ship though something he hadn’t done properly in many years, he had made sure to give it a goodbye.

Ash had docked in the hanger and knowing her was waiting impatiently for his arrival, he made his way to the landing ramp but was stopped before he got there

he heard a huff from behind him “where do you think you’re going without saying goodbye” Guss stood there looking grumpy at him

Gacen chuckled “Guss I’m only leaving for like a week or two at most you’ll see me again soon” Guss folded his arms clearly not impressed

Guss looked away “going to hang out with your new best friend the trooper?” his jealously was beyond clear “I mean she’s pretty cool but not quite a jedi” Gacen stifled a laugh he was adorable sometimes

Gacen smiled “dude you have nothing to worry about you’ll always be my best pal, and to prove it to I’ll let you sit in the captains chair while I’m gone” Guss’ eyes lit up clearly pleased with the gesture, that should keep him quiet.

Gacen chuckled there was no way Risha wouldn’t be sitting there anyway so it wasn’t a big deal, Guss smiled “I’ll sit at it to remember you I promise” ok weirdo Gacen thought as he turned around to see Risha standing behind him arms folded. He jumped back startled “augh how long have you been standing there” she just stood silently smirking

she put a hand on his shoulder “I still don’t agree with this” she had made this very clear during the week

Gacen nodded “but you understand why I have to do it” he didn’t quite know why but he knew he had to save Kyradia he just had to even if she still hated him

Risha nodded “yeah I do but you better keep your promise ok” Gacen leant in kissing her for a long moment

Gacen smiled “don’t worry Rish I’ll make sure of it” she held his hand for a second before letting him go, with that he headed down the ramp to where Ash was waiting “alright sorry about that crew wanted to say goodbye” Ash nodded clearly not understanding why it was so important

They headed towards the ship as Ash explained the plan “so over the week we have managed to find out a little more about what is going on, although we are still unsure of where Zakuul is we do know that Nox if frozen in carbonite so Arcann wants her alive” Gacen breathed a sigh of relief hearing that he wanted her alive was a big relief, then he began to consider why was it actually that good?

Gacen spoke up “is Arcann that bald masky guy who was like I’m gOnNa sEt thE CoRe wOrLdS on fIrEeEeee” he mocked as they walked towards a weird ship he was unfamiliar with

Ash picked up on his confusion “yes he is... that guy and the ship you’re gawking at is one of Chiss design apparently they have had more common dealings with the unknown regions so should be more inconspicuous” the ramp descended and Gacen was met with a weird interior unlike anything he had ever seen.

he chuckled “your people sure know how to make it curved and alien, I dunno if I can fly this thing” Ash shook her head leading him to the cockpit

she pointed to the console “don’t worry the principles are basically the same and calling them ‘my people’ is going a little far” she lead him to the holoterminal “Kavaraa should be able to help you mask your presence to any force users and once we arrive your only job is to keep the ship running” Gacen frowned that seemed like a waste

he looked at Ash puzzled “Ash you know I’m more valuable than that I can help out in a scrape” Ash sighed looking away

Ash cleared her throat “I think it’d just be more strategically advantageous ok” Gacen raised his eyebrow not believing that for a second. Ash sighed mumbling “fine this is kinda dangerous and I don’t want you getting hurt considering you didn’t want to help the republic anyway” Gacen grinned at her well he’d be damned

he put his hands on his hips “Ash’shen’tor are you have an emotion?” he teased

Ash went purple “no! shut up” she looked away clearly embarrassed

Gacen chuckled “don’t worry Ash I’m all in on this one whatever you need I’m there” Ash seemed surprised

Ash looked at him puzzled “why are you so willing to help out?” Gacen’s eyes widened he wasn’t gonna tell two people one was a surprise enough

Gacen looked around awkwardly “I uh dunno I just feel like I owe it to someone” Ash narrowed her eyes at him

but soon relaxed “alright whatever I don’t care I’m just glad you’re helping” Gacen chuckled he was glad he was helping too...

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lexiseigneur · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter thirty: The rise

When Quinlan departed to retrieve their blood rations she did not accompany him. He suspected she was avoiding Nigel as well.

A small booklet slid out from the usual newspaper. It was colorful and ridiculous. Quinlan stared at the comic for an entire minute, attempting to comprehend what drivel this was. Red letters covered half the cover and spelled: “SUN HUNTERS OF NEW YORK CITY, book one.”

Underneath the title spread a drawing of half a dozen people in combat gear only vaguely reminiscent of the actual clothes the real Sun Hunters wore. On their necks were tattoos of a sun at least ten times larger than the real ones. Quinlan flipped through the pages and his frown grew more intense.

After many of his battles in the Roman army, people had told tales of their victories and much of their stories had been romanticized versions of the actual events. This was not different and just as irritating. When a familiar face appeared on the glossy paper, he stopped flipping mindlessly. He cringed at watching his depiction but then when Lexi’s appeared, he was torn. They had made her too tall and broad-shouldered, but the eyes somehow were hers. Quinlan placed the booklet back inside the newspaper and quickly forgot about it.

“What is this?” she asked the next day when the comic book fell from the folded newspaper.

Only Quinlan still read the news. Her only interest laid in the scientific work of dead people. She only used the paper to start fires in the hearth.

Quinlan who had been in the process of rewaxing his denim pants stopped and put down the tub of melted wax.

“Nigel left that for us…I’m unsure why.”

She made herself comfortable on their new couch and read the short comic. Quinlan picked up the wax again but his attention was on her and the rustling of paper.

“Oh my God…They called you Quentin…and I’m Ollie. This is hilarious.”

Quinlan emitted a non-committal grunt. As she went on the silence was only broken by her snorts and brief laughs.

“We are depicted as ruthless soldiers in there. Mysterious and old. Unable to understand computers or any modern technologies. How would that work? Can you imagine trying to function if you cannot change with the times?”

“It would have been quite impossible to remain an effective warrior, indeed.”

“Exactly! So about that email address…”

Quinlan growled and she gave him a mocking look from across the room. He was still spreading the wax with a clean cloth when she stood beside him, holding the comic open to a particularly large depiction of their fictional counterparts.

“Do you mind if I frame this and hang it above the hearth?”

“If you do, I shall use it for kindling.”

She burst out laughing and when he frowned her laughter only intensified. She wiped at her eyes which were tearing up. Quinlan grabbed her by the waist and attempted to take the comic from her. She screamed in delight and held it out of reach, stopping his attempts by kissing him until only her lips mattered anymore.

***

The next evening when he dressed to pick up their blood rations, Lexi asked him to wait. She took a piece of paper and wrote:

“Our teeth are not that pointy and we can use computers quite well. Besides that, I quite enjoyed your comic.

Lexi.”

On an envelope, she scribbled the name of the author and the publishing house’s address then put the folded letter inside.

“Oh please do not encourage him,” said Quinlan.

Lexi looked at him with suspicion.

“I believe I will go with you today…in case you are tempted to lose my letter on the way.”

***

A week later she plopped on the couch next to Quinlan and put her computer on his lap. She appeared displeased.

“Is that your letter?” he asked.

Eponymous to the author of the comic, the website looked simple and unprofessional. In between snippets of the artist’s life, there was a picture of his hand holding the letter as well as a caption.

“Which one of you assholes sent me this? I almost pissed myself when I read the signature.”

The comments under the picture were quite unanimous: this was a hoax, a fake meant to scare the author.

“Why should it be so terrifying to receive a simple piece of mail from me?”

“Their image of us simply is not reconcilable with that of people reading…well, his work. Perhaps he was afraid that if you took time to read it, it would offend you.”

“Maybe you are right.”

She closed the website page and later from the corner of his eye, he watched her hold the comic over the trash bin. Then instead of throwing it away, she tucked it out of sight in a drawer.

***

In their bedroom the small window only let dim light pierce through. Lexi still hated the light but with it, her right eye was not completely useless. When Quinlan did not see, she would stand in front of the large mirror hanging on the closet door and cover one eye after the other. He had been wrong. Time had had no effect on the state of her vision. It was not a surprise so she was not disappointed. This was the new normal now.

From the closet, she took a fresh set of pajamas. Her eyes landed on a box in a corner, rested a moment, flew away. It was a brand new cell phone. She threw a shirt over it so that her resolve would remain intact. Lexi recalled the thought which had flashed in her head as the grenade rolled at her feet.

The people you love will die for the sole crime of standing by you.

And the man who had done this was still at large. Perhaps even the same who had cut into those collaborators. Lexi liked to imagine that it was. That way, only one person out there contained that much hatred which could fall on her dear ones. Though she still did not condone Quinlan’s violence the day he had plunged a needle in her neck, she understood why. It was fear and love. He had been correct, associating with monsters was a dangerous activity for humans. So painfully mortal humans.

“I have noticed a felled tree some way away. I will see if I can retrieve it before dinner,” said Quinlan.

The remark pulled her away from the unpleasantness of her thoughts.

“What kind of tree this time?”

“An ash. It’s quite sturdy which I believe is no longer a luxury but a requirement.”

His amusement seeped through and stretched her lips into a shy grin.

“Alright, the sun is still low, I will work a little.”

Lexi threw her pajamas on the bed then strolled lazily through the long corridor leading to the stairs. In between doors hiding unused rooms, the walls were covered with drawings she had made during their time in New York. She tried not to think that by now, Angela and Emma did not look like their portraits any longer. Too much time had passed. Angela had once been about as interesting as a loaf of bread but now, she could walk and speak. A little person.

Lexi climbed down the stairs with a steady gait. She did not trip often anymore. Especially inside the house.

She worked for a short time before the incongruous sounds of an engine bounced between the trees. Nigel had not made the trip to their house in several months and they had no special deliveries bound to arrive. Casually, she reached for her sword in the umbrella stand by the main entrance door. Just in case.

“A car is coming,” she told Quinlan.

“I know, I met them on the edge of the property.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They asked me not to.”

“And you obeyed them?”

“They had sensible arguments.”

Lexi pinched the top of her throat where her growls had started. She lacked practice in suppressing them.

“We’ll have a chat about it when you come back. It will not be pleasant,” she said.

The car parked in front of the house and both Gus and Raul emerged from it. Her sword made a loud clunking noise when she forcefully dropped it back into the umbrella stand. With appreciative nods, they detailed the house. It was tempting to refuse them entry. Or even better, let them have a go and visit the house as they pleased while she ran out through the garden. Lexi did not like being ambushed. But the wave of relief at watching them approach was greater. She had missed them so dearly. Merely seconds after their arrival she had discerned several swears words. She opened the front door just a crack then walked away.

When they got inside, she had already switched on the kettle to make coffee. The men closed the door behind them and she scowled.

“Remove your boots, you savages,” she yelled from the kitchen.

“I told you,” said Raul reproachfully.

Their footsteps retreated which gave her time to gather the piles of printed articles and put them away.

“I don’t know what I expected…,” said Gus when he entered the living room.

“More guns. I expected more guns,” said Raul.

“Yeah, and swords. Above the chimney. And no TV.”

Lexi chuckled, abandoned the tray she had been preparing and rushed toward the hunters. She hugged them, an arm around each of their necks.

“So this is how I die,” said Raul in a strangled voice.

She loosened her grip but did not let go. They smelled of gun oil, leather and on Gus the faintest trace of baby powder. Raul relaxed and Gus rubbed her back gently when she sobbed quietly between their shoulders.

“Hey Lex, come on. Quinlan will kick our asses if he knows we made you cry,” said Gus.

Lexi snorted, let go of their necks and beamed at them.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“Frankly, we were wondering if you were dead and Quinlan did not want to tell us,” said Raul.

He was joking but Lexi felt the underlying truth of it. She returned to the kitchen, wiped her face on her sleeves and brought the tray. Then she gestured at them to sit down and dragged an ottoman closer to the table. They only had two chairs for the moment. Gus and Raul’s clothes and general rough appearances clashed wonderfully with the décor.

“He said you could see but…,” said Gus. The sentence was left suspended and he scratched his brow to mask his discomfort.

“Not very well on the right. I get by,” she said with a dismissive gesture.

As if it had not broken her heart to realize this.

Raul reached for a biscuit and bit into it gingerly. It was noisy in the awkward silence and Gus stared at him. Raul shrugged and finished it.

“Yeah I can see that,” said Gus. “And don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy you’re okay but…”

His dark eyes bore into hers, recognized their altered aspect and shifted down.

“Frankly, I kinda imagined you were crippled. That was the only scenario that made sense. I thought you were worse than when you came back from Mexico. When you looked…”

“Haunted,” finished Raul.

Gus nodded. It was almost unbearable, their clear disappointment.

“So yeah I’m a little confused. No news, no nothing. And then we still have to train a bunch of assholes by ourselves. And with Eva in France…”

“What? Why is she in France?”

“Well, if you had checked the news you’d have noticed the outbreak there. An entire building quarantined when some Strigs got in. Two hundred people infected and euthanized,” said Gus.

“We sent your team there. They’re working hard to make sure this shit never happens again,” said Raul.

Lexi’s stomach filled with acid. Now she regretted her avoidance of the news.

“Are they okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing like New York at its worst. Nothing those guys can’t handle,” said Gus.

“But that’s not our main problem at the moment,” said Raul.

“Yeah, right now Mumbai is a fucking mess. And we don’t have time to train people for them. We have to contain it now or India is toast.”

“You’re going? Who is going with you?”

“All of us. All the available teams. In two days. Your team will fly directly from Marseille and join us there. Even the Chicago hunters are tagging along since their city is officially Strig free for a month now.”

“You missed that party. It was wild. I think I’m still hungover,” said Raul.

She grabbed at her stomach which was more and more uncomfortable. People would die there. Her friends would die there.

“So yeah. We came to tell you that if you wanna join, there are two seats on the plane with your names on them.”

“I…”

Would it be any different than it was in New York? No one but the hunters needed to know the Dhampir were there. She shook her head. A few hateful humans were not more dangerous than an infested city. With unknown geography to boot.

“You have two days to decide,” said Gus and he downed the steaming coffee.

“In the meanwhile, there are people out there who still want to hear from you. And they ain’t driving here just to do that,” said Raul. He unzipped his pocket and struggled to take out a thick bundle of letters. The stacked envelopes slid on the smooth wood and at the very top, she recognized Aanya’s handwriting.

“Eva couldn’t leave one herself so she just asked that I tell you: If you’re not ok, get better and come back. If you’re ok, fuck you for not being back,” said Raul.

Lexi made a wry face and Raul leaned back and lifted two hands in a defensive gesture.

“Hey! She said it, I’m just passing it along. I don’t agree.”

“I do,” said Gus.

Lexi folded her arms and avoided his piercing eyes. She did not blame him though it hurt.

“I had good reasons to stay here,” said Lexi.

“And now you’ve got good reasons to get out of here,” said Gus. His voice was strained by repressed anger.

“¡Cálmate, primo!” said Raul.

“No, couz’, this ain’t the moment for polite bullshit. I thought I knew you, Lex. When Zach lied during the trial and my phone rang, I knew it was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut about it. And when that grenade blew and you made it, I was sure you’d parade in the streets as a huge screw you. That you’d show those pieces of shit that you were gonna continue on just like before because they’d never manage to scare you away.”

Lexi could not get angry at him. He was right. She had been scared away.

“And don’t tell me you can’t get all the hate. People have been looking at me funny for a long time. Doesn’t mean I was gonna let them rot with the Partnership and get sucked dry by Strigs. Sometimes you gotta help people even if they don’t like it.”

Raul looked horrified and his gaze jumped from Lexi to Gus. Gus’ chair rattled as he stood.

“Thanks for the coffee. We’ve got to head back. Lots of packing to do,” said Gus and he walked away. She expected him to slam the front door on his way out but he didn’t. Raul patted her shoulder briefly and followed his cousin.

The noises of their car faded away and she remained sitting. Timidly, she reached for the letters then removed the plastic tie binding them.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

The window doors slid open and Quinlan stepped in.

“Since they arrived. I beat them here by seconds.”

“You agree with him?”

“I disagree with the harshness of his words. They undermined how much you suffered. But his ultimate conclusion that you cannot stay away forever, I share.”

“Are you disappointed in me as well? For letting fear guide me?”

Quinlan’s hands enclosed her shoulders, warm and reassuring.

“No.”

She grabbed his hands, squeezed.

“How bad is Mumbai exactly?”

“It is very densely populated and as we speak, thousands of Strigoi terrorize its inhabitants. Thousands more are turning as we speak because the army there cannot keep up. Refugees attempt to flee and many fear infected people hide in their midst so they are turned away and sent back to the city.”

Lexi leaned back and looked into his clear blue eyes.

“Would you be disappointed in me if I refused to go?”

“If you still need time to heal, no. If you never plan on returning out there, then yes. You once told me I should care more about human lives. Now I care about those people and whatever you choose to do, I will go and help them.”

She smiled.

“Good thing I had already decided to go then.”

Quinlan deposited a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Read your letters, I will start packing.”

Most were quite short. Wishes of good health from Sun Hunters. Laura’s and Aanya’s covered several pages. In the latter, there were clues as to the extent of Gus’ anger. All were difficult to read.

At the very bottom of the pile, she found an envelope which was not addressed solely to her. The handwriting was that of a stranger and so was the name. When she flipped it, the back was stamped with the words “Kent University”.

“Are you done packing?”

“Yes, we’ll travel light.”

“There is a letter for you as well. I have no idea what this is. From some university in Europe. I didn’t even know they had managed to open them already.”

There was a little small and hard object inside. As she tore the paper open, Quinlan arrived and peered above her shoulder. A USB stick fell on her palm and she kept it there, almost frozen as she read the letter with increasing puzzlement.

“Mister Quinlan & Madam Lexi,

I hope this letter finds you well. Forgive the intrusion into your well-earned retirement but as a historian, I cannot resist the temptation to contact you, eye-witnesses to the period I studied for the past twenty years. You will find enclosed the electronic versions of my works. I humbly ask that you critique them for any inaccuracies. In addition, my few surviving colleagues and I have written a manuscript recounting the events of the past years. We feel strongly that you both deserve a say in what is to be published.

I hope to hear from you, but I will understand if I don’t.

Best regards,

Prof. Ciara Morecci.”

Quinlan took the USB stick and walked away. But she ignored him because she could not break away from that letter.

Five times she read the lines, written carefully with a fountain pen on thick paper. It was a little bent in one corner where pressure had pushed the USB stick against the page. When she finally looked up, Quinlan stood by the printer. On the screen of her laptop were a list of files and the last one was simply named “STRIGOI”. He was printing the first volume. She observed as he took the first pages, gave them a cursory glance, snorted and took a pen to scratch away at the barely dried ink. Quinlan turned to her holding a sheet out as if to share a funny joke.

“What is wrong?” he said when he saw her expression.

“Nothing. It’s so mundane…she wants reviews for her work. I used to review other’s works all the time.”

She laughed.

“It was so boring! But now the prospect sounds…wonderful.”

She put down the letter but still stared at it. Quinlan wiped away the tears which still strolled down her cheeks.

“Why are you crying, beloved?”

“Because you don’t ask monsters to review your books.”

“No…one would probably not attempt such a thing.”

That evening, they read through the first volume and her heart swelled every time Quinlan would smirk or outright laugh. Soon, his own neat handwriting covered margins and the narrow spaces between lines.

***

Lexi wore her deep hood and elected not to uncover herself even as she and Quinlan stepped in the small shop a few blocks from the Sun Hunter’s headquarters. At the counter facing the entrance, sat a young woman with bright pink hair. She ignored them and continued reading her comic book while chewing on some gum.

“Good gods, there are so many of those things…” said Quinlan as he looked at the shelves covered with tightly packed comics. He turned to the vitrine by the door filled with figurines.

“There was a time when gladiators were depicted in much the same ways…”

Lexi picked up the latest adventures of the Sun Hunters of New York.

“I heard this shop belongs to the author…” said Lexi as she slid the comic on the counter.

The pink haired girl glanced at it and nodded.

“Want it signed?” she asked.

“If that’s not too much trouble.”

“ANTON,” She screamed.

In the back an exasperated voice replied,

“What?”

“Someone would like you to sign your latest comic,” she said and each of her words dribbled with sarcasm.

“Not even the people selling them enjoy those books,” said Quinlan.

“Continue screaming like that in front of customers and I will fucking fire you,” whispered Anton.

He dragged himself in the store, looking at his feet then as soon as he glanced up, froze in place. Regaining some his wits, he shoved his employee who seemed about to shove him back until she spotted Quinlan. Only his back was visible as well as his hood. His harness and sword were his only distinguishable features. The bubble she had been blowing burst and blue gum spread over her chin.

“Would you mind signing it?” asked Lexi and she pushed the comic toward Anton.

Their eyes detached from Quinlan and focused on her. Anton was a thin and sickly looking man with greying curly hair despite his young age.

“Of course!” he said in a high-pitched voice.

And with a shaky hand, he signed the glossy paper of the cover.

“Do you accept silver?” asked Lexi.

“Yeah…most of New York still does…”

Lexi opened her coat and their eyes zeroed in on the handle of her sword. She pulled a clip of bullets out of her hip pocket and extracted a single round which she put on the counter. Carved on its side was the Sun Hunter sigil.

“Would that be sufficient?” she asked.

He nodded so hard she thought he might hurt himself. She pocketed the comic.

“I heard this was to be the last issue…is that true?” she asked.

“Yeah…the story ends when New York is clear of Strigoi.”

“Does it now? Too bad…” she said and removed her glasses and hood.

“I am quite sorry if I scared you with my letter, it was not my intention.”

The man opened his mouth and a pathetic squeak escaped him. The pink haired girl elbowed him.

“It’s fine!”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day,” she put her glasses and hood back on and in a blur both Dhampir left the store and crossed the street to reach a mailbox. Quinlan dropped in the package containing annotated pages addressed to Professor Morecci. Once their shock faded, the pink haired girl and Anton started yelling. Lexi focused on their words and peered through the vitrine.

“Holy crap on a cracker!” said the girl.

“Find…find the surveillance feed or no one is going to believe us!”

“Even with it no one is going to believe us!”

“Damn it, woman! Do as you are told for once!”

The Dhampir looked at one another, smiled then made their way to the Sun Hunter headquarters. Gus was waiting for them and they had a plane bound for Mumbai to catch.

***

Slicing Strigoi was no longer at the forefront of Lexi’s mind. After the height of the Indian Strigoi outbreak, she found herself obsessing over the project she had left behind. When the thirst burned the back of her throat, and when they received bags of precious donated blood, she would be reminded of the articles gathering dust on the living room table. It took two whole months to create a modicum of order in the streets of Mumbai.

As soon as they were satisfied the cleaning effort would continue properly, Lexi and Quinlan returned to Greystone. The nominal summer had come and passed in their absence. There had been a few days where the real sunlight, not the orange glow, lasted for at least four hours. According to news from Laura.

Her mind bustling with ideas, Lexi finally sat down to work. Pretty much every scientific project started with a research proposal. If she wrote it decently enough, one of the very few universities already open might accept to pick up the project. In the header where she should write her name she hesitated. Should she hide her identity? The idea of publishing a research article as simply Lexi was laughable. She racked her brain then, planning on replacing it with something more sensible later, she wrote Lexana de Pierregrise. Then laying down on the pages everything she had already planned in her mind was trivial. In fact, she had never drafted a document so quickly though she suspected her grasp of the subject was shallow.

Then using the website the Librarian had created, she selected a group of three scientists whose expertise, even if not a perfect fit, might still be crucial. She emailed the file to them. It was nerve-wracking. But all she could do was wait for an answer.

“What are you making?” she asked Quinlan when she joined him in the garage.

She did not know why they persisted in calling it that way. It was clearly a workshop now. The wood he manipulated was still uncut and rough.

“I will make a few chairs.”

“Can I help?”

“I would love for you to assist but…aren’t you busy?”

“I just finished. I need to wait for them to answer.”

“Are you nervous? I’m sure your proposal is decent considering the effort you invested in drafting it.”

“That worries me but also how they’ll react when I eventually tell them who I am.”

Quinlan put down the measuring tape he had been using.

“How did you introduce yourself then?”

“I told them my name was Lexana de Pierregrise and that I used to be a scientist in an unrelated field. I mean, they’ll quickly figure out I don’t have any publications under that name but that beats scaring them before they even read the proposal.”

“Lexana?”

She shrugged.

“Somehow I did not imagine Dhampir parents five hundred years ago naming their daughter Lexi.”

“I like it, it suits you.”

Then maybe she would not discard the name after all. And he had himself changed names over the centuries. Maybe she would also get used to it. Quinlan picked up another plank and while she held the tape straight, he marked the wood with a pencil.

They worked in silence, not needing to share words to cooperate with this simple task. When dawn broke over the forest, they packed the tools and returned inside to dine before bedtime. After they slid under the blankets and she nuzzled the naked skin of his chest, he sighed.

“Perhaps you might aid me in another endeavor tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Professor Morecci chastised me the other day when she learned we have access to the internet. She assured me my penmanship was a delight but that even though we studied past history, we did not attempt to remain a part of it.”

Lexi snorted and propped herself onto her elbows to watch his face. Quinlan uncovered his teeth in warning which only added to her amusement.

“I like her style,” said Lexi.

She wanted, no, needed to tease him about it.

“Perhaps I could figure it out by myself. I’m sure it’s not complicated,” he said with a faint growl.

“No! No! I want to help you! I mean I’ve been wanting to make you an email address since the internet came back.”

“You want to help me so that you may laugh at my expense.”

“Well yes, obviously. But not just because of that.”

“You little vixen.”

His arms were suddenly around her and he peppered her neck with kisses and gentle bites.

***

Lexi’s newly formed team of biologists had obtained a federal research grant to start their work. Then before they received a single penny of it, they were informed that the U.S. government did not wish to fund them after all. She was not particularly surprised that this retraction took place just after the funding agency learned that she was a Dhampir. Her first impulse had been to bow out of the project and let the others carry on. Quinlan would hear none of it.

“How much would such a thing cost in the end?”

They stood at the living room table where her laptop showed the offensive email.

“Millions. Ten, thirty million?”

She let herself fall onto the nearest chair. The despair she had felt after her eye injury crept back up. Once more, others would suffer because of prejudice directed at the Dhampir.

“A reasonable investment. I’ll have the funds transferred to our American accounts.”

She gawked at him.

“When you said we had money I had not realized…”

“We have enough to live comfortably for several lifetimes. To be fair, we have very few expenses at the moment.”

Lexi jumped to her feet, laughed and hugged him.

“Let’s do this.”

***

The world slowly healed but some events still chocked Lexi, but not Quinlan. A law passed in the USA and soon other countries imitated it. It stated that people could be acquitted of murder if they killed a collaborator who had wronged them, in a fit of rage. All the defense needed was proof of the collaborator’s past as well as proof that the murder had not been premeditated. With the Strigoi Collaborator Personnel Database, that task was easy. Every citizen who had ever assisted the creatures in any manner was cataloged.

The Dhampir observed from a distance as things changed, mostly in the right direction. They traveled often as Sun Hunters, then sometimes anonymously when Quinlan wanted to share sights of the Old Continent with Lexi. When alone on their land, they had millennia worth of memories to share and experience together. In that Bond of light, they found peace.

#Mr. Quinlan #quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfiction #the strain fanfic #mister quinlan

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yallreddieforthis · 7 years ago

Text

He Came In Through the Window

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 11.3k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

"It’s finally happened. I cannot fit through this goddamn window. I’m out of ideas."

Eddie enlists the help of two other Losers to help fix his bedroom window, and finally spills the beans about what's going on between him and Richie.

“Alright babe,” Richie says, leaning on the sill and looking into Eddie’s eyes, “I’m gonna be straight with you for a second—”

“You’re gonna be straight?” Eddie mocks.

“Pfft. Straighter than you, that’s for sure,” says Richie. “Except, you know—my dick burns only for you, Eddie my love.”

“If your dick is burning, you should probably see a doctor,” Eddie tells him.

“—and although my raging desire for your dick cannot be contained…” Richie lightly socks the window frame and shakes his head.

Eddie suddenly realizes where this is going. His heart sinks as he grabs hold of the windowsill. “Oh my God, no you—”

“—it’s finally happened. I cannot fit through this goddamn window. I’m out of ideas.” Richie throws his hands in the air. Eddie can see the scrapes on both arms from his valiant, fruitless attempts to worm his way in.

And there it is. Eddie saw this coming many months ago, long before Richie hit six feet. In fact, in the last few weeks alone Richie has gotten stuck for over ten minutes at least four times, and they just sort of silently decided to collectively ignore it and hope that maybe Richie’s body would chill with the growing for one fucking second. They’re a third of the way into eleventh grade and it’s still going to be one year, seven months and eighteen days before they can ride off into the sunset or whatever together, and he’s suddenly being forced to face the prospect of no dick until then.

Unacceptable. Eddie has gotten used to getting off with Richie a minimum of two or three times a week—and cuddling every night—and he isn’t willing to settle for less.

Do not cry, Eddie tell himself sternly. Crying will not solve anything except that maybe Richie will just yell Oh Yeah! and try to Kool-Aid Man his way through the wall to comfort him, and Eddie’s mom is a heavy sleeper, but no one is that heavy of a sleeper.

No dick until college. No naked Richie. No Richie big-spooning him to sleep and then sneaking out again without waking Eddie up...

“No,” Eddie says and oh God, it comes out like a cross between a whine and a whimper and it’s almost as bad as crying.

To be fair, Eddie might be overreacting a tiny bit. It’s not like there’s no other way for them to ever like...make out and stuff. There have been a few times where they’ve managed to get some daytime action in on the weekends, although Eddie usually avoids that because Richie always starts singing Afternoon Delight when it’s clear that shit’s about to go down and it infuriates Eddie like nothing else. And even if that doesn’t work out, Richie is bound to get a car sooner or later, which will hopefully have a backseat. So there will be opportunities.

It’s just that Richie climbing through his bedroom window is like... Their Thing. Like, Eddie thinks they could trademark it. It’s a routine, it’s comforting, they’ve never gotten caught...and now it’s over. Forever.

“Trust me,” Richie says, “the despair is mutual. What if we just tried to like reeeeeally quietly sneak me through the front—”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, if she was in her room then like, maybe we could risk the hallway…”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

Eddie just wishes his mom would sleep in her actual bed for once. She always, always falls asleep in front of the TV and it’s worse than having a gargoyle guarding the house. And Eddie doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if he got caught sneaking that disgusting Tozier boy into his bedroom in the middle of the night.

“Eds, are you crying?” Richie squints through the window.

“Pssh,” says Eddie, “no.” Even to his own ears it sounds watery.

“Okay I swear I’m gonna be like a fuckin’ ninja,” Richie pleads. “Just unlock the front door. Like, go unlock it and I’ll even wait a few minutes to come in, just so we don’t make too much noise at once. It’s gonna work, we can—”

“She’s literally right there, Richie,” Eddie says. “She can see the door from her chair. And if she catches us…” Eddie shakes his head, “she’ll put bars on my window, and then we’ll have no chance. Even if we could open it further—”

“Why doesn’t this window open all the way?” Richie asks. He pokes his head through and then turns around so he’s leaning back like he’s playing limbo and looking up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I guess...maybe that’s just the kind of window it is? Maybe it’s broken? What do I look like, Mario?”

“Mario’s a plumber, dumbass,” says Richie. “We need a carpenter. Wait, wasn’t Jesus a carpenter?”

“Oh, you’re brilliant,” Eddie tells him. “I’ll just pray real quick—like, dear God, please use your carpenter skills to fix my window so my boyfriend can come in and suck my dick.”

“Amen,” says Richie, squinting up at the window frame. He points at the latch from the outside. “That looks like it should go higher. Not like, a lot higher, but I think I could make it through even if it was just a couple inches. At least for now.”

“What you mean ‘for now?’” Eddie asks. “How much taller can you possibly get?”

“I dunno,” Richie tries to shrug, but only succeeds in whacking his shoulders on the window frame. He doesn’t even wince; he must be used to bumping into shit all the time. Eddie has no idea how he’d keep track of all his limbs at the same time if he was that long. “How much shorter can you possibly get?”

Rude. Eddie has been five foot five and no quarters of a inch for long enough that he’s kind of having to come to terms with the fact that that’s probably going to be it for him, but Richie didn’t have to call it out like that. Still, Eddie technically started it, so he figures he can’t get that mad.

“I think that’s literally impossible,” Eddie tells him. “Except for like maybe super old people.”

“Yeah, and I’ll still love you even when you’re so old and short that I have to use a fucking microscope to look at you,” Richie says.

Eddie snorts. “Yeah well, I’ll still love you even when you’re so tall and blind that I have to...shoot missiles into the sky to knock out airplanes before they hit your fat head.”

“That was terrible,” Richie declares, then he laughs, then bucks up and kisses the only part of Eddie he can reach—which is the underside of his nose.

Eddie splutters. “Don’t kiss my nostrils like that, it’s like you’re...like you’re kissing boogers.”

“I’ll eat your boogers any day, babe,” Richie replies, grinning up at him like an idiot.

Eddie shoves the top of his head out the window. “Go home, Richie,” he orders him. “That’s it. That’s the grossest thing you’ve ever said to me. We’re done. I’m closing the window now.”

“No!” Richie cries, still laughing. “I’m gonna have blue balls. At least do a sexy dance or something and I’ll just like jerk it out here before I—”

“I can’t hear you,” Eddie says over him, shoving down on the window frame. “I can’t hear you over the sound of me closing the window on your nasty ass. And I’m not even gonna be sorry when your dick gets frostbite and falls off because you decided to whip it out when it’s fifty fucking degrees out—”

“I’m totally gonna whip it out,” Richie says, reaching for his belt. “I’m just gonna stand here jacking off outside your window until—”

“You could get arrested for that, actually,” Eddie informs him, and Richie looks like he’s about to reply when he suddenly jerks his hand away from his jeans and grabs the windowsill. He’s got that face on that can only mean one thing: mind switched gears, new topic.

“Oh,” says Richie. “Oh oh oh new idea—do you have an attic?”

“I...maybe?” Eddie says. There’s no way his mom would allow him to go up there if there even is one.

“What if—seriously—what if we just like cut a hole in the roof and—”

“You think my mom isn’t going to notice a fucking hole in the roof? What happens when it rains?!”

“No, I mean like a hole we can open and close,” says Richie.

“You mean like a trapdoor,” Eddie says. “Like we build an entire trapdoor. In my roof.”

“Yeah!” says Richie. “Like that. I played this game once where—”

“Goodnight, Richie.” Eddie closes the window.

“I love you,” Richie calls from outside the house. He smacks a kiss right on the window pane before making a rude tongue-between-two-fingers gesture and wandering off down the side of the house, arms swinging.

“Rough night?” Ben asks, plopping a stack of books on the desk and sitting down next to Eddie.

“Yeah, I guess,” Eddie says, rubbing his eyes. English is about to start in like two minutes and he knows he looks like shit—bloodshot eyes, dark circles, kind of a mess—and he knows why, too: apparently Eddie’s brain has decided that he is no longer allowed to fall asleep without Richie’s arms around him. And that’s just fucking...great. Eddie lay in bed for hours and hours last night, and at some point after three in the morning he started calculating when the last time was he fell asleep without Richie there and it was like...over six months ago.

He hasn’t seen Richie yet today and he isn’t looking forward to it. Richie is going to instantly know something is wrong, and then he’s going to pester it out of him. Eddie feels like an idiot even thinking the words I can’t sleep without you anymore and can’t imagine saying them without wanting to sink into the ground and die. Richie will without a doubt proceed to tease the absolute shit out of him for it, but then he’ll start pitching newer and stupider ideas for how to get in with renewed vigor. Which will probably result in Richie accidentally burning Eddie’s house down. With the best intentions, of course.

The worst part about this scenario—the one in which Richie torches Eddie’s childhood home to the ground and destroys everything inside—is that it means his mom will find out about him and Richie in the ensuing court case. Eddie can’t have that.

His mom tried to keep him home today because she said he looked like he was coming down with something, but Eddie stubbornly refused. If falling asleep without Richie is his new reality, then he damn well better get used to it.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, turning to face Eddie and narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eddie says again, but he knows it sounds unconvincing and Ben isn’t stupid.

Ben also isn’t a prier—he lets people come out with stuff when they’re ready—which is partly why Eddie still hasn’t told him (or any of them) about him and Richie. Still. It’s been what...a year and two months? A year and three months? And Eddie still hasn’t managed to spit it out. He and Richie talked about it during the second semester of last year; there was a discussion that was basically Richie saying, hey uh, are we gonna tell the others about this ever or what? and Eddie was like, yeah for sure, can we just wait until I’m ready? And like...apparently he’s still not ready.

It makes him feel kind of sick every time he thinks about it, especially the fact that Richie hasn’t even brought it up again, and Richie is the actual worst secret-keeper of all time. Once in kindergarten, Stan threw up in one of the cubbies where they all kept their backpacks and Richie was the only one who actually saw, but the entire class knew about it within thirty seconds. They hadn’t known Ben longer than fifteen minutes before Richie told him that Bill had kissed Beverly in third grade. Richie does not do secrets. Not telling the others about this whopper must be killing him.

Ben sighs and opens up the top book on his stack. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Eddie looks blearily to the side and is about to say something like thanks I will and not mean it at all when his eyes decide to focus all of a sudden, and he notices that titles on Ben’s book stack are all things like A History of New England Architecture, and A Guide to Colonial and Spanish Style Homes. Eddie sits up straight.

“Actually,” he says, “what...how much do you know about windows?”

“Windows?” Ben repeats, looking up from his book. “Uh...I mean, a little, I guess. Why?”

Eddie thinks fast.

“I have this window in my house and it’s like broken or something. How do you fix that?”

Ben’s face is the picture of confusion.

“Well...um, do you mean like the glass is broken? I think you just have to get a new pane if—”

“No no no,” Eddie interrupts, feeling much more energetic than he has in hours. “There’s nothing wrong with the glass, it’s like...it gets stuck if you try to open it all the way."

“What kind of window is it?” Ben asks.

“Uh…a bedroom window?”

“Like, is it a stationary?” Ben asks. “Or an awning type, or a transom—”

“A what?”

Ben tears a page out of his English notebook—neatly, along the perforated edge. “Can you draw it for me?”

Eddie has been sleeping in the same bedroom for his entire life and staring out the only window in it as long as he can remember, and suddenly when faced with the task of drawing it, he can’t seem to remember what it looks like at all.

“Uh… So there’s a bottom part here,” Eddie says, trying to sketch, “and then you pull from the bottom and it stops like halfway up—”

“Can you open it from the top too?” Ben asks.

“No, it only goes—”

“That looks like a single-hung window,” Ben says, nodding. Eddie feels better already. Ben always knows what to do; Eddie was stupid for not coming to him sooner. Like, maybe before it became a goddamn crisis. That would’ve been smart.

“Can you help me fix it?” he asks.

“How long has it been broken?” Ben squints at Eddie’s terrible sketch like it’s going to give him any information at all.

Eddie shrugs. “Forever?”

“I mean there’s probably not anything I can do about it,” says Ben, eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe you could just come look?” Eddie says. He knows Ben thinks he’s not qualified to deal with this, but Eddie has a distinct memory of Ben biting that god damn clown on the arm and then stabbing it through the back, so he feels that he can be forgiven for his confidence that Ben is capable of a lot more than he thinks he is.

“Well, I was going to call—”

Eddie doesn’t exactly purposely make his eyes look bigger and sadder and more pitiful than they already are, but he doesn’t not do that either. Cute cute cute, he thinks, unbidden. In Richie's voice. It’s gotta be good for something.

“You know what? Nevermind. I can do that tomorrow or...yeah,” Ben says. “So, do you want me to come straight over with—”

“Yes! Yes,” Eddie says. “Please.”

“Cool,” Ben says. “Is...is that what kept you up all night? A broken window?”

“Kinda sorta,” Eddie tells him. “It’s bugging me.”

Ben looks like he’s about to say something else, but just then Mr. Duncan stands up and starts the alright class, let’s get going spiel, so Eddie just faces front and hopes he can come up with a reason Ben will buy as to why he suddenly desperately today right now needs this window that’s never worked to open.

But more than that, it occurs to him that maybe he just...won’t lie. Maybe he doesn’t need to think of a fake reason. His eyes glaze over the text of Julius Caesar. Usually Eddie comes up with some kind of contingency plan whenever he makes the decision to Tell Everyone for when he inevitably chickens out at the last minute. He’s gone through that process at least fifteen times, and honestly it’s getting kind of exhausting. And he’s already exhausted enough. Maybe he just won’t give himself the out this time. He puts his head on the desk, just for a second, just to rest his eyes, and then suddenly the bell for second period is ringing. Eddie heaves a sigh. It’s going to be...a really long day.

Eddie gets Ben into the house under the ruse of Ben is helping me with an English project ma, he’s got the best grades in the class, and now Ben is crouched down under the window, fiddling with the latch.

“See, it goes up until there,” Eddie says, watching Ben lift the window. “And then—”

Eddie collapses onto his bed with a groan.

Ben hums, pulling the window back down. He tests it out a few times before peering up into the frame.

“Have you checked the frame?” he asks.

“We were—I mean, I was looking at it last night but it was really dark,” Eddie says from under his pillow, hoping Ben missed the slip-up. “I don’t even know what to look for, even if I could’ve seen it.”

Eddie has, predictably, suddenly decided against telling Ben about him and Richie. Like he always does. This time, his excuse is that he didn’t give Richie a heads up that he was going to do it and that seems like the kind of thing Eddie should probably warn him about first, and also maybe Richie wants to be there when other people find out. And now Eddie is a little bit pissed at himself for not thinking of a contingency plan in case he chickened out...again.

Ben is quiet for a minute before—

“Oh,” Ben says, the kind of oh that means he’s going to fix all of Eddie’s problems. Eddie lurches into a seated position. He already wants to hug Ben. “I see it.”

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Here,” says Ben. “Come look. See that part right there, on the side? That’s water damage. The wood—”

“How do you fix water damage?” Eddie asks him, walking toward the window. Eddie doesn’t particularly care why it isn’t working. He just wants it to work.

“Well, I don’t think there’s a good long-term solution other than replacing the window,” Ben tells him. “But maybe…”

“Yes?”

Ben turns away from the window for a second and looks Eddie right in the eye.

“Why is this suddenly such a big problem?” he asks. “You said it’s never worked, right?”

Eddie’s eyes dart to his door. They’re not talking loudly enough that his mom would be able to hear them from the living room, but if Ben is as close to discovering the truth as Eddie thinks he is, he doesn’t want to take any chances. Ben bites his lip, then walks to the bedroom door and closes it.

“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Uh...sure,” says Eddie, and he knows in his heart that the jig is definitely up before Ben even opens his mouth. His heartbeat speeds up.

“Are you and Richie—”

“Yes,” Eddie interrupts, before he can stop himself. “Whatever you were gonna say, yes we are.”

Eddie exhales. Holy shit. Honestly, it feels so fucking good to tell him. Eddie always expected there would be at least a little discomfort or weirdness or something unpleasant, but there’s not. There’s just this sweet sense of relief and a knot he didn’t even know existed loosening in his stomach. He wants to kick Past Eddie in the balls for not doing this sooner.

Ben’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “Oh wow. I thought so. Does the window thing have anything to do with—”

“Richie won’t fit through the window anymore,” Eddie says, and it’s like the words are tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can keep up with them. “He couldn’t get in last night and I can’t fall asleep if he’s not like...in the bed with me.”

“Wow,” Ben breathes out, and Eddie can hear him thinking how romantic and he wishes he couldn’t because Eddie already knows Richie has turned him into an absolute sap—he doesn’t need further confirmation from other people ooh-ing over them. “Okay. So...first of all—”

“Anything you want to know about...that, like, Richie and me, I’ll tell you,” Eddie says. “But can you please fix the window, I feel like I can’t even think about anything else until I know he’s gonna be able to get in tonight.”

Ben huffs out a laugh and smiles again. “Okay. I don’t really have any experience fixing stuff like that, but Mike told me a few months ago that he had to help his grandpa work on their shed because there was water damage from the rain. He might be able to figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Eddie clicks his tongue, thinking hard. His mom doesn’t really know Mike very well, it’s possible he could just pretend Mike’s from school and say they’re working on the project together. If he got him in fast enough, his mom might not even get a good enough look to question it.

“Be right back,” he tells Ben.

Eddie walks down the hall and into the kitchen. He can see the glow from the TV in the living room out of the corner of his eye, can hear some guy sobbing on Days of Our Lives. The music on the show pauses dramatically as Eddie dials Mike’s number.

Ring...ring…

“Hello?”

“Hi Mr. Hanlon,” Eddie says, making a conscious effort to slow his voice down. Adults are always telling Eddie to speak more slowly and it drives him crazy, but he doesn’t want to have to repeat himself over and over right now. “Can I speak to Mike please?”

“Who is this?” Mr. Hanlon asks, not particularly politely.

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” says Eddie. “I’m a friend of Mike’s.”

“Hold on.”

Eddie hears Mr. Hanlon put the phone down on the other line and he leans back against the kitchen table, tapping his fingers against the receiver.

“Eddie-bear?” his mother’s voice floats in from the living room. Eddie’s not sure how he never realized before how fucking creepy it sounds sometimes. Like just this disembodied voice trying to control every aspect of his life. Eddie puts his hand over the speaker.

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Who are you calling?” she asks.

“Mike from English,” Eddie lies. “He’s...we’re doing this project together. I was going to see if he could come over too, so Ben could help both of us.” Please, please, please be too interested in RJ or JT or whoever’s problems to care about mine.

“Not too long,” she says, and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief.

Eddie hears shuffling on the other line, then a voice.

“Eddie? What’s going on?”

“Hi Mike,” says Eddie. “Um...you wanna come over and work on the English project?”

“What?” says Mike. “I don’t—wait. Is your mom listening? Is everything—”

“Uh, yeah. I have Ben here,” Eddie continues over him, choosing his words carefully. “He says the poster part would be a lot easier with you here. We don’t have the...um...stuff we need.”

“Your house?” Mike asks. “I can be there in twenty minutes. What do you need me to bring?”

God, Eddie could hug Mike too. He suddenly gets the image of himself being squeezed in the middle of a Mike-and-Ben sandwich and honestly, that might be enough to get him to fall asleep without Richie. Sleep...sleep sounds so good...

“Uh…” Eddie pauses. “Just your backpack. And um…”

“I have...farming tools?” Mike suggests. “Want me to start naming stuff?”

“Yeah, that’s good,” says Eddie, trying to sort of muffle his voice in case his mom is listening. “Weneedtofixawoodenwindowframe,” he whispers under his breath, praying that Mike is able to understand him.

“Wha—oh,” Mike says. “Okay. Like maybe...a hammer? Nails? Screwdriver?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie replies, suddenly wishing he and Ben had come up with a slightly more detailed plan than get Mike. Although, to be fair, get Mike is an amazing solution that can solve almost any conceivable problem Eddie’s ever had.

“Tell you what, I’m just gonna grab whatever I can find that might help,” Mike says. “I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Okay,” says Eddie. “Thanks, Mike—Iloveyousomuch—see you soon!”

“Eddie?” his mom calls again as Eddie hangs the phone up.

“Yes?”

“Did you just say ‘thanks Mike sandwich see you soon’?” his mom asks.

“Uh...yeah. Mike Sandwich is his nickname,” Eddie lies, straight out of his ass. “He...brings ham and cheese for lunch every day.” He makes a face at himself. What the hell kind of…

“Okay,” his mom calls back. Evidently she’s too interested in whatever the screaming lady on Days of Our Lives has to say to divert more energy into figuring out what the fuck Eddie could be doing with Mike Sandwich.

Eddie walks back down the hall to his bedroom and quietly closes the door.

“Is he coming?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, he’ll be right over,” Eddie says.

Ben sits down on Eddie’s bed and makes himself comfortable.

“Great. So until he gets here we can talk about you and Richie.”

“Yeah, okay,” says Eddie, perching on the other side of the bed. “What do you want to know?”

“First of all, I knew something was up. I knew it. I was—”

“How the fuck did you know?” Eddie asks, planning on making a mental note to yell at Richie later for whatever it was he did that blew their cover. “I’m like constantly telling him to stop pretending he’s gonna kiss me in public and pushing his hands off me and—”

“Yeah, that’s what gave it away,” Ben says. “All of a sudden last year you just started acting really freaked out every time he touched you. And one time I heard you whisper ‘stop touching my butt where other people can see you—are you aware we’re at fucking school right now?’”

“Wait wait wait,” Eddie interrupts. “Are you saying I was the one who gave it away?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” says Ben. “Richie’s always done that kind of stuff; you just used to go with it and then—”

Eddie has no doubt that Ben remembers that verbatim. Unfortunately, Eddie has said it on at least a dozen different occasions, so it’s impossible to tell when exactly Ben might’ve overheard.

“Oh my God,” Eddie groans. “Do you think everyone knows?”

“Do you mean...everyone like Beverly and Bill and Mike and Stan?” Ben asks. “Or like everyone everyone?”

“Everyone at school…”

“No way.” Ben shakes his head. “No way they’re paying attention. But the rest of us… I kind of told Beverly I thought something might be up. Sorry if—”

“No, that’s okay,” Eddie says. “We were always going to tell you guys, I was just being…”

“You know none of us will think any differently of you, right?” Ben says, sitting up straighter and looking Eddie right in the eye.

“No, I know,” Eddie says. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to—I just...yeah. It was like—it started happening and then—”

“What started happening?”

“Whenever we were alone together we’d like...be kissing or whatever...or then, you know, other stuff...and it was even hard to talk to him about it. You don’t… I was just freaked out because…fuck.” Eddie is having a hard time coming up with a way to say what he means without sounding like he’s insulting Ben.

“Hey,” Ben says softly, leaning towards Eddie. “Remember this?”

He reaches out and takes Eddie’s left hand in his, letting Eddie’s fingers slide over the slightly raised skin of his scar. They don’t talk about it often, but it’s something all of them have done at one point to each other—reminding one another that whatever it is that’s going on isn’t stronger than their bond. Of what they overcame together.

“Yeah,” says Eddie, nodding. “But—”

“No, there’s no ‘but,’” Ben insists. “‘But’ nothing. You love Richie, Richie loves you, and that’s great. I think it’s great. The rest of us will too. And if people find out—other people—and they give you guys a hard time, they’ll have us to reckon with. We’ll all fight for you.”

Eddie gets that this is an emotional moment and that maybe he should be crying or some shit—and also he suddenly really understands why Ben has the best grades in their English class—but instead of sobs, what comes out of his mouth when he opens it is just this...it’s like a Shakespeare-style monologue of every romantic thought he’s ever had about Richie in his life. He takes maybe two breaths in ten minutes and he knows he’s talking so fast that Ben can’t possibly be processing more than a third of what he’s saying, but he can’t stop. He can barely keep up with himself. It’s like now that he has someone to say it all to, he has to say it all right now.

“...and just like sometimes I just look at him and he just smiles at me and just ugh, you know?”

“...on Valentine’s Day he literally brought me chocolate. I mean, it was a king-size Kit-Kat and I think he stole it from the Circle K and it was melted because he forgot to take it out of his pocket but, you know, it was still pretty cute…”

“...and then sometimes I think that Heroes by David Bowie has to be, like “our song” because like the lyrics are so amazing and I think about that ‘you will be mean’ part and how—”

The doorbell rings. Eddie stops speaking abruptly and turns toward his bedroom door.

“Are you gonna tell Mike right now?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, probably,” Eddie says, suddenly wishing all of them were here. He’s gonna have to wait to tell everyone else, but his mouth has clearly done a manual override of his brain and all he can do is hope he doesn’t declare his undying love for Richie to Mike in front of his mother.

Eddie races to the front door. Mike is standing outside, truck parked neatly in the driveway and carrying a very full-looking backpack on both shoulders.

“Come in,” says Eddie, practically dragging Mike inside and pushing him as far down the hall as he can while calling “Mom, this is Mike, Mike this is Mom, come on, let’s get started,” in the direction of the living room. He slams his bedroom door shut behind Mike.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Mike asks immediately.

“Not really,” Eddie answers honestly. “We need to make that window open all the way before it gets dark so that Richie can fit through it tonight.”

“Oh,” says Mike, “okay. What’s keeping it from—“

“Richie and I are together,” Eddie volunteers. “Like...boyfriends, or whatever.”

“Not or whatever,” Ben interjects. “You are boyfriends.”

Mike really does have the most charming smile Eddie’s ever seen. “Wow, I bet Richie is over the moon,” he says.

“Why?” Eddie asks.

“Well,” says Mike, dropping his backpack over next to the window and unzipping it, “obviously cause you’re a catch.”

Eddie just hopes he doesn’t look as blush-y and butterflies-in-the-stomach-y as he feels. He should be used to Mike’s easy compliments by now, but they always seem to catch him off-guard. He’s not flirting or anything, he’s just really that nice.

“Also cause he told me a while back about how much he wanted to be with you,” Mike continues, “and he talks about how much he likes you all the time when you’re not there. When did you guys—”

“Um, like...last summer,” Eddie says.

Mike’s eyebrows raise as he peers up into the window frame. “Really? That’s about when he told me he was crushing on you the first time, I just didn’t—oh, I see it. Water damage, huh?”

“That’s what I thought,” Ben says, getting up from the bed and crouching down next to Mike.

“Yeah, see that part sticking out right there?” Mike points to something and Ben nods. “I bet if you chipped it off—”

“But what if it gets humid?” Ben says. “Then it’s just going to start warping out again.”

“Nah,” says Mike. “I mean, yeah it will, but it’ll take years to get this bad again. You could probably put a sealant over it though—if you have some, I don’t have any—and that would at least delay the—”

“I literally only need this window to function for another one year, seven months and eighteen days,” Eddie interjects. “It can fall apart the next morning after that as far as I care.”

Mike laughs. “Gotcha. Here’s the thing though: I’m assuming your mom doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Right,” Eddie confirms.

“I’m thinking I’m probably gonna need to use a chisel or something and scrape that damaged part out. I’ll try to keep it as quiet as I can,” Mike says.

Eddie watches from his perch on the bed as Mike rummages through his backpack and emerges with what Eddie assumes must be a chisel, then crouches down and begins using it to pick at something in the window frame.

“Wow,” he says after a few minutes. “This stuff is just chipping right off. Eddie, you might want to sweep it up or something, Richie’s gonna step right in the splinters if we leave them here.”

Eddie hums. Going out to the kitchen to get a broom… He screws up his face. Too risky. He walks over to Mike, then gets down on his knees and starts carefully picking up the splinters with his fingers, collecting them in the palm of his other hand. Mike stops scraping for a second to stare at him, mouth open.

“You really do love Richie,” Ben says. His voice is nothing short of awestruck.

“You didn’t get that from all the shit I said earlier?” Eddie asks him, dropping the splinters into the garbage can.

“Yeah but...you just picked up a bunch of splinters with your bare hands,” Ben points out. “And you didn’t even complain about it. That’s love. Especially coming from you.”

Ben...has a point. Eddie dusts off his hands over the garbage one last time.

“That was all the loose stuff,” Mike says, looking up into the window once more. “The rest looks like it’s gonna be harder to scrape out. Just to be safe, you might want to—I don’t know—make some noise or something to cover it up. You think she’s listening?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie nods, reaching under the bed and producing a towel. “Definitely. If she hears like...hammering or whatever she’ll get really suspicious. But here, take this. Once I go out there, just like jam it as hard as you can under the door. I use it every night to soundproof the room so...you know. So she can’t hear...yeah. Us.”

Mike makes an attempt at hiding his smile and fails. Ben doesn’t even bother trying. Eddie’s face feels like it’s on fire.

“Got it,” Ben tells him, taking the towel and rolling it up like a burrito. “What are you going to do to distract her?”

“I dunno,” Eddie says, glancing around the room for ideas. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation or the adrenaline rush of telling Ben and Mike his Big Secret, but he’s feeling reckless and lucky and his eyes settle on the boombox by his desk. “Something crazy.”

Eddie heaves the heavy cassette player into his arms on his way to the door and strides down the hallway, stopping where his mom can see him, but where he can also glance sideways and see his door. The door shuts very quietly, and then the light from underneath it disappears as Eddie assumes Ben has inserted the towel underneath.

Eddie’s mom is sitting in her chair, like always, painting her fingernails. Eddie doesn’t even have to look to tell the color—a frosted, bubblegum pink that he knows by sight if not by name, made by Revlon—because he’s been using it to paint her toenails (which she can’t reach) every other week since he can remember. She looks up at him.

“What’re you boys up to, Eddie-bear?” she asks, blowing daintily on her pinky finger.

“Just homework,” Eddie tells her quickly. “We wanted to put some music on, but I think—do we have any D batteries?”

“Did you check—”

Just then, Eddie hears a soft thudding sound from the direction of his room. His mom’s eyes dart toward the hallway.

Thinking fast—or possibly not even thinking at all—Eddie slams the play button.

WE ALWAYS HAVE A REAL GOOD TIME

AND MAYBE HE SINGS OFF-KEY

BUT THAT’S ALRIGHT BY ME

Eddie’s mom almost drops her bottle of nail polish in surprise. The volume must’ve been at max—turning the dial all the way up when Eddie’s not looking so the next time he puts on music it practically blasts him across the room is a favorite prank of Richie’s—and Eddie has never in his life been so grateful for it. It’s the perfect distraction, and the kind of favor Richie only seems to be able to do by accident. God damn, Eddie loves that asshole.

“Sorry Mommy!” Eddie calls, pretending to fiddle with the dials in search of the volume. Like he doesn’t know where it is.

BECAUSE WHAT HE DOES, HE DOES SO WELL

Damn right, Eddie thinks, fighting off the insane giggle bubbling up in his throat. He crouches down with the boombox and glances surreptitiously toward the hallway. Nothing is happening.

MAKES ME WANT TO YELL

LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE BOY

LET’S GIVE THE BOY A HAND

Eddie’s glad there’s no way his mom can hear his suppressed laughter over Deniece Williams. God, he needs some sleep.

Eddie looks up in time to see his mom place her nail polish on the TV tray. Oh shit. What if she gets up? Eddie didn’t think of that. He looks desperately toward the hallway. Nothing.

“No, Ma—don’t get up—I got it,” he calls again. “It’s just—”

A frantic motion out of the corner of his eye grabs his attention. It’s Ben—he’s opened Eddie’s bedroom door and is waving. When Eddie looks up at him, he smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

MAYBE HE’S NO ROMEO

BUT HE’S MY LOVIN’ ONE-MAN SHOW

WHOA WHOA—

Eddie smacks the power button and the music stops abruptly. He stares up at his mom, who has placed a hand on each armrest like she’s about to heave herself up off the chair.

“Guess it doesn’t need new batteries,” Eddie says, going for a bright, cheerful tone.

“Eddie, it’s not good for your hearing to listen to loud music,” his mom says, settling back in her chair and picking up her nail polish bottle again. “And your friends should go home before it gets too late.”

“Yes, Ma,” he tells her, heaving the boombox back into his arms and making his exit. He sets it back on his desk once he’s back in his room and looks anxiously up at Mike.

“I love that song, by the way,” says Ben, closing the door behind him and replacing the towel under Eddie’s bed.

Mike beams and raises the window as far as it will go—which is at least four inches higher than it was last night. Richie will be able to make it through without becoming a contortionist. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and sinks down onto his bed.

“Thanks so much,” Eddie breathes out, rubbing his eyes.

“You look like you could use a nap,” Mike tells him.

“Want me to call Richie?” Ben asks.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “I better… I have so much homework. I need to read whatever it was we went over in English today. I think I fell asleep.”

“You did,” Ben says, patting him on the back. “We went over Antony’s speech. Act III.”

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles. “Thank you guys. Seriously. So much.”

“Hey,” says Mike, patting him on the shoulder. “Anytime.” Eddie smiles up at him.

Ben is quiet for a moment before he says, “Are you gonna tell Bill and Stan? And—”

“You can tell Beverly,” Eddie finishes for him. Ben looks very pleased. “I’ll tell Bill and Stan. Or maybe I’ll let Richie do it—I don’t know. I have to talk to him—I didn’t tell him I was gonna tell you guys either. He’s wanted to for like...ever. I was the one being weird about it. And I don’t want you to think it was anything you did or… It was just me. I was freaked out and I kind of still am because—”

“No,” Mike interrupts, “it’s okay. People here… It’s not easy being different. I get that.”

“I should’ve told you guys though,” Eddie says. “Like, I knew you’d—I knew you wouldn’t treat me like…”

“No one’s mad at you,” Ben tells him, very gently.

“No, I know,” says Eddie. “I’m just mad at myself because like… Jesus, I knew as soon as I told you I’d be like, why the fuck didn’t I do this sooner like I basically put myself into this stupid position and—”

“Eddie?” his mom calls from the living room. “I think it’s about time your friends head home. They’ve been here long enough, especially since you weren’t feeling well this morning. You need to start getting ready for dinner.”

“Just a minute,” Eddie calls back.

“It’s not even four…” Ben whispers to Eddie in confusion.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Don’t even try. It’s not...she just doesn’t want me to have friends over. Or like...friends. At all.”

“What does she want you to do?” Mike asks.

“She wants me to sit in the living room and watch The Bold and The Beautiful with her until one of us dies,” Eddie responds. He nods at the identical looks of horror on Ben and Mike’s faces.

“That’s…” Mike starts.

“One year. Seven months. Eighteen days,” Eddie repeats. It’s his personal mantra. “Then Richie and I…” Eddie snaps his fingers and flings out his arm. “Gone.”

“To where?” asks Ben.

“We don’t know yet,” Eddie says, standing and preparing to escort Ben and Mike to the front door. “We’ve talked about New York, LA. I guess it depends where we get in. Or, you know, where I get in. If Richie wants to go to college, or…”

“Can I come visit you guys there?” Ben asks, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders as Mike does the same.

“You better,” Eddie says with a grin, directing his answer to both of them. Eddie follows them down the hall as Mike quietly offers Ben a ride home and Ben accepts with murmured thanks. They nod politely to Eddie’s mom, who doesn’t look away from the TV. Eddie watches their retreating backs for a moment, wishing he could go with them to...wherever. Somewhere else.

“Eddie-bear.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, shutting the door behind his friends, and closes his eyes, preparing to face his mom. One year. Seven months. Eighteen days.

After a microwaved dinner eaten with his mom in front of the TV, Eddie takes advantage of a commercial break during Wheel of Fortune while she gets up to use the bathroom.

“Yeeello?”

“Hey,” Eddie whispers quickly into the phone.

“I gotta tell you,” Richie says, “when you use that secret-mission spy voice it does something to my—”

“Shut up,” Eddie hisses. “I fixed the problem.”

“What problem?”

“You know... the problem we were having?” Eddie doesn’t want to say the window just in case his mom has somehow developed supersonic hearing. “It’s fixed.”

“The...oh my God,” says Richie. “Oh my God, start unzipping right now and I’ll be there by the time your pants hit the floor.” There’s a click as Richie hangs up the phone.

Not one second later, Eddie hears the toilet flush at the other end of the hall. He hurries to take his seat back in the living room, hoping he looks like he hasn’t moved.

“I think I’m going to go to bed a little early,” Eddie tells his mom once she’s gotten settled in her chair.

“Sweetie,” she says, turning towards him and gazing at him like she’s trying to X-ray him with her eyes, “are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, Ma,” says Eddie, nodding confidently, smiling his sweetest. “I’m fine, but I know you were worried so I want to make sure I get plenty of sleep.” Gotta really slather it on.

“Alright,” she tells him, apparently satisfied. Oh yeah, eat that shit up, Mom. “Good night. I love you, Eddie-bear.” She proffers her cheek for him to kiss and he does so.

Eddie has biked between his and Richie’s houses at least a hundred times over the course of his life, and because of that, he is aware that it takes almost exactly seven minutes to do so. Which is why after saying goodnight to his mother, brushing his teeth, washing his face and using the bathroom (all of which took a total of five minutes) he is surprised to walk into his bedroom and see Richie’s face peering at him from outside the window. He shoves the towel under the door and rushes to let Richie in.

“How the fuck did you get here so fast?” he whispers, opening the window.

Richie wags his eyebrows, grinning wide. “Followed my heart. And by that I mean my—”

“I know what you mean.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“What?” Richie says, poking his head in. “Can’t a guy be excited to see his boyfriend?”

“You already saw me,” Eddie says, watching with satisfaction and relief as Richie climbs easily through the window. “You saw me like...all day. Lunch and history and—”

The rest of Eddie’s sentence is drowned out by Richie kissing him—hard and deep, hands in Eddie’s hair. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck and sighs in contentment because this...this is what all that stress was for, it’s worth tiptoeing around his mother and the sneaking and the—

“I notice your pants are still on,” Richie whispers against his lips.

Eddie tries to think of something witty to say back, or maybe something kind of sexy, but when he tries to speak—to his absolute horror—he instead yawns directly into Richie’s mouth.

Richie immediately stops kissing him and pulls back, staring, eyebrows so high they’ve disappeared into his hair.

“I’m sorry, am I boring you, Eds?”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, untangling his arms from around Richie and using both hands to cover his mouth. His body apparently decides that the first yawn didn’t get the message across, so he yawns again, furiously trying to keep his mouth closed and his expression even.

“What the fuck was that?” Richie asks. “Did you just shit yourself?” Charming, as always.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says. “I didn’t—ew. No. I’m just…”

“About to pass the fuck out,” Richie says, nodding. He’s still smiling just as brightly as he was when he arrived. He then stands up very straight (which he rarely does—it adds to his already ridiculous height noticeably) and bends at the waist. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers, Sleeping Beauty.”

“No—Richie I—”

Before Eddie can say anything else, Richie has hoisted him up under the knees and is attempting to carry him—bridal-style—to bed. Eddie flails wildly.

“Put me down, put me down,” he says, pushing away from Richie’s chest and trying not to fall on his ass. “Stop stop stop, you can’t—”

“What do you mean I can’t?” Richie interrupts, struggling mightily under Eddie’s weight. His legs wobble during the five or six steps it takes him to transport Eddie from the window to the bed, but to his credit, he doesn’t drop him.

“Jesus,” Richie says, heaving Eddie bodily into the bed and kicking his shoes off without untying the laces, “how are you ten thousand pounds? What the fuck have you been eating lately?”

“It’s not me, you’re just weak as hell,” Eddie replies as Richie sticks his tongue out, dropping his coat on the floor. He grabs his shirt from the back of his neck and pulls it off in one fluid motion, tossing it down with his jacket and getting started on his belt while Eddie watches. It’s...he’s so exhausted, but he can’t help licking his lips. Watching Richie unbuckle his belt one-handed, pull down his fly…

“Don’t look at me like that,” Richie says, interrupting his thoughts. “You need sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Eddie grumbles.

Richie climbs into bed behind him. Eddie huffs a little wistfully at the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of Richie’s boxers.

“My dick will still be there tomorrow, don’t worry,” Richie assures him, pulling the covers up over both of them and cuddling up behind him.

“Not if you keep bugging Stan the way you were at lunch today,” Eddie says, twisting around to look him in the eye. “I thought he was gonna chop your balls off right there in the cafeteria.”

“Stan loves me,” Richie says confidently, kissing Eddie softly on the lips. “He just shows it through death threats. It’s our thing. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, I totally understand,” Eddie says. “I want to kill you half the time too.”

“Then I for sure have something to look forward to tomorrow,” says Richie, pulling Eddie close and wrapping his arms around him. “I get a handjob, or murdered. Sounds like a good time either way.”

Eddie chuckles softly. “Shut up, Richie.”

“See?” Richie says, nuzzling into Eddie’s hair. “You do love me.”

“I do,” Eddie murmurs. His eyes are closing of their own volition, but he knows he has something important to talk to Richie about. “And I told that to Ben and Mike today.”

Richie tightens his grip around Eddie. “You did? Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’d they say?” Richie asks.

Eddie smiles. “They were cool.”

“Did you ever think they wouldn’t be?”

“Nah,” says Eddie. “I knew they would be, I just…”

“You wanna tell Bill and Stan too?” Richie asks.

“Mmm,” says Eddie. “Yeah. Movie Day.”

“Okay.” Richie presses a kiss into Eddie’s hair.

The last thing he remembers hearing—the last thing he remembers at all before his alarm goes off in the morning—is Richie whispering in his ear, “You know...I didn’t get any sleep last night either.”

Three nights of falling asleep in Richie’s arms and Eddie is feeling a lot better by the time he’s biking over to Bill’s on Saturday for an Extra Special Movie Day. It’s windy as fuck, and Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough have gone out of town to pick up like, an antique dresser or something that Mr. Denbrough is supposed to re-lacquer or sand or do whatever it is he does to the shit he works on. Eddie imagines that for popular kids this kind of no-parents opportunity would be a house party occasion, but all it means for them is that they’ll probably watch something R-rated instead of PG-13.

Eddie’s not sure what, though. Richie, who either doesn’t understand their turn-based system or just pretends not to, had been campaigning for Silence of the Lambs, although admittedly he didn’t get very far. Frankly, Eddie he feels like he personally has been scared enough for one lifetime, although he hadn’t actually wanted to say that, but Mike—in an unprecedented move—flat-out refused. Mike never vetoes people’s suggestions, which Eddie guesses is the reason Richie immediately dropped it and hasn’t brought it up again.

Eddie turns onto Witcham, trying to remember whose weekend it is to pick the movie. It’s not his and it’s not Richie’s, that he knows for sure. He suspects it’s either Bill or Ben, neither of which is a particularly good thing. Bill picked Bull Durham last time they watched something R-rated, which was about baseball and had a sex scene that was… Well, it was just a lot. Eddie doesn’t really like watching sex scenes, especially not with other people. It’s not terrible if it’s just him and Richie—even though Richie invariably starts cracking jokes or imitating the moaning noises—but Eddie could definitely go for not sitting in uncomfortable silence surrounded by all his friends, watching in Susan Sarandon get nailed by Kevin Costner in a bathtub.

Ben almost invariably chooses romantic movies, often comedies. They’re usually at least critically acclaimed because Ben is a tasteful guy like that. However, Ben is also a serial re-watcher, and Eddie liked Sleepless in Seattle the first couple of times, but it’s already starting to get old. Meg Ryan is great—it’s not that—but if Ben shows up holding Joe Versus the Volcano or When Harry Met Sally again, Eddie feels like he might have to use his veto card.

He makes it to Bill’s, which is surprising because Eddie spent the whole ride over pretty sure that he and his bike were about to be picked up and carried away by the wind. Eddie leaves his bike in the stack leaned up against Mike’s truck, still undecided as to whether he’d rather watch something picked out by Ben or Bill.

Turns out, Eddie was wrong. It’s Stan’s turn again, and he’s brought The Princess Bride, which is one of those movies that everyone in the world seems to have memorized and Eddie has somehow never seen. Apparently the rest of them haven’t either because Stan is in the middle of lecturing the room at large about classics and being uncultured when Eddie arrives.

“We taped it when it was on TV,” Stan explains, taking it out of a plain black box. The title is written on a sticker affixed to the front of the tape in Stan’s careful handwriting. “It’s a great movie.”

“I love The Princess Bride,” Ben says, walking into the room behind Eddie and flopping onto the couch.

“Hoo boy,” Richie says, settling in on the couch across from Ben and patting the spot next to him, indicating that Eddie should take a seat. “A ringing endorsement from both Stan and Ben? Wake me up when it’s over.”

“Wh-what’s it about?” Bill asks.

“Honestly, it’s insane that none of you have seen it. So, it’s about a girl who’s engaged to a prince,” Stan says. “She was in love with someone else, but he was lost at sea and presumed dead. The prince is trying to start a war with a neighboring kingdom, and he tries to use her as a political tool to incite—”

Richie yawns very loudly and obnoxiously.

“—a confrontation,” Stan continues, even more loudly. “It’s told by a grandfather who’s reading the book to his grandson. The book is very good too, by the way,” Stan adds. “I’ve read it.”

“I don’t think I knew there was a book,” says Ben.

“Oh, you definitely should read it,” Stan replies. “I have it at home, I’ll let you borrow it if you want to stop by my house on the way back.

“You’re letting him borrow your stuff?” Richie says with an exaggerated gasp. “Stan, you might as well announce your engagement now.”

“Ben borrows books from me all the time,” Stan tells him, smoothing out a crease in his shorts. “And unlike some people, he manages not to get gum on—”

“That was once,” Richie interrupts. “That happened one fucking time.”

“—and I learned my lesson about letting you touch my stuff,” Stan finishes. “Or—Ben—I can just bring it to school on Monday and give it to you then.”

The brush-off would carry more weight if Richie wasn’t currently in possession of half of Stan’s comic books. Stan likes to pretend he doesn’t trust Richie, but Eddie knows better. They all do.

“I could take you both over to Stan’s tonight,” Mike suggests.

“Oh really?” says Ben. “That’d be great, thanks Mike!”

“That works out really well actually because then I can give you back The Sun Also Rises,” Stan says to Mike. “I finished it last night, it—”

“Oh, how’d you like it?” Mike asks him.

“What is this, a book club? I wanted to watch Batman,” Richie announces over him to no one in particular, then he turns to Eddie. “I’m sorry, I tried.”

Stan rolls his eyes.

Eddie scoots infinitesimally closer to Richie, who leans down slightly, very casually.

“We still gonna tell them?” he breathes. Eddie nods quickly.

It’s been decided. He’s not backing out again. Today is the day. At some point—Eddie’s not sure what point but he hopes he’ll know the right moment when it arrives—they’re gonna make the announcement that they’re in a relationship to the only two remaining members of the group who aren’t aware of it.

They’re only about fifteen minutes into the movie when Eddie realizes that Stan has Done The Thing again—The Thing he does every time it’s his turn to pick a movie. Despite the fact that Stan has not, to Eddie’s knowledge, ever chosen anything that wasn’t at least pretty good, he is so terrible at describing movie plots that they all continually forget how good the other movies he’s shown them are. It’s a defense mechanism, Eddie thinks, to automatically put up his guard against a movie described as “an eccentric family in upstate New York dealing with the reappearance of an estranged uncle, legal issues regarding a large inheritance, and an accountant embezzling funds to pay off his debts,” even if that movie turns out to be The Addams Family.

The Princess Bride is no different. It’s funny and charming and romantic and Eddie finds himself leaning further and further into Richie as the story goes on, until he’s practically on top of him. They’re all pretty physically affectionate, Eddie thinks, as far as friend groups go, but the way he’s sitting with Richie feels especially couple-y. Richie’s not complaining though, in fact, he’s matching Eddie move for move. Eddie inches closer, Richie spreads his legs so they’re thigh-to-thigh. Eddie bumps his shoulder, Richie rests an arm on the back of the sofa behind him. Eddie sneaks his arm behind Richie on the sofa to wrap around his back, Richie’s hand finds its way into Eddie’s hair.

The only issue he can find with The Princess Bride—and this isn’t really the movie’s fault—is the way Richie’s eyes light up when Mandy Patinkin speaks. By the end, Richie’s mouthing the words along with the character, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die, and Eddie is grappling with the fact that he’s going to for sure be hearing that voice for the rest of his fucking life.

“As you wish,” says the old grandpa on screen, and then the movie ends.

It’s time, Eddie thinks. If there ever was a good time, it’s now. Any second people are going to turn around and see him cuddled up into Richie’s side, Richie’s arm around him, Richie’s hand on his thigh. Ben is next to them and he’s looked over at them and smiled at least a gajillion times over the course of the movie, but he doesn’t count.

“Hey guys?” Eddie says. Bill, Stan and Mike swivel around. A tiny furrow appears in between Bill’s eyebrows as he looks between Eddie and Richie, but he doesn’t say anything. Stan makes eye contact with Eddie and blinks at him expectantly. Mike just smiles at Ben.

“Um…” Eddie clears his throat. “I—we—Richie and I, I guess, just wanted to like, uh...let you guys know…” He glances at Richie for assistance, which he realizes as second too late was the wrong thing to do.

Without hesitation, Richie leans right over and plants a big, sloppy kiss right on Eddie’s lips, tongue and all. Eddie’s intent is to push him off, but his body has unfortunately developed a reflex to kiss back and it takes a second for him to override it.

Eddie eventually manages to shove Richie back far enough to get a look at Stan and Bill’s faces, although Richie responds by basically pulling Eddie all the way into his lap. Bill’s mouth has dropped open slightly and his eyes are very wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

Stan blinks once. “So I guess you guys liked the movie?” he says.

“What the fuck, Stan?” says Richie, knocking into Stan’s arm with his knee. “You promised you’d act surprised.”

“Do I not look surprised?” Stan asks Richie in a monotone, then turns to face Bill. “Bill, did you really not know this was going on?”

Wait, what?!

Bill seems to snap out of his stupor upon being addressed directly. “Um…” he says, “no, I d-d-didn’t. I mean, I th-thought Eddie might be g-g-gay, but…” he shakes his head.

“I am,” says Eddie. “You were right. I’m gay.”

It feels like that should be some kind of enormous statement, but it somehow isn’t. Eddie’s never just said it like that out loud in front of people. He’s practiced it in the mirror at home, very quietly, so his mom wouldn’t hear him, and obviously Richie knows, but even with him Eddie uses phrases like being into guys or being...you know. Richie has referred to him as gay before and Eddie didn’t challenge him, but he figures it’s different to say it for himself. Behind him, Richie makes a noise of outrage.

“Wait—so you assumed I was straight?” Richie demands. “That’s the worst thing anyone has ever thought about me!”

“You sure about that?” mutters Stan.

“How did you not know I was bi?” Richie continues. “It’s not like I try to hide it around you guys. How many times have I said I’d fuck that guy from California Dreaming?”

“Y-you say a lot of things,” Bill points out. “Sometimes it’s hard to t-t-tell when you’re being serious.”

“Which guy in California Dreaming?” Ben asks.

“The main guy,” says Richie.

“Huh,” says Ben, squinting at them. “He kinda looks like Eddie a little bit, actually.”

“Uh yeah, I know,” Richie replies. “That’s why I want to f—”

“So wait,” Eddie says, leaning forward in Richie’s lap, “lemme just… Stan, you did know? How?”

“Uh…” Richie shifts uncomfortably underneath Eddie. Eddie whips around to face him.

“Word of advice,” says Stan, “if you don’t want anyone to find out about stuff like that, maybe try not having your first kiss at a sleepover with four other people in the room.”

“You weren’t asleep?” Eddie asks Stan. He turns to face Richie. “I thought he was asleep!”

“I didn’t tell him,” Richie says to Eddie, holding his hands up. “I swear to God. The next morning—”

“Wait, wait, wait, what?” says Mike. “What sleepover?”

“Oh, remember the one at the end of ninth grade?” Stan says. “We watched...I think it was…um…”

“Dead Poets Society,” Ben supplies.

“That’s the one,” Stan snaps his fingers.

“Ohh,” says Mike, “now I remember. You guys kissed then?”

“Everyone else was asleep,” Stan tells him. “I was trying to sleep too, as a matter of fact.”

“Anyway,” Richie says, over the chaos, “the next morning Stan comes up and he’s like, hey saw you and Eddie making out last night, what’s up with that? and what was I gonna say? No, you didn’t?”

“That is exactly what you said,” says Stan.

“Well, it didn’t work, you were all like, I was three feet away from you, you guys had a whole conversation about kissing and then you started doing it and I was right fucking there. So then I had to just be like, please don’t tell anyone you saw that because I’m not sure if Eddie’s ready for that, you know, and then…”

“...and then here we are, a year later,” Stan finishes. “Bill, you still with us?”

“Yes,” Bill says definitively, once again looking startled to have been spoken to. “S-so...was I the only one who didn’t know?” he asks. He looks a little crestfallen at the thought.

“No,” Eddie assures him. “Well, kind of. I didn’t think anyone knew before like...Wednesday. I told Ben and Mike, and I think Ben told Bev…?” Ben nods, and Eddie continues. “I thought we were telling you and Stan today, but I guess just you. Sorry,” he finishes softly.

“I already knew though,” Ben says. “Before Eddie told me. I sort of figured it out on my own.”

“I only knew Richie liked Eddie,” Mike adds.

“Come to think of it,” Bill says, “I guess I sort of w-w… I sort of wondered if maybe you liked Richie, E-eddie. You guys spend a lot of t-t-time alone together, and…”

“Aw yeah,” Richie says, leaning back. Eddie can’t see it, but he knows exactly what face he’s making. “Getting me some of that Spaghetti-O sauce.”

“And I know all about that,” Stan cuts in. “Eddie, I would literally die for you, but I know things about you that I have never wanted to know about another human being in my life.”

Eddie’s face heats up like a furnace and he turns to glare at Richie, who looks totally one hundred percent not sorry.

“What? I needed to talk to someone about—”

“Brag,” Stan says. “You mean brag to someone.”

“Well you already knew,” Richie reasons. “So, no harm done.”

“Except to my virgin ears, but whatever,” says Stan. But he catches Eddie’s eyes and smiles a little, so Eddie knows he doesn’t really mean any of it.

Bill is smiling too, and he laughs at the look on Eddie’s face, leaning back against Ben’s legs. No one mentions that this conversation doesn’t leave the room—they don’t need to.

Eddie kind of feels like he could use a nap, or possibly a run around the block. He’s both emotionally exhausted and jittery, almost like he’s physically lighter for having his secret out in the open. He sinks back into Richie’s chest.

“W-we could watch something else if—” Bill starts.

“Batman,” Richie cuts in immediately.

“Not Batman,” says Stan.

“I brought When Harry Met—”

“Nope,” Richie says, before Eddie can beat him to it. “Ben, I love you, but fuck no.”

“You guys w-w-work it out,” says Bill, looking over at the bowl in Mike’s lap before standing and picking it up. “I’m going to make some more k-k-kettle corn.”

“Can you bring me a Sprite?” Eddie asks from his perch in Richie’s lap.

“One Sprite, c-c-coming right up,” says Bill. “Anyone else?”

They call out soda orders, disjointed, and Mike offers to help Bill carry it all back out to the living room and it’s all...so ordinary. The wind is blowing like crazy outside, Eddie can see the branches of trees bending and leaves tumbling in the street, but the world can’t get them in Bill’s warm living room. It feels like nothing can.

#it (2017)#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #stanley uris #bill denbrough #my fics #the greater fool

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