#eddie is more comforting but still he's doomed and it makes me sad

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

insane that these two mf are my biggest comfort characters atm. like girl what the fuck is wrong w you (shit ton of traumas+personality disorder👍)

[dickfics69]

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 8

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 9

AO3

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: Lots of walkers and lots of action. Daryl is stubborn as usual and Rick almost dies. Angsty shit happens.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original character\

Words: 4.7k ish

My personal Daryl playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

TY to @dumbslxtclub for being my editor and hype girl (if you're a fan of eddie munson and stranger things, this girl is writing the most wonderful fic and you should check it out :) )

Chapter 8: Around me lies a sombre scene

Darly looked down at the scene before him with shock and overwhelm. Darkness invaded the foyer, now only illuminated by battery torches and shallow light. The sounds of a muffled Beretta and an explosive Python were being drowned out by the cacophony of undead screeching. The hunter had his crossbow ready well before laying eyes on the horror at the bottom of the staircase, but he repositioned it to make sure that he was in prime position. He scanned the foyer briefly. Carl was strung up by a foot next to him, and Rick was cornered by the door. A table wedged between him and certain doom. A wave of dizziness fell over Daryl like an intermission’s curtain. ‘Fuck! Fuck, not now!’

As if to read his mind, Peri worked her way down the stairs, daggers in hand. She took out a couple of the walkers surrounding Carl. It wasn’t enough. His obliques were clearly strained from trying to cut himself free. So he just dangled there, desperately avoiding snarling rotten teeth. Peri had never been exactly precise with a gun. But she drew her revolver anyway, pointing it intently - everything happening in slow motion.

“Ndah I got this, get back!”

“Peri, just  shoot!”

“Please help!”

Four exact gunshots filled the air and four undead frames hit the ground. Carl reached up one more time with his knife, managing to free himself from the intrusive hold. There was a sharp intake of breath as he fell. Three adults full of concern beared down on the boy. Luckily (or not so), he managed to land on the soft rotting corpses that Peri had made below. He picked up his hat and started forwards, attempting to free his father from behind the sad table in the corner. 

Daryl stood uselessly. A crossbow ready but a mind nowhere near. His partner and his son below, engaging in a war so jolting to Daryl’s fragile mindset. Gasps of air filled his lungs far too quickly, panic veiling over his eyes. ‘Goddamnit! Not now!’ Daryl was flummoxed by his autonomic reaction. Daryl Dixon was always ready to fight. Daryl Dixon was sometimes ready to fight whether there was a threat or not. At a guess, the man had killed well over a thousand walkers. Why was this any different? 

“Daryl! Get. Down. Here!” Rick’s voice was only just heard above the auditory terror that befell them all. It was enough to pull Daryl out of his momentary inertia. Febrile legs ran down the enormous staircase, as if they didn’t belong to the beholder. 

“Rick! The fuck is happening!?”

“Trap…door…full-of-em’…the…basement.” Was all that the Deputy was able to string out before firing his gun into two gigantic walkers before him. Daryl glanced over the left side of the bannister, mouth gaping at the sight. Piles upon piles of grotesque walking flesh were climbing out of the hole in the ground. It was never ending, and they were severely outnumbered. 

Gunshots flew left and right. Daryl’s crossbow was now useless at such close range. Knives and a pistol came out quickly. Daryl joined the fray. The crack of skulls - the smell of rotting flesh - the visceral blood spattering across his face. Something had taken over, plunging blade after blade into the decimate skulls. The hunter was working on pure adrenaline. Shots fired loudly in his ears as he ploughed forward. They were all spaced out in the expansive room, defending a small territory of their own. The snarling was ear piercing. Daryl hadn't seen so many walkers in such a tight area ever. It was terrifying. But he wasn’t going to falter now, he couldn’t. Every undead taken down seemed to release a volley of new ones from the endless basement. A man couldn't keep this up. A deathly ill man could very much not keep this up. But alas, keeping it up was what had to happen. He needed to save Peri - the woman who just bore her soul and filled his heart with a strange sort of joy. He needed to save Carl - the boy turned man - the son of his partner he would be lucky to call his own - the teenager who looked up to him. He needed to save Rick - Rick…Rick…fuck the absolute love of his goddamn life!

Eventually Daryl penetrated his way over to the right side of the staircase, ready to assault the walkers as they came out of the abyss. Blades bore deep into brain matter, as the sickly man fought for the people he loved. Fighting anger was coursing through his veins. He was like a lit match over a powder keg, ready to explode. Whether it was from feverish thoughts or not, the time bomb was ticking. 

Daryl had backed into a corner, inviting as many walkers to him as he could. Suddenly, time slowed to a snail’s pace. A female body emerged from the horde. Hey body encased in a tattered nightgown, clumps of blonde curls hanging from an emaciated frame. Daryl squinted his eyes in the dark, trying to decipher the once dead woman working her way towards him. A flicker of torch light illuminated blue before Daryl’s eyes, a necklace filled with turquoise dangling off the walker’s neck. It was her. Robin. The missing puzzle piece. A wife dead and a husband who long lost his mind. A tale all too familiar for the family at the prison. Images of Rick burst into the hunter’s mind. Catatonia had filled the concrete tombs as the once leader shuffled through the halls longing for his dead wife, Lori. The memories of his partner's anguish set the hunter’s heart on fire with empathy and wavering jealousy. A jealousy formed from fear of never being loved quite so intimately. ‘Fuck, focus ya prick!’

In an immediate breath, the blonde corpse before him had collapsed into his chest, snarling and biting for pure redneck flesh. Strong arms fought to push her away. But with a mini horde of walkers befalling him, Daryl couldn’t quite break away from the cold, brainless limbs grasping for his warm body. After too long of a scuffle, the man had brought his knife to a position of certain doom.

“Mb’sorry.” He muttered, about to obliterate her to a realm of forgotten territory. Suddenly, an explosion of blood painted his face. The famous Python taking down all the enemies in his wake. Rick stood behind the firearm, with a jumble of emotions plagued behind his eyes. Before Daryl could move, or think, or suck in a breath, a calloused hand made forceful contact with the hunter’s cheek. Rick had just slapped him. Hard. 

“Fuck, Daryl! Pull yourself together!” The Deputy seethed with white hot agitation. Daryl stared back at his partner, stymied. A tornado of rage stormed between them. This was not how they worked. This was not them and the frenzied action made Daryl’s gut churn with familiar deceit that he couldn’t quite place. Pain reverberated through the left side of his face and the metallic taste of blood dribbled out through the newfound gash on his lip. 

Daryl was quite literally a feral animal backed into a corner. He could feel the anger inside, rising like turbulent bile in his throat. Blue eyes were glued together for what felt like a millennium, neither man able to move. Fight, flight and freeze tumbled around the hunter’s body like a game show wheel. It wasn’t until a commotion of sound erupted behind Rick that either of them were able to break away from their heated trance.

The front door had unlatched and swung open violently with the raging winds outside. A fresh volley of walkers began tumbling towards the house, their rotting faces being lit up by flashes of lightning. The weather was only getting worse, but the storm was raging fully inside the four walls of the dwelling. 

“Dad!” Carl’s voice rose over the tumult. Rick whipped around to see his son and Peri desperately trying to close the heavy door. They were thrusting their whole bodies into it, but the certain hell on the other side was pushing harder. An obvious panic befell the Deputy. 

“Shit, com’on!” He glanced back briefly towards the sick companion before launching the stock of his firearm into the head of a too-close-for-comfort walker. Daryl peeled himself away from the wall, immediately missing its support. He was only a step behind Rick, fighting as hard as he could with the minutiae of energy he had left. A few loose bolts into bursting skulls cleared the way to the door. Four bodies were now backed up against the wood. Eight arms attempting to quell the chaos inside. This was shit creek, without a paddle in sight. 

“Dad, what do we do?” The fear in Carl’s voice was universal. All the luck and fortune that had welcomed their group over the last year or so, was running out. Fast. 

“We gotta find a way out. There’s a door through the kitchen…”

“That aind’t gunna work, Rick.” Daryl grumbled into his ear drawing a glance over to where the door to the kitchen was being torn down. As if it was a nightmare, even more emaciated bodies toppled out. It was like a bloodcurdling bowling match, new walkers taking down old like rotting pins. 

“Shit!” Rick drawled, opening the barrel of his firearm. “I got two rounds left. We gotta save the ammo for when we really need it.”

“Dad, I think we might really need it now.” And as if to punctuate his sentence, Carl exploded an animated head right in front of him. A shower of coagulated blood rained down onto his youthful face. 

“Carl, stop! Jus’...jus’ let me think a second.”

“There’s a drain pipe outside the nursery! If we can get up to the second floor we could climb down?”

“Yeh…” Peri’s idea rattled around in the leader’s head for a moment. “Yeh, that could work. Migh’not be so many on the far side of the house. Okay. Carl, Peri, Daryl, y’all clear a path to the stairs and get up to that bedroom. I’ll be righ’ behind ya.”

“You can’t stay here Dad! There’s too many…”

“Once you’re up there, I'll make a break for the stairs too. I gotta try to hold th’door. If any more get in, the plan won’t work. I’ll be fine Carl, I promise. Now, go!” 

Peri and Carl tentatively took their weight off the door. They shared an anxious glance before starting to clear a path in front of them. Daryl didn’t budge. Rick snatched his eyes off his son and turned to look at his partner. The man had wedged himself at the opening of the door, sinking his blade into walker after walker. Rick noted the animalistic edge in Daryl’s eyes, and loosely vowed to not lose his temper again. But the man had quite literally poked the bear only minutes ago. Rick hadn’t intended on physically assaulting his lover, but these days it seemed that his body made decisions far before his brain did. 

“Daryl. Daryl!-”

“Aind’t leavin’ ya Rick!”

“Daryl…I need you to go. They need you. I’ll be fine…” Frustration was a growing weed in Rick’s voice. Time was running out, and Daryl’s defiance was only burning through more of it. 

“Daryl! Daryl!”

The name was starting to lose meaning as Rick turned into a broken record. The stubborn man wasn’t moving. Hell, he wouldn’t even make eye-contact with him now. Daryl just started intently at his knife that was barely making a dent in the horde. Soft grunts escaping with every blow. Rick shifted his weight against the pulsating door, reaching his arm up to shake his lover out his manic reverie. As soon as the calloused hand made contact with the tense shoulder, it was violently shaken away. So forcefully in fact, that Rick lost his footing. Without the other human barricades, Rick’s wavering pressure on the heavy wood was enough to ensure more chaos on the small group of survivors. The door flew open again, sending another cascade of walker’s into the already cluttered foyer. The Deputy was furious. The fire inside that he’d been trying to douse with months of farming, was raging through the roof of his very being. The festering fury was joined by primal panic when his frenzied eyes failed to locate his partner. Somewhere in the sea of decomposition, Daryl was being swarmed. A half cough, half grunt made its way to Rick’s ears. With a location confirmed, the older man threw himself on the huddle of walkers. The barrage of cracking skulls didn’t stop until Rick spotted a faint outline on the ground. Daryl was flat on his back with a hugely bloated corpse writhing around on top of him. The hunter’s crossbow was pinned under the enormous walker, and his blade was far out of reach. Rick kicked the mass of rotting flesh off the struggling man, crushing its head with one heavy stamp of his boot. Blood and pus burst from its flesh. 

Rick experienced a momentary flicker of relief before his turbulent fervour returned with a vengeance. He reached down and yanked Daryl to his feet by the scruff of his damp collar. His blinding anger making way for immense physical strength. Rick kept his gasp firm around the fabric, drawing Daryl’s face peripherally close to his own. He could practically smell the snot as sweat that crudely adorned the other’s face. They were so close that from a distance, one wouldn’t be able to tell if Rick was going to kiss the man, or tear his throat out with his own teeth. Part of Rick wanted to do both. 

“Rick-”

“Don’t.” He seethed through a clenched jaw and bursts of irate breath. “Go. Now.” 

Rick effectively threw Daryl into the dark abyss, putting very lax faith in his ability to make it to the second floor of the home unscathed. But the hunter got the message. The sounds of squelching and grunting turned into scrambling ascending footsteps and eventually a door slammed above him. Rick could feel the frigid hands of death reaching out around him, as any unoccupied space was being quickly over-crowded. The Deputy’s body was surging with adrenaline. His sympathetic nervous system propelled him into the fight. Time became a blurred mass of blood and decay. His arms were straining under the effort of the battle. Rick knew if he stopped, he was dead. He might be dead either way, but he’d go out trying. For his family, for Carl, for Judith. Oh god, Judith. What if he never saw his daughter again? He fell into a fleeting lapse of thought, but that was all it took for groping hands to latch onto him. He panicked and dropped to the floor. It was a risky idea but if he could somehow crawl his way to the table in the corner of the room, he might be able to take the upper hand again. Rick Grimes was a survivor. He could do this. Hands were constantly reaching for his body. Some walkers had followed suit, crawling their leaking bodies behind the Deputy. Every move, every inch of a limb was dangerous, but he had to try. 

Eventually he made it to the table, taking out the surrounding walkers as he climbed up. It was just a pit of disgusting movement below him. Reanimated corpses spewing in and out of spaces like it was never ending. The danger was densely packed all around and Rick was as far away from the staircase as he could be. He cursed a series of words under his breath and glanced around the space for something, anything to pave his way to safety. He looked up at the hideously enormous chandelier that hung from the ceiling. A weak idea popped into his head, but it was all he had. Rick unholstered the Colt Python and pointed it at the chain holding up the light fixture. He shot once and missed by a hair.

“Fuck, com’on. Com’on!” He partly cheerleadered and partly cursed at himself. 

He took a breath and aimed again. One bullet. One last chance. The tympanic shot reverberated around the room as glass and metal came crashing down like acid rain. Any walker that was in the path of the chandelier was now crushed underneath it, writhing to get away. Rick saw his moment and leapt onto the huge metal frame. Keeping his feet quick and light to avoid the hands desperate to grab at his legs. Only a few bodies stood between him and the staircase now, a manageable amount. He disposed of them quickly, using his empty firearm as a heavy club. The thoughts of his family rushed back into his mind like the tide coming in. It’d been less than ten minutes since he’d last seen them but facing certain death felt like an eternity. Taking the stairs three at a time, Rick raced up to the nursery, already hearing the herd following behind him. 

The door opened with a start before Rick could even reach for the handle. A strong arm pulled him into the room forcefully. Daryl held onto Rick’s bicep powerfully, and vice versa onto the hunter’s forearm. The Deputy was still seething, hopped up on nothing but endorphins and rage. But fuck, he was glad to see Daryl again. 

“Daryl…” Rick panted finally, releasing the strain that had befallen his body in the last ten minutes. “They’re comin’…up-th’-stairs…we gotta…”

Daryl expressed his understanding of the situation with one of his trademark grunts. Rick made a mental note to catalogue the precise meaning of each individual grumbled expression when they were back at the prison and everything was normal again. The two men worked together to barricade the door with as many items of furniture as they could. The strained efforts of Carl could be heard from the window. The two older men rushed over and looked down. The boy was about halfway descended, Peri looming much further below, already on the ground. A sudden crack of thunder sent the group jumping with fright. Their nerves already frayed like wispy pieces of twine. Rick and Daryl both vocalised their fear as Carl slipped on the ancient drainpipe. 

“Carl!” Peri shouted from beneath him. “You’ve got this, and if you have to let go, I’ll catch you!”

Rick watched his son weigh his options out in the open air. Carl chose to let go, half falling, half grazing himself along the red brick of the house. A soft ‘ooft’ was heard below as the teenager landed into Peri with force. Once they were up and moving below, Rick turned back to his partner, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him, surveying also. He returned the gaze, febrile and sickly feral. The way Daryl looked at him from behind fever matted bangs was a clear indicator that whatever was going on with them, wasn't over. They’d both fucked up today. Rick knew it was only a matter of time before the whole situation erupted like a goddamn volcano. And he feared he wouldn’t be able to control himself. 

“Daryl, you next. Go.” Rick emphasised the last word, feeling the hesitation tense throughout Daryl’s body. The hunter kept his eye contact for a moment before bending down and throwing a duffle bag out the window. Rick helped Daryl onto the windowsill. He went feet first and then slowly turned to his right, positioning himself on the drainpipe. They suddenly felt very far from the ground.

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice was soft, with a tinge of worry. “Yer right behind, yeh?”

Rick nodded as his partner began his surprisingly graceful abseil down the side of the building. Daryl always seemed to move with elegance. It was just one of many qualities he awed about his partner. ‘If only the stubborn asshole could see it.’ Rick thought, transfixed with the situation surrounding him. 

“Hey, Rick! I can hear more walkers in the woods!” Peri’s distant voice broke through the sounds of dead hands scraping at the door behind him. “You gotta get down here now!”

Shit. This was far from over. Rick nodded and steeled himself ready for the descent, amazed that Daryl was already on the ground. Less amazing was the coughing fit that followed. He had to worry about that later. Following the other’s leads, he threw his heavy duffle bag out the window, silently praying that the more delicate items he had collected didn’t break on impact. 

Holding onto the frame, Rick brought one leg up and then the other so he was sitting on the windowsill. He twisted and reached out for the metal pipe. The wet weather and autumn condensation had rendered it far more slippery than anticipated. Rick slipped a little, drawing a screeching “Dad!” from below.

“M’good!” He grated out through a tense jaw, repositioning his grip against the icy metal. Slow but surely he put one foot behind the other, using the bricks around him as friction. His arms were burning and his legs felt like jelly. But he made it. They were out. God knows how, but they were. 

“S’everyone okay?” Rick panted, receiving weary acknowledgements from the other run members. “Alrigh’ we don’t know how many there are, but my guess is a lot. We came up on the right side earlier, so we go out the left. I’ll take the lead. Daryl, you bring us up. We stay quiet, invisible, vigilant. Do not break formation. Clear?”

They all nodded silently and followed Rick as he took off, keeping close to the edge of the house. 

—----

The frenzied run back to the Jeep was a miraculous blur. By the time they reached the woods, most of the lingering walkers had already made it towards the commotion at the house. Daryl had been running on empty, blinded by darkness, fever and rain. Only able to keep up with the other’s by the sounds of their breathing alone. It’s lucky he was a damn good hunter. During the rushed journey, he glanced back only once. There were shadowed shapes stumbling after them, high pitched screeching being carried by the imminent storm all around. At that point he picked up speed, if they all moved fast enough they’d make it back. And they did. Just. 

Running up to the well hidden vehicle, Daryl shuddered out a burning sigh of relief. He reached out to steady himself against the hood of the car. The black spots were worse now and his entire body was protesting the act of being vertical. It had been way too close of a call in the house. Daryl knew it was all his fault. He almost died. He could still feel the gargantuan weight of walkers pressing his weak body into the cold floorboards. No weapons in reach he had prepared for certain death. Rick saved him of course. ‘Saved you and then almost died, just because you had a meltdown over a dead family you didn’t even know.” Daryl could feel the shame spreading rapidly throughout his sick body. Rick’s hand colliding with his face hurt like a bitch and made him angry as hell, but it was the least he deserved. He didn’t know when. He didn’t know how. But Rick would drag him through the grass for this. Daryl had seen his partner's white hot rage a few times before. After Herschel’s farm, when he claimed his leadership after killing Shane. When the Governor had blown through the gates of the prison, threatening the lives of their family. He saw it in Rick’s eyes when he had beaten Tyresse within an inch of his life. And he saw it now, only Daryl Dixon was at the receiving end. He was equal parts terrified, pissed-off, and ready for what he deserved. Being loved by Rick Grimes was too good to be true anyway. 

Daryl watched Rick pull Carl into a tight hug, and then reach up to squeeze Peri’s shoulder in a sign of thanks and companionship. Before Daryl could register another thought, powerful arms pulled him into a desperate embrace. Rick held on tightly around the hunter’s waist, his forehead dropped into his leather clad shoulder. Daryl was taken aback and just stood there for a moment, letting Rick squeeze the air out of him. Eventually he found his arm going around the Deputy’s shoulders, and the other hand to the back of his head. The pair held each other in silence. Daryl’s fingers worked their way through soft, damp curls, untangling them gently. Hot puffs of warm air against his ear sent a shiver down the hunter’s spine, as Rick turned his face into his bare neck. ‘Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.’

As quickly as the tender embrace began, it was over in an instant. Daryl was harshly shoved away by the same hands that held him just a second ago. ‘Spoke too soon, asshole.’ Rick’s cerulean eyes were almost black with rage. Swallowing painfully against the lump in his throat, Daryl squared himself up, prepared to take whatever fire storm was coming his way. 

“Daryl…What the hell was that?” Rick erupted, gesturing behind him at the hell they’d only just managed to escape. Daryl was about to fire back, but his nose had a knack for poorly timed bodily functions. A sharp buzzing made its way through the hunter’s sinuses. His breath hitched and eyelids fluttered closed. No attempt was made to hold back the onslaught. Daryl was too tired to prolong his pathetic humiliation. 

“Rickheh…h’h’Ngxxtsh-”

“-You purposely went against-”

“-h’AATChoO-”

“-everythin’ I said back-”

“-Hh’EsTCHUU-”

“-there! T’so goddamn irresponsible and-”

“-hih’ESSH, h’NGXxt-”

“-downrigh’ stupid! Jesus Christ Daryl, ya done?” Rick practically spat the last few words at the struggling man, disgust radiating from his eyes. Daryl was done. Done sneezing, done emotionally, done physically. He felt pathetic and mortified and he was ready to be anywhere else. 

“Dad, stop! Just stop!” Carl broke through the tension like a charged knife, stepping up to where the two older men were having it out. “We have to go okay? It’s dark and freezing and the weathers getting really bad.”

Unbeknownst to the quarrelling lovers, the storm that had been teasing the group all day was finally upon them. Thunder and lightning filled the sky directly above them. The steady rain morphing into a painfully heavy downpour. They were all dripping and miserable. Daryl shivered against the frigid conditions, well aware that whatever sickness ailed him, was going to get much worse. 

“Rick-”

“Just! Don’t.” The Deputy warned. He squeezed the bridge of his nose in exasperation then took a step towards Daryl, eyes downcast on the mud below his feet. “I can’t…I can’t even look at you right now.”

And with that, Rick dropped the keys to the vehicle on the wet ground in front of Daryl. The hunter picked them up slowly, angry tears threatening to fall from his exhausted eyes. He heard the car door slam as Carl and Rick claimed the back seats. Peri hovered a few feet away, probably unsure of what to say or do. Daryl didn’t want her pity or comfort, but he also knew he wasn’t in a condition to drive. He sighed a shaky breath of defeat and looked up at her. 

“Ya kndow how t’drive stick?”

“Mmm…not really…”

“Well it ain’t rocket science, com’on.” He tossed her the keys and crawled wearily into the passenger side. 

Daryl knew he’d eventually fuck things up with Rick. It was the curse of the Dixon’s. Nothing good ever lasted for them, and it was always their own goddamn fault. His mother was broken, his father, an abusive alcoholic and his brother, an aggressive drug addict. So how was Daryl meant to do any better? He thought back to the early days in Atlanta and beyond. To Sophia and a fractured Carol. They all looked towards him to find the girl, to track her. It was a purpose, someone needed him for the first time in his life. Daryl was so sure he’d find her. But seeing that little girl wander out of Heschel’s barn, one of them. A monster. It damn near broke him. He couldn’t save Sophia. He couldn’t save Merle. The only reason he continued on was the fear of being totally and completely alone again. But maybe that’s how it should’ve always been, with no one to disappoint or let down. ‘Well Merle, guess you were right after all.’

Yeah, he knew he’d screwed it all up, he just didn’t expect it to hurt this much. 

[mitchmarnier]

semi charmed life | chapter nine | 4.8k | teen|

“You guys have kept in contact this whole time?” Bill asked, brow disappearing underneath hair line as he looked like his old friends in amazement. “And you guys are.. what? Room mates?”

Eddie avoided looking at Richie as he answered. “Yeah, uh… room mates. Something like that.”

[or: the adult!losers reunion, done 2000s sit-com style, just like we all deserve.]

PREVIOUSLY ON SEMI CHARMED LIFE: “I’ve always wanted you.” Ben said openly. “and I will always want you.” Beverly cupped the side of his face and brought their lips together.” “Wait, Ben Hanscom?” Eddie squawked, shaking his head as Richie nodded. “That’s not going to end well.” |  CUTEST COUPLE. Richie traced his hands over the words, smiling softly as he took in the appearance of himself and Beverly Marsh at fifteen. | “It’s like… sometimes…” Mike exhaled hard. “Sometimes I feel like he’d rather me be in Derry, a place I’ve always hated, with him than out here doing what I love. He’s just… waiting for me to come back. I don’t think he thinks this is real. Permanent. He’s waiting for me to come back.” |  “So tell me, good pal,” the man smiled, giving him a golden toothed grin. “You wanna pack or deliver?” |  “You almost destroyed me,” Richie snapped, eyes blazing. “I couldn’t go to school, I couldn’t even graduate. I almost had to stay in this absolute hell hole, just so you wouldn’t have to admit failure. So fuck you, Stanley.”

“Look who’s cute!” Richie called happily, coming into the dark light cafe with little Frankie perched on his shoulders. He had promised Beverly that he would come see her at work on her first day, before he dropped Frankie off at home and went in for his own shift. After Beverly had seen her outfit, she’d wished that Richie would’ve forgotten all about that promise. He was here, though, with a toddler on his shoulders and a shit eating grin on his face.

Beverly flushed. Her black shirt buttoned all the way up to her mid-neck, and her pants were yanked up nearly to her breasts. With a belt. It sort of hurt to breathe. She wanted nothing more than to take it all off and walk away, but she knew that she couldn’t afford to do that. Without Tom in her life, Beverly had spent the last month milling around in Eddie and Richie’s apartment, jobless and mooching off of their kindness. It wasn’t a life that she could live forever- nor one she wanted to- but it certainly didn’t seem to help anything with Eddie’s sudden awkwardness around her. After a few days, Beverly had managed to pluck up the courage to ask about it and Richie had dismissed her. Claimed that Eddie had had some sort of weird experience at work, and that it wasn’t anything she had done. Beverly wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but she was willing to give Richie the benefit of believing him. No doubt he knew what was going on in Eddie’s mind space better than she did.

“The only cute person is here is that little princess on your shoulders,” Beverly said happily. In the month since she’d moved in with Eddie and Richie, she’d really grown to adore their little daughters. She thought they were possibly the best child to ever grace the present of this planet- and made her reconsider her lifelong declaration to never have children. Then she remembered that time that Frankie had taken her baby sister right out of the stroller without her noticing, and resolved to sit with simply baby sitting Richie’s little girls with Ben.

And Ben… things between them were great. She knew the rest of her friends were skeptic about their current relationship- Mike had made it obvious with his expressions, and Eddie had straight out told her as much, but she felt that things were going amazingly. She knew, of course, that she ever wanted to make things any more serious that she needed to get into contact with Tom, at least serve him up with divorce papers, but she couldn’t be bothered to think about that just now. Things were going smoothly in her life right now, outside of the tension between herself and Eddie, and Beverly didn’t think now would be a good time to do any boat rocking.

“Hey!” Richie snapped his fingers under Beverly’s nose and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Stop thinking about Ben when a handsome man is already here visiting you.” Richie shot her that toothy grin that instantly brought her back to looking at braces and beyond freckled cheeks, and her stomach leapt the way it always had.

She shook her head and looked away. “You’re alright. Shouldn’t you be getting that little girl home for bed now?”

Richie made a mocking offended noise. “You invite us down here to see you and you’re immediately rushing us out the door. Here I thought you loved us.”

“Well, I love Frankie.” Beverly said with a smirk. “You still fall under the ex boyfriend category, you’re on probation for love.”

Richie gasped, pressing a hand that wasn’t necessary to hold Frankie up to his chest. “How long until I can be accepted back to love status?”

Beverly hummed, trying not to break into a smile. “How long ago did Bill and I break up? Sixteen years ago? Seventeen? I’m starting to considering letting him back into love status.”

Richie made a wounded noise and shook his head dramatically. “I let you into my home, let you eat my food, and this is how you repay me? I’m hurt, Beverly. I will just take my daughter and my company elsewhe-” The ringing in Richie’s pocket yanked them both away from the conversation. Richie rolled his eyes. He was one of very few people Beverly knew that actually had a cell phone- claiming that he needed it for work related situations- and he seemed to despise the thing. “Hello?” He answered, then quickly frowned. “Billy, what… What? Yeah, I do but I have to work- okay, okay, okay. I have Frankie with me so we can… Oh?” Richie’s face crumbled up and he gave Beverly an odd expression. “Then you need to give me a chance to drop her off a home. Then I’ll come get you, don’t go anywhere.”

Richie snapped the phone shut and tucked into his pocket, giving Beverly a long look before sighing. “I’ve got to go. I need to get Franks home, and cover my shift apparently.”

“That was Bill?” Beverly asked, rubbing at her bare arm a little awkward. She didn’t like the troubled look in Richie’s eyes. He could barely look at her, a sign she remembered well from the youth. It meant that Richie’s thoughts were moving faster than his brain could keep up with it, and it always spelled disaster. It meant Richie punching Patrick Hockstetter in the face for homophobic comments or pulling the fire alarm to keep Henry Bowers at bay during an in-school attack. Bad outcomes from good intentions. “Is he out drunk and needs a ride?”

“No.” Richie replied with a small shake of the head that might have been an unconscious twitch. “He’s… I don’t know. I need to go get him, or… whatever. I have to go…”

Beverly nodded firmly. “Yeah, yeah. Go!”

Richie seemed to bounce in place for a moment, before turning and moving quickly through the empty diner. The bell dinged as he left and Beverly exhaled hard, a sense of doom settling in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what the night held, but she knew that it was only quarter to eleven and it was just starting.

→  →  →

Mike tapped his hands against the steering wheel of his rental car as he pulled past the Derry town sign. It had been an incredibly long week, and even though Pearsons had started to pull up on his treatment. Kay had been a godsend but after just the general roughness of his first exhibit, all Mike wanted was the comfort of his boyfriend. It was been a slightly spur of the moment plan, encouraged mostly by Kay after seeing how drained Mike had been all week, and they’d come up with the idea to simply surprise Alexander with his presence than go through the whole process of trying to turn into a plan.

Mike turned down the radio as he started down the back road that lead him to his childhood home. He felt a little bit of sadness in his gut at the FOR SALE sign he knew he was going to see as pulled up in front of it. By the time he’d left for New York it hadn’t gone up yet, and he’d yet to see it. His father wasn’t going to be there, they’d been filtered out the animals for the last few weeks and he knew most of the things he’d always known about Derry would be gone. As soon as Mike could figure out a solution to his spacious problems, Alexander would be packing up and coming to New York and this old place would just be a part of Mike’s past.

It wasn't, however, the sight of the FOR SALE sign that sent Mike’s heart lurching up into his throat as he pulled up towards his driveway. It was the unfamiliar car that was parked beside Alexander’s outside their house. HIS house. Mike placed the car into park and took a second to steady his breathing.

→  →  →

Stan pulled his sweater tighter around himself as he made his way through the dark streets. The nights were getting progressively warmer as summer came in, but he found that he might have wanted to wear his windbreaker this night. The weather outside hadn’t exactly been the first thing on his mind as he left his apartment at nearly eleven, barely stopping to give an explanation to Patty as he rushed out into the night.

He hadn’t personally heard from Bill Denbrough in almost eleven years. They’d been friendly enough at the reunion, classic adult behaviour he supposed, but Bill had made it pretty clear to everybody whose side he was on once everything went down between Stan and Richie. Stan supposed that everybody had leaned more towards Richie’s side of things, but Bill and Eddie had been the two who openly expressed it the most. Everybody else had the slight decency to pretend not to pick a side- and it was easy enough with them all leaving Derry- but Stan and Bill’s friendship had never bounced back. So, yes, Bill Denbrough calling him in the dead of night for help was out of character and worrisome.

He sped up his steps once he saw Bill standing at the end of the street, pacing in front of the street sign. Stan walked quickly up to him, placing a hand on Bill’s elbow. Bill let out a loud shout, and quickly yanked himself away. He stumbled and Stan had to move quickly to grab hold of his arms and steady his old friend on his feet. “Are you okay?” Stan asked, taking in Bill’s disheveled appearance and wide eyes.

“I…” Bill cleared his throat and looked around, nose twitching. Even in the darkness of the night, Stan recognized that look as Bill getting caught on a word. It was strange, when they’d all met up in Derry Bill had barely stuttered at all. Whatever this was must have been really getting to him. Stan rubbed gently at Bill’s shaking arms and watch as the other boy worked through his own tongue. “I-I’m in t-t-tr-trouble, Stan.”

Stan was seconds away from some sort comment that would be the equivalent of duh, when a car came roaring up to the curb. Richie Tozier leaned towards the passenger seat window, scowling slightly at the sight of Stan standing there as well. He shook his head, closed his eyes and jerked his hand towards the back seat. Bill jumped to action, quickly launching himself into the backseat. Stan let out a half-aborted protest before getting into the passenger seat beside Richie.

Richie gave him an awkward closed-mouthed smile that Stan nervously returned before spinning around in the backseat to glare at Bill. “Care to fucking tell me what was so important that I had to call into work to come get your ass at the side of the road? And why bird boy is here with you?”

Stan wanted to be offended, but he supposed of all the things Richie could’ve called him, that was pretty tame. Bill seemed to be openly trembling in the back seat, eyes jerking around nervously. Stan sighed “He called me at home, said he was in trouble-”

“Didn’t fucking ask you.” Richie snapped, not even bothered to look at him. Richie drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while maintaining direct eye contact with Bill. Stan watched how Bill squirmed under Richie’s gaze, and couldn’t help but think that Richie had never looked more like a father than he did in that moment.  Stan had to bit his lip to keep from trying to give Richie a satisfying answer to his well asked question.

“I…” Bill flushed deeply, Stan could see that even in the dark car. Maybe part of Stanley Uris had never forgotten about to read his old friends. Bill scratched at the back of his neck, clearing trying to avoid meeting Richie’s gaze. “I’ve g-g-gotten involved with some guh-guh-guys…”

Stan felt his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach. He felt that maybe some part of him had been afraid of that this whole time. He hadn’t been able to deny the nerves he’d been feeling. He looked away from Bill and towards Richie. Richie was practically burning holes into Bill’s head, silently urging him to continue.

Bill cleared his throat once again, one of his oldest tricks to helping with his stutter that he’d always found didn’t really help at all but he’d always resort to when nothing else was working either. “I-I-I-I k-k-knew it was a b-b-b-bad i-idea but I-I-I nuh-n-needed money. For the b-b-b-b-b-b-baby.” Bill was staring stubbornly at his hands now. Richie was shaking his head slowly, eyes closed and Stan. Well. Stanley felt like he was moments away from opening this car door and throwing up into the street.

“I-I-I-I didn’t fuh-fuh-feel right about i-i-i-it!” Bill declared. “I-I-I was truh-try-trying to get o-o-o-out! They d-d-d-didn’t luh-luh-like that.”

“No, I imagine they fucking didn’t!” Richie let out a frustrated grunt, and smacked his hand a little bit harder against the steering wheel. “God damnit Denbrough. When did you get so stupid?”

“We always did stupid shit!” Bill argued, suddenly stutter-free. Suddenly sounding angry. “The three of us! Getting into trouble, barely getting away with it. Come on, you can’t deny it was always epic.”

Richie and Stan both shot Bill looks of contempt so eerily similar that Bill sunk back in his seat. Stan was truly considering breaking his silence that came from fear of Richie’s anger and giving Bill a piece of his mind when the night was suddenly cut through with the ringing sound of gunshots. Stan let out a startled gasp and Richie’s eyes blew wide behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Is that for you, Denbrough?” Richie screamed as another shot went off.

“RICHIE! FUCKING DRIVE!”

→  →  →

Beverly wiped down the counter for what was easily the tenth time that night. It wasn’t dirty, she hadn’t served a customer beside the man she was pretty sure was homeless drinking a cup of iced water in the last two hours. The last people Beverly had interacted with had beyond single word sentences had been Richie and Frankie, and she was trying to push off the lingering feeling of anxiety Richie’s phone call had left her with.

“Hey, sorry, I know it’s late but I-” A terrifying familiar voice called, following in the singing of the bell above the door. Beverly turned slowly, the dread settling in her gut. Tom Rogan the same as he always did, he might have even been wearing the same shirt he’d had on when she’d left him for her Derry reunion.

He looked as self shocked to see her as she was him. “Beverly, you’re… back in New York.”

She cursed herself for never considering that she’d run into her husband in New York. She’d chalked up to it being a large city, and if she stayed away from the places she knew that he frequented, then it wouldn’t happen. Part of her had known that she’d see Tom again one day, but she chosen to believe that it would be more on her own terms. Not nearly this unexpected.

“Uh, yes.” Beverly replied awkwardly, wiping her hands on the blue cloth. She placed it back into the sanitation bucket and took a step around the counter to her husband. There was no avoiding the situation, so she might as well face it head on. “I got back about a month ago. I’ve been staying with some friends. They’ve got cute kids.”

Tom gave her a confused look. “Bev, you hate kids.”

“I don’t hate kids.” Beverly argued immediately, thinking about Frankie’s cute little pigtails and Marty’s tiny little hands. Tom gave her a disapproving look, and she had to admit that she’d turned Tom down on kids many times during their marriage. “Well. I don’t hate their kids.”

“And you’re working here?” Tom looked around the diner with a slight turn up of his lips. It was fair, she knew. This wasn’t any high end type of diner, hence the only late night customers she’s getting being people she believed to simply have no where else to go. But maybe Beverly was one of those people who didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Well, I couldn’t just keep crashing at my friends house without giving any sort of help.” Beverly said with a shrug. She almost wished a customer would come into the store now, ask for something complicated that she probably didn’t even know how to make and Tom wouldn’t have a chance to keep talking to her.

“You never had to stay with your friends,” Tom said, sadly and quietly. He looked down at his feet and Beverly felt a quick pang of sadness for him. Maybe she’d been feeling unhappy in their marriage, but it wasn’t as though she’d ever told him that. She’d simply sat on her feelings, ones that she’d barely even known that she felt, and then she’d taken off at the first chance and never looked back. Never tried to talk to him, didn’t tell him where she was going, what she was planning. “You could have come home.”

Beverly bristled. Home. Was the fancy apartment in the West Side that belonged to her and Tom in their marriage home? No. It didn’t feel like home, had stopped feeling like home long before she’d left. Was home Eddie and Richie’s townhouse? No. Maybe at first she had hoped it do be, but she knew that that was a family of four, she was just living there. She didn’t have a true home living with Eddie and Richie.

Beverly sighed and shook her head. “I haven’t found my home yet,” she told her husband honestly. “I’m still working on that.”

Tom walked up to stand beside Beverly by the counter, resting his elbows onto it. He sighed. “Beverly, I don’t understand what happened. One second you seemed perfectly happy, then next you walking out on me. On us. On everything.”

Beverly tried to give him a sympathetic smile. “I wasn’t happy, Tom. It took me a long time to realize it but I couldn’t… I couldn’t help it after that. I had to get away.”

“Why couldn’t you have talked to me, Bev?” Tom asked quietly. He was fidgeting with the tips of his fingers the same way he had before he’d proposed. “We could have talked about it, I could have tried to be better.”

“It’s not like that,” Beverly said slowly. “I had to question myself and my wants, what I needed. I had to go to my reunion, and I wasn’t ready to talk to you about any of my thoughts yet, I’m still not really ready to. While I’ve been staying with Richie-”

“Wait, Richie?” Tom’s voice cut through her, sounding more angry than sad now. “As in your high school boyfriend that you lost your virginity to? That’s who you’re staying with?”

“Yes.” Beverly said with a frustrated sigh. “Did you miss the part where I said I was also staying with his spouse and kids? It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Oh.” Tom laughed humorlessly. “I’m just supposed to believe that you took off from our marriage, moved in with your ex boyfriend and you haven’t done anything with them?”

“I haven’t done anything with Richie since junior year!” Beverly said sharply. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about this bullshit.”

“So you’re telling me that in the two months since we’ve been separated you haven’t hooked up with anybody?” Tom asked her dryly.

Beverly bit her lip, thoughts of Ben’s cramped apartment and his cool sheets against her back burning in her mind. She could practically smell his skin where she’d pressed her face into his neck. Tom was raising his eyebrow at her challenging and she knew that now was that this was the make or break moment of her relationship.

“I haven’t done anything with anyone since we’ve been separated.”

→  →  →

Mike walked calmly into his kitchen and poured a glass of cold water from the tap. Alexander came in behind him, wrapped up in the house coat that Mike had given him for his birthday last year. The man who had been in their bed was also by his side, still shirtless and covered in marks. Mike’s stomach was churning but he forced himself to look at Alexander.

“Okay,” Alexander cleared his throat awkwardly, looking around their once shared kitchen. “I know this looks really bad, Mike. I do. And it is, but it’s been hard for me. You left, and I had to stay behind for god knows how long! I could have handled this better, I know-”

“I’ll say.” Mike responded, not sharply, not angrily. His voice was calm and cut off. He was already shutting it out. Disconnecting himself from it completely. He pressed his knuckles into the counter behind him and leaned against it. “I’m not sure you could have handled it worse, frankly.”

“Everything was so up in the air!” Alexander cried, tears settling in his eyes. Mike had to fight not to roll his own, feeling it was nothing more than act now. Alexander didn’t feel bad, he didn’t regret anything. Mike could see it all over the place, and looking back at the way his boyfriend had been acting the last few weeks he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it coming. “Mike, I didn’t know what was going to happen for us-”

“You think I did?” Mike snapped before pinching at the brim of his nose. “But at least I tried! I was looking for a better place for us, I wanted to make it work! I was trying, I wasn’t sleeping with somebody else and pretending that would help! In what world does being afraid of what’s going to happen in our relationship mean that you should cheat on me?”

“Mike, I’m so sorry.” Alexander said, wiping at his running nose. Tears were falling down on his cheeks and Mike simply couldn’t bring it in himself to care about the obvious distress Alexander was feeling in that moment. If he let that guard down, let Alexander’s feelings means something, that Mike would break.

“I’m going back to New York.” Mike said, placing the now empty cup back on the counter. “But you need to be out of this house by morning.”

“What?” Alexander gasped. “Mike! Where am I supposed to live?”

“I was trying to find a place for us both to live,” Mike snapped a little spitefully, but still right. Knowing he was right, because Alexander swallowed loudly and looked away from him. “That’s not my problem anymore, but you’re not staying in my family’s house. I’ll be calling the realtor tomorrow to make sure the house is emptied.”

Alexander was still making half-aborted arguments and pleas while Mike turned and left his home in Derry forever.

→  →  →

Richie turned his car angrily into a back alley and parked. He and Stan both slammed back into their seats, breathing heavily. Stan began rubbing his hands over his face as Richie yanked the car door open and rushed out of it. Stan and Bill looked at each other quickly before both fumbling out after him.

“Richie…” Stanley asked softly as Richie whipped around, glaring at them both.

“Bill, what the fuck are you going to do?” Richie cried, running his hands through his hair. He started shaking his head and he gaped at his friends. “Somebody just fucking shot at my car! You could have gotten us killed!”

Bill let out an obviously nervous laugh, starting to ring his hands. “Dude, come on. We u-u-u-used to do st-st-stupid shit all the t-t-t-time.”

Richie walked forward quickly and shoved Bill up against the brick wall behind them. “We’re not fucking teenagers anymore! We’re not just throwing our own lives away!” Richie backed away from Bill, hands shaking. “What? What? You’re just going to go to my house and look my toddler in the eyes and tell her that her dad isn’t going to be coming again? Or would you leave that for Eddie? After you explain to him that he’s now raising two kids on his own because you got yourself in over your head with some fucking druglords?”

Stan wrapped an arm around his stomach and pressed his hand over his mouth. He’d never heard Richie angry like this. Not even after everything that happened between himself and Richie all those years ago, had Richie yelled at him like that.

Richie’s eyes caught Stan’s and he almost gave out a growl. “And what about Stan, William? You just going to go up to Patty and let her know that instead of planning a wedding, she’ll be planning a funeral?”

Stan had to fight back a dry heave as he turned back to Bill. Bill was pressed up against the brick wall just as had been when Richie slammed him up, even though Richie’s hands were no longer holding him there. Richie shook his head. “Grow the fuck up, Bill, and get your fucking shit together.”

Richie turned and started walking back to his car. He stopped with his hand resting on the drivers seat door and looked up. “Uris! Are you coming?”

Stan looked back at Bill one last time before climbing into the car after Richie.

→  →  →

Beverly walked slowly to Richie’s car when he finally showed up to picked her up. He was silent and sullen when she opened the passenger seat and sat down. He didn’t start the car, didn’t look at her. “Richie?” She said tentatively.

Richie hummed.

“Tom showed up at my work tonight,” She said quietly.

Richie jerked to look at her, eyes wild. She noticed then that his hands were shaking. “How did he know worked there? Is bastard stalking you? Beverly, I swear to God-”

“No, no,” Beverly started quickly shaking her head. “He seemed just as surprised to see me as I was him but we talked. He thought you and I were hooking up.” Richie let out a startled laugh and Beverly smiled. “I told him I hadn’t been with anybody since I left him but I…”

“Lied?” Richie suggested, raising his brow. There was still something off about him, something that was leaving Beverly confused and on-edge. She wanted to reach out, maybe take hold of him. Make him feel better about whatever was wrong.

“Yeah…” Beverly sighed out. “I lied. I don’t even know why I did, I don’t want to go back to him, I like being with Ben… I’m just so confused, Richie! I don’t know what’s the best thing to do.”

Richie gave her a half smile. “The best thing you could do is be with whoever makes you happy, Bev.”

And Beverly had no idea what took over her in that moment. Her stomach clenched up and she stared at Richie for a moment. She felt as though every possible human emotion that was able to felt was deep in her gut and she didn’t even notice she was moving forward until she was kissing him.

→  →  →

Eddie rolled over as the bedroom door shut. It was quiet, but Eddie never failed to wake up when Richie came home. He’d tried to stay up for Richie tonight, knowing that he was going to help Bill rather than work, but he’d fallen asleep. His husband was quiet as he came in, not looking towards the bed, and his heart rushed a little bit.

“Baby?” Eddie called towards him, putting his hand up towards his mouth and nibbling at his cucital. “Are you okay?”

Richie turned to him and Eddie could see that Richie was pale even in their unlight bedroom. Eddie scrolled closer to the edge of the bed and held his arms out. “Baby, what happened?”

Richie let out a shaky breath and Eddie knew he was about to start cry. Richie dropped down onto the mattress beside him, and Eddie wrapped Richie up in his arms. “Eds… fuck. Fuck. So much shit happened tonight, fuck.” Richie mumbled into Eddie’s collarbone. “I know we don’t keep secrets, I know. I promise I will tell you fucking everything in the morning. But there was a point tonight when I thought… fuck… I thought I wouldn’t be making home at all. So, can we just… cuddle? Sleep? Please?”

Eddie’s heart got shut in his throat and he imagined for a short moment walking up and Richie having not come home. Not getting to see Richie again, and he knew nothing could be worse than that.

“Yeah, Rich. We’ll go to sleep.”

Richie hummed as Eddie laid them down, feeling how Richie was trembling. “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you, too. No matter what.”

[snarkyperson]

breathe the dream within

Everyone (except Vel) thought I was crazy to get a third cat.  My mom called me irresponsible.  She especially thinks it’s stupid to go all the way to Connecticut for a cat.  I have tried multiple times to explain that through Kitten Academy, we get to learn about a kitten’s personality in a way you can’t by just walking into a shelter for 30 minutes.  I watched Twiddle (now Thatcher) be born.  I have watched him every day for three months.  I knew what kind of cat I wanted and I knew what kind of cat Thatcher was.

I am changing medications due to an insurance issue.  I was on Latuda and Trintillex and I had to stop both abruptly because my insurance wouldn’t cover them.  My psychiatrist put me on lithium instead and he swears this will solve all my problems.  This started just over two weeks ago, and once I stopped taking Latuda and Trintillex I had a huge crash.  It was worst about three days before I was set to leave for Connecticut.  I felt so terrible that I almost called the whole thing off.  I was a ball of anxiety - what if I crashed on the drive?  What if Thatcher doesn’t like me?  What if the boys hate him?  On and on and on, until my roommate was ready to strangle me.  But I couldn’t shut it off.  I wasn’t sleeping because my mind was spinning and I felt so depressed that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to pull it together to actually go pick Thatcher up.

In the end I went.  I slept about three hours the night before leaving and woke up an hour later than I had planned, so the trip already seemed doomed.  But I went.  I drove straight through to get there, about 8 hours.  I had to drive through New York City which was a harrowing ordeal, especially done at rush hour.  But I finally made it to Shelton, CT and my very nice hotel room.  I ordered some food, tried to calm my nerves, and tried to sleep.

I was scheduled to be at Kitten Academy at noon.  I fussed over my appearance for about half an hour, knowing I would be on camera for hundreds of people to see.  Literally hundreds.  The average live stream has about 500 viewers, but it always goes up during an adoption.  Luckily since I had been to KA before (when they were outside Chicago) I wasn’t overly nervous to meet Mr. A again.  He was very nice, as he always is, and let me see the Tinypants (so small!  so cute!!) and all the faculty we could find.  Ari absolutely loved me this time.  He rolled around on my paperwork and sat on the carrier like he wanted to come with me and let me pet him endlessly.  What a sweetheart, and my new favorite faculty member (sorry Eddie).

Then it was time to meet Thatcher.  The moment of truth.  Would he run from me?  Hide?  Hiss?  He didn’t do any of those things.  He was very cautious, of course, but he let me pet him and he sniffed at me a bit.  And then, like no time had passed at all, it was time to go.  I felt very bad for Mr. A; judging by how much he snuggled and smooched Thatcher before we left, I could tell he would miss him a lot.  

We only drove about 3.5 hours the first day, stopping in Philadelphia.  Thatcher cried for about the first half hour, then he calmed down and slept.  When we got to the hotel, he sniffed around and then went back in the carrier.  He wouldn’t eat, drink, or use the litter box, and I was scared but I didn’t push him.  Eventually he did come out of the carrier, and that was when my heart melted.  I was sitting on the foot of the bed, giving updates on the KA discord about the trip, and Thatcher jumped up on the bed with me.  He let me pet him for a bit, and then I went back to my phone.  Then he stretched up with his paws on my shoulder and nose bumped me.  From that moment I knew I was lost.  

It only got better.  We played (I brought da bee just for him, and he loved it) and I learned he likes to play fetch with his little flat beaver and likes to make a nest of toys on the bed.  Then, when I was lying down, he came and snuggled up right against me, pressed against my side under my arm.  He slept with me all night, pressed against me.  It reminded me of when I went to pick up Wain and Haby and that night they slept curled up next to me even though I was convinced they would ignore me all night.

The next day, I dallied around for a while in bed because Thatcher was snuggling with me and I was worried that when we got home, the spell would be broken.  But eventually we had to leave for our 4.5 hour remaining drive.  Luckily we had no problems.  When we got home, I set the carrier on the floor for Wain and Haby to sniff.  All three seemed interested but not aggressive, which I took as a good sign.  I did eventually let Thatcher out (only for about 10 minutes).  He and Wain bonded instantly; he rubbed up all over Wain, Wain sniffed his butt a lot, and they were instantly friends.  Haby, though, was a lot more reticent.  After a little bit, I put Thatcher in my room and left Wain and Haby out in the living room.  

That night, I was convinced Thatcher was going to ignore me in favor of all the cool stuff (like the cat tree) I have in my room that the hotel didn’t have.  But he surprised me; he came up on the bed, snuggled up with me, went to sleep, and slept with me all night again.  I was convinced it was too good to be true, but there it was.

The next day, I let Thatcher out of my room again so he could integrate with the boys.  Haby wasn’t having it; he was all hisses and mad.  Wain was happy to have a new friend, and Thatcher was excited to have some new cats to play with.  I watched them all day and they didn’t fight.  They did play a lot (except Haby, mostly), and ridiculously, I found myself jealous of Wain and Haby because Thatcher was so excited to be with them and seemed to forget all about me.  I knew, then, that the dream was over.  But I comforted myself with the fact that he was a happy kitten, and tried to go about my business.  I laid on my bed and watched some YouTube videos.  About halfway through my first one, Thatcher jumped up on the bed and meowed at me to pet him.  I did, and he settled down and went to sleep cuddled up with me again.  I was shocked and delighted and, a little bit, hopeful.  He slept with me that night again.

That brings us to today.  I have had them all together all day with no problems, and despite being tackled multiple times, Haby only hissed twice.  Tonight I am going to be brave and have them all in my room together, hoping that if anyone fights it will wake me up so I can break it up.  Again Thatcher was overjoyed to play with the boys, and again I thought to myself, “This is it, this is where he starts ignoring me.”  But just like yesterday, he did come up and snuggle with me and go to sleep.  

This all has got me thinking.  Wain and Haby are independent cats, and have only gotten more independent as they have gotten older.  They both used to snuggle a lot more when I first got them, and that is why I keep worrying that Thatcher is going to stop snuggling with me.  But I wonder, was that my fault?  I got them two weeks after Boris died, and as happy as I was to adopt them, I was still deep in grief about Boris.  The following weeks were hard.  I tried to bond with them by playing and petting and treats and all the things you’re supposed to do, but I found myself getting resentful because they weren’t Boris and they didn’t do Boris things.  So I wonder, did I unintentionally, and unknowingly, push them away?  Is that why they are so aloof from me?  It might be my fault they are not the snugglers I wanted.  I don’t know.

Regardless, Thatcher is a snuggler.  Hopefully he will continue to be; I am certainly encouraging it.  And having a cat come to me, ask me for attention, snuggle with me, choose ME, makes my heart so full.  And I realized this morning that I don’t feel sad right now, and for the first time since Boris died, I don’t feel empty.  “Pets are therapy,” my psychiatrist said.  I didn’t realize how right he was.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Different Drum

Summary: Somebody’s going to California & somebody isn’t.

Words: 1,792

(Sad?) One shot

Ships: Reddie 

“If this is over...you gotta tell me.” 

Richie’s voice was small and hoarse, the past twenty minutes of yelling was most likely the reason. Eddie rubbed his eyes, he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of the day and tired of the weight in his chest. 

“I didn’t say I was ending this.” Eddie frowned, gesturing with heat and Richie liked his lips with a small nod. The air between them was both awkward and unhappy. It felt as if each of them was being smothered. 

“I know that. But, Eds, I can’t read your mind...and I can see you have something to say so just say it, ok? I can take it.” Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and for some reason, that statement infuriated Eddie. 

They stood across from each other in Eddie’s cold basement. Boxes of old clothes and neglected toys laid over the slightly dingy floor. Because the time had come to pack each man up for the next phase in their lives. Richie’s home had been an easy and unfulfilling trip. But like always, Eddie’s home seemed to bring out not only the worst in himself but Richie too. 

Outside, rain pelted against the windows and a storm was beginning to roll in. They could both hear the currently muffled rumblings of the thunder. The wind whistled, making Eddie’s ears ring. 

“Couples fight, Richie. I’m not gonna dump you just because we had a fight.” Eddie calmly explained, a pensive look on his face. “But I’m not sure what to do here-” He took in a small breath and waited, only Richie just stared back as if doing the same. 

And then he shrugged with a look that read ‘What do you want from me?’

“My God, Richie!” Eddie burst with frustration. “All I’m asking for is what the hell is going to happen to us after graduation?!” He reminded them both of the event that was in just a few days now. They’d successfully ignored it for a long time now but it was not going to work that way anymore. 

Richie opened his mouth but Eddie stopped him.

“Richie, you keep telling me the same Damn thing over and over. I can’t hear it again!” Eddie took another breath and sighed to speak more calmly. “You have to put real thought into this...I-I can’t go to California with you...I told you that. Can we go from there, please?” 

Richie was going to California after. Not even spending one more summer in Derry. His friends were torn up about it but everyone seemed to be moving on. Eddie himself thought New York would be his best option for school and living. But not if Richie had any say in it. 

Richie shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d been quite unreasonable lately. Eddie was right. He gave him the same answer to that question since they’d first had to discuss it. ‘It’ll all work out, Eds. Fate, as they say.’ And then he’d go on and on about California like he just assumed Eddie was going too. 

“Ok, look I don’t know.” Richie frowned, his throat starting to feel tight. “But the important thing is that we love each other and we wanna be with each other...so” He smiled and Eddie momentarily did too. 

“We do...but I can’t go with you. So is that gonna be enough though? Long distance...I don’t know how well I can handle that.” Eddie looked utterly panicked so Richie approached slowly as the thunder cracked outside. He always had an instinct in himself to comfort Eddie, even when the man didn’t need it. Today was no exception. 

“Y’know what I think? I think, we still have time to figure this out. This doesn’t have to be impending doom, babe. It’s the future we have together...I think it’s exciting.” Richie smiled and Eddie somehow only grew more irritated. 

“That’s the thing, Rich. We really don’t have time to put this off anymore.” He insisted and watched Richie’s face twist with annoyance. But Eddie wasn’t going to feel sorry about it. His boyfriend could not ignore the situation any longer. Which was the thing about Richie. Whenever something difficult to deal with popped up in their relationship, he deflected it. Eddie hadn’t realized until just now how much it bothered him. 

“Ok. You’re right. We don’t. So tell me what you want me to say.” Richie sighed and crossed his arms. He took a seat on the last stair that creaked from the old wood. 

“I can’t tell you what to say, Richie. Speak for you damn self.” He wanted to spit the words but he couldn’t seem to bare it. Instead they came out much softer but it hurt Richie all the same. They both remained silent for a long moment. Eyes lingering around every corner of the basement just to avoid looking at each other. Thinking about how it used to be. 

“Well, I’m going so...what does that mean for us?” Richie finally picked his chin up to look across the room where Eddie was still leaning against the wall. He was picking at the skin around his fingernails. “It’d be great for you to come with. You’d love it-” 

Eddie didn’t want to hear that whole routine again where Richie tried to get him into the idea of coming with him. It used to be endearing and sweet. It had made him feel loved. But now that he was growing and was making his own plans for life, it was hard to hear. 

“I think you wanna go to California with someone who doesn’t exist, Rich.” Eddie mumbled and Richie was hit with a wave of confusion. “You’ve been planning this move since you were a kid. You’ve built up this perfect picture of who’d come with you, be your road-trip and life partner.” Eddie’s voice was soft but shaky and it scared the hell out of Richie.

“And I don’t think that it’s me. I think when we started dating, you just assumed it would be but Rich. It’s not. I can’t go with you, it’s not where I’m supposed to go at this point in my life.” Eddie shrugged and Richie could not believe this would be the only time he found it hard to speak. He wanted so desperately to interrupt his boyfriend. “Do you ever think that maybe we were just compatible as kids but now that we’re getting older...we just don’t click the same?” 

Richie’s heart dropped because no, not once had he ever thought that. It partly made him so angry that Eddie had felt that way and never said anything. But it also fucking killed him to think he must have made Eddie that unhappy. 

Every morning that Richie woke up feeling loved, had Eddie woken up unfulfilled? 

“I’m not saying that to hurt you...I’m saying it because it hurts me.” Eddie began to slowly walk over and kneel before the man he treasured. Richie looked utterly pained, like it might have been better to just punch him in the stomach. It made Eddie feel terrible. He almost just wanted to escape before it could get any worse but he knew this was something he couldn’t ignore. 

The rain outside seemed to get heavy and fall harder. Normally that was unease the man but for some reason, it felt ok now. It had to fall in order to prepare for another summer’s promise of sweet sunshine. It was the season Eddie dreaded more and more. In it’s past, it brought joy and free time. Then it had gifted him fear and a fight for his life. And now it would mean graduation and the time to change. Which had to be good even though it hurt like hell most of the time. 

“So what? I’ve just been wasting your time?” Richie asked bitterly. 

“No, no. That’s not what I mean...I just think we’ve been rocky lately. And I think this is an opportunity to spend some time apart. To grow as individuals and maybe when we see each other again, we’ll click again.” Eddie nodded and took a hold of Richie’s hands. 

Richie wanted to argue but it became harder to when he realized he and Eddie had had it rough lately. It was no ones fault but it was true. “I knew you were going to end it. I knew it.” Richie shook his head and looked away, not wanted to shed the tears that were pooling in his eyes. 

“Well I didn’t.” Eddie mumbled, more to himself but Richie was close enough to hear it. “I didn’t think I would end things between us today. I thought we were gonna work something out and pack, I really did. But when we started talking...all my insecurities just came out...uninvited but true.” Eddie frowned deeply. His voice was so wobbly and shaky that it unsettled Richie. 

“Do you think I wanted to do this? Because I fucking didn’t.” Eddie suddenly stood and walked to the other side of the basement, rubbing his forehead with his palm. Richie felt a small sigh leave his lips as he opened his mouth to say something. “This is gonna suck, Rich. Being away from each other but you know what? We need it to happen. And I’ve said why. So we have to accept it. We’ll be better when we see each other again.” 

Richie didn’t know how everything had become so bad so fast...but he kind of did. He couldn’t say Eddie was completely wrong for this but he wanted him to be. They were two men on two different paths at this moment and time. 

“It’s time that we stop being Richie&Eddie and start being Richie...and Eddie.” Richie heard himself say and Eddie nodded, looking much happier now that Richie understood. 

“I don’t want us to drag each other down while we’re trying to live these life plans. We can’t be pulling the reins in on each other. It’s best we go through this phase in life in a free state.” Eddie walked back over and Richie stood. They stared at each other for a few moments before Eddie threw himself into Richie’s arms for a painful hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you, Eds.” 

“I’ll miss you too, Rich.” 

Eddie desperately missed the times when their biggest problems in life had been who was walking home from school with who, if he could copy Richie’s homework, if they were gonna go over to Bill’s house or play down by the barrens. 

But fuck, it could be worse. It could be the summer they were almost at deaths door. 

[eene-fangirl]

Never Let Me ED [An EddEddy/Titanic Crossover]

Note: This is a little story @nintendogal55 and I have been thinking up over the past few months. The character Victoria is gender swapped version of Eddy’s Brother. Enjoy!

“No! I don’t want to go!” The little girl cried as she was taken out from her father’s arms.

“You have to be brave for mother now,” the man said solemnly as the little girl was placed into the lifeboat with his wife. “I-I’ll see you in a little bit,” he nervously stammered. The man was obviously trying to save face. Then he was ordered to step back into the busy crowd of people surrounding one of the last lifeboats.

Edd’s heart throbbed watching everyone. It was overwhelming. Families being torn apart left and right. Officers hollering at passengers. They were even aiming guns at any man who tried to make one move!

The ship slanted even more under their feet. The dark frigid ocean took the ship deeper and deeper into its depths. Pretty soon this grand ship would be no more.

Suddenly, a blanket was thrown over Edd. Edd yelped when his head was hidden.

“Relax, it’s just me, sockhead!” Eddy said to the taller man. He arranged the blanket so it looked as if it were a hood covering him. Edd resembled a few other passengers, mainly women, who didn’t have coats on. It was their only source of warmth on a frigid night like this.

“What are you doing, Eddy?” Edd asked him when Eddy forcefully turned him around making him walk through the crowd.

“You’re getting in that boat!” Eddy exclaimed.

Edd hitched his steps but that didn’t stop Eddy from pushing him.

“No, Eddy!” Edd yelled angrily. He was done with everyone taking advantage of him! Just because he wasn’t the most masculine of all the men in the world didn’t serve him as weak! He was intelligent. Edd graduated with the highest honors in his class. Still, even that didn’t seem to help his case at all.

“I’ll get on the next one!” Eddy assured him, still trying to push him. Eddy wasn’t all for this idea either. Edd told him how he wanted to be treated like the man he was. Eddy felt all the more guilty that he was doing this. He’d be guilty for the rest of his life. That may not even be long.

Edd finally turned himself around and grasped his lovers face. The blanket slipped from his head a bit. “No, I’m not leaving without you!”

“You have to!” Eddy ordered.

“NO!”

“That’s right, dear, you have to!”

Edd’s heart stopped when Victoria appeared. She still hadn’t left the ship yet. Edd was so sure that she would have been on the first lifeboats out to save her own skin.

The woman towered over him, glaring at him, and smiling darkly. Her red lips glowed in the night. And then her long cold fingernails traced Edd’s face like a spider. Edd shivered.

“Oh, my dear, you’re so cold!” she pointed out in her thick husky voice. She was obviously trying to sound concerned.

She questionably looked at the blanket concealing him. “What’s this?” Then her face brightened up. “Oh, is this a disguise? To get passed the officers? That won’t be hard at all!” She turned to Eddy who glared up at her. “You’re smarter than I thought. We do think alike, don’t we?” She sneered. “They’ll obviously believe Eddward to be my sister. Oh Eddward, we are going to be together after all!”

Victoria threw her arms around her fiance in a hug. Edd flinched, backing away and glaring at her. Victoria immediately frowned. She then gripped his arm, tightly, almost painfully.

“No!” Eddy yelled, grabbing Edd’s other arm.

“Don’t worry, there’s another boat on the other side,” Victoria explained. “Oh, do you mind helping us in?”

Edd looked up at the woman, studying that statement. “Is there really?”

“Yes, if he can catch it in time,” she said to Eddy. Then she turned to Edd, again smiling darkly at him. “You and I have a safer chance getting in this boat. Together, darling.”

Edd held Eddy’s hand. There wasn’t time to argue. The ship was sinking fast.

“Get in,” Eddy ordered is gently as possible. He was already having trouble managing his temper..

“No!” Edd refused again but Victoria continued to drag him away.

“I’ll find a way! You know me! I’ll get on the other boat. Don’t worry, Dee. I’m a survivor!”

Right before Edd could kiss him farewell Victoria pulled Edd away, sneering disgustedly at the men’s love. She pushed Edd in front of her as she placed her hands on his shoulders. Edd peered through the hood noticing the officer look at him.

“My sister isn’t well. Could you make sure she gets on, please? Oh, she’s so fragile,” Victoria went on. “Always needs someone to help her. It’s quite sad.”

As the officer helped Edd Eddy also supported him into the boat keeping a hand on his back, mostly in comfort. Once assured that Edd was safe, Eddy stepped back only for Edd to reach out and grab Eddy’s hand in one last attempt to feel the soft flesh but also to see if he could pull him in. It could look like an accident. Then the officer would have to let him stay.

Victoria practically shoved Eddy to the side breaking the lovers connection. She leaned on top of him pushing all her immense weight on Eddy’s shoulder as she pulled herself into the boat with no problem. She was very strong for a woman. And thick.

“Thank you, dear boy!” she roughly pinched Eddy’s cheek like a mother would do to a little child.

Eddy stared hatefully into her eyes. “There is no boat, is there?”

“There might be,” she whispered back. “But, you see, Eddy. I always win.”

And Victoria stepped into the lifeboat seating herself next Edd, still holding his arm in any attempt that he may try to escape. Edd already knew how dangerously frigid the water was. Victoria had him right where she wanted him.

Eddy could see Edd frightfully peering out from the blanket. Eddy gripped the railing of the ship, his composure obviously failing him. It hurt to even smile.

“Lower away!” The officer called out.

And the lifeboat slowly descended. Edd never broke eye contact with Eddy as he was lowered further and further from Eddy’s reach. Rockets were still being fired into the night sky. They illuminated quite nicely behind Eddy. His blue eyes sparkled. He looked so handsome.

Then, Edd glanced at his fiance. She didn’t love him. The only thing she was after were his parents money so she could marry into his wealth. Mother and Father loved her. More than they loved him. When his parents were boarding a lifeboat they didn’t even think to ask if he could come with them. They hardly said goodbye.

Edd looked up at Eddy once more. He was much farther, too far for Edd to reach out.

Edd’s heart stung. Again, he was obeying like a polite little puppy. Edd didn’t want to be in this lifeboat. He had no desire to sit next to this… this… woman.

It had only been three days since he met Eddy. Through that little time Eddy helped him understand himself. He gained more confidence actually standing up to his mother and father about an hour ago. Edd felt capable of so much when he was with Eddy. And yet, he was here with this woman who manipulated him at any chance she got.

Edd actually felt like a man with Eddy. Until now Edd had no idea what love was. Eddy loved him.

“Hold my hands, darling,” Victoria pleaded, already taking Edd’s hands. “They’re cold.”

Edd snatched them away. He stood up, jostling the lifeboat a bit.

“Miss, can you sit down?” The officer in charge ordered.

“Edd?” Eddy called out from above.

“Emily, sit down! We’re not allowed to stand!” Victoria ordered roughly grabbing Edd’s hand. “Sorry, sir my sister is stubborn!”

Edd threw off the blanket. “I’m a man!”

And he bolted to the side ignoring Eddy’s warnings from above. Edd jumped to the open window clutching at it nearly falling below into the frigid water.

“Someone stop him!” Victoria called out trying to grab hold of Edd.

Edd was pulled back aboard the ship. Once his feet safely touched the deck, he ran. He practically bulldozed into a man that he ran so fast. Tears leaked down Edd’s cheeks as he ran down the promenade deck, passed many passengers still left on the doomed ship. Once he entered the grand staircase he saw Eddy running down the stairs searching for him.

“Eddy!” Edd yelled when he saw the man.

The instant Eddy looked into his eyes with both a pained expressed mixed with overwhelming love Edd started sobbing even more.

They ran into each other's arms, fiercely grasping one another, never letting go. Eddy was also crying, almost unable to catch his breath. Edd didn’t think Eddy could cry in the few days they’d known each other.

“Why did you do that?!” Eddy hollered, sobbing into Edd’s face. He tightly gripped Edd’s face, but also covered his face in kisses.

“I couldn’t go!” Edd’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He was more relieved to be here with Eddy then on that little boat for rescue.

Eddy laughed. “You’re so stupid, you brainiac!”

“Eddy,” Edd pulled his lovers face to look at him. “You jump, I jump, remember?”

Eddy’s lip trembled yet again holding Edd’s slim frame closer. “Right,” he answered him still feeling overwhelmed. He didn’t know whether to be mad or overly happily. For now it was happy. He didn’t have to be alone again.

And he kissed Edd. A deep, passionate kiss that electrified their whole bodies. They didn’t care that they were out in public showing affections which were completly disdainful. What did these people care? There was enough panic already.

“I’m sorry, Eddy. I just couldn’t go!” Edd repeated once more.

“It’s alright, sockhead. We’ll think of something.”

A gun clicked. “We’ll see about that,” Victoria barred through her teeth.

[ignitingwriting]

Igniting Writing ‘Loss’ Contest 2018, Seventh Entry

Our seventh and final Igniting Writing summer creative writing contest entry was sent in by Yashwanth. It’s our longest entry and is titled ‘A Fugitive’s Despair’. It deals with a girl’s struggles to escape from North Korea to China and contains some amazing descriptive language and a main character whose resilience and loss is impossible not to empathise with! To check it out for yourselves, just read on: It’s always in the small hours of the morning that I wake, and then think of you. Sometimes I think it is because I dream of you, and the dream seems so real that I reach out for you. My arms rise up from their heavy slumber and stretch out to touch you. That movement, that need to touch you must be what wakes me. And suddenly I am jarred into consciousness. With a start I am alert and my eyes open wide, looking for guards – those sickening creatures, destined to limit you from everyone’s freedom. I stare wildly into the darkness of the night, eerie sounds encompassing me, making me feel alone and afraid; panicked, trying to focus, trying to find you, desperately searching for you, as I feel a pang of hope rise up through me, willing to lift me up and cut away my shackles of pain and torment, because I am so sure that you must be there somewhere in the shadows. I know you are there because I felt you there, it was so real. I knew my mother was there beside me.  And I blame myself for waking, because if I had stayed asleep you would have stayed there with me. I lie back and the sadness falls heavily over my soul, there’s no room for any other feeling. Just the heavy weight of longing that will never go away. I was once told that grief is like a huge rock you have been forced to carry – like the ones we had to carry at the labour camp. Even times like those seem better than now – at least we were together, mother and daughter. Now it’s just me – alone and afraid in a hostile and unforgiving world. But I know you are still with me – I can feel your presence around me, a compass to my soul. And so you pull at the huge rock with your sore hands until you eventually get it off the ground, and you heave it up, scraping and cutting your skin, stretching every tendon, sinew and muscle, and carry it on your chest and then on your shoulders or on your back until eventually you find a way to move, to carry it. And you start to shuffle forward, and then you start to walk. And then you get used to the heaviness, the burden. It becomes part of you. And though you will always have it with you, this grief, this huge sadness in your life, this unbearable weight, you eventually start to join the living again, until someday you even forget you are carrying it. I am lying on the ground, still crushed. I cannot see how I can ever get up. I cannot understand why anyone would ever want to get up, to lift that weight, to start walking again. It is easier to lie here and wait to be taken, to slip away. I turn over so that my face is buried in the hot dampness of the ground directly below my head. I must have been crying again. Too early to get up. I can’t pretend I decided to get up early at this time of the morning. I kick off the pile of straw and lay star shaped on the rough ground, letting the cool air comfort my skin. I have learnt to do this. Eventually I start to shiver and get cold, before grabbing the straw again and dragging it back up over me – hugging it to me in a sort of prickly envelope. I turn over so I am twisted into a cold knot and wait for sleep to take me away again. I wake again, and I see the sun, rising in all its majestic glory. I wish I was like the sun – triumphantly overcoming whatever life threw at me, and rising again victorious. I didn’t dream of you again; I feel regretful, dejected. I had hoped you would come to me, be with me again. It is one of my only crumbs of comfort in my plethora of torment. The warmth of the sun pervades my body, giving me new hope, as I slowly drag myself up and start walking. By the next day I am in Yongchon – a town in North Korea on the Chinese border, only nine and a half kilometres to the Chinese city of Dandong – where Jung is. My only hope is if I can get to him before the tomorrow sunrise; that way, I can cross the border overnight. But for now, I must keep walking. The surreptitious cover of darkness falls over me as I carefully pick out my way – through snake infested swampland and farmland. No-one can own any land here – the state owns everything. It’s not like anything grows here either. It’s just barren land lying forlorn and forgotten like it never existed. I used to wonder how all the people in the country got enough food, back when I used to live in the city – the answer is they don’t. They starve to death. I begin to get exhausted – each rattling breath I take makes me judder and shake as I slump forward, fatigued. My forehead feels clammy, yet hot. Never have a few moments of deliberation seemed like an eternity as I feel my consciousness ebbing away and my thoughts, as clear and concise as they were mere moments ago, coming to an end. My eyes grow heavy from the strenuous effects of excessive agitation of my brain – I had not prepared for such a weakness. At once, I am struck with incoherence, a conflict to my thoughts, as I kneel down and lean a shoulder against a fence. I had already decided to rest from exhaustion, to be dead to the world before the rest of me ever hit the cold swampy ground. But then I remember you – my mother. I remember Jung – my brother. You wouldn’t have wanted me to give up – just because you aren’t here with me in person, does that let me down? Does that make me a despairing, weak human? No. I summon up all my remaining strength, as my muscles burn, and I grit my teeth and plough on through the night. After what seems like an eternity of journeying through Hell, I hear a rushing, raging noise, like those trains Jung and I went to see when I was little, before he had escaped to China. I wish Jung was here – he was like a second father to me. After a few more minutes walking, I can hear the screeches of birds and the splash of water. The route I had planned involved no menacing guards, no formidable border posts, no ominous border fences. The only obstacle that blocks me from the tantalising reaches of freedom in China is the mighty river Yalu. Suddenly, almost like an omen, the rain starts again, as flickering fangs of lightning crackle threateningly. When we get to the river my heart sinks. It is wider than I’ve ever seen, flowing swift and strong. The water is a turbid brown from eroding the banks it usually passes by so softly. Branches have been blown in, as the water eddies around them, but not that relaxed way water usually does – harshly, more like mini vortexes. Rain that still falls on the surface is pitted so thickly that the radiating ripples cancel one another out. Adding to the torrent coming from the stone-grey sky is the April melt from the mountains to the North-East. This river is not what I prepared for. The brutal swell before us makes it seem that any boat that is stupid enough to be sailed will simply be the sailor’s coffin, carrying them out to sea rather than to the opposite bank. If I turn back, to wait for better conditions, I will be doomed, as my escape would have been reported to the authorities by now. Grimly, I slowly lower myself in, as I realise you would have protected me if you were here. I feel a pang of sadness, but fear envelopes me as I blink back tears. I am enveloped by the dark indigo body of water. The incredible pressure compresses my chest, forcing my lungs to burn as if on fire. My heart begins hammering, increasing in intensity and speed, like a bird trapped in a cage. My throat sears in agony with the rising pressure of trapped air. Head pounding with panic, threatening to explode any second, I give into the pressure and took a breath of air, only to engulf a gush of murky water. I taste the filthy river, foul and polluted. As I open my mouth again, this time to scream, I let out strings of bubbles. Despair fills me with every struggling gulp. Icy water is thrust up my nostrils, a stream cascaded into the back of my throat and nose sending jets of pain through my body. Slowly the commotion and chaotic sounds of the river are drowned out to a low hum, buzzing at my ears, gradually muting into silence, one with the darkness. I give up on the screaming, on the thrashing, as I allow the water to hold my body in a sustained position. As my vision blurred out and my consciousness falters, my body became numb and I see flickering apparitions of you and Jung, as I realise you would have helped me. I wait in resignation for the numbing hands of death to suck away every last piece of life left in me. I don’t know how I make it to the other bank, but I do and that is all that I care about. My hands grope in the darkness to find my bearings, but all I can feel is the thick, black air. Like a bolt from the blue, my hands find a hard, cold seemingly metallic mesh. What? A border fence – here? Jung had told me there weren’t any – just before he escaped. How? My mind crashes back to accept reality, and I realise that a border fence meant a border post nearby. I tried to run back and at least hide in the river, but my legs do not respond. ‘Move! Run!’ my brain screams, but my legs stay still, numb with tiredness and the frosty water in the river, oblivious to the situation. Suddenly I hear voices and I crouch down, hoping the curtain of rain would hide me. An iridescent searchlight shines very near me – perhaps a few feet away. ‘Don’t shine at me…don’t reveal me…’ I shut my eyes and hope it doesn’t divulge my whereabouts. I open my eyes and see a dazzling, almost kaleidoscopic light shining right at me. My heart leaps into my throat as my legs automatically pick me up and start running. My breath comes in small spurts, hot and nervous. At my sides, my fingers curl into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make me faster. Behind me, I can hear the baying howls of the guard dogs and jeering laughter of the other guards. Mud smears my sweaty face as sweat drips from my long matted hair. “Please!” I cry aloud, throwing myself forward with even greater abandon. My lungs and heart are pumping, but the air doesn’t seem to be enough as I sprint forward, panic trembling in my exhausted limbs. I can feel hot breath on my neck, spittle spraying onto my hair, as my eyes scan for the river, hoping that I could jump in there and hide. Instantly, a dark bag is thrown over me, as I choke and struggle to fumble my way out of there. I am instantaneously rigid with shock, as something hits me in the side of my face and my stomach as all the bones in my face rattle, as I double up and reel in agony and shock. Then, everything goes black.

[be-a-snake-stab-your-brother]

INFINITY WAR COMMENTARY

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS

My long-ass reaction to my favorite Asgardians below the cut. 

LAST CHANCE IF YOU ARE ON MOBILE. 

SPOILERS! 

SPOILERS! 

LONG-ASS COMMENTARY BY YOURS TRULY.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Oooooooh boy.

Loki

Infinity War

Guys, I think he’s really dead this time.

*sobs forever*

Loki is a tragic character, deep in the Shakespearean mold. (And we can probably thank his portrayer for that.)

Disjointed thoughts here. This got...long. 

On Loki in *THAT* scene

-The distress signal from the Asgardian vessel in the opening? That was Loki, right? I had to be. I will die on the headcanon hill that the voice is Loki’s. He *wants* to save his people, and this is his last-ditch effort for help, a raw and real exclamation of loss and fear. Guys, he cares. Too much, to be honest (which is exactly how his whole mess started how many years ago but I digress…)

-I have to wonder how much Loki and Thor plotted the initial part of the confrontation where Loki drops the line, “We have a Hulk.” I feel like both Loki and Thor might have planned that? Now, I’m not entirely sure that Thor knew Loki had the Tesseract. To be honest, one of the biggest mysteries for me still is WHY DID LOKI EVEN TAKE THE TESSERACT IN RAGNAROK? For power? To protect it? As an insurance policy? I have no idea, and it’s basically the only real, burning question I have about Loki’s motivations.

But anyway, the line, “You are the worst, brother.” Or, “You are the worst brother.” Punctuation matters. I, myself, feel that number one is more accurate. Remember their relationship. Remember that they might (at this point), still be putting on a show for Thanos, thinking that somehow he can be overpowered by the Hulk and Thor together. This kind of taunting is how they interact, even on good days.

Have I mentioned how much I love the “We have a Hulk” line? God bless Loki and his irreverent sense of humor. Look how far our little blue icicle has come since the confrontation in Stark’s tower! You know he had to love pulling out that quote. Oh, poor Lokes.

But…Hulk gets his ass kicked. Heimdall sends him down with the dark magic and shit gets real.

-Loki tries to pull his whole song and dance “let me betray my brother again” routine, but the problem is…he’s given himself away already, and both Thanos and Loki know it. Thanos tortures Thor with the Power Stone (the first real indication of his…well, power) and you can see Loki’s face contort in agony (lordy TH is such a stupendous actor, I really hope he gets some meaty roles in the future. The man is a damn artist and I don’t throw that term around lightly. Mad respect.)

So, anyway - even if Loki and Thor had planned the initial confrontation out, the minute Loki coughs up the Tesseract to protect Thor, he knows he’s doomed.

-And here is where it gets sad. Loki’s been on borrowed time - ever since his fall from the Bifrost, since being “recruited” by Thanos. Hell, in some ways, Loki’s been on borrowed time ever since Odin took him in as a baby. It was a terrible, awful thing to say, but Odin’s quote that it was Loki’s “birthright to die” is not wholly inaccurate. And by all accounts, he should have died when he fell into the Void. And he didn’t. He should have died when he was stabbed by the Dark Elf. But he didn’t. He ran and ran and ran. He cheated fate - the Norns - so many times. But he had to know that it would all catch up to him. That he couldn’t stay hidden as Odin forever, couldn’t stay locked up in prison forever, couldn’t be on Sakaar forever, that his entrapment to Thanos - the threat of the Other - that it would come back to haunt him.

It’s such a god damn tragedy.

If Loki wasn’t repentant, it would be a different matter altogether. If he didn’t hand over the Tesseract, even with Thor’s torture, maybe Thanos kills Thor, takes Loki captive and tortures him for it (again). Eventually molds Loki back into what he had been during the Avengers. But I get the feeling Thanos had some idea of Loki’s trajectory, that torturing Thor would be the one thing that was worse than death. (“He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”) And the fate that was worse than death for Loki was seeing his brother die. Remember, Thanos wants to kill half the universe. Two brothers. In his twisted logic, one had to go. Loki knows this and wasn’t going to let Thor be the victim.

-And so he decides to go out on his terms, practically ensuring that he will die by pissing off Thanos. And at this point, at the end - he finally embraces every part of his identity - Asgardian, Jotun, prince, and king. Maybe, for a fleeting second, he believes he might succeed, but I’m pretty certain Loki knows that it false hope.

-The moment he reached Thor’s eyes and declares himself Odinson, Loki knows it’s over. This one measly sacrifice - a person he doesn’t even necessarily like (himself!) - to save Thor. Loki never really cared about Midgard, about the rest of the cosmos, but he will lay himself down for his brother - his family.

-And just…it’s the worst? The best? Each movie his motivations stem from someone else. In Thor 1 he does it for his father, to win his love and respect. In Thor 2 for his mother, to avenge her death. In Thor 3 it was for his people, for Asgard - to save his home. And now in Infinity War he does it for his brother, because he loves him too damn much. (And in the Avengers? For Thanos, partially; and for himself, but not really. Loki failed in New York. Probably because he lacked conviction. He never wanted power, never really liked himself. Of course that invasion failed.)

-So he conjures a dagger. If he is going to die, he’s going to do it his way, Loki-style. And someone pointed out on Tumblr that his attack was the same move Laufey tried to pull on Odin. Good lord, the layering with this character. I’m crying again, I just can’t guys. “Look at me, brother. This is me. Loki. God. Prince. King. Family. I do this for you.” Agh.

-And then the line, “You will never be a god.” That is PURE Loki. Haughty Loki, who even staring death in the face will not bow in fear. He is better than Thanos, who needs a power stone to overcome a god. His last words are defiance - you will never be better than me, no matter how much power you accumulate.

Guys, I love this character so much you have no idea. There is so much I relate to in Loki’s internal struggles and demons and just…god, he is so fucking tragic.

-And I want to backtrack to the line, “The sun will shine on us again,” which Loki tells Thor. Oh man. It’s a goodbye. We will meet again in Valhalla, brother. It could also be more than that. I don't know where the scriptwriters came up with this idea, but a Google search brought me this from an…unlikely source?

“Today marks a profound and bittersweet milestone for all of us, as we bear witness to both an end and a beginning. And while we must continue on, we must also be grateful to have been blessed with someone who has so ably guided us to where we are today. When there has been so much love and happiness for someone, it is natural to be reluctant to close such a wonderful chapter in our lives, for moving forward is rarely accomplished without considerable grief and sadness. And while our sorrow may be profound, the clouds will clear, and the sun will shine on us again. And in that warm, bright light we will find ourselves facing a glorious future. A future of exciting challenges and infinite possibilities, in which the horizon will stretch out before us, trimmed in the heavenly glow of the sunrise of our tomorrow.

Eddie, The Prince and Me"

Again, I have no idea if this is a reference. I don’t even know this movie and from a brief reading of reviews, it looks pretty terrible. Nonetheless, I like the quote as I feel like in its entirety it’s a wonderful send off to the character and Tom Hiddleston as his portrayer. And frankly, it’s so god damn poetic that it makes me want to cry. Again. Loki, Loki, Loki - that small bit of comfort you offer your brother, yourself in that dark hour. That quote is young Loki, start of Thor 1 Loki, where he still maintains some of that quiet innocence that gets ravaged by stupid Thanos. He comes full circle in this scene.

-And on that note, I rarely talk about actors on my blogs, because they are people with private lives and interests and I’m really not a celebrity culture person at all. This being said, I would understand if Tom Hiddleston would be in part relieved to let Loki go. Let the man get all the meaty roles in the future, let him do Shakespeare on the grandest stages (or the smallest, most intimate venues, where, in my mind, those plays really shine), allow him to grace his talent and abilities in future productions. I personally cannot wait to see what he does next. And let us be thankful for his absolutely brilliant, nuanced portrayal of Loki, who could have easily been a stock villain and instead became one of the most compelling characters I have had to pleasure of watching on screen.

On Thor

-I wanted to comment on two things. One, his conversation with Rocket, where he lists all the horrible events that have happened to him since the first movie. I loved seeing Thor’s vulnerability in this scene, the way he tries to overcome everything with flippant humor and his golden-retriever attitude. That’s who he is. (It probably drove Loki, an introvert with a penchant for brooding, insane in their childhood.) The throwaway line about Loki being dead more than once - that’s misplaced hope, that’s Thor saying “Please, no. Please let it be a lie,” even when he knows it’s not. Ugh.

-When Thor lays his axe into Thanos, saying something along the lines of, “I said I’ll kill you for that.” Yes, for Asgard. Yes, for Heimdall. Yes, for everything he’s lost. But most of all? For Loki. I refuse to read that scene any other way. Thor is on a revenge quest for his brother this entire film. I hope he kicks the shit out of Thanos in Avengers 4.

On Loki’s Return?

-Okay, look guys, I want Loki to revive as much as the next person, believe me. I want to see his full reconciliation with Thor, for him to prance around with the Avengers, and play pranks and be happy!Loki. I know there’s all types of speculation due to the leaked pictures from Avengers 4, and yeah, it would be EPIC if somehow Loki helped in defeating Thanos in that alternate timeline that the remaining Avengers seem to be traveling to. If this gets offered to me on a silver platter, fuck yeah I will rejoice.

-And yes, what did happen to Loki in those few minutes during the Hulk/Thanos confrontation? What if Loki’s line about the sun was more than a goodbye? We’re all pretty certain that the heroes who got ashed will be back, will it be the same for Loki, Gamora, and Vision? I don’t know. My instinct says “no,” but we’re all going to have to wait until next year. (Or, Agent of Asgard Loki? That, too, would be awesome.)

On Valhalla

-I would love a small scene of Loki in the afterlife, meeting with Frigga, who escorts him to Valhalla. It’s not going to happen on screen, but I’m totally going to write a short fic about it, because TEARS and CATHARSIS.

On the Rest of the Film

-I have a fair amount to say about the rest of the film, too! But I’m going to save that for a different meta as I have to leave for work soon. Suffice it to say I enjoyed about 90% of it. A few places dragged, I have no investment in Wanda/Vision, so that really didn’t hold my interest. Tony/Peter Parker/Dr. Strange was inspired, and the Thor + GoG bits were wonderful. Plus, Okoye giving that look to Banner as he tripped in the Hulkbuster suit. I about died there, it was fantastic.

-The snap. Jesus Christ on a cracker that was rough. Especially Tony and Spiderman. Like, rough.

-This film is way too existential for a super-hero movie. Which is why I love it. It’s brooding, dark tone is also a fantastic reflection on the world’s current geopolitical situation and, for me, a product of that kind of “millenial generation depression” that’s been commented on before. I’ll have more to say about this in my larger Infinity War post.

And finally, no better way to eulogize Loki than this:

“Now cracks a noble heart.—Good night, sweet prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

[londone-fog]

Friday, Never Hesitate- Reddie Soulmate AU

AO3 Link

Monday, Tuesday

The next day, his mother told him to swallow a new pill. Oblong, slightly pink in color. It was bitter on his tongue, and he didn’t like it. The back pain went away after a couple of days.

But his Mama told him to keep taking them.

He didn’t want to upset her.

Chapter Three- Wednesday

The school bell rang out, releasing all the pressure that had been building up throughout the year. The very beginning of the sweet song of summer. Eddie strode out of his class, side by side with his best friends, laughing and making plans for what to do that day in the Barrens.

Bill’s brother Georgie had been missing for most of the school year.

Eddie and his friends were 13 years old.

They had grown and changed much over the years. Bill shot up like a weed, stumbling over his feet as well as his words now. Stan’s bar mitzvah was coming up later that summer. Richie grew his dark hair longer, and his glasses just got thicker and thicker. They all cussed more, and teased each other more, but they were still close as ever.

Eddie still had no soulmark, even after all those years.

Richie’s was still faded and nearly gone, both boys filled with worry over the fate of Richie and his soulmate.

Everyone worried about the kids that had come up missing that year.

And, so, the boys spent their first afternoon away from school wading around in the murky water of the sewers. Eddie’s skin was already crawling from Stan claiming to identify poison ivy everywhere, and now Richie and Bill stood nearly to their shins in grey water.

“Nuh-uh, that’s grey water.”

“What’s grey water?” Richie asked, stomping around in it, pulling things from the depths.

“It’s basically… piss and shit. Your swimming in the entirety of Derry’s pee right now.”

Richie, ever so eloquently, picked a stick out of the sludge and sniffed it.

“Doesn’t smell like caca to me, senior,” he said, slipping into a dismal attempt at a Voice. Voices were Richie’s specialty, if specialty meant having bad attempts at accents and characters every second of everyday.

But then they found Betty Ripson's shoe, and everything changed. Firstly, came the appearance of Ben Hascom, the “New Kid” that had moved to Derry towards the end of the school year. As they all examined the shoe, he came splashing into the quarry, pursued by Henry Bowers and his gang. He had a nasty cut carved into his gut, and so they all moved back to town to get him bandages.

And, secondly, came Beverly Marsh. The girl from school with a reputation for doing it with guys who didn’t want to wait for their soulmates. The girl who helped them steal bandages from the drugstore with a flick of her fiery hair and the bat of an eyelash. The girl who stole the attention of both Bill and Ben, right in front of Eddie’s eyes.

And, in front of the eyes of everyone, the first of their friends to find their soulmates were Ben and Beverly.

As the five boys all stood together, spitting into the quarry in nothing but their underwear, Bev rode up behind them with her newly shorn hair. And everyone was shocked as he shed her dress and ran, jumping into the water below. They all caught the flash of a red and blue mark, just above her hipbone as she descended from the air.

It wasn’t until they had gotten out of the water, sitting on the rocks to dry themselves, that they noticed. Eddie could hear Ben whispering to the group, pointing to Beverly and then himself. He thought he was pointing at the wide expanse of skin that was Beverly’s stomach, but it was rather the colored patch on her side. Eddie looked and saw that Ben had an identical mark in the same place, all reds and blues.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Richie asked, almost not a whisper.

“I dunno. It doesn’t feel right just springing it on her.”

They all nodded, but Eddie could see melancholy glistening behind Bill’s eyes. The sight of watching someone who you thought you might have liked become someone else’s soulmate must sting worse than any insect.

Eddie thought about that as he walked home from the quarry, nervously rubbing his hands together. A deep sadness sunk into his gut, thinking about how he’d never be able to experience that feeling of joy. Doomed to stay alone in the world forever.

He looked to his left as he walked, knowing that the Neibolt house would be there. It had always had a strange energy, encouraging anyone to come walk up, take a peek at what lay inside. Eddie stood still for a moment, staring at it’s mawing expanse. He could feel his breathing quickening, lungs constricting and throat turning. He reached into the pack at his hip, rummaging for his inhaler, but instead accidentally knocking all his medicines out of the bag.

Shit shit shit, he thought, scrambling to grab every oblong pill from the gravel. He clicked the last compartment on his organizer closed, when he heard a rasping voice behind him.

“Hey Eds, whatcha got there?”

Eddie turned around to see a man, mostly likely homeless, crawl out from under the porch of Neibolt house. As it grew closer, he could see bits of skin peeling from his face, his eyes glassy and teeth a nasty yellow.

It’s a leper, Eddie realized. He’s gonna get me sick.

“I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse. I’ll blow you for a dime, not much to ask.”

Eddie shook his head, shaking his head as he backed away from him.

“How about a dime? Or even for free? I’ll blow you for free.”

“N-no.” Eddie tried to move farther away, but the leper follows him, moving a little faster than before.

“Come on, you’ll be just like me. Who needs soulmates? We can be alone together, you and I. What'd ya say, Eds? Come be just like me.”

Eddie didn’t waste any time before he began running as far as his legs could take him. The labored breathing of the leper behind him spurred him on farther. He looked behind him only once, just in time to see the man turn into a white-faced clown, grinning with sharp teeth.

He didn’t stop running until he was in his room at home. His breathing was constricted, and he inhaled three puffs of his inhaler with no success. And his back. His back itched and burned worse than it had ever before. He peeled his shirt of, bending his elbows back to dig into his back, struggling to breath as sobs wracked his entire body.

He didn’t stop until the skin of his back was raw and blood dried under his fingernails.

-

Eddie came out of Neibolt house with a broken arm.

He picked at the plaster, running his nails across the stiff material. It was a Wednesday night, and Eddie was left lying on his bed, watching the ceiling fan turn over and over again. He hasn’t been allowed outside of the house since he fell through the floor of that wretched house. Well, unless he was going to the pharmacy to pick up medication.

Eddie traced the black sharpie lines scrawled across his cast, looping the O and swirling the S.

LOSER, it boasted. Written by Greta earlier that day at his latest visit to the drug store.

Eddie felt like a loser in that moment. He desperately missed his friends, but his mother forbade him from seeing them again. He missed Bill’s stutter, and Stan’s anxiousness, and Ben, and Mike, and Bev.

And Richie, he thought.

God, he missed Richie. His best friend who he poked fun of everyday, but still made him laugh. Who could be comforting in moments it was needed, serious in times where it called for. Richie who held his face and told him to look at him as the clown slowly approached the group. Who snapped his arm back into place and helped drag him home. Who would say something clever to make Eddie feel better about his broken arm.

He considered sneaking down to the kitchen and making a phone call. He knew his mother would be fast asleep in her chair, he knew the third stair from the floor squeaked. And so, avoiding any and all noise, he quietly slipped into the kitchen. He very slowly, methodically, rotated to dial in a muscle memory fashion.

The line rang for a moment before there was a click and a voice.

“Hello?”

“Richie, it’s Eddie.”

You could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey, what’s cracking Spaghetti Head?”

“I dunno. I haven’t been allowed out of the house much.”

“Your mother, as lovely as she may be, is a total hack.”

Eddie didn’t grace that statement with a response. He twirled the cord of the phone nervously around his index finger.

“I really miss you guys,” he all but whispered, voice a bit strained.

And then there was a click. Richie had hung up.

Eddie felt anger and hurt grow in his belly, wrapping its tendrils around his airways. He shook his head, slumping up the stairs and back into his room. Back to being alone again. He lied on his back, staring at the ceiling again.

And he stayed like that for a good fifteen minutes, not moving, forcing himself into not being angry. But that’s when he heard a loud thwack against his window. Eddie’s mind instantly thought back to It, laying low in his stupid layer in that stupid house. Carefully, he edged over to peek out at the ground below. And, frankly, he was very surprised at what he saw.

Richie, standing below his window, winding up to throw another dirt clod. Eddie quickly slid up the glass pane, motioning to stop the boy below.

“Stop! You’ll wake up my mom. What are you doing?”

“Being romantic? I dunno. You sounded like you needed some picking up. So here I am.”

Eddie grinned in spite of himself. Richie must have hung up in order to run several blocks over to visit him, in the middle of the night.

“Go around to the back door. I’ll have to sneak you in. My mom’s asleep.”

He dashed away from the window, giddy with happiness. But, in his rush, Eddie forgot about the third step from the floor. It let out a high-pitched whine as his foot made contact, causing his mom to snort awake.

“Edward, you’re supposed to be in bed. What are you doing awake?”

“Uh, I’m just getting some water.”

“Did you take your night medicine.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes Mama.”

She nodded, then stood up. Anxiety slipped into Eddie’s veins, pumping through his entire body. His mother walked towards him, placing a meaty hand to his forehead.

“You should really be in bed, you’re beginning to feel warm.”

“Yes Mama.”

“I’ll be in my bed if you get sick in the night.”

Eddie nodded, reluctantly planting a chaste kiss to the cheek she held out to him. He watched her slowly waddle away to her room, and listened for the click of her door before rushing to to retrieve Richie. He sat on the back porch, swirling a finger around in the dirt gathered there.

“Okay, we have to be super quiet. My mom’s in her room, but she’ll come out if she hears any noise.”

Richie nodded, carefully following Eddie’s steps up the stairs and into his room, gently shutting the door behind them. They sat on the edge of Eddie’s bed, the air almost awkward and silent.

“How is everyone else?” Eddie asked carefully, playing with the edge of his cast.

“... Me and Bill got into a big argument after we dropped you off. He’s, uh, not speaking to me right now.”

“What? Why did you fight?”

Richie fiddled, not saying anything. Just touching the tips of his fingers to the tip of his thumb.

“I got upset because we’ve spent this whole summer chasing after this thing. And in Neibolt, we almost died. You almost died…” He doesn’t look at Eddie, look away instead. “He wants to go back in to look for Georgie. Bev is the only one who agreed with him.”

Eddie nodded, shock trickling into his brain.

“Did you go to Stan’s bar mitzvah?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was the only one, though. It was super weird. Lots of Hebrew.”

“That does tend to happen when you’re Jewish, Richie.”

He smiled a little at that, finally meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“I see you got your cast. How does it feel?”

“Itchy. Heavy. I can’t shower like a normal person.”

“That sucks balls, dude. Let me see it.”

Eddie moved his arm over, forgetting about the phrase scrawled there. But Richie saw it, and his eyes grew big.

“Who wrote this?”

“Greta from the pharmacy. She, uh, told me she wanted to sign it.”

Richie grit his teeth, his anger unobvious to most except Eddie. It sang behind his eyes, lashing flames behind deep brown irises.

“Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah? On my desk over there.”

Richie scrambled up from the bed, shuffling through the things on Eddie’s desk until he found a red permanent marker.

“Trashmouth, I swear to God, if you draw a dick on my cast…”

“Shhh, I’m working,” he said, more serious than Eddie had ever seen him. The pink tip of his tongue stuck between his teeth a little as he worked on writing on the cast. Finally he stopped, sitting back with the tips of his ears a little pinker than before. Eddie looked down to see a bright red V hastily scribbled over the S in LOSER. Instead, it read something just a little bit better.

LOVER

“That’s quite a lot better, ay Eddie Spaghetti.”

He wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but gratitude swamped his annoyance.

“Thanks Richie. This… this means a lot.”

They grinned at each other, and for once, Eddie didn’t even notice the itch in his shoulders.

[keepersreprise]

“From Hell” Review

31 Days of Tarot Halloween - Day One

“Journey”

In this blog I will be discussing my own personal insights into the popular movie From Hell, its dark story and origins, tantamount themes, and then discussing the theme as presented in the Major Arcana Tarot Card “Journey” pulled from my Dreams of Gaia deck.

OVERVIEW

From Hell is a gorgeous piece of symbolism, that tells the familiar tale of famous serial killer Jack the Ripper, in London of 1888, from the months of August to November.

Jack the Ripper targeted, tortured, and disemboweled a total of five victims - all prostitutes - within that time, before suddenly disappearing. Many theories in the last one hundred-twenty-nine years have arisen regarding who this man was, and what his motives may have been.

Loosely based off the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell, From Hell is a dark and gritty tale that primarily follows respected and swarthy inspector Frederick Adderline (Johnny Depp) and struggling, sweet-hearted prostitute Mary Kelley (Heather Graham), as they face the terrifying silhouette that was Jack the Ripper.

This film’s vision itself was based off of a theory that the women were targeted as part of a conspiracy to cover the fact that Prince Albert Victor married a common girl name Annie Cook. However, although popular, the theory has been widely discredited.

THEMES

Social Class

Much of the film is cast in a dark and dreary era of London, shortly before the turn of the century. In a time where there was still a great division between the working-class, and well-educated socialites. In fact, many influential men beat it over Inspector Adderline’s head (and the watchers’) that no “well-bred” or respectable man would commit such atrocities.

When Adderline states that he believes the murders were committed with the precision and knowledge of anatomy of a professional surgeon, it is suggested instead that the murders are nothing more than the work of a butcher. Or even a rich tradesman.

The series of events that lead to the murders revolves around the Prince Albert’s secret marriage to commoner and prostitute Ann Cook, and the subsequent birth of their child. As a result, Ann is kidnapped and questioned, then lobotomized and sequestered in an asylum. The Queen Alexandra of Denmark herself sets trusted Freemason Sir William Gull the task of eliminating the witnesses without any conscious regard to the women’s lives, nor the mass hysteria the killings stir amongst her subjects. And perhaps more telling, is that William Gull - the Ripper - is lobotomized and sealed away himself once he has completed this task.

COLOR SCHEMES

The color red is a prominent theme, often starkly contrasting or complimenting the gloom and dreariness that rests like a translucent veil over London during this time. The color is not solely present in the scenes of grisly murder. It can also be found in other significant scenes and moments throughout the film.

Most notably Mary Kelly has vibrant red hair and alluring green eyes. While all the prostitutes wear brighter clothing than most people we see - setting them apart as women of character and diversity - Mary Kelly’s hair is a physical representation of who she herself is. Red is often associated with fiery temperaments, passion, lust, anger, and violence.

In a scene where Adderline is in the tub after drinking absinthe and is taking a clairvoyant journey, there is a red phonograph playing a sonorous tune. The film then switches to another scene where the serial killer is cutting into a raw piece of meat, with a black phonograph playing in the room as well; symbolizing a connection between the two men. In this instance however, the red phonograph represents Adderline’s passion and love as he uses his clairvoyance to relive a memory with his wife, wherein she tells him she’s pregnant. The transition to Gull enjoying a bloody meal with a black phonograph instead depicts the man’s cold-hearted and meticulous nature.

Green is also a prominent color in the film. A few select scenes take place outside or in parts of London where the pall of doom is pushed back for a time. Yet, even in the first instance, when the women are present at the first victim, Martha’s funeral, the watcher is reminded to not allow the moment of beauty to disillusion them. The breaking of the coffin as its lowered and reveal of Martha’s waxy face, is followed by the ravaging laugh of a crow. The second instance of greenery is when Adderline reveals the tragic fates of his wife and child to Mary Kelley on a park bench, while gazing into Mary’s attentively sympathetic green eyes. The last instance in the film shows a happy Mary Kelly raising the throne’s heir in a beautiful cottage by the sea. Yet there is a sadness in her eyes, even as Adderline is using opium far away, to watch the woman he loves waiting for him, just before he dies.

Just as with the color red, there is a balance to green as well. It is prominently present in scenes with Jack the Ripper; highlighting the wall beyond his silhouette. The lanterns of his carriage burn a sickly pulsing green rather than the normal orange-red of fire. Historically, Mary Kelly was the last of Ripper’s victims. The presence of green - the color of comfort, of life, but also of envy and magic - may have been alluding to her presumed fate.

"JOURNEY"

The Major Arcana card Journey is the representation of a path tread; of ourselves, not just physically. It signifies personal growth and strength of conviction. I will discuss each character’s personal journey throughout the film.

Ann Cook: I wanted to begin with Ann Cook, because although her presence in the movie is brief, it was her transformation from simple prostitute to the secret wife and mother of the throne’s heir that began Jack the Ripper’s rampage at the Queen’s behest.

Ann was a sweet and young girl, whose talents and innocence (despite her reviled profession) attracted the attentions of Prince Albert Victor. Within a short time, Albert and Ann were married in a little church with her friends as witness, and although a couple of them envied her newfound easy lifestyle, it is clear that Ann’s charm could make most anyone love her.

She is unexpectedly kidnapped by the Freemasons under the royal family’s orders and questioned. However, she either never knew her husband was the heir, or lied in hopes of protecting herself and her child. She is lobotomized by Dr. Ferral and locked away. Adderline and Mary visit her, where she is found with glassy blue eyes, proclaiming herself a queen. We never hear any more of poor Ann Cook.

What I found interesting about Ann is that part of me wondered if perhaps she in fact, DID know who Albert was the entire time. We only see the two together while having sex in bed, and the prince has the saucer eyes of a man hypnotized by lust. The prince is also revealed to have syphilis. Considering the detrimental effects it can have on the brain, this may attribute to why he married a commoner in secret.

Frederick Adderline: A renown inspector that is called into Whitechapel after the grotesque murder of Martha. While efficient and respected, Adderline’s methods and acceptance of the belief that any man is capable of anything, in a time where the poor and the Juwes are always the villains, isolate him as an aberrant eccentric. Adderline uses his intelligence and astute eye for detail to wriggle out the secrets of the case like prying worms out from beneath a rock.

At the beginning of the film he is standoffish, and even his sarcastic comments are delivered in a dry tone. Although he uses opium to gain visions of his cases, Frederick never tries to explain why or how this happens. Rather, he is a man that accepts things as they come. However, he does seem to hold to some superstitious beliefs, such as when he pressed two coins over the prostitute Dark Annie’s eyes to pay death’s ferryman so that her soul would find rest.

As the film progresses and he progressively fails to solve the case, the watcher sees the man’s frustration at his inability to protect these women manifest. And as he develops an emotionally charged bond with the resilient prostitute Mary Kelly, we see the inspector’s stark demeanor fold in on itself. We learn of his wife, and in the moment where Mary Kelly becomes defensive after he rejects her, Adderline presses her to the wall in his own passion. From here Frederick’s course begins to steer from the paved road of a law up-keeping, prim man, to a bumpy back alley of shadowy movements. When he is suspended from the case for wanting to preserve elegant words scrawled by Jack the Ripper that hints at his identity, he pieced together the mystery with the diligence of a man ruled by his own morals, and confronts the suspect himself. Going so far even, as to draw a gun on the man. He is, however, incapacitated. Yet even when the inspector is faced with what is presumed to be Mary Kelly’s horrifically mutilated corpse, his strength never falters. He doesn’t shy away, showing us that he is not, in fact, broken. Just heartbroken. Once the killings are complete, Frederick decides he can never risk leading the Freemasons to Mary Kelly and Alice’s location. In the end we see that he has returned to his opium addiction. But now he has been using it for years to watch the woman he loves raise a child not her own, in a little cottage by the sea, waiting for him. He is found dead by the sergeant, with two coins in his hand to pay the ferryman.

Mary Kelly: The moment we meet Mary, we see her sweet and compassionate side; almost entirely at odds with what we may expect of someone with such fiery red hair. Even as a prostitute, she is a strong woman of self-worth, that recognizes that she is, in fact, still a woman despite her profession, with needs of her own.

Mary Kelly is a dual-natured character, much like the others. While kind and sweet, caring for and raising Ann’s child, she is also hot-tempered and challenges other people’s views of who she is. Not much is revealed of her past, except that after her mother died when she was eight in Ireland, her family fled to London, where they were “Starving. Starving, but in fresh air”. She dreams languidly of living in a little cottage by the sea, becoming an old plump woman with a skinny husband and many children. Although Mary is obviously a dreamer, she never speaks of how she means to obtain these dreams. This indicates that she may realize just how unlikely they are.

Mary Kelly begins her story trying to raise enough money to pay a local gang. When Ann Cook offers to get her friends the money from her husband, she is bears witness to Ann’s kidnapping. As her friends are murdered one by one, Mary decides to place her trust in inspector Frederick Adderline. The two become very close, with Mary Kelly kissing him in an alleyway after he offers her money to keep herself safe. In this moment, if the watcher had any doubts about Mary Kelly (like one of her prostitutes friends did), her motives towards Adderline are clarified with words fueled by a life persecution and judgement.

How long Mary Kelly has been a prostitute is unclear, but she is quick to defer to officials, and even names herself “unfortunate”. At one point she says to Frederick that “Oh, I’m sorry. England doesn’t have whores. Just a great mass of unlucky women.” This shows her derivative opinion of the social class, and a glimpse that, despite her defiance, Mary Kelly may view herself in this negative manner herself. Or even fear that all that’s said about whores is true, and she cannot escape it.

It’s through her trust and love for Frederick Adderline, that Mary Kelly finally DOES escape it though. She takes Alice and lives in her cottage, raising the child as her own. Yet, even as she watches the girl fondly, there is a telling sadness in her eyes and the watcher knows she is waiting for Frederick. And that, unlike her love, who can travel upon an opium cloud to watch her, she will never know what became of him.

Jack the Ripper: The serial killer’s story begins as that of any other in fiction. A shadowy unknown figure that haunts the characters. And our minds. His actions appall us, drive a wedge between our willingness and ability to sympathize with such an atrocious human being.

When Ripper is nothing more than a silhouette against an eerie sky or hunched over the form of his latest victim, he is the boogeyman. The devil. That which we feared cannot be stopped. We imagine him with a horrid snarling face, fangs that drip blood and hands that are never clean. But really, we know he is just a man.

Before his identity is revealed, we are given glimpses into the man’s life and daily activities. We know that he is, in fact, a “well-bred” man, that eats delicately, wears prim suits, takes good care of a traveling amputation kit he uses on his victims, educated and precise; in stark contrast to what Frederick Adderline is persuaded to believe. Ripper even displays the touch of a poetic hand at one point, which results in Adderline being removed from the case.

However, it becomes quickly apparent that there is something more sinister about the man. His operations are ritualistic. Green fire glows in his lanterns. Although this is never addressed, it could simply be a symbolic method used to ring the bell in the watcher’s head to let them know when they’re following the developments of Jack the Ripper.

As the murders continue, Adderline recognizes signs that the acts are being committed in a ritualistic fashion. The bodies are arranged in a pentacle star shape throughout the city, the women’s items arranged near their corpses in a similar fashion, the organs that are removed so precisely and deliberately. At one point a letter accompanies a box with half a kidney, where Ripper proclaims to have eaten the other half.

Jack the Ripper’s true identity is revealed to be that of Sir William Gull; a respected Freemason and surgeon that is working under the orders of the Queen Alexandra to dispose of the witnesses to Albert’s marriage to commoner Ann. Gull expresses obvious love and concern for the Prince Albert, who is suffering from syphilis. When we first meet him, Gull is a small, kindly man in his seventies, that greets inspector Frederick Adderline at a show, and willingly provides crucial information about the killings and weapons used. However, he quickly deters Adderline from suspecting him by revealing he had a stroke that caused tremors (obviously untrue).

As the tale progresses and Adderline confronts Gull, we see a literal transformation overcome him. As he turns around to face the inspector, the man’s twinkly, kind eyes turn as cold and black as two coals. His voice becomes deeper, his shoulders squared, and his back straighter. His prestigious mind and meticulous words become dark, despondent. Frightening. He claims that the mitre and the pentacle are symbols that course with energy and meaning and that HE is that energy and meaning. That he will be remembered for ushering in a new century.

When at last William Gull believes he commits his final murder, he is placed before a jury of Freemasons. The devil is gone from his eyes, the deep bass from his voice, and suddenly he looks small again as we watch the scene flip between his trial, and the Queen discussing the mission she had given him. The watcher realizes then that in a way, Sir William Gull, Jack the Ripper, was also just a victim of circumstance and social hierarchy. Even as he is being judged and sentenced, William Gull believes that his actions were the true actions of a believer, and that it is only the “Great Architect” that can declare judgement on him. The man is then lobotomized in the same fashion as Ann Cook, and locked away alone and naked, with the glassy blue eyes of the forgotten.

[btshogwarts]

Commentator

Members: J-Hope Centric, Suga, Jin Word Count: 2,457 Year: 2008 Note: *J-Hope’s joke explanation - A Wronski Feint is a move Quidditch players use. Neville Longbottom fainted when he heard a mandrake scream. Feint. Faint. Get it? I’ve been listening to Jin’s dad jokes too much I recon. 

More on McGonagall’s interactions with Yoongi to come? Who do you guys wanna see more of? Also which ships do you guys love the most?

Pleeeeeease Jin!” Hoseok practically begged to his older friend as they sat across from each other at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. Jin continued to read the Daily Prophet, munching down on his fifth piece of toast as he ignored his younger friend.

“Why can’t you just ask her for me?” He continued.

“Why can’t you just ask her yourself?” Jin asked, placing his newspaper down from directly in front of his face to give Hoseok a good look at his questioning eyes.

“Because she’s older than me and so are you. And she’s a Slytherin, I don’t know any Slytherin’s it would...just be...weird.” Hoseok attempted to explain.

Jin sighed, “Well firstly that’s a lie because you know Yoongi and he’s a Slytherin. Ask him.”

“I already did and he launched a screaming yo-yo at my head!… I can still hear their shrieks now.” Hoseok replied dramatically, letting his head fall into his hands. “Come on! Auditions are being held tomorrow I don’t have much time.”

Seokjin chuckled in reply, “You’re just scared to talk to a girl.”

“I am NOT! I talk to girls all the time.”

“Name one and when we go to Hogsmeade next I’ll buy you whatever dumb quidditch book you want.” Yoongi interrupted, coming to sit down next to Jin.

“...umm well there is this girl in my year...who umm, well she umm she sits next to me in one of my classes...umm, in err in Herbology, yeah Herbology and-”

“I thought you sat next to that weird Gryffindor Eddie kid for Herbology?” Yoongi replied causing Seokjin to smirk.

“...the lesson in question doesn’t matter!” Hoseok blew up bright red.

“Have a little bit of courage Hobi, you’re normally super sociable, what’s the worst that could happen?” Seokjin comforted.

“He could embarrass himself in front of a pretty fifth year and not be allowed to try out this year or any other year for that matter.” Yoongi replied. Seokjin looked at Yoongi. Yoongi looked nervously at Seokjin. Yoongi laughed awkwardly and quickly excused himself before Seokjin could beat his ass up.

“I just really want to be able to commentate. It’s not fair that first years aren’t allowed to audition. Whoever gets it this year probably wont give up the position until I’ve already left Hogwarts.”

“Mathematically that’s impossible but I understand your dilemma.” Seokjin smiled warmly, “If you really want this Hoseok, you have to fight for it. Don’t let someone else win just because they’re a year older.”

-

Timidness was replaced with determination as Hoseok strode up towards were the auditions were being held, his boots heavy on the mushy ground of the Quidditch Pitch. His robes were too big for his first year body and so they trailed lowly in the freshly soaked ground, dirtying the edge of his cloak and making the inside of his socks wet to his skin. He could see a large line of people waiting. Some looked nervous, others looked confident, some looked like they didn’t even want to be there; non held the absolute dire need in their eyes as Hoseok did.

“Are you here to audition?” A pretty soft spoken Gryffindor girl asked Hoseok with a polite smile as he stood nervously, eyeing the rest of the students.

“E-Erm, yes! Yes I am!”

“And what year are you in?” Another seemingly bossier girl who Hoseok recognised as Alice Lambert piped in.

“Um I’m a first year.” Hoseok replied quietly.

“No.” Alice said firmly.

“Alice! Surely you could at least hear him ou-” The Gryffindor girl tried to reason, only to be cut off by Alice’s sigh and a roll of her eyes.

“I-I know I’m only a first year but I know EVERYTHING there is to know about Quidditch!” Hoseok attempted to defend himself, “I know every team and every player and every move. I’ve listened to every podcast former commentator Lee Jordan has taken part in. And I’ve got a good eye too! So I can see whats going on at all times and I-”

“Maybe next year.” Alice said with a softer voice than before. Hoseok’s booming determination shattered with the mere three words.

“You won’t even give me a chance?” Hoseok fell extremely sad to which the pretty Gryffindor looked heartbroken at.

“Oh come on Alice, team spirit remember?” She attempted to persuade her.

“We aren’t on the same team,” Alice began, “and if we accept one first year we’ll have to accept them all, its unfair to everyone else we’ve turned away. I’m really sorry but we just don’t want to stress any new students out with the role of commentator.”

“I don’t think it would be stressful, and even if it is I’ll push through it and work hard, I promise!”

“Look,” Alice said firmly, “I get you really want this but a first year is just not what we’re looking for. I’m sorry. You can try out next year.”

Hoseok gave a sad yet thankful smile towards the elder Gryffindor girl. He looked gloomily at the floor beneath his long bangs as a few drops of rain fell onto his dark hair from the cloudy grey skies above, finally leaving the pitch to find his friends.

-

“It’s not the end of the world Hoseok, you can always try out next year like she said.” Jin attempted to soothe the younger boy who was lying flat out on the damp grass next to the Courtyard; Jin sitting up next to him and Yoongi perched up on the moss covered Courtyard wall above them.

“The person who gets in this year isn’t going to give up the position so quickly Seokjin.” 

“I suppose not.” Jin replied, saddened that they wouldn’t even give his younger friend a chance.

“I could always sabotage them into leaving their position.” Yoongi mumbled more to himself than anyone else, contemplating his options as he looked up at the grey sky.

“No,” Jin said sternly, “because when you say ‘sabotage’ you usually mean ‘scare’, ‘inflict pain’ or ’cause some kind of damage’, and when you say ‘I’ you usually mean ‘we’, and we don’t need anymore complaints on your behalf really, do we?” He complained, causing a gummy smirk from Yoongi to seemingly light up the dim courtyard.

“I appreciate you wanting to cause chaos on my behalf but I want to do this by myself,” Hoseok sighed loudly, “My dreams are DEAD!”

“Yah, be quiet! You know we’re not meant to be out here right now, do you wanna get caught?” Yoongi retaliated without any sympathy.

“Yes.” Yoongi simply huffed out a laugh at the younger boys cheek.

“Your dreams aren’t dead you fool,” Seokjin poked Hoseok in the stomach causing him to laugh, “There’s always hope Hobi! Sure, Quidditch games would be far more enjoyable with your comentation but you still have us to listen to you and we still appreciate your knowledge and humour, don’t we Yoongi?”

Yoongi hummed in response, “Who gives a fuck what they think, you have us as your audience.”

The elder boys’ support, whether more obviously heartfelt or not, seemed to boost Hoseok’s self esteem because he was up and running round the courtyard in no time. He had his hand next to his mouth - acting as a fake microphone - screaming his little lungs out about the last game he watched and how the Seekers feinted faster than Professor Longbottom upon hearing a Mandrake scream.* In that moment they had all forgotten about the fact they were skipping lesson. They were lost within their own laughter, completely oblivious to the fact Professer McGonagall was eyeing them the entire time.

“Mr Kim, Mr Min, Mr Jung,” The voice shocked them, halting the younger boys silly actions and quieting down the elder boys hysterical laughs, “I was hoping that this skipping of lessons would stop after last year Min.” Hoseok and Jin seemed to shy away at McGonagall’s words, but Yoongi put up a good show of looking completely unaffected. “Mr Kim, Mr Jung, I have to say I’m surprised to find you two here. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

“Sorry Professor.” The three boys chimed simultaneously, Hoseok’s voice being a lot quieter and shakier than that of his elder friends considering this was his first run in with breaking school rules. 

“I don’t like to assume that one of you influenced the others but its becoming quite hard not to,” McGonagall sighed, “Mr Min, wait in my office for me please. Do you remember the password?”

“I sure do.” Yoongi sent a smile to the two boys, obviously not at all phased by being sent to the Head’s Office.

McGonagall sighed, “Mr Kim, I’ll be deducting 5 housepoints from Hufflepuff, now please get back to the lesson to which you should be attending. Mr Jung, if you would like to follow me please.” Once McGonagall turned her back to walk away, Hoseok sent a worried glance towards the tall Hufflepuff left behind him. Hoseok had been told numerous times that McGonagall was a kind and fair Professor, but he couldn’t help but worry about what impending doom could be waiting for him as he followed the Headmistress throughout the castle corridors. He was a worrier.

As Hoseok followed behind McGonagall, her tall frame towering over his very petite one, he twirled his fingers around one another, desperately looking along the castle walls for something to preoccupy his worrying mind. McGonagall stopped in front of a classroom, a teacher was busy with writing out pronunciations on a board up front whilst students took notes and sent paper swans elegantly through the air to one another. McGonagall instructed Hoseok to wait outside for her, hearing a faint request of, “Excuse me Professer, do mind my intrusion, may I borrow Victoria for a moment,” before returning with a Seventh Year Slytherin who looked just as worried as Hoseok did. Hoseok felt almost star struck seeing Victoria, the current Commentator, in person.

“Victoria, this is Hoseok, I think I may have found you a perfect commentator!” McGonagall’s eyes lit up as the familiar scene with different faces played out before her.

Victoria’s eyes opened in shock, “Oh yeah, Hoseok!” She said with familiarity causing confusion to bubble within Hoseok’s mind. Hoseok had never been so red in all his life. ‘She knows who I am?’

“You mean, I’m not being punished?” Hoseok asked, confusion and questions blaring his already overly emotional mind.

McGonagall smiled warmly, “You’re a good student Mr Jung, just don’t let me find you skipping lesson again. Victoria, I assume you can take it from here?”

“Of course Professor,” The tall Slytherin replied as McGonagall hurried off down the nearest corridor corner, “Must be dealing with that Yoongi boy again, she’s always in a rush when speaking to him.”

“Yoongi isn’t a bad kid y’know.” Hoseok replied defensively. 

“Oh I know, I didn’t say he was, he seems like a good friend to have.” Victoria replied, motioning Hoseok to follow her, “He attempted to talk to me yesterday about you but I was studying. My friends passed a message on to me though. I didn’t think he was being serious.”

“He wanted to talk about me?” Hoseok was visibly confused causing the Seventh year to laugh.

“Don’t worry, nothing bad. It was about this whole you being commentator, I didn’t think he was serious. He plays a lot of jokes in dorm so…” Hoseok nodded in understanding, “Sorry I didn’t take it seriously.”

“It’s no problem. Where are we going?” Hoseok questioned.

“Quidditch Pitch.” Victoria was straightforward enough and Hoseok felt awfully comfortable despite all of the feelings he felt earlier on.

Hoseok followed the tall Slytherin out onto the Quidditch Pitch, the rain falling a little more now but the Autumn air was still warm and not uncomfortable to be out in without a robe. As they approached the still auditioning group of students Hoseok became worried, “So do you think I could actually be commentator? I tried to audition today but was turned down because I’m a first year.”

“You’re a first year?” Victoria stopped abruptly sounding shocked, “You speak so confidently for someone so young! That’s really good!”

She continued to walk, slipping past the group of students waiting to audition and the group of girls, including Alice Lambert, who were judging them.

“Who told you you couldn’t audition?”

“That Alice girl.”

Victoria rolled her eyes, beginning to step up the long wooden staircases of the Slytherin Quidditch Tower, “Ignore her. She’s just angry she didn’t get to try out her first year.” Hoseok laughed in response, desperately trying to keep up with her as she almost flew to the top of the tower. 

This was the first time Hoseok had stood amongst the stands. The yearly Quidditch games had not yet begun and due to this being his first year he had not had the chance to be in the stands. He’d been to live Quidditch matches of course, but this experience was different and was special to him. Although he stood peering out amongst the greens and silvers of Slytherin, he did not care to focus on house rivalry at this particular moment. The view of the old castle, to which he called his home, paired with the shimmering black lake, the almost alive forest surrounding them and the now pale orange sky sent whatever question he was going to ask next into his next lifetime. It was like he could feel the history of this pitch and Hogwarts within him, a history that he wanted to be a part of, a history that contained so much pain and joy simultaneously that the overly emotional first year shook with excitement and held back a tear threatening to escape.

“I’ve been here for seven year and I’ve never seen someone react so fondly to this view, especially on a gloomy evening like right now.” Victoria vocalised her thoughts upon seeing Hoseok’s genuine joy at being present there.

Hoseok was positive that he wanted nothing more from life than to be up here as long as possible. His determination had again set in. The kind words and the constant encouragement from his friends and teachers replayed through his mind as he looked out from the Commentating stand.

“What do I have to do?”

- “B-But he’s a first year!” “I get the final decision on who succeeds me so shut up Alice.” - “Hyung, you do love me though admit it!” “Will you be quiet!” “You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to try to help me if you didnnnn’t” “I’m not getting you a Quidditch book at all if you continue this attack Hoseok.”

[mateoshea-blog]

Pink Clouds & Pocket Lint

Part I

            “Grabmeuhcouplecokes… cotton mouth y’kno?” as Fast Eddie chokes out the last toke of the roach. Quickly, Fast Eddie stashes the funky skunky stuff into an old oxidized ALTOIDS can – MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN, NT WT 1.76 OZ (50g). Fast Eddie had this logic that if he collected all his roaches, he could pawn off the “1.76 OZ of homegrown” to some free-lancing left-brained Polo wearing yuppie college kid for 50 bones. If anyone could pull a stunt like that, it was Fast Eddie.

“Yafuckinkiddinme! ‘Spose I’ll hoof it across the street to PAULIE’S CORNER STORE since Pizza Face and Pretty Boy both got Cerebral Palsy all-a-sudden” – Yeah, that’s the villain I been scheming with since I got clipped from the umbilical cord. Fast Eddie, guy was a maniac with a potato head. But, his barber scalped a fade around his temples to precision. Jesus, I mean his barber was his actual wingman. He’d tell us to go to the gay barber. We’d be sitting in at SPEEDY’S CUTS while Fast Eddie was choppin’ the locks and we’d overhear,

“Fast Eddie what work will my soft hands be doing today?”

And Fast Eddie would dish it right back, “If you wanna play with more than these locks later, what would you want my sex hair to look like in the morning?”

Just like that, Fast Eddie had undercooked and greasy golden French fries atop his potato head. Slicked back and thin cut, ready to serve. Ready to be swallowed into a cheap customer’s mouth.             That’s why the drunks, gays, straights, in betweeners, freaks, creeps, geeks and neighbors all liked the fucking guy. Blue collar, told it how it was, and even offered a third hand when his other two were tied up someone else’s ass!

            I could see Fast Eddie still jerking around across the street. Shootin’ the shit with the local folk. More than just a “It’s so warm in here!” small talk guy. Nobody remembers the shmuck with a dull personality. Fast Eddie could make a blind guy fantasize about the cashier at PAULIE’S just by the way he worked his tongue into imagery. He had it.  Coupleuhcokes turns into Fast Eddie holding the door open for any pretty broad that gives him the slightest amount of eye contact (the polarizing effect of a good haircut). Perfect case study for Freud.

 The musty haze of the hotboxed jalopy paranoid the living daylights outta me! We could get high in any partatown and Fast Eddie always coerced us to smoking in his car. Never got to enjoy my high, could never even tell if I was even high at all. The mirrors read “OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR” – that’s for damn sure. Mirrors were always staring at me with a never-ending time-warped nightmare. I’d get stuck in the mud with the Piggy’s that busted me with the joint that was burning away my dreams of CALIFORNIA COAST. I could only roll in this mud pit for so long until the objects in the mirror become reality.

            Julian senses that one of my classic paranoia episodes is imminent. An observant learner, personal therapist, and mediator. Some of his unpaid roles. He uses the crank on both doors to roll down the clouded condensated windows.

“Carlton man, you love riding on the shoulder” chuckled Julian as he lounged in the plush back seat of the Caravelle.

“This is why I hate smokin’ grass, now you’re speaking straight from the hole that I call your CHAFFED LOOSE ASS!”

“Naw man… see listen, you ride the shoulder too much. That motherfucker ahead is always driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit. You let him. And he owns you. He holds you back. He controls the rate at which you reach your destination. Shiiiit, if you ever reach it. You can’t pass him, you stay leaning on that white cozy shoulder called COMFORTABILITY. When you gonna pass the mothefucker ahead of you that’s been controlling you? When you gonna take EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE?” 

I can’t even flip this one on Julian, “Yeah well I can’t ride yours and Fast Eddie’s coattails for too long now. IMFUCKINFREEVILLE has a population of some twenty million people. Once the weather vane in my oversaturated brain oozes out some hope and blows WESTWARD, I will pass that motherfucker ahead of me. No turning signal either. Imma trade in the cozy white shoulder for some dotted yellow cheese.”

“Carlton… that motherfucker dragging ass is YOU. Pass him with a prayer, leave him in the rearview.”

Julian, the backseat monk. Met him after I graduated high school. P.F. Flyer’s always crispy white, not ever one crease, not ever one scuff. Always thought he would become some materialistic rich prick. Prejudgment without contempt. Stupid me. Materialism attached to the developing brains of us high schoolers. Some shake it and others go to Universities to chase degrees that breed greed. Julian didn’t let the manmade cancer infiltrate him. He ended up rolling with us Proletariat outlaws. Somewhere, Karl Marx is grinning at me for my recruitment.

We had 30 minutes, precisely, to make it to the liquor store. Saturday’s were always the night for our bender.

Fast Eddie had this shit-eatin’ grin on his face when jogged back over the ’85 Caravelle, “Christ Almighty! Fast Eddie were you rubbing one out in PAULIE’S bathroom or sumthin’? We’re alloutta Jameson and you know we are 20 miles from the liquor store and it’s already 8:30!”

Liquor stores were no joking matter, we only found one that never had us show I.D. Plus, Fast Eddie grew a liking to the geyser that worked there. A sad babbling sack of space that got comfortable and stuck with one job his whole life. Bubbling and babbling, day in and day out. Shook so many times that he eventually became flat too.

“Pizza Face and Pretty Boy… always so self-interested. Gonna catch up to you shits soon enough.” Fast Eddie inserted the crusted key into the ignition of the Caravelle – DOOOP, DOOOP, DOOOP. God knows how many germs were on that steering wheel. Thick coats of compiled grease, excess secretions, and the fluids from various estranged females that Fast Eddie coxed in to his traveling fuck-pen. Law of superposition says oldest layers were on the bottom. I’d rather not know these things, but the smell invades my nostrils like the troops on D-DAY. Can’t even condition or desensitize myself to this aroma. Unrelenting attacks by the smell of Fast Eddie’s ball sweat and lingering remnants of a poor mans weed. I want to take a shower. 

“Saturday Night. Dropping the needle down on a dusty B-Side for all you crazed, erotic, and hormonal souls cruising around looking for trouble. How about that L.A. WOMAN track… 1971. The Doors.” Slick Tom, our favorite disc jockey the night of a bender. Always reliable to set the tone.

Fast Eddie pounced on the pedal as Jim Morrison screeched sonic sex through the speakers, “Oh shit yeah fellas, we’re on the move. ‘MR. MOJO RISIN!’”

We punched it onto RT. 5. The faster route according to Fast Eddie, but it was actually the scenic route for him. He loved cruising past the prestigious Victorian style homes and dissecting what kind of conversations happen between the walls of those monasteries.

Fed up with the scenery after 3 miles, Fast Eddie barks “I bet these rich prick Dad’s just read the STOCK MARKET page in section B5 of the WALL STREET JOURNAL and ask their rich prick wives and rich prick kids where they wanna go on vacation next once the rich prick Dad’s inside trade deal hits on Monday morning.” 

“Put the boner back in your pants, you’ll get your dividends too once you start pushing your roach filled ALTOIDS cans to the future homeowners of these fucking houses!”

Fast Eddie snapped right back at me, “I swear I’ll ash my next roach on that smirk of yours, Pizza Face. Maybe that’ll make you look more appetizing.”

Julian leaned in from the backseat, “AN ENDLESS PISSING MATCH, don’t your sacks ever go dry? Your testicles are attached right to your egos. Big swollen ball sacks swinging back and forth back and forth. Blowing your load all over one another day in and day out! It’s exhausting, your egos need a vasectomy!”

Just like that, right when Fast Eddie and I erupted, Julian cooled us down at the surface like molten rock. Crystallizing and metamorphosing into conglomerate. Needed him to flush our egos out. Needed to stop treating him like my urinal cake.

Fast Eddie swerved and weaved around the slow-moving masses of society that had no agenda for the night. Maybe they did. Maybe this is my self-interested motivations speaking again. I hated how maliciously Fast Eddie rounded the corners. Guard rails could’ve skinned my fingertips if I cracked the window open. This was Fast Eddie’s route. Knew every stop sign, timed every red light, and new all the lucrative hideouts where the Piggy’s patrolled.

            It was 8:47, the odometer of the Caravelle twitched another mile on the dash. Only two miles remained between the three Proletariat outlaws and our enabler.

            My second paranoia episode ensues, “Holy Shit Fast Eddie, you’re doing 55 in a school zone!”

            “Who says I wanna choke down Jameson tonight? I’ll turn into De Niro from TAXI DRIVER if you don’t shut the hell up”

            Just like that GUMBALLS GUMBALLS GUMBALLS flash in the mirrors. Objects in the mirror are becoming closer than they appear. Nightmare come true. I’m fucking doomed. We are fucking doomed. My self-interest putting me first.

            “GODFUCKINGDAMMIT EDDIE! Mile away, no traffic, all interstate and now I’m gonna get jammed up with the Pigs!”

            Fast Eddie retaliates, “Me, me, me! You squeal just like a fucking pig!” He takes the pressure from my brain and applies it to the pedal, POUNCE.

            Julian has been around Fast Eddie enough to know that he will go to extremes to prove a point, “Fast Eddie c’mon man be cool, WE all ain’t trying to get canned. WE got living to do.”

            Fast Eddie has that same shit-eatin’ grin that I seen earlier, “Fine I’ll pull this piece over. But, you don’t speak Pig Latin, got it?”

            “What the hell do you mean!”

That’s all I was left to work with during my waning moments of freedom. The cop high tailed it over to the Caravelle. Tiny hairs, all a half inch long stick straight up and down on the officer’s fat head. Level one blade to navigate his temples, had to be Fast Eddie’s barber. I’m sweating bullets. The plate tectonics of my face begin to emerge. Premature pimples surface and I feel the magma boiling under the crust of my skin.

            Fast Eddie rolls down the window, “HANDS ON THE WHEEL OR BRAINS ON THE WHEEL NOW”

            My stomach launches acid into the back of my throat. Fast Eddie complies. Answers to an authority figure. No finger-fucking around.

            “NOT ONLY ARE YOU THREE LITTLE SHITS A LIABILITY ON THIS ROAD, DO I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE YOU WERE SMOKING MARIJUANA?”

            Julian hasn’t flinched and Fast Eddie’s mute. Fast Eddie’s still got that shit-eatin’ grin on his face.

“AM I SPEAKING FUCKIN GREEK? IS THERE MARIJUANA IN THIS VEHICLE, THIS IS THE LAST TIME I WILL ASK BEFORE I SHAKE YOU DOWN TO YOUR PALE PEACH FUZZED ASSES!”

            In my peripheral I see the ALTOIDS can staring at me. Rusted smile, MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN. 1.75 OZ – damn near weightless. But, enough weight to land me in the sin bin.

Enough to land us in the sin bin.

            The Cop begins laughing, I mean really fucking laughing. The wild Pig chased his pray down and now he is foaming at the mouth. Ha-HA-HA-hahaha’ing until there is no oxygen remaining in his bloated stomach. Almost as if the funky stuff has protruded from the ALTOIDS can and immediately hit his bloodstream.

“ALRIGHT FAST EDDIE, THESE ARE THE PROLETARIAT OUTLAWS EH? OUR MOUSE TRAP COULDN’T CAPTURE A RAT!” 

Fast Eddie’s dimples break out from his skin for the first time in a decade, “Thanks OFFICER LAFFERTY! Next hoagie from PAULIE’S CORNERSTORE is on me!”

“I’ll take the ALTOIDS can instead… when it’s full.” He replies. Walks away, swinging his Billy-club.

Fast Eddie peeps his dilated eyes into the corner of  the mirror, glancing at Julian. “Pretty Boy whatsamatta! You didn’t croak! You didn’t squeal! Conglomerate don’t crack!”

Julian boasted,“Yeah, RATS don’t survive by scurrying on the shoulder. Too scared to chase the dotted yellow cheese if ya know what I mean. I gotta eat, I mean… WE gotta eat.”

“Amen.”

And, just like that comfortability didn’t appeal to me anymore. Lit the roach, took a toke, exhaled. Puff puff pass to Julian puff puff pass to Fast Eddie, and back to me. Repeat. Fast Eddie inserted the rusted key into the ignition – BOOOP BOOOP BOOOP. Slick Tom was steady playing them classic B-Sides. Liquor store was closed. Detour: EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE.