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litwitlady · 3 years ago

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The 3x08 fic I was writing in case 3x08 didn’t end with Malex goodness. It’s unedited and very raw, so be gentle.

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Michael sits next to Alex on his lowered tailgate and hands him a beer. It had been a long, stressful day, but they had managed to help Maria pull herself free from Jones and were well on their way to saving Max as well. “To a damn good day.”

They clink their bottles together and drink in silence as the sun sets behind the junkyard. There’s no space between them; Michael hadn’t cared to leave any. He’s no longer interested in hiding what he wants from the person he most wants. That being said, he still hasn’t figured out exactly what to say to Alex about the future he hopes for both of them, still too used to Alex running at the mention of any kind of permanence.

“We make a pretty good team,” Alex says, staring down at his boots.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Michael knocks their shoulders together, pulling a smile from Alex.

“I’m not. Not really.” He takes a long drink, swipes at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Michael watches him pick at the label on the bottle and knows he’s locked in a battle with himself. Always at war, never able to find peace.

“Figured out what you’re going to do about the whole Deep Sky thing?” They need to have this conversation. Michael doubts it will go well, but they’d put it off all day in order to get shit done. And now the shit is done.

Alex shakes his head. “I know what you want me to do. It’s just not so cut and dry for me.”

“Why not?

“Because this is how I’m useful. You all have this alien connection, these alien powers. But I don’t. I’ve got resources and that’s it.” He shrugs, his chin wobbling ever so slightly as he looks off into the desert and away from Michael.

“Last I checked, Liz didn’t have any alien powers, and she’s been plenty useful.”

Alex snorts, keeping his head turned away. “You and I and the whole world know that Liz’s brain is her superpower. Hell, she gives you a run for your money in that department.” He drinks from his beer again, sets it aside. “I know I sound pathetic, but I need to be more than just a cheerleader on the sidelines, Guerin. And Deep Sky is how I can do that.”

They fall silent again, less comfortable this time, tension building steadily until Michael’s afraid Alex will bolt. He opens his mouth to say something, to say anything to keep him from running, but Alex beats him to it.

“And I know this is a demand I’m putting on myself. I get that no one requires anything more from me than just showing up and being there or whatever.” He waves his hands around vaguely, his voice strained and cracked. “You’ll love my useless ass anyway, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to love myself. You know?”

“Yeah.” And the thing is, Michael does know. He’s always struggled with self-worth and feeling like he has to earn his place. He understands that Alex has too, just maybe in a quieter way, held deep inside unlike Michael’s volatile messiness. “I can’t fix that for you.”

“I know. And I’m working on it. I promise. It’s just not going to change overnight.” He turns back to Michael, offers him a small smile now that he’s controlled his emotions somewhat.

“Well, from one self-loathing fuck to another, me too.” He returns Alex’s smile and they both grab their beers again, taking a much-needed break from too many words spoken and shared and unable to be taken back. But regardless of the tension still sitting heavy between them, Michael feels giddy, lightheaded, full of hope.

“It’s just, you know, even Ramos didn’t choose me because of any actual skill. He chose me because an alien boy batted his eyelashes at me once and I handed over my entire life to him without question. Fall in love with an alien and get full access to Deep Sky’s darkest secrets.” He laughs, derisive and sharp. “This is too much self-pity. Sorry.”

“No need for sorry. And I’m pretty sure I never batted my eyes.” Michael considers what he’s said and struggles to find better words to say what he wants to say. And maybe that’s half the reason they have so much trouble talking, trying to find the perfect words rather than just saying what they feel no matter how bullshit it sounds. “But I do think that maybe that is your superpower, no matter how cheesy it sounds.”

Alex scoffs and kicks his foot in the dirt. “My hard-on for alien ass is my superpower?”

“No, love is. I know that sounds like a line out of a sappy 90s romcom.”

“It really does.”

“But, it’s true. You love so freely, so openly, so completely that you were able to entirely change my mind about humanity. And that is power, Alex, maybe the greatest power.” Alex looks at him, brows knitted together like he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of Michael’s mouth, lips already shaped into an argument. “And your capacity for love is made all the more amazing knowing it’s something no one ever really taught you how to do. So I’ve got to give Uncle Ed some credit; he chose you for the right reasons.”

Alex’s face crumples, his eyes shine with unshed tears, and he stares down at his hands for several beats before sliding off the tailgate and taking several steps forward. Michael’s heart races, his stomach plummets because he’s said too much, gone too far, struck a nerve best left alone. He swallows hard and girds himself for Alex’s inevitable next move now that things have gotten too raw for comfort.

But Alex doesn’t run. He stays put, still and quiet, staring down at his boots and then into the distance toward the mountains. Putting his hands on his hips, he takes several loud, steadying breaths and turns back to Michael. His cheeks are tear-streaked and there’s enough emotion left on his face to take Michael’s breath away. He hasn’t run, he hasn’t hidden himself away. So Michael reaches out his hand and tugs him back onto the tailgate.

“Since I’m on a bit of a roll,” Michael starts, pausing while Alex laughs and swipes at the tears wetting his cheeks, “you were helpful today beyond merely being ‘resource guy’. You have this knack for staying cool under pressure even when I’m spiraling into an emotional mess which made you able to see things I couldn’t. And now we have an entire alien language we need to decode and last I heard, you were a pretty good codebreaker. And if Eduardo is as good a man as you think he might be, I don’t see how it should matter if you’re in Deep Sky or not. He should help you on principle.”

Alex clears his throat and laughs again, the sound music to Michael’s ears. “When did you get so good at this?”

“I’ve been attending the Kyle Valenti School for Wayward Boys. That asshole’s really quite effective and it pisses me off to admit that.”

“I hate that about him.” They grin at each other, thankful they can joke over Valenti now that he’s safe and sound and fully under Liz’s protection. “Thank you, Michael. For everything, for today. We really do make a great team.”

“We do. And that’s what we’re going to continue to be, yeah?” He looks at Alex, catching his eye and holding on, trying to communicate beyond words now.

“Yeah.” Alex holds his gaze, and Michael knows that they’re on the same page. Finally. “You can kiss me now.”

It’s Michael’s turn to scoff. “Who says I want to kiss you?”

Alex just raises a single eyebrow and fists Michael’s jacket collar tight, yanking him forward. Michael takes the direction as always, letting Alex put him right where he wants him. The kiss is soft and lingering, a simple reconnection more than their usual carnal immediacy. But they have time now, so much time.

Michael pulls back. “Kyle Valenti only wishes he were this good.”

“Shut up, Guerin.” Alex kisses him again, smiling against Michael’s lips.

#malex #malex fic #unedited and presented as is #maybe my last reunion fic ever #not even putting this on ao3

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years ago

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Is That Your Blood? Prompt Fill

Jon is missing. Martin and Tim need to get him back.

cw blood, references to nonconsensual touching canon typical of the circus, canon typical levels of Tim being self destructive

This is one I wrote last week for my bingo prompts! I have started writing the another, but please be patient with me I got very behind doing things while I was writing so much and now I am mostly caught up but the serotonin and motivation levels are low. I am still accepting bingo prompts, but again it might be slow going for a bit. Let me know if you want art or fic and which character you want! (Pro tip, I am much faster at the art). The starred prompts are ones I already have and have outlined, the crossed out ones are already written and posted. Card by the wonderful @celosiaa

Jon is missing.

Tim should have known it immediately. He should have noticed the second he was gone. But Jon had gone to see Georgie, and wasn’t clear if he was planning on staying with her or going back to Tim’s flat. He should have known Jon would have come back if he could. He had been glued to either Martin’s or Tim’s side.

Just barely well enough to work. Still small and weak and breakable. Still occasionally dizzy. Still aching headed when he worked for too long. Hands still painful and sore.

And he’s gone. And Tim should have known sooner.

And there is one smug bastard who could tell him where Jon is, but the slimy twat just gives him a placid smile saying “he doesn’t know.” Utter bullshit.

Which is why Martin and Tim have a whole box of statements and a lighter.

When Elias storms out of his office, Tim gives him the most innocent of smiles, as if he isn’t actively holding a burning statement in the middle of the hall. “Oh hey, double boss, how’s it hanging?”

Elias looks very very angry, but also like he is trying to look nonplussed. And failing. “These documents are for archiving, not kindling. There will be repercussions for these actions.”

Tim drops his smile. “And there are repercussions for whatever you’ve done to Jon. I don’t care what you do to me, I’ll set the whole archives alight if you don’t tell me where he is.”

Something dangerous and self destructive and manic must have shown on Tim’s face, because Elias grumble something about it probably being long enough anyhow and finally gives them an address, which Martin is scribbling down before Elias can even turn on his heel.

“Well that went well!” Says Tim brightly.

Martim hmmmms. “We might want to be concerned about those repercussions? But… we can worry about that once Jon is back.”

Tim snorts. “What can he do? Not like he can even fire us. And if he does, we’re better off.”

Martin drops his burning statement in the bin, looking unreasonably disappointed about the lack of continued arson that they would be committing, (or rather wouldn’t be committing). “But you won’t leave until we’ve stopped the Unknowing.”

Tim’s face darkens again. He can feel it, and he doesn’t care at all. “You’re right.”

“Right… You will try and come back from it… Please?”

Tim shrugs. “Ask me once we get Jon back.”

The drive to the wax museum is tense. Things are easier between Martin and Tim than they have been in months, but their shared concern is palpable. Jon is missing. Jon is kidnapped. Jon is possibly hurt. The circus has Jon. The Circus. That Circus Tim has screamed himself awake over more nights than he can count. And he wishes that he could just set the whole thing on fire right now. he doesn’t want to wait, now that he knows where they are.

Fuck caution. Fuck everything. He wants his revenge.

But… but Jon.

He can’t lose Jon.

Not like he lost…..

He can’t even think their names without shattering like thin glass dropped in boiling water.

They find Jon. He isn't guarded. He's tied to a chair, very naked, very bruised, and very bloody. He's suspiciously shiny looking and smells strongly of something artificial and floral.

He's shivering. And Tim's blood boils.

Jon was just starting to heal! And Tim knows the heavy bruising might partly be due to EDS, but this is absurd. He shouldn't be bruised at all!

Jon is hunched over, small and shaking and barely conscious. Hiding from the world behind his tangled and greasy hair.

"Shit, Jon, is that all your blood?" Martin squeaks.

It is, clearly. Jon isn't with it enough to even notice them, but the blood on his face and chest is clearly from a bloody nose, and the blood on his wrists and ankles look to be from where the rope is biting into him.

Martin rushes forward. Tim is frozen in place. Frozen in anger and terror, just like he had been all there's years ago. This won't happen again. This can't happen again. He can't survive losing someone else to this... whatever the HELL this is. He can't do it. Not again.

Jon screams the moment Martin touches him. Or tries to. It's then that Tim notices the gag in Jon's mouth.

That does it. THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS THEY COULD HAVE KILLED JON. JON HAS ATHSMA. HE COULD HAVE FUCKING DIED. HE COULD HAVE FUCKING DIED THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TOO LATE. JON COULD HAVE DIED BECAUSE OF A STUPID CLOTH IN HIS MOUTH.

While Tim is trying not to scream or punch a wall or spontaneously combust, Martin is speaking softly to Jon, probably trying to get Jon to recognize him as something real and tangible and not a threat. Tim sees Jon timidly nod in response to Something Martin says, and Martin gently removes the gag. Touching Jon as little as possible.

Jon starts sobbing.

Tim can see Martin's heart break.

Jon had been getting so affectionate with them. Leaning into every touch, instead of backing away. Now... he's more skittish than ever. Tim takes a few deep breaths before finally walking over.

"Hey, buddy. Do you think I could untie you?"

Jon stares at him for a long moment.

Tim raises his hands so Jon can see he doesn't have any weapons or anything.

Jon slowly nods, twisting painfully in his seat so he can watch. His movement tightening his bonds. Making Tim's job considerably harder, but... that's fine. Keeping Jon calm is important.

Tim's goal has to stay saving Jon, and if he sees any member of the Circus, he is sure to lose sight of that in favor of revenge, consequences be damned.

They get Jon free, and he immediately curls into a stiff little ball, whimpering. Crying harder when anyone tries to touch him. Tim goes to fetch a blanket from his car. Jon might feel a little less afraid if he is less exposed. Not to mention, Tim would like to keep his car not blood-soaked if he has the option. And he wants to keep Jon warm. That should be his top priority.

It quickly becomes apparently that Jon can't walk. He can barely move. Sore from the bruises and being tied up.

"Jon, would it be alright to pick you up? We need to get out of here." Martin. God bless his gentle voice. God bless Jon's infatuation. Jon bites his lip hard, but nods. He's wrapped tightly in the blanket now, face half hidden in it, flakes of dried blood starting to come loose from his face and decorating the blanket. He flinches away from the hands lifting him, and he bites back a whimper, then a scream. And Tim isn't sure if it's the horror of whatever he's been through, or the pain he's in, or the lingering vertigo, but he is hurting and it breaks Tim's heart.

They make it out. Martin spends the several hour drive in the backseat. Trying to get some water and painkillers and dramamine into Jon. (The last thing Jon needs s to be carsick in this state). Jon just shivers and weeps. Eventually trusting Martin enough to cling to him like he is the only solid thing in the world.

By the time they reach Tim's flat, Jon is calm enough that he lets Tim and Martin guide him to the bath tub. Jon very, very timidly consents to them helping him wash up. (And only after he had been left alone in the tub and almost fainted trying to stand to shower and bringing all the soaps crashing down around him.)

Tim gets to work on his hair, while Martin gently starts working the blood and grime and... is that lotion? off of Jon.

Jon slowly relaxes. Slowly starts to realize that he is really back with Martin and Tim. That they won't touch anywhere that he doesn't want them to. And he goes effectively boneless when the tub is drained, and Tim gives him a last rince with the shower, just as Tim knows Jon appreciates. That gains him a weak smile as Tim narrates what he is doing, which also seems to calm Jon. The only time he panicked during the process is when one of them touched him when his eyes slipped closed. Jon had done his best to keep his eyes open after that. But... by the end he couldn't manage it anymore. Sinking into the touch as Tim had gotten used to him doing.

Tim cooks that night. Jon wrapped in blankets, dozing fitfully on Martin, as Martin carefully keeps his hands to himself and does a bit of writing. Tim honestly can't tell if he's writing poetry or plotting his revenge upon the circus. And Tim feels a twinge in his chest. He has to survive this for them. He can't leave them. He can't leave them alone. It scares him that Jon and Martin could die in...whatever their plan ends up being. It scares him, and he won't let them die. And... and if he can survive to keep protecting them, he has to.

He makes curry. Good and hot and filling. Seasoned to Jon's preferences.

He's cooked side by side with Jon before. It's been a long time, between the baggage between them and Jon's recent illness and injuries, but he can hope Jon will cook with him again.

Jon is slightly revived by then, and feels safe enough to let himself be held, both during the parade of Buzzfeed Unsolved supernatural episodes and beyond that, once the three of them are tucked safely in Tim's bed. Jon in the middle. Martin and Tim shielding him from the world. So what if Tim sleeps with a baseball bat propped up next to his bed? So what if Martin has resumed sleeping with a corkscrew? They have Jon back, and they will not be losing him ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #whump #jonmartim #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #cw blood #cw torture #i guess #cw fire #words #fic #my words #my writing #my fic #art #my art

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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Haunting part two

Summary: Part two of haunting. Eddie and Richie try and find a way to protect their daughter

Richie and Eddie barely had the decency to wait until it was eight A.M. they hadn’t been able to sleep, to consumed with worry for their daughters safety. Eddie didn’t say anything to Richie about the yellow eyes he saw, or maybe Richie had seen them but had just though not to worry Eddie, because he wouldn’t be able to keep calm if he saw his husband panic as well.

Jessie had slept through the night peacefully, for which Eddie was grateful. He and Richie had kept wake until six A.M, when she woke up, then they had gotten up to make breakfast. Neither left her alone for a minute, standing by the bathroom door when she had to use the bathroom, dead set on not giving penny wise another chance to attack her.

They weren’t even sure if it was really penny wise, but with what Eddie saw, he didn’t want to take any chances. They called Stan first, because despite the fact that Bill was their leader, and Mikel we most about the evil creatures, Stan was the one who would listen to their ranting, and tell them honestly If they were being paranoid. He also was Richie’s best friend.

They called at eight, fully aware that Stan would be pissed beyond belief at being woken up so early. He and Patty were enjoying the last few months of a goodnight sleep, patty being pregnant for about seven months give or take.

Regardless Eddie insisted on dialing their home line, instead of their selfphone, knowing full well Patty would force Stan to pick up. After patty found out about what happened to the loser club in their youth, she had become very protective of all of them. Eddie figures that if Patty grew up with them, she definitely would have been part of the losers club.

Stan picks up after the third ring, his voice rough with sleep and annoyance when he asks; ‘why are you calling me at 8 fucking A.M?’ Richie’s holding the phone tightly in his hand. He and Eddie are sitting on the couch, watching Jessie play with her toys on the rug carpet.

They’re holding hands, and it almost feels normal, except Richie isn’t making a joke and the nervous energy buzzing around them usually isn’t present in their household. Eddie feels like he’s suffocating. ‘Hello?’ Stan asks when he doesn’t receive with a response right away. ‘Stan,’ Richie says, squeezing Eddie’s hand hard. Stan lets out a hum, indicating that he’s listening.

‘Okay so, I think Jessie is seeing Pennywise again.’ Richie pauses, but there’s no immediate response. For the first time Eddie wonders if they should’ve called someone else first, and he feels guilty for putting this on Stanley of all people. ‘She says she saw him come in a nightmare last night, and it may be a coincidence but I don’t think so. Stan I’m, I’m scared.’ Richie lowers his voice, trying not to attract the attention of Jessica.

She’s looking up from her toys to look, but doesn’t find the conversation interesting enough to keep paying attention. Eddie knows how difficult it must be for Richie to admit he’s scared, and he’s so proud of him for doing. ‘Richie’, Stan says, his voice shaky yet determined. ‘I think we need to call the other losers.’

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It takes a day before all the losers arrive at their house, and in the meanwhile neither Eddie nor Richie have slept on bit. When Beverly and Ben arrive, they force them to go to bed. Eddie argues, not wanting to leave Jessie all by herself, but Beverly told him that he wouldn’t be any help if he was dead tired.

So he and Richie went to bed, having a fitful sleep. Eddie wakes up first, and he follows the sound of his daughters giggles down to the living room. She’s on the couch with Stan and Bill, who she both loves dearly, playing a game of Pictionary. Eddie would scold them for bringing markers on expensive furniture, but right now Eddie is just mostly thankful that she’s okay and happy. He bends down and gives Jessie a kiss on her head, hoping that she hadn’t taken notice of the commotion at their house. Patty looks up when he enters the room, instantly rushing him toward the kitchen, where Beverly, Ben and Mike are huddled together, going through a few books.

‘Did you find anything’? Eddie immediately inquires. He realizes that he’s been very rude to the people he hasn’t talked to yet, including Mike who must have arrived when he and Richie were sleeping, but he finds it very hard to be polite when he can’t seem to relax for a few minutes.

Mike doesn’t mind anyway, as he throws Eddie a polite smile. He looks good, there’s worry in his eyes, because he loves Jessie as much as Eddie does, but overall good. Taking a trip around the world is bringing him nothing but positivity. Eddie briefly has a fleeting sense of gratitude when he realizes Mike must have cut his vacation short in Honolulu to be here and help.

Ben shakes his head sominly. ‘No it doesn’t make sense at all. We killed IT, we must have, considering we still all remember each other. Plus the house on Neibolt collapsed’, Ben explains, ‘it hasn’t even been 27 years.’ He makes eye contact with Beverly, who makes eye contact with Mike. It’s clear to Eddie that they’re hiding something, he’s just not sure what.

‘Eddie’, Beverly starts, pausing when Bill and Stan and Patty enter the room. ‘She’s watching tv,’ Bill soothes when he sees Eddie’s frantic eyes. Beverly and Stan share a long pause. ‘Is it possible that it was just a clown?’ Stan asks, always one to call people on their bullshit. Eddie deflates a bit, he really needs the support of the people in his house, he had no idea what else he was supposed to do.

‘We’re not saying we don’t believe you Eddie, we do. We’re just saying that everyone is a little paranoid and maybe that’s just what it is. A little bit paranoia.’ Patty is trying her best to keep everyone calm, bless her soul, but she didn’t understand what Eddie had seen.

He hadn’t told Richie either but he wasn’t giving any choice in the matter now, as he had to prove that it was Pennywise. ‘I saw IT’s eyes,’ he breathed panickily.

Everyone’s head shot up, staring at Eddie as he forced out his words. ‘I saw two yellow eyes last night in the bedroom. That’s how I knew it was IT, and not some weird coincidence.’ He doesn’t notice the figure coming up behind him, until he too speaks.

‘You did?’ Richie asks, his voice cracking. Eddie whips around to look at his husband. Richie looks disheveled, and not In the way that Eddie finds hot or attractive. Eddie’s silent, not knowing what the say. The others don’t speak either. Richie looks hurt, as if he can’t believe Eddie would keep things like this from him.

Eddie hadn’t meant too, honestly, but he didn’t want to worry Richie, and he thought he could deal with it on his own, without informing his husband.

‘Why didn’t you tell me Eddie?’ Richie asks, his voice hard. Eddie flinches at the use of his full name, not used to it coming out of Richie’s mouth. ‘I’m sorry Rich, I just didn’t see the point. I’m sorry.’ Eddie says while stepping forward to place his hands on Richie’s arm. Richie steps back before that can happen however.

‘I can’t believe you lied to me about this. Are you ducking kidding me? This is our daughters life we’re discussing here.’ Richie is angry, and Eddie knows he has every right to be, but he can’t fight with Richie now. He doesn’t have the energy too. ‘I’m sorry okay, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you with all of this.’

Instead of diffusing the situation, it seems to make Richie livid. Eddie had never seen this look on his face before. Only once, when Myra had called the police trying to force Eddie to come home with her. Richie had been consumed with rage then as well.

‘Not bother me with this? What does that even mean? I get that you want to do things on your own Eddie. You can, you don’t need to proof it every time. You’re proving your mom and Myra that you don’t need anyone fine. But have you ever considered the fact that I already know that? You’re brave and selfless and so much more than you think, but this is also my daughter. I have just as much right to be worried about Jessie as you do. You can’t keep that from me.’

The words are like a slap to Eddie��s face. It stings, but he knows Richie’s right. When the words leave Richie’s mouth, he deflates, heaving a sigh. ‘I’m sorry Eds. That was out of line.’

Eddie steps forwards and this time Richie meets him in the middle, circling his arms around his. ‘I’m just so worried.’ Eddie shakes his head, about to tell him that he’s right, when Jessie comes skipping in the kitchen. Instantly everyone pretends that nothing happened, only partly successful, but everyone does a double take when they see what she’s holding. In her right hand she’s holding onto a cord, reaching up to a deep red balloon. It floats in the air, Jessie being unaware of the panic it’s causing the people in the room.

Richie jumps forward, pulling Jessie in his arm while desperately trying to let her let go of the balloon. Eddie follows right away.

‘Where did you get that sweetheart?’ Eddie asks, feeling his heartbeat frantically in his throat. Jessie smiles brightly. ‘Mister Pennywise gave it to me. He said he was sorry for scaring, so he gave me a balloon to make up for it.’

She frowns when Bill takes the balloon out of her hands, mike getting scissors to pop it. ‘Hey, that’s a gift.’ She complains. Eddie quickly shushes her. ‘It’s okay, next time we go to a shop I’ll let you pick something else okay?’

It seems like she’s happy with that compromise because she doesn’t mention the balloon again. Patty is send away then, on stan’s request, even though she insist that she could be of help. She relents when she realizes that she’s seven months pregnant, and Eddie and Richie want to make sure that Jessie is as far away from IT as possible.

She takes Jessica to the mall, luring her with the promise of ice cream. Eddie is glad when their car pulls of the drive way, but he would feel a lot better when they finally figure out what’s going on.

He and Richie share a look, and Eddie knows that they’re okay. They’ll still talk about the fight, but for now, they’re okay. The other losers are now frantically going through the books again.

‘Wow, the books look as old as your mom’s vagina Eds’ he jokes, and Eddie rolls his eyes in annoyance. He’s glad however, that Richie is coming to himself again.

Looking through the old books Mike brought with him takes up most of the day, and by the end Eddie is ready to call it a day. He wants to protect his daughter, obviously, but reading hasn’t brought up anything, so it might be time to change the game plan. Right when the though crosses his mind however, Mike shouts excitingly. ‘I’ve found something guys.’

He’s pointing to a page in his book, but doesn’t wait until anyone can read it before turning the books towards him again and reading the passage. ‘It’s possible that a piece of the soul of this outer being is transported into something. Potentially an object or even a person. It is the last option to survive.’ Mike sounds relieved after he finishes, but Eddie honestly has no clue what to make of it. By the looks of it, neither do the others.

‘Guys’, Mike exclaims, ‘this is what happened. We killed IT, but maybe not completely. Richie, is there anything you’ve got from Jessie that you don’t recognize buying?’

Eddie thinks himself, but comes up empty handed. He honestly doesn’t know which things he bought and what Richie bought. Usually, they go shopping together. All at once it hits him. ‘Mister Cuddle’, he mumbles. Bill laughs at the name, stopping when Stan shoots him a hard look. Richie looks up, already nodding his head.

‘That’s right, I remember thinking that it was weird, but I just assumed one of you guys bought it for her.’ Everyone shakes their heads. They hadn’t purchased the stuffed animal. Ben and Richie go up to grab it, not wanting to be alone with the thing. Eddie stays downstairs to figure out a plan. ‘How are we supposed to get rid of IT?’

Eddie asks, fully prepared to do anything if it would just let his family have some peace and quiet. Mike looks at him, and his look already makes Eddie feel like he’s not going to like it.

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It smells horrendous. The fire they had set in the backyard is still burning, and it smells like burning flesh. Eddie pretty sure he’s not going to go on a camping trip any time soon. His arm is linked with Richie’s, his lip busted and Richie’s hand cut open. Killing IT completely hadn’t been easy, but they had done it, they had set the bastard on fire.

They could only hope, that this time it would be forever. A car pulls up behind them, and the losers club turns to look, everyone on edge after the past two days. It’s just Patty, carrying Jessie out of the car, fast asleep in her arms. Jessie seems to notice that she isn’t in a car anymore, her head snapping up and looking around.

Her eyes focus on her fathers, and she struggles against Patty’s grip in her hast to get down. As soon as she’s on the ground, she runs towards her fathers, who hold her tightly, happy that she’s safe. Eddie doesn’t mention it, but he swears he sees tears in Richie’s eyes. When they’re done hugging, and Jessie pulls back she scrunches up her nose. ‘Where’s mister cuddles?’ She asks, and Eddie chokes, looking at Richie for help.

All Richie can do is mutter our a small, ‘shit.’

#reddie #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier #My writing #Richie x Eddie #reddie imagine #reddie x daughter #richie x daughter #eddie imagine #eddie x daughter #it chapter two imagine

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revisionaryhistory · 5 years ago

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Three Days ~ 14

~*~Sebastian~*~

After what she said about knowing my normal wasn’t accountant normal, fans, and press I had a lot of questions. I wanted to know where she'd been, what she'd seen, and what she'd done. I wanted to hear tour stories. I really wanted to hear about the after parties. I’ve been to my share, but I was an outsider. If she's spending family holidays in fucking Hawaii she is most definitely not an outsider. I want to hear what goes on when no one else is there to see.

I went back to her Instagram to buy myself some time. I wondered why now? Why didn't she show me this sooner? Pretty instantly I realized that was bullshit. What was she supposed to do whip out her phone and say, "Look who I'm friends with”? I waited to talk about my job and friends because I didn't want that stuff to be a focus. I wanted her to get to know me apart from what I do. I think her reasoning is different. She didn't want me to think she’s a stalker, but wanted me to know she knew how to handle herself and had experience with what I was struggling to explain. Like she’d said, music and acting are different, but same enough to make this easier. Whatever this is or might be.

I wanted to scroll through her Instagram for hours. I didn't want to move from this bench where my arm was around her, she was leaning against me, and she was holding my hand. I need to know what perfume she wears. It's sweet, but not cloying. Right now, it smells like "get closer and breathe me in." Her thinking it creepy to follow me on IG after one date... well, she's right. Not that I would have noticed. Still, it's the thought that counts. It’s respectful of my privacy. Not needed since IG isn't private, but again, it's the thought that counts. Not surprising. She's been nothing but thoughtful.

I had to get up and move. I didn't want to move, but I had to get up and move. It was like last night with conversation and flirting moving back and forth, in and out. It was time to walk back a little or I was going to suggest leaving here and going back to her place. It's weird when what you want to do is also what you don't want to do. Why don't I want to, you ask? Because this is too good to rush.

The little girl definitely changed the atmosphere. I took a picture I'd text to Emma later. I wasn't really focusing on the Irish dancing. I try to stay in the moment, but I was all in my head. I stood behind her, a little to the side, where I could see her and put my hand on the small of her back.

It was taking a chance asking out a girl I'd met in a grocery store. I'd like to say that every new couple has to figure out their place in the other's world and with friends. And while that's true, it's very different. Take all that normal stuff I just mentioned and tack on paparazzi, people posting things on social media, or selling stories to tabloids. Press will try to get to her, find out about her. Even worse, my fans will. They can be worse than any tabloid. They hold definite opinions on my life and three times as many opinions about my love life. I've taken a big step back from social media for those reasons and how awful fans can be to each other. That's the worst. I can ignore what they say to me and about a girlfriend, it’s part of it. But when they fight each other, bully someone who did nothing but have an opinion about me different from theirs. I hate seeing those posts

It’s hard to explain how much the outside shit can affect relationships and subtly the things I do. Be it wearing earbuds or laughing off questions about relationships. It’s not about denial, it’s about protection. Emma's relationship with Ed clears out having to explain a lot. Now it’s at most a conversation about specifics. She already has the framework. I breathed easier when I realized there was a framework. I don't have to teach her about celebrity life. I just have to teach her about me. How I handle things. Much easier.

I think it’s cool how we're both doing the same thing. Waiting for the right time to discuss situations instead of the contrived “We need to talk." Not too much of that anyway. We're letting conversation go off on its own, following where it leads, and reigning it in when needed. So, all the questions I had were going to have to wait. She'd let me know something private, trusted me with information on her. Outside at a crowded festival wasn’t the place for questions.

This was the place for fun and making memories. I came back to the moment when Alyson's group came on stage. I don't know if they were good, but it was fun to watch. We cheered when they finished and made our way in the direction the group had headed off stage. The girls were congratulating each other and their families were mixing in. Emma caught Alyson's eye, gave her a thumbs up, and we moved on.

Carnival rides were next. There were things which went in circles, swung back and forth, dropped out of the sky, and went fast. We rode them all. We screamed and laughed so much that my throat hurt. We took a break and hit the fun house. We were holding onto each other to make it through areas with moving floors, spinning tunnels, moving staircases, and a mirror maze. The haunted house was my favorite because Emma hid her face against my chest and held on tight. I was sorry to reach the end.

We grabbed some food and kept walking. We wound up back by the dance stage. Irish dancing was replaced with line dancing. The sun was down and the stage was full. I nodded in the stage's direction, "Can you do that?"

Emma laughed, "Sometimes. You?"

I shrugged and pulled her toward the stairs, "I guess we'll see."

We danced to country, hip-hop, and everything in between. Truthfully, neither of us were very good. I imagine previous attempts had been made with alcohol, which made us think we were better than we were. It was a lot of fun. Reminded me of yoga with more laughing and cursing. Only this time we weren't being glared at by other people.

No idea how long we were out there. The music ended with an announcement that square dancing was next and would start when the band was ready. We headed off the stage with everyone else. We were both breathing heavy. For me it was part exertion, part from near constant laughter, and part my date was hot as fuck.

Hot as fuck. Beautiful. Whatever. She kept pushing her hair back when it fell in her face. Her face and eyes were filled with joy when we were successful or so confused we nearly fell over. The way she moved her body to the music had me mesmerized. Part of why I’d found it so sexy was because she wasn't trying to be. She was having fun and letting loose. As much as I enjoyed last night, this was better. Maybe better isn't the right word. Like the island jukebox, just different. Last night was words and tonight was activity.

I held her hand behind me down the stairs. It was crowded and I turned to make sure she was with me, not getting stuck behind other people leaving. Emma jumped off the last step into my arms. Her arms wrapped around my neck and I held on around her waist. Her feet hung a few inches off the ground and I swung her a few times before letting her slide down my body. Very painful. She was close and left one hand on my shoulder, the other on my chest, "This has been so much fun, Seb."

I nodded, "It has. That was exhausting. Felt like another workout."

She nodded her agreement. I held onto her waist, not quite ready to let her go yet. "You ready to get out of here? Long walk to the vehicle."

"Yeah, and we have to pick up the window and the fish."

"Mmm, can’t forget the fish. Run by the grocery and get fish food."

We started walking, hadn't gotten too far before she had a suggestion, "It’s not too late. Would you want to watch a movie? Maybe some wine?"

I smiled broadly, "I would love that. I'm not ready for the night to end."

"Me neither."

I like knowing what's next. With our closeness tonight there's no doubt we'll be cuddled together on that couch. Something in the movie or us talking will pause. A pause that's perfect for a kiss. That's all I want. Anything else is topping on the ice cream.

Fish food and wine made for an interesting grocery trip. The guy checking us out looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I glanced at his name tag, "Trust me, Chris, it makes sense." He laughed.

In Emma's kitchen she tended to the fish, now named Mycroft, while I opened the wine. She handed me a pair of glasses and pointed toward the stairs. "I'm going to run to the bathroom. Pick out whatever movie you like."

I sat our glasses on the table next to the chaise and tucked myself in the corner. I went into her favorite collection and poked around. I picked a comedy and had it pulled up when she came back, "This ok?"

"Absolutely. Have you seen it?"

"I don't think so. I love everybody. Not sure how I missed it."

I hit play as she sat down close to me. I put my arm on the couch back, giving her an invitation. She tucked her feet underneath her and tucked herself in tight next to me. I took a deep breath, taking in the moment.

The next thing I remembered was waking up who knows how much later. The movie was back on the start screen, so at least two hours. I was still stretched out on the chaise. Emma was too. She was using my shoulder as a pillow and her leg was hooked over mine. Her arm lay on my chest and my arms were around her. I shifted my shoulder a little, trying to restore feeling to my fingers, but she stirred and I froze. Her face crinkled up a little then softened. At the same time her fingers flexed against my chest then relaxed.

I think I'm a good man. A good man in an interesting situation. A better man would carry her to her room and cover her with a blanket before leaving her a note and locking the door behind him. Saving them both from an awkward morning. Definitely sparring myself from questions from my mother about where I'd stayed the night.

I am not the better man.

I'm not even the next step down guy who leaves her on the couch under a cover, writes a note, and goes home.

I'm the good man who likes what's going on here. My hands are in safe zones and will stay there. I like the feel of her body warm against mine. I don't want to leave. I don't want to write a note. I want to go back to sleep, wake up and laugh our way through an awkward morning, and make plans what we're going to do after I finish helping mom move in.

In my sleepy state I decide I will never end up kissing her.

Next time I woke up there was a wonderful smell of coffee filling the room. I stretched my arms high and turned to look in the kitchen. Emma, in last night’s clothes, was pouring two cups. She saw me stretching, "Good morning, sleepy head."

I stood, stretching again, "How long have you been up?"

She smiled and put the cups on the breakfast bar. “I woke up a little bit ago, but was so warm and comfortable I didn't get up. You make a good pillow."

I sat on the stool, reaching for my cup, "Thank you. You were a good blanket." I watched her cheeks pink with embarrassment. I couldn't have that. "Please, tell me I didn't fall asleep first?"

Emma shrugged, "It was close."

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

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mitchmarnier · 5 years ago

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pieces of me

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie toizer (reddie) word count: 2,344 summary: The whole concept of soul mates actually freaked Eddie out. Somebody being the other half of you? That you aren’t complete without another person? No fucking thank you. Eddie didn’t need anybody to complete him. He was his own person on his complete own self. ITFandomWeek2019: Day one | Soulmate AU.

read on ao3.

Soulmates weren’t real. Eddie knew that. Maybe they had once been real, when magic still existed world wide, had still been a power source of society. As technology dependency, and the patriarchy, had grown through the world, magic had died out. There would always be people who practised it, but the days of Biblical monsters, creatures and Gods were gone- and the concept of soulmates had disappeared with them. Stories were still passed along, that humans had once been one being; four arms, four legs, one heart. That they’d been torn apart because they were just too powerful that way. That a soul would be spend the rest of their lives searching for its other half a heart. That because of the once bodily connection you once shared, you could feel the emotions of your soulmate. You could feel their pain. But those are just that- stories. Legends and myths that were passed along for entertainment, but never taken as truth.

Soulmate was a term that got tossed around simply. Every single straight girl Eddie had ever known called every single boy she dated her soulmate, and those same boys had smiled and nodded and not believed it for a second, all whilst thinking about their side hoes. At least, that’s what Eddie had gotten the vibe of regarding straight relationships. And Eddie wasn’t straight. Thank god.

The whole concept of soul mates actually freaked Eddie out. Somebody being the other half of you? That you aren’t complete without another person? No fucking thank you. Eddie didn’t need anybody to complete him. He was his own person on his complete own self.

“That’s not what it’s about, Eddie.” Ben had tried to explain to him. Ben Hanscom had been the biggest fanatic of soulmates, a true believer. He’d never said it, but Eddie knew he thought Beverly was his. “Of course you’re both complete people on your own. You’ll just be… happier with the other person. Your true other half.”

Ben sighed and looked longingly towards Beverly. Richie made a loud gagging noise, and Eddie shot him a smile. “I’m with Eds. If there’s somebody out there who’s meant to be with me.” Richie followed this sentence with quotations over who’s meant to be with me and gave a goofy grin. “There’s probably something seriously fucking wrong with them. I’ll pass on whatever train wreck that’ll be.”

Eddie’s lips tugged down in a frown, picking at the crusts of his jelly sandwich. It was only jelly, because his mother had always told him he was allergic to peanuts, but Eddie knew he’d eaten things with peanuts all the time and nothing had ever happened to him. Just jelly sandwiches were boring.

“Richie, come on that’s...” Mike spoke up suddenly, looking at Richie with wide and sad eyes. Eddie recognized the look from when Mike had introduced him to a little baby pig, before mentioning the pig was the runt of the litter and he wasn’t sure if the baby would even make it through the night.

“Woooo anyway! I gotta go!” Richie jumped up from the table, smacking his knee a little angrily against it. Eddie winced as he felt the sympathy pains shoot through his own knee. Richie took off at the surprisingly fast pace for somebody who was limping, while Eddie watched him carefully, still rubbing at his own knee.

✸✸✸

Eddie is 13 when the first really weird thing happens to him. He’d gone out for their lunch break with Stan, ending up walking around and talking about absolutely nothing in particular. When all of a sudden Eddie was completely overcome with the worst coughing fit of his life. It was worse than any asthma attack he’d ever had, even on the hottest days of summer, and the really startling difference was when Eddie began to cough up water.

A lot of water. A troubling amount of water. Too much water .

“What the fuck!” Stan shouted, reaching out to pat enthusiastically on Eddie’s back, but it didn't help. Eventually, the coughing slowed itself and Eddie was able to breathe in again. He took in several, harsh breaths and pressed angrily at the tears in his eyes. How did he even have enough water in his body to be crying?

Stan looked down at the puddle of water on the ground in horror. “What the fuck was that?”

“You think I know?” Eddie wheezed out. running his hands through his hair. “It felt like I was drowning. I mean, I know I say that about my asthma, too, but that...”

Stan dropped his foot down in the puddle, frowning at it in thought. “Yeah. Drowning.”

But they were 13, and shrugged things off as 13 year olds were known to do. They walked back towards their school, and strolled slowly to a stop when they noticed there friends all walking back as well. With Richie, dripping wet and looking a little shell shock.

“Bill fucking pushed me off the dock!” Richie shouted the second he spotted Stan and Eddie. “I don’t even know what happened, but I just started fucking drowning. I probably would’ve died if Mike hadn’t pulled me out!”

Stan’s eyes blew open wide and Eddie fidgeted awkwardly in hopes of hiding his now slightly wet T-shirt.

✸✸✸

They’re fifteen and Richie suddenly feels a flash of fear that he can’t understand, can’t find a source to. It didn’t feel like that same kind of untraceable fear that he got before panic attacks, it felt like it did have a source but he just didn’t know what it was. There was a quick, dull pain along his back and the fear inside him spiked.

Richie looked around, unsure his the fear inside him was unsourced still or if his own fear was growing, but his eyes fell on Stan and Bev. Eddie was supposed to have met them outside the school to go to the library and work on their History final project. “Where’s Eddie?”

“Eddie’s always late,” Beverly said easily, not looking up from her phone. “I wouldn’t expect him for at least ten more minutes.”

Richie shook his head, chest startling to feel tight. There was an ache in his wrists like somebody was grabbing him, but there were no hands there. He shook his head again, much more firmly, and turned back towards the school. He didn’t notice the thoughtful look on Stan’s face as he looked at him.

“We need to find him.” Richie said quickly, rushing back into the now-empty school, not bothering to concern himself with whether his friends were following him or not. He ran through the school, not even sure how he knew where he was going. He kept feeling the tight pressure of somebody grabbing him on his skin, and the burning fear deep in his gut. There was anger in the fear, but Richie still felt like it wasn’t his. He took off into the school, not caring if his friends were following him. He let some sort of instinct that he didn’t understand guide him through the halls until he stumbled upon the scene.

Henry had Eddie pressed up against the lockers, using his larger hands to bind Eddie’s wrists so it was harder for him to wiggle free. The rage in Richie then was completely his own.

“Yeah…” Richie drawled out, crossing his arms and forcing a smirk on his face. Both Henry and Eddie turned to look at him, Henry like a kid who’d woken up to a surprise Christmas and Eddie with a spark of genuine fear that Richie could read so clearly on his face that it was almost as though he could feel it, too. “You’re gonna let him go now.”

Richie loved how short Henry’s attention span always was, because he dropped Eddie’s wrists and turned his attention to Richie almost immediately. Richie let his half-grown filter drop away completely, and threw words at Henry that put himself to shame. He was fairly certain he’d never called anybody a daddy’s cock sucking little goof before. Richie wasn’t paying attention, or he would’ve noticed the little ball of warmth in his chest. Something close to fond, maybe a little bit of amusement. Something that wasn’t his, but was for him. Stan and Bev broke through before Henry could wreck Richie too bad, and Henry took off down the halls. Bigger and crazier, maybe, but even he knew better than to go four against one without a weapon on his side.

Eddie came to crouch down beside Richie, pulling out Kleenex and wiping at the blood under Richie’s nose. “How did you know where I was?”

Richie shrugged one shoulder, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “I don’t know.”

They were too busy looking at each other to notice the look that Bev and Stan exchanged.

✸✸✸

Eddie was eighteen, and was pretty sure that agreeing to room with Richie in college was the biggest mistake he’d ever made in his life. And yes, he was aware that he was being dramatic but living in a tiny college dorm room had made Eddie’s little puppy love crush that he’d had on Richie all through high school develop into something much, much deeper. Much scarier.

The scariest part of it all was that sometimes Eddie thought that maybe Richie liked him back. He’d never been the type to get hopes about anything, but every once in awhile Eddie would feel a rush of warm emotion and turn around to see that Richie was already smiling at him.

He’d already heard all of Ben’s theories on it. He was pretty sure that if Eddie didn’t start to agree with him soon, Ben was going to create a whole powerpoint presentation and force the Losers to sit through it. Eddie remembered the short period of time where Ben’s romantic side had died, when Beverly had come out and Ben had been thrown through a loop. Supportive and loving as always, but he’d had to readjust himself to life where he couldn’t walk away and dream of Beverly Marsh being his soulmate. So when Ben latched onto Eddie and Richie, Eddie didn’t have the heart to keep telling him that soulmates were bullshit.

“Ow, fuck!” Eddie yanked his hand away from his notebook, shaking it as though he was burned. He looked up and noticed Richie jumping away from the little mini grill in their room that Richie had insisted that they buy when they moved in, so they wouldn’t always have to eat cafeteria food. It didn’t matter that the food Richie made on that grill was always significantly worse than anything their caf served.

“Did you burn yourself, dumbass?” Eddie asked with a low sigh, clenching his hand shut tight and trying to ignore the stinging he felt himself.

“Yeah.” Richie grunted, immediately going back to attempting to light it up. Eddie swallowed roughly and shook his head. He needed to get Ben out of his head.

✸✸✸

Richie’s entire stomach was jumping with anxiety. He stood outside his own dorm room. The night before Ben had ambushed Richie at the party and laid out a series of things for him. Things that Richie had never been able to explain to himself, had never really taken the time to think about it all honesty. The way that Richie and Eddie always been able to read each other’s emotions almost without pause, sometimes better than they were even processes their own emotions. Pointing out that the other day Richie had fallen down outside and Eddie had said ow, without looking up or turning around to see Richie on the ground.

“You’re obviously soulmates,” Ben had pleaded with Richie. Looking like he was moments away from grabbing Richie by the shoulders and shaking him. “Like, real soulmates. That’s so rare! You’re really just going to throw all that away?”

Richie still wasn’t sure he believed in soulmates. Wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of them, and he knew that Eddie didn’t. Eddie had always told anybody who’d listen how much he hated the idea of soulmates. But Richie did really like Eddie, hell he’d always really liked Eddie. He didn’t really care if they were soulmates or not, he just hoped that-

Their dorm room door swung open, and Eddie was standing on the other side looking annoying. “Why are you just standing out here, stressing out?”

Richie gaped. “How did you know I was standing out here?”

Eddie scowled. “Your anxiety is so loud I could practically smell it. What’s wrong?”

Richie swallowed slowly. “Smell it…. Or feel it?”

Eddie blinked and then groaned. He turned away and stomped into the room. When he dropped onto Richie’s bed and raised his brow, Richie jumped into attention and followed him in. “Ben got to you?” Eddie asked as Richie took a seat beside him. “Fuck. I should’ve known he’d eventually realize that you’re the weaker link and start playing you.”

Richie frowned. “I know you don’t believe in soulmates, or whatver but you… are you really that against us ever being together?”

Eddie blinked, then frowned. “No, I didn’t. I mean… is that what this is? Like what if Ben’s soulmate propaganda just… tricked you into thinking you like me?”

Richie burst out laughing, unable to hold it back. “Eds. Baby. I’ve liked you since I was like… ten. It’s sort of always fucking been you for me. I was just never sure…”

“It’s always been you for me, too.” Eddie interrupted him, shaking his head. “I’m still not sold on this whole soulmate bullshit, I want to choose who I end up. I don’t want it to be decided for me.”

“Okay, well…” Richie reached out and took Eddie’s hand. A flash of heat rushed through them both in unison. “Would you choose me then? Did you, without anybody talking about soulmates?”

Eddie smiled softly, turning towards Richie and leaning in to kiss him softly, quickly. “I’d choose you in any universe. For whatever reason.”

Richie laughed and kissed him again.

#reddie #itfandomweek #itfandomprompts #reddie fic #it fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years ago

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Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Thirty-One → in which Nick is not taking Ishmael’s bullshit

“Thank you so much, Friday.” Nick said, as they walked. “That man is very bad, and we’ve been trying to get away from him for some time.”

“He seemed very mean.” Friday nodded. She looked carefully at Lilac. “Is he the reason you’re hurt?” Hesitantly, Lilac nodded. “We don’t allow violence on the island, so he won’t be allowed here. You’ll be safe.”

“He’s very good at disguising himself and manipulating people.” Violet warned.

“And we’re very good at seeing through that bullshit.” Friday said. She froze then, and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry! I’m not supposed to know that word.”

“It’s alright.” Klaus laughed a little. “We swear a lot. I assume that’s not allowed on the island.”

“No.” Friday nodded, and then she leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I know a lot of bad words anyway.”

They giggled. “So do we.” Solitude said.

“Okay.” Friday said. “Can you tell me what ‘fuck’ means?”

They gave each other very awkward looks. Then, Lilac said, “Quick question, first. What’s your seashell for?”

“Coconut cordial.” Friday said. “There’s no fresh water on the island, so we drain the milk from coconuts and allow it to ferment.”

Nick paused. “Um, doesn’t that make it a drug?”

“What’s a drug?”

Nick groaned. “Oh no.”

“Okay, what is fermented coconut milk and what does it do?” Klaus asked.

“Opiate.” Nick said.

“Still don’t know what that is.” Solitude muttered.

“Well, shit.” Violet huffed.

“What?” Friday asked. “What’s wrong?”

Nick considered. “Can you take us to the medical tent first? Before we meet everyone else.”

“I guess so.” Friday shrugged. “Come on, Dr Kurtz and Willa should be in.”

She led them onto blindingly white sand, and Nick said, “Is that a boat?” He pointed towards the beach, where something was almost built.

“An outrigger.” Friday said. “It’s tradition.”

“What are some of your customs?” Klaus pulled his commonplace book out and started to take notes.

“Every time there’s a storm, we go storm scavenging and present what we’ve found to our facilitator, Ishmael. He’s been on this island longer than any of us, and he injured his feet and keeps them covered in island clay, which has healing powers. He can’t stand, but he decides what might be of use, and what the sheep should drag away.”

“Baba?” Sunny asked. “You have sheep?”

“Yep.” Friday said. “They drag our scavenged items to the arboretum, on the far side of the island over that brae over there. All that grows there is an enormous apple tree, or that’s what I’ve heard, at least. Nobody goes there, because Ishmael says it’s too dangerous, with everything the sheep brought there. Nobody picks the bitter apples from the tree, except on Decision Day.”

“What’s Decision Day?” Violet asked.

“It’s like a holiday.” Friday said. “Once a year, the tides turn in this part of the ocean, and the coastal shelf is completely covered in water. It’s the one time a year that it’s deep enough to sail away from the island. All year long we build an enormous outrigger, and the day the tides turn we have a feast and talent show. Then anyone who wishes to leave our colony indicates their decision by taking a bite of the bitter apple and spitting it onto the ground before boarding the outrigger and bidding us farewell.”

“Hm.” Nick said carefully.

“Of course, people rarely leave this island.” Friday said. “Nobody has left since before I was born, so each year we simply light the outrigger on fire and push it out to sea. It’s beautiful, and we only have a few days left until then.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Klaus said uncertainly.

“Here we go!” Friday led them into a clearing, where several tents had been set up. She waved at a few wandering people in robes, mouthed the word Castaways and gestured to the Baudelaires, and then ducked into a tent on the far side. The siblings followed her into it, giving each other skeptical looks.

Inside, an older man- who admitted he was more of a veterinarian than a doctor- and a younger woman greeted them, and while Friday explained the situation, they inspected Lilac’s wound. “It doesn’t seem to be infected, which is incredibly lucky.” Willa said, kneeling down and frowning. “How did this happen?”

“I was attacked.” Lilac said simply.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that here.” Willa hmmed, and then she reached to the side, pulling out some strips of fabric. “These should be better bandages. If your siblings want to wait outside-”

“No.” said all five of her siblings.

Willa raised her eyebrow, but shrugged. “Alright. I won’t force you. Friday, why don’t you deliver what you’ve found to Ishmael?”

“I’ll do that when the Baudelaires are ready to go.” Friday said. “I want to show him the Castaways.”

The Baudelaires all shared a look of agreement. “And we’d love to meet him.” Violet said.

It took a while, but Friday just sat beside them and told them about the kinds of things she’d found on the island- unsurprisingly to the Baudelaires, she hadn’t been able to keep any of it, as Ishmael had “convinced” her to send them to the other side of the island. Dr Kurtz wandered out after a bit, while Willa kept treating Lilac. She didn’t seem to have much medicine, but she did manage to get her bandaged up, and told her that she’d probably be fine in a few days.

“It didn’t cut too deep, and you didn’t bleed too much.” Willa said. “So you should be alright to go meet Ishmael. A lot of people will be back from storm scavenging, so you can see our customs firsthand.”

“I’m sure we will.” Violet said. “Friday, mind showing us the way?”

“I’d love to!” Friday beamed, reaching to grab Lilac’s hand. “Come on!”

The Baudelaires once again shared a look, and then a nod, and then they followed Friday out.

Up near the outrigger was an incredibly huge and incredibly long white tent. Friday led them inside, where they saw several people already crowded around. There were several sheep laying against the walls, snoring soundly, and across at the edge of the tent was an old man with a beard as thick and wild as the sheep’s woolly coats. He sat on an enormous chair that looked as if it were fashioned out of white clay, and two more piles of clay rose up over his feet. Several people in similar robes to Friday were gathered around him, holding up items, and off to the side was a large sleigh where several items already stood.

“I found the propeller of an airplane.” said a pleasant-looking man.

“Well, Alonso,” said Ishmael, “I won’t force you, but I don’t think a propeller would be of much use.”

“We could make a fan.” Violet whispered.

“You’re right, Ishmael.” Alonso said, and he placed the propeller on the sleigh.

“I found this tool.” a girl a few years older than Lilac stepped forwards.

“Is that a dagger, Ariel?” Ishmael raised his eyebrows. “You know weapons aren’t allowed on the island.”

“It’s an old tool for cutting pages of books.” Ariel said.

“Well, we have no books on this island.” Ishmael said. “So it would be of little use. But I won’t force you.”

Klaus glanced down at Friday. “There are no books?”

“They get wet in storms.” Friday shrugged.

A plump man with a sunburned face said, “I found a cheese grater. I nearly lost a finger prying it away from a nest of crabs.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.” Ishmael said. “We’re not going to have much use for a cheese grater without any cheese.”

“Grate coconut, make cake.” Sunny said.

The man made a similar point. “We could grate other foods.”

“Well, I won’t force you, Sherman,” Ishmael said, “But I think we have all the food we need.”

Nick clenched his fists and turned to his siblings, and they nodded in agreement. Friday looked at them curiously, unsure of their thoughts.

“Go ahead and introduce us, if you want.” Lilac said to Friday, smiling encouragingly.

Friday nodded, and as Sherman put his cheese grater onto the wagon, she shouted over the crowd, “I found some castaways!”

They all turned, interested, and Friday brought the Baudelaires forwards. The crowd parted as they approached Ishmael, and Nick quickly grabbed Klaus’s hand, as Violet kept her arm under Lilac. Solitude had decided to walk over with Sunny, so she held her hand as they toddled across the dirt, to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Well, hello.” Ishmael said with a cordial smile. “And what should I call you?”

Lilac straightened up, knowing she was the only one of her siblings who could stay calm enough for introductions. “Lilac, Violet, Nick, Klaus, Solitude and Sunny Baudelaire.” she said.

Ishmael’s eyes flickered. “Baudelaire? Well, welcome to our island. Did you survive the storm last night?”

“Yes.” Violet said. “And there’s a bad man running around, too, named Count Olaf.”

“Well, we’ll deal with him, don’t you worry.” Ishmael said. “Now, Friday, what are those?” He pointed at her sunglasses.

“I thought they might be useful on bright days.” Friday said quietly.

“Well, I won’t force you, but I think we should retain our custom of only wearing white.” Ishmael said.

Lilac straightened up and gave Nick a nod that clearly communicated, Tear the bitch apart.

“And I think,” Nick said, stepping forwards, “That those could be useful.”

The islanders whispered amongst themselves, and Ishmael turned to Nick with a cold smile. “You must be tired from the storm, my boy. Friday can show you where to get robes-”

“We’re not changing.” Nick said.

The Islanders all stiffened, and Friday gasped. Ishmael simply stared. “Well,” he said, “It’s our custom to wear only white.”

“You cannot force me to wear white.” Lilac said.

“I won’t force you-” Ishmael began.

“And you won’t.” Nick said. “Listen up, you- someone cover Friday’s ears.” Klaus reached forwards and slammed his hands over Friday’s ears. “Alright. Listen up, you bitchass motherfucker. I don’t know what kind of a scam you’re running here, or what scheme you’re pulling, but we’re not falling into it. Thank you for the bandages for Lilac, but we’re gonna fuck off on our own now, thanks. We just got out of a cult, we’re not joining another one just because this island’s small as shit.”

The Islanders looked like Nick had just announced plans to end the world. A woman ran forwards and dragged Friday back with her; they realized quickly that was probably the young girl’s mother.

Ishmael frowned slightly. “Young man, you must be tired. Have some cordial-”

“Oh, and about the cordial,” Nick said. “Friday said it’s fermented, right? Yeah, that just makes it an opiate. We’re not gonna chug drugs just so you can convince us you know best and everything’s fine and we should toss away all our shit. I was drugged up once, it’s not fun.”

“Yeah, it’s not.” Violet agreed.

“Wait.” Solitude narrowed her eyes. “Nick, when were you-”

“Don’t ask.” he said. “Anyway, I’d rather not be high as a kite, living under a dictatorship claiming to be a democracy, while our Dickhead Asswipe Motherfucking Family Enemy is running around with a harpoon gun, and possibly a helmet of deadly fungus- speaking of which, any of you find a diving helmet, leave it closed, alright? Alright, cool, back to it. Violet, you look like you want a turn.”

“Yeah.” Violet nodded. “All these inventions suck, I could make you a fan and an irrigation system in, like, less than a week. You’re stifling creativity because it threatens you, and now it’s Klaus’s turn.”

“If you think I’m not going to tear the ocean apart to get a book, you’re dead fucking wrong.” Klaus said.

“I think-” Ishmael straightened, looking stern.

“And I think you’re hiding knowledge from everyone, like the knowledge they’re being drugged out of their minds.” Klaus said. “Soli?”

“I’m not throwing out my frog, bitchfuck.” Solitude said, as Babbitt hopped to her shoulder, having only just woken up, now very confused.

“Fuckshit.” Sunny said.

“I’m not gonna translate that for her,” Lilac said, “But know it was not pleasant. Anyway, I’m not subjecting my siblings to this cult bullshit that discourages innovation. So we’re gonna find someplace to set up camp, far away from here, and we’re gonna have fresh water and no fermented drugs and we get to keep whatever we want, and also we’re gonna need a knife in case Olaf shows up.”

“Yeet me.” Sunny said.

“You’re right, Sun, we’ll just beat him up. Nevermind.” Lilac said. “Anyway, thank you for the bandages, we’ll be on our way.”

“We’ll leave you alone to do your cult bullshit,” Klaus said, “But if you bother us, we bother you.”

“Kapiche?” Sunny said.

Everyone was dead silent. Friday, who could hear everything even with her mother’s hands over her ears- hands were never an effective block, anyway- was wide-eyed. Ishmael looked for one moment like he might explode.

Then, sternly, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Well. I won’t force you-”

“Then don’t.” Nick said. “Later, sluts.”

And with that, the Baudelaires walked out of the tent.

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #six baudelaires official fic #the end #mine #my fanfic

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ohblackdiamond · 6 years ago

Text

starfucker (gene/paul, nc-17)

Yeah, I heard about your Polaroids, that’s what I call obscene...

Written for and on Paul Stanley’s 67th birthday, I’m just a day late in posting it here.

Gene’s introduction to America almost twenty years prior had been like a kid moving to Disneyland. Everything was bigger in America. Everything was better in America. Everything had that candy-coated glaze of promise, still hanging heavy and dazzling in his heart: here, you can make it; you just need the drive and the smarts and the guts. Here is a dream you can snatch up, if you want it badly enough.

He had tried to explain it once, when half the band was more maudlin than full-on drunk, but Ace and Peter both had zoned out entirely and Paul, for all he was first-generation on both sides, for all he’d been hoping for commonalities, didn’t understand either.

“You’re telling me the exact same thing my parents did.”

“They were right.”

“They wanted me to get there through college, Gene. They didn’t tell me I could do whatever the hell I wanted and succeed. It’s bullshit, man. You’re too—the American Dream stuff might’ve been true during Ellis Island and all that, but it’s not now.”

He’d looked at Paul, really looked at him, hoping to find something beyond the cynicism. He didn’t. Paul might as well have been one of his sixth graders for all he’d pay attention without the threat of penalty.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get it because you’ve never lived anywhere else.” Never lived how he had. Selling fruit in the streets with his mother. Living on government rations. Living scared. Paul’s rare, mopey accounts of his own childhood were blissful in comparison. Whatever bullying he’d received, he’d never gone hungry. Never been afraid for his life. He had no idea what a blessing that was. None.

It just confirmed what Gene had already known. They shared a faith, but not a background. Hell, Paul hadn’t even had his bar mitzvah. None of that cultural belonging tied the two of them together. Maybe not even personal belonging, either. Gene was an outsider even in his own band.

Paul just shook his head and shrugged.

“They said that, too.”

So Gene had gradually left that kind of serious talk behind over the course of the tours. It wasn’t worth it; he knew the other three weren’t intellectuals, but he was starting to think they were actually morons. Ace and Peter were busy getting drunk, stoned, or both before and after concerts—hit him at just the right time, maybe a full moon, and Paul would indulge, too—and Rush’s guys were just leading them further astray. Gene felt like trying to get Bill to get them to tour with the Carpenters next, as if that would cut down on the antics.

As for himself, well, since he couldn’t manage any stimulating conversation with his bandmates, he was settling eagerly for stimulation with his groupies. Something else that was bigger and better in America—the size of its women’s breasts. Must’ve been the fluoride in the water. He’d been in the process of chatting up two girls in Ace’s room when one of them had made the tremendous mistake of taking the communal laundry bag off Alex’s head during one of his particularly drunken comedy routines.

It was like flicking the papal mitre off the Pope’s head. Worse, it was like unmasking the Lone Ranger. Alex and Ace had, predictably, gone ballistic and chased both of the girls out of the hotel room. Gene had followed them at a distance, only to hear them mumble about “fuckin’ scary rockstars” and see them digging in their purses for payphone change to call their boyfriends. Well. That settled that.

That settled plenty, except he was still half-hard. He could hear Ace and Alex and Neil whooping from the room, and he knew that a new comedy routine from the bag was already underway. Gene grunted to himself and dug the key out of his jeans pocket and let himself back in his room.

“Paul? You still in here?”

“Hey.” Paul looked up from the T.V., frowning. His hair was wet, and he wasn’t wearing anything beyond a loosely-tied blue terrycloth bathrobe Gene could’ve sworn had been Paul’s only constant companion since they’d started touring. Like every other member of the band—every member except Gene—he lacked the innate shame to even yank on a pair of boxers at the sight of a non-groupie visitor. “What’re you doing here, Gene? Thought you were picking up those girls in Ace’s room.”

“The bag threw them out.”

“The ba—oh, yeah,” Paul said, snorting. “He’s high as shit, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. But I am holding it against him.” Gene paused. “I thought you’d be back to your room by now, too.”

Paul shrugged and went over to turn up the volume on the T.V. An Easy Bake Oven commercial was playing, of all things, the little girl onscreen spreading frosting on the cake. So banal it was a little annoying. Looking at him, though, Gene realized Paul was just trying to catch the jingle at the end.

“I was gonna, then I took a nap and a shower.”

“No girls?”

“No girls.”

Not that much of a surprise. Paul could be indifferent, downright cold to company, which had always struck Gene as a little annoying, if not potentially disastrous. Couldn’t be merrily flamboyant onstage and then aloof as soon as he walked back to the dressing room. Bad publicity in the making. He’d be pleasant enough during what few interviews they’d scored as a band, but it was obvious he didn’t actually want to do them. Gene wondered if Paul was getting more egotistical, or if that latent shyness was just setting his nerves on edge. Paul was the only deep-down introvert in the whole band. He’d have to get over it at some point.

Besides, even if Paul wasn’t as assiduous about getting girls as he was, he still managed to have one in his bed at least half their tour nights. So if he was lonesome, that was his own fault. Paul walked over to the set to turn up the volume one more time—God, he always had it up too loud. Knowing why didn’t make it much less aggravating.

“Really not my idea of a thrilling evening.”

Paul flopped back on the bed.

“What, because of the girls? Just get a taxi and go to a nightclub. There’s gotta be one around here somewhere.” A pause, and a stifled yawn. “Where the hell are we tonight, anyway? Austin?”

“Austin was last night. Tonight’s Corpus Christi,” Gene mumbled.

“Oh, right. Good thing they remind me beforehand. Last time I fucked up the city they were almost rioting.”

“You told Pittsburgh they were a wonderful audience—”

“And it was actually Kansas City. I know, Gene.” Running his hands through his hair, looking more like a damp poodle than a human being, Paul sighed. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve told Charleston they were Pittsburgh.”

Gene snorted and sat down next to him on the bed. Paul was splayed out on his back as if it were one of their lousier photoshoots, but he at least moved his legs to give Gene more room.

“We’d be mounted on some redneck’s wall.”

“With or without the makeup?”

“With. You think they’d dare? It’s like yanking off Batman's cowl.”

Paul laughed, shaking his head.

“Some of the girls don’t even want the makeup off. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like…” Paul was considering, or trying to. Always a bad sign, because Paul tended to trail and never get to the point, in public and in private. Gene had been taking spokesman duties during interviews and news stories out of necessity, not desire. Paul could’ve stuck to a script, sure, except they didn’t have one yet, and Peter and Ace would just bungle things with the press, Gene was positive of it. “Like, okay, if I’m gonna fuck someone, I don’t want the pretense.”

“You mean you don’t want to be Starchild for them?”

“No, not… not exactly. I mean, I don’t mind, but… you ever feel like they’re conning you? No, not… conning, but… they’re not being real, you’re not being real…”

“Paul, if you want an honest relationship, I don’t know why the hell you’re fucking groupies.”

Paul glanced at Gene then, and snorted. His hair had fallen in his eyes, and he just blew it back with a breath.

“I’m not complaining, I’m just saying I wanna be real with somebody sometime. Don’t you?”

“God, no.” Gene paused, leaning back on his arms on the bed. “You wanna be real with someone, be real with your shrink.”

From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Paul’s face fall slightly. Shit. He’d forgotten Paul had one of those. Or used to, at least. Gene opened his mouth, not to apologize, exactly, just explain, but Paul started back in, oddly unruffled, before he could manage.

“Give it five minutes and you can watch the Johnny Carson show with me.”

Gene groaned.

“You know I could’ve done that at home, right?”

“Well, yeah, but here you don’t have to pick up your own towels.” Paul paused. “Not that you do that anyway, but…”

“Move.”

“Okay, okay.” Paul shifted over again amiably as Gene scooted in. Soon enough, Ed was introducing Johnny Carson with all his usual insane vigor, as if he hadn’t been on air every single weekday for the past decade. Maybe Carson wouldn’t be such a bad avenue for KISS, if Casablanca could up their notoriety enough for him to consider it. There didn’t seem to be a method of self-promotion left they hadn’t at least tried to stoop to over the last two years. Even immolation was only barely out of bounds.

Beside him, Paul was paying more attention to Carson’s Carnac the Magnificent routine than it probably deserved that night—Carnac was already spouting off fake curses to the audience.

“What’re you pissed about?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Gene heaved a sigh. Carson’s studio audience laughed loudly in the background.

“I had a big number coming up.”

“A big number?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Tonight I was gonna bang my 200th chick.”

“You’re counting them?”

Gene gave Paul a look that was a cross between bewildered and long-suffering, a look he used to reserve for the slowest of his students when they were scrawling out one-step equations.

“Of course I’m counting them. What did you think the Polaroids were for?”

“I thought you just took pictures of the ones you liked, not every girl you banged!”

“No! It’s a record for posterity, Paul.”

“You’ve probably got twenty posterity running around already,” Paul said with a snort. “I know you don’t wrap it up half the time.”

“They’ll have the most successful dad since Charlemagne.”

“Who?”

“The fifth Beatle.”

“Oh, shut up, Gene.” Paul twisted off a couple of rings as he spoke, scrambling over Gene to set them on the nightstand. The small plinks against the plywood sounded oddly final. Paul returned to his spot on the bed immediately afterwards. “Nothing stopping you from going to a club, you know.”

Gene shook his head.

“I don’t want to deal with drunks. Maybe Ace and Peter don’t care, but I’m not running the risk of her passing out before we get to the hotel.”

“There’s always at least five sober girls at the disco. You’re just being lazy.” Paul clasped his fingers together, stretched out his arms with a groan. “You really want to hit number two hundred tonight?’

“That was the idea.”

Paul looked contemplative. Gene was always thrown off the rare times that look flitted across his face, because ever since he’d met Paul, he’d been fairly convinced the man didn’t think so much as base his life off shaky impulses. And not like Gene himself did, either, not in terms of libertine conquests. Paul was more like an anxious, gangly dog, as apt to hump a girl’s leg as turn tail and hide in a corner. He tried not to let it show, but five years of knowing him, and two years of being a door away, at best, meant Gene knew better.

Clearly, though, Paul was thinking now. Those hormone-addled synapses were firing, fully oblivious to Carson’s latest jab toward President Ford. He was even yanking his hair back and squeezing those last drops of water out onto the carpet as he turned to look Gene dead in the eye.

“Give me your room key.”

“What?”

“Give me your room key.”

It was perched next to the T.V. set. One key hanging from a small metal hoop. Gene got up and handed it over, eyebrow raised questioningly. Paul spun the keyring absently around his finger. That thoughtful look hadn’t faded from his expression yet, but his mouth twitched just slightly up.

“Now get your camera.”

“Paul, what the hell?”

“Number two hundred just volunteered.”

Gene stared.

“You’re kidding me. Tell me you’re kidding me.”

“I’m not kidding!” Paul was still spinning the key. “You want your two hundredth lay and you don’t want to leave the hotel to get it.”

“That doesn’t mean—shit, Paul, you can’t just—”

“Can’t what?”

Paul was looking at him with an expression so obnoxiously blithe and amused that Gene almost wanted to snatch back the key and tell him to stop screwing around. But that might only encourage him, at this point. Those wheels were turning to some inevitably questionable conclusion. God, they all had to stop spending so much time at those raucous parties, no matter how good they were for filling up his photo album. They were giving Paul disturbing ideas. Gene cleared his throat, tried to explain.

“That’s not something you volunteer for.”

“No?”

“Paul, c’mon, it’s pretty damn qu—”

“You’ve still got a hard-on, Gene.”

Shit. Gene’s eyes went straight to Paul’s crotch, almost accusingly, but that bathrobe was loose enough around his frame that he couldn’t tell. That was it, he couldn’t tell. It couldn’t be that Paul was shooting all this bullshit, trying to get a rise out of Gene, while he was completely soft. No. Couldn’t possibly be.

“Don’t flatter yourself, damn it, you didn’t see their tits—"

The only solution was to follow along. Keep on going, and keep on going, until Paul backed off. He would; Gene knew he would. Then they’d finish up on Johnny Carson and bitch some more about girls or about Peter and Ace or about Paul’s more recent exes (one of whom had been sleeping with Joe Namath, which seemed to bother Paul on some weird intrinsic level that Gene frankly didn’t understand) before finally calling it a night. Pass out like the lousiest excuses for rockstars he’d ever heard of.

“I’m not flattering myself. I’m just saying you’ve still got a hard-on.”

“Shut up, Paul.”

Paul didn’t shut up. Of course he didn’t. He just started humming the chorus of “Strutter” as he stretched out on the bed, ankles dangling from the edge. Gene shifted before getting up entirely and pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, taking out his camera. Plenty of shots left. He’d had way higher hopes for Corpus Christi than Paul Stanley on his bed. He gritted his teeth, willing Paul to back out, and back out now, except he could feel Paul’s eyes on him as he got back to his feet, camera in hand. Could feel the interest there, the intrigue. Paul was going to match him. At least for now, Paul was going to match him.

“How do they usually pose for it?”

“Between their tits.”

Paul frowned.

“I mean, I can try, but…” and he dropped the key on the dead center of his chest. The key looked like a forlorn found object a bird had tried to line its rather furry nest with. “No. No, that’s not gonna work.”

“God, no.”

“Maybe I should just hold it.” Paul picked the key up, frowning. “Or… do you want more of an interesting angle, should I have the edge facing the camera?”

“Paul, I’m taking a picture. This isn’t your art portfolio here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t just hold it.”

Gene groaned.

“Okay, hang on.” Paul got up and headed for the adjoining bathroom. Gene could hear the water running almost immediately, and a few seconds later, Paul returned, bathrobe still tied closed. “All right, ready.”

“Where’s the key?”

Paul raised his tongue. The key peeked out, tarnished bronze on pink, and Gene groaned.

“You’re gonna choke on that.”

“Iy-ull be ’ine—” Paul nearly spat out the key. Gene swallowed a laugh as Paul took the key out, wiped it on the bedsheets, and shook his head. “All right, all right, I’ll just have it in my hand.”

“Okay. Then sit down.”

Paul sat down on the bed. Gene picked up the camera, zooming in carefully, as Paul held the key between his forefinger and thumb. He looked like he was about to crack up. The camera flashed, the picture ejected, and soon Paul had snatched it away, shaking it vehemently as the image started to appear.

“Wait—wait, give it here, I’ve gotta fill out your name at the bottom.” Honestly, Gene was aiming for initials. P. S. could stand for anything

“I’ll fill it out! God knows I don’t charge for autographs.” The developing image, though, was getting clearer and far more disappointing. Paul’s face wasn’t visible. Instead, Gene had taken a close-up of the key itself, leaving not more than an inch of Paul’s index finger in the shot. “Gene! Oh, fuck you!”

“It’s gonna ruin the photo album if I’ve got a hundred ninety-nine chicks in there and then you!”

“It’s gonna make it the best album ever. Take it again.”

Gene hesitated.

“C’mon, take it again.”

Gene gave him a long-suffering look. Paul started fluffing out his hair as if this were a photoshoot instead of the prelude to the most questionable conquest either had ever attempted. Raising the camera once more, Gene was sorely tempted not to warn him first before he pressed the button.

“Fine. Three, two, one—"

Paul popped the keyring right back into his mouth the second before the camera flashed. The key dangled between his lips like the sultriest provocation. He grabbed the photo before Gene could voice a protest, holding it up for both of them to see.

This time Gene had caught him. Really caught him. Paul leaning in from the picture, poised and eager, broad hands resting on the bed. There was a bit of glare from the key in his mouth, a wanting, amused look in his eyes that the slightly-out-of-focus shot didn’t hide at all. But Paul was still disappointed.

“Aw, fuck, it’s a little blurry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“One more.”

Reluctantly, Gene picked up the camera again. Paul shifted on the bed, this time propped up on his elbows, one knee raised. The bathrobe was riding up, showing more of both thighs than Gene cared to see. But it wasn’t indecent yet. Just—

Snap.

“Safety shot,” he insisted when Paul glanced at him curiously. He raised his hand before Paul could reach for the developing photos, gathered them both up and watched the image emerge. Clear this time, perfectly crisp. Maybe Paul nerved out a bit during interviews, but in front of a camera he was golden. Absolutely golden. Dragging the attention away from everyone else in the picture, clawing it away with only a pair of pursed lips and big, dark eyes. It was annoying during KISS photoshoots, but here, with only him, only him on the bed, it was something else. Something Gene didn’t want to own up to as he stared, fascinated, from one shot to the next, finally setting them both down on the bed without a word. He barely heard the next words out of Paul’s mouth, a come-on that shouldn’t have been a come-on at all.

“Let’s keep on.”

“Keep… keep on?”

“Yeah,” and Paul laughed, turned to his side just a bit more, hand running against the edge of his robe. “You’ve got the film for it. You wanna?”

The words seemed to reverberate in his brain. You wanna. An offer. A proposition. Unbelievable. Totally unbelievable. Paul couldn’t be doing this to him, couldn’t be unraveling him—upping the ante, that was all it was, just upping the ante. Yeah. Yeah.

Gene’s fingers fidgeted before he picked up his camera again, feeling some stupid warmth spread across his face. Dimly he could hear Carson questioning the night’s special guest with all his usual slick irreverence, barely a patter in the background. Two words, too easy and casual, and all he could manage was a nod before raising the viewfinder to his eye for another shot as Paul offered up his most shameless smirk for the camera.

He kept on. God only knew why. He’d been with more photogenic girls. There was nothing alluring to him about how Paul was posing. Awkward, whiny Stanley Eisen, that douchey high school senior who always looked stoned—there was nothing sexual about him. Six years down the road, he was still that kid, no matter if he’d changed his name and curtailed his diet, no matter if he’d grown out his hair even more and stolen some slivers of confidence. No matter if he was slowly peeling open the bathrobe, revealing inch upon inch of his broad, hairy chest as Gene snapped shot after shot in a mindless rhythm. No matter if he was wearing that sex-soaked smile and tilting his head just so, languid and eager.

No matter if he reached up and trailed his long fingers down Gene’s arm. As Gene leaned over, as Gene got on the bed, the camera became the only thing left between them, the only piece of distance. The only separation. The photos were spilling out onto the bed like scattered confetti, each one revealing a little more and a little more.

By the tenth shot Paul was toying with the tie of his bathrobe, lying on his side, back arched. The robe had slid down past his shoulder, exposing his rose tattoo. There was a half-healed bite mark just beneath it and Gene couldn’t help but wonder which groupie had left it there.

By the fifteenth he’d cast the robe aside entirely. Gene’s hands were sweaty against the camera, thumb slipping on the button. He was on his knees now, Paul sprawled next to him, back against the covers, completely exposed and half-hard, hips arching up against nothing at all.

“Paul.” Gene barely recognized his own voice, the heaviness there. He was still looking at Paul through the viewfinder, still watching his head raise and his lip curl from a distance as he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t pose like that.”

“Why not? Too provocative for you?”

“Not provocative enough.”

Snap. Paul bristled slightly—there’d been no countdown this time—but then he reached a hand out, sliding it against Gene’s thigh as the photo ejected, forgotten.

“Oh, yeah? You got me in a good mood, Gene, I’m open to critique—”

Gene put his hand on top of Paul’s and lowered the camera, setting it down on the edge of the bed. Looking at him full on, all barriers gone, those still-damp curls and those big brown eyes and the teasing strokes of his hand rubbing his thigh, inching over, over, to grip and fondle his hard-on through his pants. Gene sucked in a breath, fingers curling around Paul’s and pushing his hand aside, gaze never wavering from his face.

“They don’t have me in them.”

He didn’t give Paul a chance to answer. Barely a chance to open his mouth before Gene leaned in and over him, cupping his chin and crushing their lips together. Paul’s mouth tasted like the cherry tarts room service had brought down a couple hours ago, the ones he’d said he wouldn’t eat, and his lips were chapped and hot under his.

Paul was shoving his tongue in Gene’s mouth before Gene could even manage it, reaching up to yank Gene on top of him, rocking up against him desperately as his hands dug beneath Gene’s shirt. All coyness, all pretense utterly shattered. Gene laughed throatily at Paul’s freneticness, but he wasn’t any better, fingers fumbling with his own shirt, trying to peel it off while Paul’s hands roved over his back, short nails leaving light pink lines across his skin. His pants and boxers were off only moments later, Paul’s help no help at all, wriggling and rutting against him as he tried to unzip himself and toss the clothes aside.

It was a tangle of limbs, imprecise, messy. Paul nibbling at Gene’s neck, groaning as Gene’s hand went for his dick, stroking him hastily. Time seemed to collapse on itself. Gene didn’t hear the T.V. anymore or the raucousness from Ace’s room or the groans from Peter’s—all he heard was Paul gasping beneath him, all he saw was Paul flushed and willing and wanting, mumbling for him, indistinct rambles that sank somewhere deep inside him. A feeling he was chasing. A feeling that he might belong after all, only for a moment, a feeling that he might belong with him.

Gene grabbed the lube from the dresser, slicked himself up before turning Paul on his stomach, figuring that might be easier. His fingers were slippery as he started to prepare, inexpertly at best. The backdoor wasn’t his favorite with girls, honestly; too much prep for a less-exciting finish, at least for them. But Paul wasn’t going to be that way, already back to bucking up, relaxing into his touch as he eased himself inside him. Gene reached around, breaths heavy as he grasped Paul’s cock again, stroking unevenly with his own thrusts, grunting hard as every twitch and jerk of his hips drove them both closer, closer—

Paul came first with a low groan, spilling into Gene’s hand, sliding against the sheets. It wasn’t long for Gene after that, just a few more thrusts at best before orgasm coursed through him, utterly blinding. He all but collapsed against Paul after, eyes shut, panting against his sweaty skin as he pulled out, draping an arm haphazardly across Paul’s back before he fell asleep.

---

Everything was better in America. Even, Gene assumed, the morning afters.

Most of his involved asking the girl to leave before the crack of dawn. In fact, Gene had half-expected Paul to be gone by the time he woke up, slinking back to his own hotel room to clear his head of last night’s madness, but he wasn’t. Instead, Paul was leaning against the nightstand, bathrobe back on, eating a bowl of Cheerios. The usual hotel breakfast spread rested precariously on a tray on top of the T.V. “Morning, Gene.” Paul clinked the spoon against the ceramic bowl with every scoop.

“… Morning.”

Gene sat up slowly, reaching over the edge of the bed for his clothes and tugging them on, at an utter loss for words. He could feel Paul’s gaze on him, was sure it was amused and not worried. Not concerned. Had to be. He cleared his throat, finally managing to string a sentence together.

“Where’s my camera?”

“On the table. Figured one of us was gonna step on it otherwise.”

“And the pictures?”

Paul grinned and pulled open the nightstand drawer. There, beside the lube, were the photos, in order, neatly stacked.

“Right here.” He handed them over. “Oh, I couldn’t figure out which one you liked, so…”

Gene sifted through the photos, nail digging against the paper’s edge. At first, he was just looking at the images, turning one after another in his hand. His own documentary of the entire evening’s descent, up until that debauched climax.

Their climax.

But then he looked at the lettering beneath, and he stared, eyes wide. Every photo, every single photo, was signed in bold black scrawl across the bottom:

“Paul Stanley, #200.”

“Paul Stanley, #201.”

“Paul Stanley, #202.”

“Paul Stanley, #203.”

“Paul Stanley, #204….”

“Paul, what did you—”

Paul set down the bowl of cereal.

“Oh, yeah. Well, you said you couldn’t have an album with a hundred ninety-nine girls and then me. So I figured I’d just even things out.”

“Even things out.”

“Yeah.” Paul dug through Gene’s luggage, finding his teasing comb, and started to drag it through his bushy hair. “That was sixteen pictures. Number two hundred’s taken care of, so that just leaves us fifteen more.”

“Fifteen more.”

“At least.”

It took a minute to dawn on Gene. More than a minute, honestly. Paul had averted his eyes, the only sound the tugging of the comb, when Gene finally answered, slow smile spreading across his face as he reached over to yank at one of Paul’s stray curls.

“You’ve got a huge ego, anyone ever tell you that, Paul?”

Paul laughed, brushing his hand away, offering up a grin of his own.

“All the damn time.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #happy birthday paul!!

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shellheadtmarc · 6 years ago

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actually, because i really need to finish my new theme and need new verse blurbs, here’s a more in depth look at my current/in-use verses, with links to full writeups as available.

mcu: this is boilerplate. i’m a canon tony, this is a canon verse. follows the events from iron man through infinity war for the moment, including the tie-in comics iron man 2: public identity, iron man 2: agents of shield, iron man: the coming of the melter, iron man 3 prelude, marvel’s avengers: age of ultron prelude - the scepter’d isle, marvel’s captain america: civil war prelude infinite, marvel’s avengers: infinity war prelude, and marvel’s avengers: endgame prelude. also includes the post-iron man 3 short about the mandarin. everything not covered/discussed in mcu canon is plugged with 616 continuity canon.

616: what it says on the tin. covers most of the runs from about 2008-present, including the new tony stark: iron man, against my greater judgment, though that may change in the future if it keeps tanking in story. in reality, this actually covers everything post-heroes reborn, but to make it simple we’ll say it’s wibbly wobbly because comics. also includes heavy snippets still in play from classic invincible iron man.

classic: from his first appearances in tales of suspense up to the inception of heroes reborn. or, if you prefer, original flavor tony stark, the cool suave businessman with the aloof nature, party boy ways, and injured heart, reliant on his rechargeable chest piece, as he also has a double identity as the golden avenger known as iron man. poses as his own bodyguard. jetsetter. people love or hate him, but most want to be him. if only they knew how much his bum ticker isolated him. a ton of fridged girlfriends. later physical ailments include: paralysis from the waist down. degenerative nervous system. a cranky ticker more than you can shake a stick at. literally dying and being cryogenically frozen.

616 meets mcu: this covers any time comicverse tony is thrown at mcu versions of the people he knows. things to note include being taller. he has blue eyes. his tech is more advanced. his speech patterns differ heavily. recovering alcoholic, coffee is fine no matter how shitty it is. he has more years as a superhero under his belt at this point. his fears and points of stress differ from mcu tony’s quite a bit, and his reactions are different. he and pepper are barely on speaking terms (generously speaking). he’s different, and it’s obvious he’s different.

broke: mcu-based verse that includes corporate espionage and tony stark having to keep his head down and learning to live under the table paycheck to under the table paycheck until he can muster what he needs to make a frontal assault on regaining what’s rightly his. a verse where tony’s at his absolute lowest, still determined to retain the phoenix metaphor and rise from the ashes of the misfortune thrust upon him.

superior iron man: hiding the fact that he’s still under the scarlet witch’s inversion spell, tony goes full tilt diva, his main concerns being money, power, and fame. he starts drinking again. he makes san francisco his own personal big brother state, where he watches the city like a hawk by day while shilling extremis as a beauty enhancer, and parties like it’s 1999 at his new home on alcatraz island by night. is still iron man, as long as there’s something in it for him. will partially be at fault for the destruction of the 616 universe (it gets better).

hypervelocity: tony’s attacked in his own lab by the mind-emulationware mechs known as “beautiful garbage”, and his newest iteration of the iron man suit forced an upload or a copy of his brain patterns to get him out of there. the wetware is damaged, and the suit dumps it before it bleeds out in the suit cavity, and thus that suit, with the ability to walk, talk, and think exactly like tony stark (albeit full of bugs) is born, to unravel the mystery of the attack and attempt to stop the emulation program that caused it.

ai: after being punched into a literal coma during a battle with captain marvel/carol danvers over the fate of miles morales and concerning an inhuman by the name of odysseus’s increasingly violent visions of the future, and with even hank mccoy being afraid to even draw blood on tony after seeing what tony’s been doing to himself over the years, tony’s ai comes online, as a mentor to riri williams/ironheart and to help against the clone captain america with those of the mount. he’s twice as sassy with quadruple the processing speed, and he’s got some weird feelings about being the recreated consciousness of a living person suddenly finding itself with no physical body.

noir: a businessman who likes to play adventurer for a men’s magazine, along with his best friend james rhodes and their new reporter pepper potts, writing under a male pseudonym, tony stark on the surface has it all in the late 1930s. beautiful women, exciting adventures, and loads of money. but all it does is hide his desperate search for a cure for his dying heart, as he’s forced to wear a metal chest piece that has to be charged frequently to even keep himself alive.

director of shield: mcu-based version of tony’s time as the director of shield. after everything that occurs after captain america: the winter soldier, and the fall of shield, an attempt is made to resurrect it with tony stark at the helm as fury’s replacement (hand-picked). he stresses transparency, he stresses equality, and most of all, he just wants to find a way to balance being iron man with having to deal with the day-to-day bullshit of international bureaucracy.

sorcerer supreme: based on the 90s “what if?” one shot comic. tony was the cause of the accident that injured stephen strange’s hands, and, feeling supremely guilty about the entire thing, searches for ways to give stephen his dexterity and life back. it leads him to becoming the sorcerer supreme, despite that inherent dislike of magic he has, and he combines the iron man technology with the mystical forces he gains a hold over in that quest for a cure.

guardians of the galaxy: mcu flavor for tony’s time as an active gotg. after civil war, on a break with pepper, and feeling about as great about things as someone laying facedown in a gutter possibly can, tony puts his mobile armory into space, tinkers together a suit for deep space exploration, and takes off, losing himself for a while among the stars. threat is going to come from there, sure, but there’s going to be opportunity, as well. it’s a useful thing to find out who’s friend, and who’s foe, and see what there is to see in the black expanses of space.

supernatural: the other family business. being a founder of shield and everything he took to his grave wasn’t the only secret he was keeping, and this was one maria was in on as well. too bad tony doesn’t stumble across it until after he’s already become iron man, where saving the world is so tied into his moral code he can’t look away. if he goes missing for a few days, it’s fine, it’s chill. he’s just taking a breather, not poking around at things he only still half-believes in even when he’s seen them with his own two eyes. the biggest skeptic hunter you’ll ever meet.

fallout prewar: mcu continuity up to the beginning of iron man 3, against fallout’s prewar as a backdrop. tony stark is who he is, he does what he does, but he also is someone certain government agencies would love to tear down, because he’s a rabble rouser against the war, and has no problem hogging the iron man technology for himself instead of sharing with the military. he also has no problem sharing the dirty secrets he finds out with the press. full write up can be found here.

fallout new vegas: tony as the infamous courier six. left in stasis in a vault in california, tony comes to years and years after the devastation of the bombs to a world vastly changed from the one he remembers, and in a vault full of ghouls. once topside, and once reoriented into the world, he ends up something of a jack of all trades until he takes that fateful job with the mojave express, and gets two to the head for his trouble. independent path with the yes-man aligned ending, details of choices and all dlcs available as needed until i get off my ass and do a full replaythrough and write up. keeps the spine from big mt, but his heart and brain are back where they belong. locked elijah in the vault. nuke launch stopped (ed-e repaired after). evacuated the sorrows.

fallout 4 sole survivor: still needs a full write up, but tony as the sole survivor. does not take the shock at the change in the world well at first. eventually pulls his shit together enough to get shit done, but can’t touch a suit, can’t think about the suit, will take some time to even toy with the idea of possibly touching a suit again before he actually can. minutemen and railroad aligned, destroys the bos and institute. peaceful ending with all far harbor factions. spares the mechanist. destroys the raiders at nuka world and turns the parks over to the minutemen. question information as needed until i get a full write up done.

fallout 4 companion: tony’s been in new york since the bombs dropped. there are huge chunks of it that are still uninhabitable, much like boston’s glowing sea, but the parts that are? he’s started on a grand rebuilding project, because he’s got nothing but time: the arc reactor’s kept his heart pumping well past its expiration date. when the bos slow rolls past new york, he follows them into boston, mostly because he’s paranoid and cagey (with good reason in the wasteland) and partially out of curiosity. available as a companion for sole survivors, some restrictions apply, please see this write up for more details.

fallout 76 dweller: locked up with a bunch of other big brains after the bombs, tony’s that guy. you know. the one you read about in the terminal. the one that kept hacking things. once topside again, he sheds that vault tec blue and yellow as quickly as he can and sees about setting things right. a member of the responders. a mole in [redacted]. fire breather. rebuilding the world has to start somewhere, so it might as well be west virginia.

dwemer: the last surviving dwemer, finally peeking his head out of his lab in its pocket plane of oblivion to find the nords are at it again, dragons are still doing their thing, his people have just flat out vanished, and that skyrim is still cold as balls. often gets mistaken as a very tall bosmer. still calls the dunmer the chimer out of sheer smartassedness. swung on rolf in windhelm and ends up in jail more times than you can shake a stick at.

single parent au: handed off a baby under some shady as hell circumstances, unable to find out anything and secretly glad he can’t find out anything about her in the end, tony pulls some strings and sophie stark ends up hitting the jackpot as far as adoptive parents go. tony had thought just being iron man was hard, but now he’s balancing ballet practice and pta meetings with saving the world.

#⚛ (array: verse info)#long post

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earwaxinggibbous · 6 years ago

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Eminem - Worst to Best

So I was watching theneedledrop and thinking I could do this too. That’s all the prefacing you’re gonna get.

I know it’s hard to believe I can judge Eminem from an objective standpoint considering I’m such a big fan that I ranked Kamikaze as my favorite hit song of 2018 (my actual favorite song was probably When You Die by MGMT or Stop Smoking by Car Seat Headrest for the record) but I am able, physically, to have negative opinions even about the rap god himself.

My only rule is that this only includes his full-length studio albums. Infinite won’t be here due to my lack of knowledge regarding it, but everything else is fair game. This will be heavily opinion-based.

Let’s go and start from the worst!

9. Revival (2017)

Initially I was gonna put Encore below this one. After all, in my opinion, there’s nothing egregiously awful about Revival in my mind. It just sort of existed to me, like that dead roach that stayed in my high school’s gym for over a month before disappearing without a word about it.

It wasn’t until I gave a few of the tracks a re-listen that I realized Revival has nothing going for it. This is Em’s sellout album, the one where he collabs with Beyonce, Ed Sheeran and goddamn X Ambassadors in the vague hopes that it’d get him a hit. Songs that don’t bother having clever writing because all they need to do is slap a semi-important pop singer on the hook.

It’s easily Em’s most ballsless album. In a universe where Kill You and Same Song & Dance exist, there is no need for Framed, Em’s almost saddening attempt to return to his Slim Shady roots even though, let’s be honest, the years of Shady are long behind us.

I’m not saying I need Em yelling slurs and talking about murder every five seconds, I just want him to be, for lack of a better word, the most authentic version of himself he can be. And this really isn’t it to me. No amount of politics or wordplay can hide that this is a sham of what an Eminem album should sound like. I don’t need diss tracks, or songs about serial killing, I just want him to say what he wants and not hold back.

Everything about the album is weak and tired. Every song melds into one another, without thought or purpose, only broken up by the celebrity hooks that define them. It’s the blackest mark on Em’s discography, and easily his worst album to date. Not even worth sneezing at.

8. Encore (2004)

I guess we shouldn’t let Em do whatever he wants...

Encore has the opposite problem that Revival does, and it’s a problem I empathize with. Encore is essentially word vomit in album form. It’s the musical equivalent of Jack Kerouac’s spontaneous prose, loud and incoherent and kind of gross. It’s what happens when ambition goes unchecked, and Em just leans a little too far into what the media says about him.

This was also deep in the throes of Em’s drug abuse problem, and it shows. This album feels like a bad drug trip, sludgy and gross and heavy, in a way that makes it hard to move your arms and legs. With these absolutely god-awful sung choruses on songs like My First Single, Eminem dares you to make less sense than him as he rambles like a crazy person through song after song, only taking breaks from his half-attempts at comedy on tracks like Mosh, Like Toy Soldiers and Mockingbird, which try to be serious. But it’s hard to be serious when you’re essentially getting choked in a soup of valium and regret.

I don’t hate Encore like I do Revival, because in some ways I can understand where it comes from. It’s trying to do the same sort of thing its predecessors did, with silly songs and serious ones. But the funny songs are so weird and frankly gross that it quashes any attempt of seriousness. It’s like Eminem thought the only way to make his songs better were to take what his detractors hated about him and turn it up to 11. Songs like My First Single are complete nonsense complete with gut-churning sound effects and a shitty beat, whereas Just Lose It, a song I’m ashamed to admit I enjoy, fills itself with baseless offensiveness and weird reference humor to function. And that was the big hit single off of this album.

Really I think Just Lose It was the best way to sell this album. What says Encore more than a song insisting that Eminem diddles little boys? FACK would’ve been in place on this album, which is not a compliment.

7. Recovery (2010)

Recovery shares a lot of problems with Revival, a lot of radio-bait songs featuring pop artists that have no business being within ten feet of Eminem. But I’ll admit its singles were far superior to that of Revival. No Love was far superior to anything Revival spat out.

I just kinda don’t care about this album. Other than how Love The Way You Lie was permanently ingrained in the cultural consciousness around 2010, I have very few thoughts about it. I remember hearing most of the singles when I was in elementary school, and they were all just kinda fine. Space Bound was okay (other than that coked up line about love being ‘evil’ spelt backwards) and Not Afraid was sincerely underwhelming considering what it was going for.

It’d been diminishing returns for Em for years, so I’m not shocked he needed some time to get back on his feet. But there’s just not much to say about Recovery. I feel like Em was a lot prouder of it than anyone else.

6. Kamikaze (2018)

At some level, I feel like Kamikaze set itself up to fail. And it did pretty well in spite of that.

The album’s main selling point was that it was dissing everyone. Shady’s gonna name names, I remember hearing, as this album dropped right the fuck out of nowhere in the late summer of 2018. Diss track drama has never really been for me, since oftentimes it pits artists I like against one another over petty bullshit. And hearing that Em slammed people simply for disliking Revival only made me more nervous about what Kamikaze’s outcome would look like.

I’m glad to say it was not nearly as bad as I was expecting.

I’m sort of on the fence about this album. While I think it is punchy, and pretty fun lyrics-wise, it definitely doesn’t hold a candle to any of his older stuff. It doesn’t even really hold up against MMLP2. It’s less that I enjoy this album, and more that I enjoy the possibility of Eminem managing to pick himself up after Revival and move into the new age while still being himself.

Easily the worst moment on this album is Eminem calling Tyler the Creator the f-slur and even implying he’s pretending to be gay, which he has since apologized for. However, the scariest thing to me that the line represents is the possibility that Eminem’s personality is too anachronistic. That in an era of young-adult trap rappers with very experimental homemade beats, there’s no longer room for a famous, albeit angry man in his 40′s being backed by a studio. It’s the years of Soundcloud, where anyone can be a rapper, and someone as old and frankly polarizing as Eminem may never truly have the limelight again.

Em’s style has simply fallen behind the times and he will never be content with updating himself, because that isn’t who he is. And while I love that about him, I think it might speak disaster for his career.

I like the songs though.

5. The Marshall Mathers LP 2 (2013)

Now we’re getting into the good shit. The Marshall Mathers LP 2 starts off with a bang, the first song being Bad Guy, a direct sequel to Stan and an incredibly powerful sequel at that. Eminem asks questions about his fame, his identity, and most notably, he fucking gets murdered at the beginning of this album.

MMLP2 strips off all but one skit. No Paul Rosenberg cameo on this one. This was him getting serious after the relative failure of Encore and Relapse. This was, frankly, what Recovery should’ve sound like. With Berzerk being a fun sort of party hit, Rap God is what really got him back on the map. The song asserts his lyrical dominance. It is a brag track, and it earns that right.

Despite it being of incredibly high quality, this is nowhere near Em’s best work, which speaks highly for his track record. The fact that something this well-made is comparatively mediocre when put next to the top four is incredible to me. This album is more of a revival than Revival was. It’s Eminem reaching out of the dirt after being buried and yelling “Hey, I’m not dead yet!” It’s the hearbeat running through a comatose body as they return to consciousness.

But when it comes down to it, I love what this album represents to me more than its content. Aside from Berzerk, Bad Guy and Rap God, none of the songs really stand out either way. It’s all good, of course, but none of it can match up to his older work. Regardless, this album means a lot to me on a spiritual level. Whenever I listen to this I feel like a proud parent, and Em is my son who just completely crushed his elementary school talent show.

It’s a good feeling.

4. Relapse (2009)

At this point it was sort of like picking my favorite child. My number one is obvious, but deciding how to order these three was trouble.

People will probably argue with me saying that Relapse is one of Em’s best, but fuck that. This album is severely underrated among the fanbase, and is an incredibly powerful listen. This album is an auditory representation of rock bottom, in the best way possible.

This is one of the only albums to really define a split between Marshall and Slim Shady, with Slim being a deep-voiced demon and Marshall being a fucked-up middle-aged man who just came staggering out of a rehab center. The way the characters play off of one another is beautiful, Slim trying to manipulate Marshall into his ways and wiles. This also easily has the most horrorcore-type sound and content out of any Eminem album, with Slim occasionally playing the role of a serial killer, such as on 3 am or one of the standout tracks, Same Song & Dance. Insane tells a story possibly regarding Slim’s father, or maybe representative of something else entirely.

One of my few issues with this album, aside from We Made You of all things being one of the singles, is that one of the best tracks is only on the deluxe edition. My Darling ties off the Slim and Marshall story in a nice little bow, plus Careful What You Wish For sweeping up all the themes and putting them in one place.

This album is beautiful, it’s cinematic in a way. It’s deep and powerful and incredibly, incredibly scary, with Em at his lowest point in his life and career. Sadly, it was not well-received critically, which I think is a shame. Clearly they weren’t seeing what I see.

3. The Eminem Show (2002)

Screw Revival, this is easily Em’s most politically powerful album yet. I listened to this whole thing on a boombox I got at Best Buy for 20 dollars and I felt like I had fucking transcended.

This album pulls out all the stops, immediately starting out on White America, a song so goddamn strong that every time little me heard it on the radio I immediately got down and lost my shit. I didn’t even understand what it was about, all I knew was that it was big and important. And it is.

While his first two big albums tried to be weird and threatening, The Eminem Show just wanted to be big, and talk about big things. Eminem fearlessly tears into heavily-charged concepts in White America, Say Goodbye Hollywood and Square Dance. Then on the flipside he aims the gun at himself on tracks like My Dad’s Gone Crazy, Cleanin’ Out My Closet and even Hailie’s Song. It’s a gut-punch of an album, this is where Eminem is truly fearless.

I’ll also say I feel this album is a little bit more accessible, weirdly enough, than Em’s earlier stuff. It’s much less crude and aggressive, but still carries his trademark style. It’s got the skits, he yells a lot still, but the topics are easier to swallow than his earlier albums. I’d say it’s a good entry-level Eminem album if you’re threatened by rape jokes and Em yelling the f-slur constantly. And unlike what Teens of Denial was for Car Seat Headrest, I feel like The Eminem Show manages to be that entry-level album without completely castrating Eminem’s lyrical content.

But even longtime fans can gain enjoyment from this album and how loud and proud it is, how fearless Eminem really is on this album. This one, more than anything, is the unfiltered Marshall Mathers experience. No filters, no jokes, just him and his daughter and Dr. Dre.

But easily the best part of this album is the DVD extras thing where you get a free episode of the Slim Shady Show. Fuck yeah.

2. The Slim Shady LP (1999)

The Slim Shady LP was Eminem’s first really successful work. It was also the first thing he ever put on a CD. Yeah, Infinite was on cassette only. And this album is fucking great. It’s a perfect debut for Eminem. It’s got his first big hit, My Name Is, and a myriad of other great tracks. It’s just good late 90′s rap, with fun beats and interesting lyrics. As much as I love SSLP, I don’t really like talking about it because... yeah, it’s good, I’m just never sure what else to say.

And that might make it sound like I like it less than The Eminem Show, but no, that’s not it. As much as I think political Em is great, I’ll forever prefer nasty rat boy Em any day. This is the Em that inspires me the most, the grody, crude one that reminds me of myself. Best tracks include 97 Bonnie and Clyde, Bad Meets Evil and of course My Name Is. This is also the only album where Ken Kaniff is played by Aristotle. There’s your fun fact for the day.

1. The Marshall Mathers LP (2000)

FUCK everyone else, I respect YOU!

The Marshall Mathers LP is a defining rap album. It’s lyrical perfection, the hooks are god-tier, and it is without contest the best Eminem album of all time. I doubt he’ll ever top this, and if he does it’ll probably break space-time.

MMLP ticks all the boxes an Eminem album usually should. It’s quirky, it’s comedic, it’s dark, it’s angry, it’s violent, it’s everything I could want and more. But beyond that, it’s the thing that really proved what Eminem can do. He can tell stories, he can do lyrics, he can flow, he has good beats, he can murder his ex-girlfriend, he can get his own songs censored on the uncensored version of his album, he can do it all.

The songs on this just put me in a good mood. Even though they’re horrible, and I don’t mean they’re bad songs. The content is absolutely fucked, this album is not for the faint of heart. But it makes me feel represented, not for being gay, trans, mentally ill or short, but for being a fucked-up weirdo who lived a fucked-up life and just wants to scream and lose his shit. More than anything, this feels like an album that’s there for me, for better or for worse.

The standouts on this album in my opinion are the two “named” tracks, Kim and Stan. These tracks are incredibly disturbing, but they both mean a lot to me and are incredibly written and acted. The Real Slim Shady is still an amazing single with an awesome, hopping beat. I’m Back is incredibly solid, Criminal is cleverly contradictory, every track on this album is great without any misses. If there were enough words in the English language to describe how much I love this album, I’d probably use all of them.

This album couldn’t exist today. If this came out today, it’d probably be thrown to the wayside for a myriad of reasons. It’s too late 90′s, it’s too dark, it’s “problematic”, we have like 500 white rappers now, but for the record: Anyone who writes this kind of music today owes it to Eminem, ESPECIALLY all of the white rappers who insist they’re better than him. (Looking at you, MGK.) Even if he’s not doing that great now, even if you don’t like him, it’d be foolish to not acknowledge what MMLP did for rap. And not only was it influential, but it still holds up to this very day.

So there you have it. All of Eminem’s full albums (besides Infinite oopsies) listed from worst to best. Have any differing opinions? Leave a reply. Just be polite, you filthy animal.

#worst to best #eminem #music review #music criticism #panda posts

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what-ever-happened-to-chip · 3 years ago

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Marcus/Lana story I wrote, takes place after Gray had his freak out in the kitchen in the last story.

Marcus didn't release my hand the entire walk to his bedroom. He pushed the door lightly shut and dug in his deep pockets for his cigarettes. Marcus' hands were soft from lack of doing just about anything with them and his bulged knuckles locked safely between mine. Although he always loved to talk, it seemed like now he didn't just want to, he needed to. "Heyaa...you alright?" Gotta start somewhere Lana. "Yes would be a vague statement on the matter, but yes I am ultimately okay." He exhaled the thick Pall Mall smoke. He gave me a reassuring smile. "Any incidence like the such can shake someone, we are all made to preserve our mind and body and to see both at jeopardy leads essentially back to our own selfish motives of survival. A crass reminder, but a neccesary one." "Yeah I guess I'm sorta used to it being in camp by now. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing." "Would you excuse me for just one moment, dear." He gently placed my hand on my own knee. As he swiftly exited the room, I could feel the warmth leave my hand. My eyes gazed around his room. He was neatish, but very cluttered. Spread across his desk was piles of notebooks and books, notecards with his immaculate penmanship jotting ideas, overflowing ashtrays 90% pall mall filters. His closet was packed to the brim with blazers, cardigans, many dulled colors of the rainbow mismatched together. He loved clothes and took the pride to dress up in his own unique fashion everyday. These thoughts made me love him more. 'THIS IS BOOOORING, she's just sitting there, let's follow Marcus and see what he's doing until she gets back." "Perhaps he is only using the faciluties." I was gonna show him wrong, check and mate, camera engaged to Marcus, and bam, harry was right. Marcus at a reasonable fast pace, hands in pocket, walked down the stairs and turned the corner on to the third door on the right. He gently knocked and called out, "Denny, would this be a bad time to inquire for your time?" "Uh shit, hold on.." "Oh my god Aiden don't, he'll see" "Babe, it's cool, chill..." "whisper whisper....whisper" The door swung open. Jenn was rearranging loose strands of hair while trying to hold the comforter over her exposed bra. She was always jealous to give up alone time with Aiden, but Marcus was his friend and he needed a best friend, especially a cool one like Marcus. "Whatchu need homes?" "Would you be able to spare a gram for the night, a sharp too? I have been outta stock at the present time. "Yeah fer sure, if Joni hasn't fucking washed me out. For a bitch that can get free drugs whenever she wants, she seems to never have any of her own shit. Gray has ghosted the bitch so she's crawling around my shit these days." In a little flower shaped box, Jenn had lovingly gave all Aiden's "shit" a proper place to live in the bedroom. No twice used needles in her perfect little world. Marcus laughed in his head at the concept of a girlfriend being more worried about the physical mess of addiction rather than the cause it had on the boyfriend in case. However, the only annoyance drugs had in Jenn's life was it meant Aiden would talk to his friends more. Aiden held out the box like a bowl of candy and Marcus proceeded to pick out a 1/2 inch rock and assorted tools for the activity. "Thank you good friend, we'll converse tomorrow. Goodnight, Jenavieve." Most of Aiden's friend didn't bother acknowledge Jenn, it felt good that Marcus always at least gave her a greeting or a goodbye, sometimes both. They hugged each other tightly, for almost a full minute. Aiden rested his head on Marcus's shoulder like a toddler. Marcus closed his eyes and held a soft smile. Harry was bored. Thank god he was finally leaving. Oh fuck. "Ayyye ya Marcus, how ya doin?" Harry boringly sat through another 20 minute conversation him and Gippal had about dead romantic languages. This was so stupid, he never thought he hated Gippal until this moment. "Of course, to interpret any eastern religions, namingly Hinduism, Buddhism would never be the proper message without rudimentary knowledge of traditional Sanskrit, we could only roughly use Hindi to roughly define it, but well, jo hai no hai." They both let out pretentious laughs. "Well yeah, but couldn't ya say that about dead greek, latin, and all the like? Lots of those Christian fanatics like to use Latin instead of language, makes it deeper er something like that." he leaned back and clicked his tongue for no apparant reason. "Well fanatic indeed is the key word their, seemingly Christianity's domination of the whole western world led to Latin's prevelance yet today, however Sanskrit is actually still spoken as a live changeble language. The difference between a dead language lies not in the fact their are speakers still, but rather the ability to alter and update language to our modern needs." "I guessum, but maybe the inflexibility makes the language more understandable, certainly easier to learn, hell, sed quid scio?" "Clearly you know a great deal, my friend." This was so gay. Harry couldn't give a fuck about language or latin or anyone of it. He knew some Latin cause of his spells, but he didn't need to speak it. Just speak English, i'm sick of having to put on the translators just to get a joke. Oh thank god they are finishing up. Finally. "Indeed somethign to think about. Very well, Satyricon amicus~" "Oib, oib. facile accipere pitto" "I detect by your accent shift that was Al Bhed?" "oui kud ed syh, hmmm, lmajan" "That's just it, written Al Bhed is an easy cryptograph, so I am more or less fluent there, but spoken I have not quite grasped the dialect." "You got it man, just like any other, you gots to talk with it. Yer good at talkin so it shouldn't be no problemo" "Indeed so, I only find it would be fair to speak Lana, and your, natural language, makes for better conversation to speak the way another thinks." "How's that girlie doin' these days?" "Oh quite well, but to know for sure i'd better get back to her company" "Do yer thang man, I gotta work on some....." he began muttering whatever bullshit to himself and pacing away. Fucking finally he proceeded back to where Harry wanted him. That was super annoying.

The slouched Lana perked up at the sight of him returning. She'd paced the room and looked through his writings, he didn't ever have a concern for privacy and if he did he would never tell her, he would merely just keep it a secret. She was used to being patient when it came to Marcus. He wasn't neccesarily easily distracted, but easily engaged in whatever was around him. She hated herself for being disappointed that he brought back H. "I'm sorry I kept you so long darling, as we rest society continues to thrive." He used many pet names with people, however darling he seemed to save for more special situations. She felt more relieved. It was cute seeing them together, but Harry wanted more. He needed more. "Fuck this i'm drugging her to ask him questions, i hate waiting for the bitch to do something. " "Indeed so Harry Potter." As much as Harry loved the sound of his own name, it was starting to bother him the way Christian kept saying it, like he was mocking him. Harry opened a secret cabinet to the left of the monitors and began scanning around for the proper potion to guide the situation into what he wanted. "Mmmmmm I think I'll use a dash of love, a bit of truth....." He busily mixed away. Christian sat completely still, but scanned the room thouroughly with his eyes. "That's the magic touch! Okay this should make her start asking him things that might make things funner..mwah haha...." "More fun." "Excuse moi?" "Funner is not a proper word. The expression would be 'more fun'" This guy was really getting on his fucking nerves. Ugh. He placed the potion in the vaporizer, isolated to only work on Lana and pumped it through the vents of Marcus's room. Immediatly the effects engaged. Lana uncontrolablly began to talk before comprehending fully what she had thought. "I thought you weren't using lately?" Oh god she sounded like a bitchy controlling girlfriend, but she really was just curious. Who was she kidding she was bothered and she didn't know why. He never got annoyingly high, he always coasted at a light level, stayed attentive and active in the conversation. Since the day she met him he was a drug user so why now would she want it to change? She truly hated being 'this girl.' Dammit. Why did she say that? "Of course I wasn't lately, but a break would not be a break if one did not return would it, just simply the way things were." He smiled warmly again and excused himself to the bathroom. He knew she didn't like watching him do it, so it was considerate of him, but a pang of loneliness ran over her. Moments later he returned a wave of contentment ran over him, yet she still wanted to talk. "So are you using because you got by upset by before?" Fuck Lana, why do you keep saying these things? Stupid, stupid. "Perhaps there is a connection there, of course, any sitution like that not only is alarmingly in it's own right, it's probably the past associations I share like any human does. Familiar negative stimuli. And well comfort is occasionally do." He went silent and pondered on the wall for a moment. He beginning scurrying around behind his worn out recliner he spent the better part of his time in when he was alone. He pulled out a wooden guitar and begin picking random chords. "Sure, it just seemed you....whatever. I don't know what I'm saying." "Lana dear, are you feeling well? You seem to be rather confused in your sentiments. I mean that in no way condescending, really are you alright?" "Yeah I just wanna know you're okay I guess, not hiding." "I am well, however certain thoughts have the tendency to make one over think so i'd rather level my brain out and find a way to express it more productively." "I guess, but....." She wanted to be careful to not say anything else stupid, but all her thoughts felt like diarrhea spewing out of her mouth. She didn't even mean all the thigns she said, they were just stupid insecurities that passed though, they weren't her. Were they? Dammit, dammit.

"Lana i'd like to show you a song I had written a long time ago, one that reminds myself of this feeling."

Song

Harry was on the edge of his seat. He fucking loved when kareoke/watching people came together so neatly. He could feel his jeans get tight. Lana watched him intently, trying to catch every word, tears welled in her eyes and she couldn't help but to fall even deeper. Fuck why does he do this to my head. "Wow that was......beautiful. I wish I was better with words. That was...." As she rose from the bed, he moved the guitar aside to make a seat for her on his lap. they sat in silence for a moment as he rocked the chair back and forth to lull them. "Perhaps times where words are at a loss is when music is essential. Of course, I could say something, but well I figure it gets the point across." "hey Marcus, i was just wondering.....what are we?" His eyebrow raised in genuine confusion and turned her on his lap to be face to face. "What are we you ask....as in the title given to the intimacy we share? We've been over this dear, I've never needed the security of labels to define what I share with the ones in my life." "I mean yeah. I know.......but Liza wasn't she your girlfriend, what made her different. I mean I get it if you felt a different way....but I guess after all this time, I don't know. I'm being stupid." "Stupid? No never, what possibly gives you that idea? Oh Liza.....yes my 'girlfriend' Liza, a term she demanded be told to all our companions to solidify her insecurity with the situation. I honestly felt that it made no difference other than the way other's view a connection, but the power of word does hold a weight in our lives. Language is a strong tool, but not the only one, of course. Could you elaborate what it is you desire from this?" Lana's cheeks flushed. Jesus is this how Memo felt every time she talked to a boy? This is horrible, no wonder she doesn't like dating. "I guess it's not always I need to know, just sometimes you seem you forget about me. Like your devotion... wow that's a gay word....comes and goes." She felt even stupider now, why couldn't she stop talking? It was like diarrhea coming out of her mouth. Fat chance he's gonna like me the same after this. I'm just the same insecure girl he's met 100 times. "Lana I wish you would tell me your first reaction rather than the contrived one you think I wanted to hear. This isn't like you." His eyebrows began to tighten into a concerned look. "Talk seems like it might only make you feel more minimilized, here let me play your song again. It seems our memories don't always stay constant in this camp. I know I had a memory of playing it, but it's as if someone erased it from our minds to try and relive the experience." He briefly glanced directly into the camera. Fuck he was on to Harry. How did he know that he purposely erased it so Marcus could sing it again like the first time? Whatever, it was working exactly how Harry wanted. Bingo.

Next Song

Two songs in my watching. Harry was rock hard. This was good so good. "Damn that was so CUHH YOOOT! You know they're your fav couple now too J, just admit it." "J?" "I didn't say that, why would I be thinking about J? He's actually gotten pretty boring and annoying, i say Jay like the name, it's a nickname we used at hogwarts to mean friend." "You do not need to lie to me Harry Potter, the results are futile." Lana pulled Marcus's hand and led him to the queen bed in the middle of the room. The slowly began removing clothing and kissing softly. They proceeded to make love, not fuck, for many hours. Harry got shy and turned the camera off.

"Do you fear intimacy Harry Potter?"

"noooo I just think it gets boring when people just screw forever and don't talk about things. On that note Harry pulled his robe around his body and scurried away to the restroom.

Christian remained in his seat. Smiling.

#cheeseskittles #marcus #lana #harry #christian #i know i did them in kareoke but originally i had them here #so enjoy

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looselucy · 7 years ago

Photo

February

Every single time we sat in a lecture looking at a power-point presentation, one that was available for free online, I mentally kicked myself for paying the thousands of pounds that I was for the pleasure. Nothing made me more bitter.

To be honest, I didn’t feel like I was learning much at university, at all. It felt like a lot of stress, which resulted in a degree and the slight chance I would look better in a job interview, rather than actually learning. I didn’t regret going, I wasn’t considering dropping out or anything, but sometimes the whole thing just seemed to be one more step up the ladder, so maybe I could land a job where I could finally start paying back the debts I owed from going to university in the first place. It was on days like that Tuesday, in our first lecture back, where all I could see for myself was a dull future. Working a 9 - 5 and owning some average car with an average husband and feeling unfulfilled. I definitely shouldn’t have been on that course. At least if I was studying photography, I would be one step closer to being in a job I actually wanted, but I couldn’t imagine my current course getting me somewhere where I could feel satisfied with my life. They were deep thoughts to be having on a Tuesday morning, and they exhausted me, even ignoring the blissful night’s sleep I’d had, Harry cuddled behind me the entire time. “Hey, guess what?” Ed whispered as I jotted notes. “I did some maths, and it turns out we’re paying around one-hundred and thirty-six pounds per lecture. So that’s the money we’re down today, for reading a fucking power-point.” Ed’s thoughts were along the same track as mine, but Ed was thinking more along the money side, the here and now. I guess maybe it was because it was a Tuesday, and were used to having insightful talks and arguments in those lectures, rather than sitting down and taking notes. It felt like a massive slap in the face, and it wasn’t really what we wanted on our first day back. “That’s a disgusting amount of money.” I huffed. “Right?” “I wish you hadn’t told me.” “Knowledge is power.” He smirked. “Silence is golden.” I smirked back. He stuck his tongue out at me like a child before going back to writing. It was bitterly cold that day. I was awaiting Spring, which was just round the corner, knowing it would still be cold, but at least those arctic temperatures would be a thing of the past, and the near future. “You never told me how your week with Harry was.” Ed whispered next. ”If there’s one thing I hate doing, it’s admitting I was wrong.” I sighed. “But Harry Styles... although it pains me to say it, is a really decent lad. Heart of gold.” Without any reason for us to be sharing a bed in the first place, I had awoken with my limbs locked and tangled and lost between his, our alarms ringing at the same time, Harry’s bobble having fallen out in his sleep at some point, curls poking all over the show, lips swollen as though I had been biting and kissing at them all evening, though they hadn’t had a second meeting with my own. Harry was nice to wake up to. “I told you!” Ed tried and failed in his attempt not to raise his voice. “Did you meet Niall?” “YES!” I cried, failing too. “Loved him!” “I think I love Niall even more than I love Harry.” “Well, duh! Niall is a king.” “ED SHEERAN. PIPPA PAYNE!” Our lecturer shouted from down at the front. “Must you always be the loudest people in here?” “I’m paying enough.” Ed scoffed. “You’re not the only one paying to be here, Mr Sheeran, so you might want to tone it down a bit. Other people are trying to work.” Ed rolled his eyes as a way of protest, but we pretty much kept shtum for the rest of the lecture, actually doing as we were told, which was boring and tedious but it had to be done. When 1pm hit it was finally over, and we both skipped happily out of the hall and began walking towards our flats like we did every Tuesday. I figured it would probably be best to go and do some more reading, since I had fallen asleep during my attempts the evening before, but the thought of terrible daytime TV distracted me. Also, the thought of going out that night lingered in my mind. It was likely we would, knowing the lot of us, and I couldn’t decide if I was excited or dreading the evening to come. “Hey, I hear you met Ronnie!” Ed chirped. I furrowed my brows, a little confused by what or who he was talking about until it clicked. The girl I had walked home with that night after Thimble, with the nice voice and the gorgeous dark skin, who had held my hand and called me her friend. “Oh shit!” I whelped. “Yeah. Yeah, she said she lived in your building.” “Well I’d seen her around but never spoke to her, and then yesterday she came bounding up to me talking about you and how nice you are and stuff. Said you met when you were drunk.” “Yeah! She seems lovely. I should text her, really.” I smiled. “Oh, and the quiet girl in my flat, Ringo? She needs your help.” “My help?” He baffled. “She has this exam coming up and she’s playing a piece on the violin, and I told her your feedback would be better than mine.” “Oh. Okay. Thanks, I guess.” “We’ll have to set a time at some point. I’ll ask her later.” Sooner than I had hoped, the point where our paths parted arrived. Ed gave me a hug and cheery goodbye, before tucking his hands into his giant trench coat and scuttling off in the right direction. Fuck, it was freezing; the sooner I was inside and watching Judge Rinder or some other form of utter crap, the better. I also had a microwavable pizza just waiting for me. My building was in sight, and I was close to running to just to feel warm again, but just as I turned the corner to get into my home I screamed, a body meeting mine and wrapping tight around me within seconds. But I didn’t care. Because it was Zayn. “HOLY SHIT!” I squealed, wrapping my arms around him too. “Holy shit, you’re home!” “I missed you so much!” He squeezed. “I thought you weren’t back til tonight?” We began swaying back and forth. “I came back a little early!” I ignored how cold I was and we probably hugged for a good couple of minutes. I knew I had missed him a lot, but it was only seeing him that seemed to reconfirm it. Zayn was my best friend there, without a doubt. Luckily, being with Harry, I had been distracted enough to not think about it too much, but if I had been at home, bored, how much I missed Zayn would have been a near constant thought. It’s easy to spot things, living with people, being around them constantly. You grow used to everything about them, the good and the bad. There isn’t any bullshit. From day one, everything is how it should be, nobody puts up much a front because, why bother? You live with those people. You’re going to see them warts and all. Thanks to that, me and Zayn had been able to see, clearly, that we were a match made in heaven, friendship wise. He unhooked himself, eventually, shivering and burring as he did. “I forgot how bloody cold this country is.” He shook. “Can we go in?” His arm threw itself around my shoulder as we wandered inside. I wrapped one of my arms around his waist and tucked in as close to him as I physically could, grateful to have him back. We got into the lift and Zayn pressed the button to go back up. He looked happy. His skin had darkened a little more thanks to his week away, and I could see in his eyes that even pressing that button to go upwards felt so familiar and comforting to him. “How was Barcelona?” I asked, still latched to the side of him. “Amazing.” He grinned, kissing the top of my head. “Warm. Lovely. Such a cool city. We’ll go one day.” “We should.” I smiled. University friendships were for life, my mother had told me in the months leading up to me leaving, and I couldn’t help but smile at the amount of years me and Zayn had to do things like that; to go on holiday, if we wanted. “Feels so good being back though.” He sighed, head falling back. “I know! Didn’t realise I was going to miss this place!” “How was your week?” He asked as we got to the top floor. “Just been talking to Harry about it. He said he had a good time.” “Good. Yeah it was good. Fun.” “Best thing that could have happened for me. You two are finally mates. I can’t wait to go look round that house tomorrow.” “I hope it’s nice. We could probably do with putting the deposit down. The more people I speak to, it seems like everyone has it sorted.” I said as we stepped out. “Have you broke the news to Tally yet?” “No. She has her boyfriend here so I haven’t even spoke to her yet.” “Tally has a boyfriend?” Zayn put his key in the door. “Apparently! I don’t really know.” We went inside and went down to the kitchen, and I smiled like a mad woman when I saw Harry in there, three cups of tea on the table and his two dimples in his cheeks. “I made tea!” He beamed, feet on the table again. “I bet it’s shit!” I huffed. “No arguing, you two!” Zayn pointed his finger between the two of us. “I want nothing but blissful friendship from here on out.” I sat in one of the camp chairs as Zayn sat down next to Harry, who quickly tucked Mr Malik under his arm. They rested their heads together sweetly as I rolled my eyes and shook my head at them. But it was nice. For the first time, I wasn’t worried about their friendship, worried about Harry taking Zayn away from me. For once, it was actually nice to see. Being friends with Harry was taking many of the stresses in my life away. Everything felt really good. “So, this house situation.” Zayn sighed. “Are we happy? Us three living together?” “Definitely.” Harry replied, winking at me, in a friendly manner. “Pip?” “Yeah it’s good. Really good, actually.” “The only things I need to ask then, is if Ed has someone to live with?” Zayn asked me. “Yeah. He’s got a flat with someone next year.” I replied. “And Tally?” “I’m not living with fucking Tally.” Harry scoffed. I kind of got where he was coming from. His and Tally’s friendship had ended before it even had the chance to start, and I completely understood that he didn’t want to live in the atmosphere for any longer than he needed to, I just didn’t like how bitter he seemed about it, almost like it was her fault. I choked over it, ignoring him. “I’ll speak to her. She hasn’t even mentioned the living situation next year, so hopefully it’ll be okay.” I couldn’t help but feel like I was talking out of my arse. I didn’t think she would be okay with it, at all, but I didn’t want to live with someone just because I felt sorry for them. It was nice having her there and she was a good friend, but now we were at the stage where we could choose who we wanted to live with, she didn’t quite make the mental cut. I didn’t feel good about it though. “Okay.” Zayn leaned forward to grab his mug. “I just wanted to make sure you were both happy with us three living together next year. I kind of jumped on the chance whilst it was there, before you start bloody hating each other again.” “I can’t see that happening.” Harry concluded. “Okay, good. Good stuff.” Harry then grabbed his tea and practically downed the whole thing in one swoop, and I could tell once he was done, how pleasantly surprised he was by the aftertaste. Tea was not the kind of drink Harry was used to downing. “Right, I better shoot.” He said, getting up on his feet. “Going to my lecture a little early to talk about the changes that’re being made thanks to me. Me. The amazing course changer, Harry Styles.” Zayn kicked him further towards the door, laughing at the idiot, as I sat still shaking my head. I couldn’t help but get a little excited about the year to come, living with those two would be fun. (Also, my friends from home would probably die looking at how gorgeous my two roomies were.) “Good luck!” I wished upon him. “We out tonight?” He asked, backing out of the door. “Nooooo! I tell you every week, I’m in at nine on Wednesdays. Do you know how many Wednesday lectures I’ve missed?” “How many?” Zayn inquired. “I don’t know! LOADS!” I cried. “So, I’ll take that as a yes?” Harry grinned. “NO!” I tried once more. “Alright, good stuff. I’ll pick you both up some booze.” He ignored me. Without giving me the chance to fight once again, Harry skipped down the corridor and out the front door. My opinion and my schedule meant absolutely nothing at that point. We were going out. Zayn knew it too, that’s probably why his grin was so wide and mischievous. + + + Tally’s boyfriend was an arsehole. I might have come to that conclusion pretty quickly. I mean, within like, two words from him, but you know me well enough by now and this was not the first time I had come to a snap conclusion about someone. Myself and Zayn had knocked happily on her bedroom door to invite her to accompany us on the night out, and when she answered, I scowled almost automatically. He had her tucked into his side, possessively so, eyeing both me and Zayn up with a filthy look, like he hated us. We asked them to join us, and Tally’s face lit up for a second before he answered on both their behalf. “Nah, we’re good, tar.” Without saying anything else he slammed the door shut on us. Yeah, total prick. So there we stood, in Thimble, one person down, but still pretty happy. Of course, once again, we were at the bar as Zayn got the shots in, and I could see it whirring in his mind which challenge he would think up for us this time, as Mike continued to yell in my ear so I could hear him. “... and I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate wine and everything it stands for, I just feel like whenever I have wine, it makes me sad on the inside.” “Right.” I groaned my reply. “All I’m saying, really, is that other drinks make me happy on the inside. Others make me numb on the inside. I’ve had to learn which ones do which in my few years of drinking. Happy drinks include beer, and cider. Sad drinks include wine, and vodka. NUMB drinks, include sambuca and whiskey.” “Right.” I said again. “There are some drinks, I’ve yet to establish what they do to me. Those include-” ”Okay, Mike, I think we’re done for the evening.” I smiled. He put his finger against his lips, realising he had been talking complete nonsense for the past five minutes, finally shutting the hell up. Harry rushed over to us from the bathroom, running his tongue over his gum a few times and then handing the tiny, clear bag over to Zayn, a small amount of white powder still left in the bottom. Zayn thanked him as the shots were all finally placed down in front of us, three each, as usual. I figured Zayn was spending the percentage of his student loan on shots. “Okay, so the challenge tonight goes like this.” Zayn began, shoving the bag into his pocket. “Ummm... Okay guys, I’m gunna be honest... I can’t think of anything.” “What happened to you?” Harry exhaled. “Well maybe we could just drink shots like normal people, for once. That can the challenge this time.” I smiled. “That’s a terrible challenge, Pippa.” Zayn grunted back. “Well that’s what we’re doing.” We all picked up the first shot, Zayn trailing behind a little bit, rolling his eyes and tutting and huffing and generally just being really disappointed in himself for not thinking up another bizarre way for us to drink our shots. I was actually quite happy. I was terrible with shots at the best of times, never mind with the rules Zayn thought up for us. Once the third shot was down, my head was swimming and my stomach churning, and I just knew I was due to throw up, because it hadn’t happened for a while, and it was me. ”Right, let’s go. I’ve got on my dancing shoes and I’m a sexy little swine.” Mike chirped. We wandered over to the dancefloor after picking up our pints, and I noticed Zayn tuck the little bag Harry had given him deeper into his pocket in the hope of not losing it, patting Harry on the back and then yelling into his ear, but I couldn’t quite make out what he had said. Whatever it was made Harry grin, a lot. Some chart song came on in the background and we danced for a few minutes, before Mike yelled, loud enough for all of us to hear. Mike was even louder than me! “Have you pulled anyone yet?” “What?” I quizzed. “To get over Louis?” He continued. “There’s a lad staring at your arse behind you, and I think he would be up for it.” Zayn and Harry glanced over my shoulder to see who Mike was talking about. I couldn’t help but spot the casual look on Zayn’s face compared to the angry, offended look on Harry’s as they stared at the boy I didn’t turn around to see. ”I’m already over Louis.” I told Mike. “I don’t need some perv to achieve that.” Suddenly that angry look on Harry’s face turned into a smug one, eyes low and one dimple digging into his face. I did feel like I was over Louis, too. I still thought he was pretty and everything, how could I not? And I was still furious with him for what he had done, so maybe I wasn’t entirely over it, but I definitely didn’t want him anymore. I guess I was also just happy I hadn’t seen him. If Louis was to walk into Thimble in that exact moment, I would definitely be running to the bar to down a drink and shaking and avoiding him like the plague. I felt that was a relatively normal reaction though. Mike grabbed one hand and we started dancing dramatically together, like ballroom dancing as he placed a hand on my shoulder and I put mine on his waist. We did a spin, and Mike looked at the boy who had been eyeing me up. “LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, PERV?” He yelled. I loved Mike. I really, really did. He was such an idiot, such a classic fool, but I would miss living with him so much, because Mike never failed to make me laugh. He was always funny, always witty and always on point. I would miss having him around all the time. It was almost like he was never in a bad mood, unless he was drunk and infatuated with a girl. Mike was sunshine, and I didn’t want to start living in the dark. Zayn and Harry were clutching at their stomachs as the boy stared at us all like we were total idiots, Mike still looking at him, my hand over my mouth as I tried to hide how funny I had found the whole thing. Harry was practically bent over. The mystery boy turned to face away from us with an alarmed look on his face, and after that we danced even harder, all of us even happier. But, as always, it wasn’t too long until Zayn needed a smoke, so we all followed him outside, Harry pulling out his own packet of cigarettes that he had purchased for the evening rather than stealing Zayn’s. We got outside and the two of them sparked up. Mike’s arm was around me but he was checking out a girl near the door. “Go talk to her!” I shoved. “She’s too good for me!” “No one is too good for you.” He gave me a peck on the forehead before going over to her. Once my concentration was back on the boys, I noticed Zayn rubbing the powder into his gums, his face twitching as he did. I stood watching, rather uncomfortable, not quite able to believe that was something I had done myself only a few nights previous. Harry smiled over my head, so I turned to see what had caught his eye, and saw two lads very openly kissing one another. That’s when I thought, maybe things I had seen in Harry previously, I had seen them for something they weren’t. If the situation still stood the way it did just over a week before, I would have said Harry was smirking at them, trying not to laugh at them, being a complete dick. But by then, I knew him so much better, I knew why seeing something like that would make him happy. Of course it would. I wondered what else I had misconstrued before. Zayn took a long drag on his cigarette once he was done rubbing his gums, closing his eyes, his shoulders shaking, and as always, it seemed what he had taken had hit him straight away. “How you feeling, man?” Harry smirked, again, as always. “Good man.” Zayn sighed out the words. “I wanna kiss someone. We need to find some girls, bro. I need girls.” “We can’t leave Pip on her own!” Harry replied. “Pip can be our wing-woman. Right, Pip?” I gulped hard, because the thought of seeing Harry with someone else was... weird. I didn’t know if it would upset me, anger me, or if I wouldn’t feel anything, but I didn’t want to experience it to find out. It still felt like I hadn’t quite washed the feel of his lips off me yet. I could still feel his hands and fingertips searching over my body, still feel his breath on my neck. I hadn’t been cleansed of the touch of him yet. I didn’t want that to belong to anyone else. Not quite yet. It was all still brand new to me. “I’m not a very good wing-woman.” I shrugged. “Why not?” Zayn scowled. “She’s too pretty. It’s intimidating.” Harry said confidently. I swear my stomach flipped, and I wanted to punch it just to stop it from ever doing that again over bloody Harry Styles saying I was pretty. Zayn darted his eyes between the two of us, brows low. “You two being nice to each other is messing with my head.” He cringed. “Call her ugly or something.” Harry’s head dropped down to the floor, another big smile on his face. But before we could say anything else on the matter, we were interrupted. I was glad of that, because I had no clue what to say back, but the interruption itself was not so good. “OI, FAGGOTS!” A lad stood near to Harry shouted. “NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT SHIT! QUIT IT!” My bottom jaw was on the fucking floor as I turned to the two boys we had seen kissing a few moments before, both of them having stopped what they were doing and looking at the idiot who had just shouted that at them. They both looked completely broken. I wanted to cry. Without looking his way, because I was still gazing with a heavy heart at the two boys, who were subconsciously distancing themselves, I heard Harry speak, his voice low and deathly. “Oi, mate...” I turned around, because I wanted to see what was going on. I wasn’t the only one, it seemed within seconds everyone in the smoking area had turned to look at Harry. “Fucking disgusting.” The random boy groaned to himself. “OI!” Harry moved his hand and clicked twice right in his face, making sure that there was no way he wouldn’t have his attention. The look on both their faces was one of fury. “What?” He spat. “You don’t fucking call them that.” Harry seethed. “What?” “You do not, fucking call them that.” “Are you serious, man?” The idiot scoffed. “Why the fuck do you care? You gay?” Harry moved so he was stood right ahead of him, towering over him. It was enough to make any boy tremble with fear, but whoever this guy was, he was putting up a good act, staring up to Harry and pretending he wasn’t intimidated. “So what if I was?” Harry shrugged, his whole body tense. “Look, man, whatever, just do it in your own time. I don’t want to come on a night out and see that. It’s awful.” “And I don’t want to come on a night out, and hear some arrogant, narrow-minded little fuck, preaching like he’s above everyone else.” Harry’s voice raised. Zayn grabbed at his arm, quietly asking him to leave it be and just back off, but that wasn’t in Harry’s nature. If anything, he took a step closer, his fists clenched by his side.The boy noticed, and shoved at his chest. “Back off, faggot!” He scorned. That was it for Harry. Without another word he swung, his fist in the boy’s face, knocking him out cold in zero seconds flat. It was just like the first time I had seen Harry fight. Basically, it wasn’t even a fight. Harry had swung and the other lad was on the floor completely lifeless before they even stood a chance. Harry cracked his neck and rolled his eyes, obviously completely done with the situation as he stormed back inside, leaving everyone looking at the body on the floor, all our throats tight and heads fucked. His mates were down at his side as soon as they were over the shock, and it didn’t take long for him to come back around, his nose bleeding as soon as he managed to sit upright, a bruise already appearing under his left eye. He was dazed and woozy, like he didn’t really know where he was, what had happened. We had all watched in silence as he came back to life, until I finally turned back to the boys who had been kissing, who were once again close to one another. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled. I wasn’t sure why I was apologising, really. I imagined they would have loved to whack him themselves, they just never would. Even though it felt silly giving them an apology, they didn’t dismiss it, they just looked twice as confused, trying to figure out something to say, but falling flat. “Fuck.” Zayn ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s just go and find Harry.” I tried not to laugh as Zayn stepped over the boys legs, barely acknowledging him as he did, and walking inside. Mike joined us as we went indoors. We split. Zayn searched the toilets, Mike looked by the bar, and I wandered round the dance-floor, trying my best to spot the tall boy in the crowd, but he couldn’t be found. We met by the front door, and we had all been unsuccessful in our search. “Let’s go back.” Mike sighed. + + + Mike and Zayn went into the kitchen as soon as we were home, and usually if that happened after a night out, it usually meant we would more than likely carrying on drinking. But this time was different. Harry having gotten into another fight, had once again, left a bitter taste in our mouths. Carrying on drinking wasn’t something we wanted to do. Out of the three fights I had seen Harry in, this one had clearly bothered me the least. I wasn’t angry or upset about what he had done, but it never perked anyone up, it never put anyone in a good mood. “Shall I go speak to him?” Zayn whispered to me. “I’ll go.” “You sure?” “Yeah. If he’s even here.” Zayn nodded, a very solemn look on his face as he squeezed my shoulder, Mike already falling asleep on the sofa. I knocked on Harry’s door, but heard no reply. I didn’t even know if he had come back, we had just been hoping he was there. I tugged on the handle, and it was unlocked. I cracked the door open, and the gentle sounds of ‘Gold Dust Woman’ played quietly, filling the room. Harry was on his bed, staring longingly at the ceiling. “Can I come in?” I mumbled. “I’m high as fuck, Pip-Squeak.” I took the lack of no, as a yes, stepping to his room and letting the door shut slowly behind me. I lingered next to it, not really sure if I should approach him, completely dumbfounded by what I should do or say. “Are you okay?” I asked worriedly. “I’m high. I hate just being in my room and doing nothing when I’m high.” “Well, you shouldn’t have left.” “I wasn’t going to stay there with him, was I? I either walk out or they kick me out. If I walk, at least I’ll be allowed in next time we’re out. Fucking hell, Pip-Squeak, just think!” He was snapping at me. Maybe it was a mix of things, the fight, the unfulfilling high he was experiencing... The fact it was me? I knew we had been getting on pretty well, but the fact of the matter still stood, that there had to be a lot of things about me that annoyed him. I looked down to the floor, trying to pretend I wasn’t bothered by Harry acting the way he had acted with me through most of our time knowing each other. “I-I just wanted to check that you were okay.” “I’m fine.” “That guy was a dick.” I spurted. “I know that, Pip-Squeak.” It wasn’t even worth the effort. His words were leaving his mouth and slipping into mine, then jamming right in my throat, making me feel like I was going to throw up or cry or something along those lines. “You’re miserable.” I sighed. “Goodnight, Harry.” He didn’t say anything else, so I just rolled my eyes and backed out again. Zayn was stood in the kitchen doorway just waiting for me, to see what had happened, what had been said. “So?” “Leave him.” I groaned. “He’s an arse. I’m going to bed.” The only good thing that had come from Harry punching that guy, was the fact that I no longer felt like this was the night I was going to throw up. I was past that stage, and thanks to Harry being such a dick, I was feeling soberer by the second. I waddled into my room before Zayn could say anything, getting undressed and getting into bed. I looked up to the ceiling, not really saying or thinking anything, just gazing, breathing. I guess the reason I wasn’t thinking was because I didn’t want to think. I would start reading into things too much, which was bad in most scenarios, never mind if I was drunk. I just wanted to sleep. I rolled onto my side and tucked the sheet up a little tighter, closing my eyes and deciding that it was a good idea for me to get some sleep. A little while earlier, I had heard Zayn and Mike retreat to their rooms, and I figured if I got to sleep then, there was a chance I could actually get up in time for my lecture. But before I could even begin my attempts, I heard some knocking. It confused me, immediately widening my eyes, glancing at the door even though I was sure that wasn’t where the knocking had come from. I shook it off. Just as I was about to close my eyes, it happened again, three gentles knocks. I knew then. They were coming from the wall blocking my rooms from Harry’s. Suddenly my breath was coming out in hot, fast beats, staring at the wall and just waiting to see if it happened again. Knock. Knock. Knock. They were so slow and drawn out, like he was crying out to me. I got out of bed steadily, my bare body shaking as I tiptoed towards the wall that blocked us from each other, and in the same kind of fashion, I knocked back. I leaned forward, letting my forehead press against the structure, taking a deep breath in, kind of endeared when I heard just the one knock back. After that, I couldn’t help myself; it was like I had this need to go into his room, to be with him, to just be around him and breathe him in and just... wallow in him. I really hated feeling that way, but sharing a bed with Harry had made me warm and comfortable for a good number of nights, more so than I had been for months. If I had the opportunity to feel that again, I wasn’t going to pass it up. I threw on some shorts and a crop top, quietly opening my door and checking the corridor up and down once to make sure it was empty before I ran from my room, speedily into his, locking the door behind myself. I turned to face his bed, and saw him there waiting, expecting me, shuffled to the far side of his bed, holding the sheet high so that I could clamber in next to him, a small, gorgeous smile on his face. I didn’t hesitate. Once we were tucked in, Harry wrapped his arm around me and made sure I moulded into his body, his chest wheezing against my back and his nose buried in my hair. “Sorry for being a dick.” He whispered. “I’m used to it.” I smirked. “Fuck you!” He chuckled, nipping my waist. Once again, it was just a case of falling asleep, nothing more. But we held one another so close we were practically the same person, our bodies enchanted and combined together, and it felt just as good as it had the night before. And the night before. And the night before...

#HAPPY READING #deleted two rude messages about updates today soooooo #be nice about it because I literally update all the fucking time #BB21 #1dff #Harry Styles

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grownups-are-the-real-monsters · 7 years ago

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Free Fallin’ (Sequel to Abandonment)

Abandonment: https://grownups-are-the-real-monsters.tumblr.com/post/165946588812/abandonment

Eddie was bundled up in Richie’s large jean jacket, the one with the furry collar that he liked so much. He sat on the edge of a rickety bench with the big neon IHOP letters reflecting a blue and red shadow over him. He kicked his legs back and forth and tried to remember the last time a near summer day had been so cold. The chime of the over door bell got him to pick his head up. Richie approached him with that casual grin, though this time it looked nervous.

He brought with him that smell of the same cologne he’d been wearing since he was fourteen, one Ben had given him if Eddie remembered correctly. He looked like he might try and lighten the mood with a joke but psyched himself out at the sight of Eddie’s face. “Something wrong?”

Eddie contemplated the question before shrugging. “No? Not really...it was probably just Stan and I worry over nothing but-”

“Eds, what are you talking about?” Richie poked his forearm that was now laying across the back of the bench.

“I over heard you and Bev making plans to leave town after graduation...I guess we were just worried you guys were just gonna desert us or something...” Eddie chuckled as if the idea was ridiculous, because it really was. But the more time that passed where Richie didn’t laugh the more worried Eddie got. “...Ok you’re not laughing.” Eddie bit into his cheek and swallowed.

Richie rolled his lips together and sighed, rubbing the side of his nose like he usually did when he was nervous.

Eddie took a deep breath, pointing his chin down. His chest tightened as he sucked in all the air he could before letting it go. “You two were just going to leave us without saying anything...that’s-well that’s just wonderful, Rich.”

Richie shivered. “It wasn’t like that Eds. We were going to come back. It was just a trip...just to get out for a little while, ok?”

“Bullshit, Richie. That’s just Bull and you know it. The two of you would get one taste of the air outside of Derry and understandably, you wouldn’t want to come back. And you both know that.” Eddie balled his hands into fists and his face looked devastated. Richie went through a million things that he could possibly say but nothing seemed good enough.

“You’re not my mom Eddie, you can’t just assume that shit from me. I’m not an ass, y’know?” Richie settled on anger. Eddie narrowed his eyes.

“I never thought you were but...” Eddie shrugged. “If it was an innocent trip, why couldn’t you tell anyone? Why weren’t we invited? Why were you just gonna take off after the graduation ceremony and not tell anyone?”

Richie clamped his mouth shut and slouched against the bench. Eddie didn’t look surprised at all. “Why on earth would you start whatever this is..” Eddie gestured in the air between them “If it wasn’t going to hold any weight to you?”

Richie’s face looked offended. “Don’t say that Eddie. You know I’m crazy about you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, not convinced. “So you’re still gonna go?” he asked, standing in front of the bench.

Richie looked down at his hands in his lap. Eddie crossed his arms and popped his leg out. “Why can’t we all go?”

Richie swallowed and fussed around like he might pull out a cigarette, Eddie glared at him. “Bev and I had this planned out...we-It’s just not your thing, Eds.” He tried to explain. Eddie slid his tongue across his teeth, catching the canine and biting it down.

“It’s exclusively yours and Bev’s thing to want to leave this shitty town? That’s rich, asshole.” Eddie’s voice was venomous but he couldn’t help it. This was killing him. “Maybe you should’ve started something with her instead.” He shook his head.

Richie hiccuped. “Come on Eddie-”

“I don’t know what we are Richie, I don’t but if you were just going to leave me behind, I don’t think it means shit to you.” Eddie swallowed and made the move to go back inside where their friends were celebrating the end of their Senior year with breakfast. Richie reached out and grabbed hard onto his hand.

“I’m not good at this Eddie you know that. Ok so we didn’t explicitly say what we are but...I want to be with you.” He was started to stumble on his words. Eddie fought back tears.

“Making future plans that don’t involve me, doesn’t show that well. Does it?” He narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s an awful thing to just leave town without telling any of us. I think it’s a good thing for you, for all of us, to get out but that’s just shitty.” Eddie ripped his hand away and stormed back inside the IHOP. Richie sunk back down on the bench, face in his hands.

Eddie walked his way back to the table, eyes slightly red but nothing too noticeable. He smiled at them, best he could. “Hey, I better get going...Ma’s gonna want me home. I’ll see you at graduation.” He threw his bag over his shoulder and gave his share of the pay to Bill.

“Y--ya-you sure?” Bill asked, mouthful of pancake. He nodded and did his best not to look at Beverly. He sniffled, Stan’s head shot up.

“Yeah, Bye guys-”

“Wait! Can I get a ride?” Stan stood from the table and everyone frowned, not expecting to lose two of them so soon. He gave his share of the pay to Bill too, who took it with a sad frown. Eddie nodded and they shot off.

“Where’s-?”

“On the bench outside. I really don’t feel like seeing him again, lets go out the other door.” Eddie pulled Stan away from the door and towards the other. Stan looked back with a frown.

“It didn’t go well?”

“It was awful. They were going to leave, we were completely right and I’m pissed.” Eddie tried to sound more angry but his voice wobbled. Stan interlocked their arms and tried to calm him.

“Wow...I really thought we’d be wrong.” Stan’s own voice started to sound sad. Eddie led them to his car and they hopped in. He started the car and they just both sat back.

“Are we being completely selfish?” Eddie thought out loud. Stan looked at him and shook his head.

“It’s an asshole move not to tell us....that’s why were mad.” Stan shrugged and pulled his legs onto his seat. “If they want to leave, the should.”

Eddie let out a sob and tried to cover it up as a cough to avoid embarrassment. But Stan reached over and rubbed his back anyway. “I just thought he’d want me to be with him when he did.”

Stan wasn’t sure what to say, so he just rubbed circles on his back until Eddie was ready to drive again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie’s tassel hung to close to his eye, he blew it and shook his head. He’d done it. He’d walked across the stage and graduated. The seven of them were standing around outside and trying to ignore the slight tension they felt between Stan, Eddie,Bev, and Richie.

As expected, They all rode together except for Bev and Richie who took his van to the ceremony. Eddie tried not to think about too much. Richie wasn’t doing well. He couldn’t stand the fact that Eddie wasn’t speaking to him.

While Stan was fussing with Bill’s tassel, Richie swooped over and took Eddie’s hands. “Richie-?”

“I gotta show you something.” He tugged his hands and Eddie just followed. They made their way to Richie’s van and he regretted it immediately.

Richie opened the drivers side as the car a few parking spots down turned up their radio. “- There's a freeway runnin' through the yard. And I'm a bad boy, 'cause I don't even miss her. I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart...”

Richie pulled back out with a a bundle of roses in his hand. He nervously walked back over and bit into his lip. “Listen, I feel really shitty about this. Bev does too. I was planing to do this after I got back but I guess I can push it to now.”

Eddie quirked his brow but took the flowers when he held them out for him. “Richie what are you-?”

“Bev and I are coming back, Eds. I swear. We didn’t say anything yet because we were going to tell you guys today..after all the celebrating. Honestly, we were afraid you guys would be pissed....and I guess we didn’t fix that problem.” He shrugged.

“Bev wanted to get some time to think things over about Ben and Bill and she needed to do some soul searching I guess...?” Richie fumbled on his words.

“And I just wanted to get out for a bit, it seemed right. And I know for a fact that none of you guys would come. Bill’s taking as many shifts at his job so he can chip in on college, Mike’s working his ass off on the farm, Ben’s all booked up at the library, Stan’s trying to focus on his summer college program and you...” Richie frowned.

“Ok...maybe I needed to soul search too.” Richie bit into his lip.

“- And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows. All the good girls are home with broken hearts...”

Eddie tilted his head to the side. “You wanted time to think about-?”

“Us? Yeah...” Richie nodded, licking his lips. “Just to figure out if I was good enough for you.”

Eddie sighed. “You don’t get to drive away from me to wonder that! Richie, just talk to me. I know you’re good enough....more than good enough. You said you want to be with me, so be with me.” Eddie gestured to himself.

Richie smiled despite the water in his eyes. He reached into the flowers, pulling out a silver ring. Eddie’s eyes widened. “It’s a promise ring...I was going to give it to you before we left...” Richie held out his hand and for a moment, Eddie stuck out his before pulling away, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Rich, if this ring means what I think it does...” He hiccuped. “If you’re leaving and I’m promising to wait up for you...I can’t take it. I can’t promise that.” Eddie shook his head. Richie looked distraught.

He tried to hold back his tears and looked to be searching for a light hearted joke. “I just have this sinking feeling that if you go, you won’t come back.”

Richie looked back at the van and down at the ring and then to Eddie. His beautiful boy, standing there in his graduation gown. “Man, screw this trip. Eds, I don’t need it. I don’t need to soul search, I fucking know I want to be with you.”

Eddie lowered the roses and looked skeptical. “Richie-” Richie rushed forward, picking Eddie up and smashing their lips together. Breaking the kiss a couple times to whisper ‘I love you’ *‘I love you’ *‘I really fucking love you.’

“And I'm free, free fallin', Yeah I'm free, free fallin'. “

Eddie felt relief wash over him as he curled his arms around Richie’s neck. “What took you so long to realize that?” He whispered into Richie’s neck.

“I don’t know but I can’t stand the thought of not having you in my life forever, Eds.” His voice was wobbling again and Eddie kissed behind his ear.

“I didn’t know you could be so sappy, Tozier.” Eddie hopped back to the ground and smiled up at him.

“Yeah, I usually save that for your mom-ow!”

Eddie punched his shoulder. “We’re ok, Richie.” He grabbed his hand and Richie never felt so relived. “You should probably explain this to everyone though, talk to Bev....I wanna talk to her too.”

Richie nodded, kicking his door shut and tightening his grip on Eddie’s hand.

“I’m not making you stay even though you want to go, right?” Eddie asked, scared.

“No, Eddie. We’ll leave Derry when we’re ready, together.” He swung their hands back and forth.

“- Yeah I'm free, free fallin'. Oh! Free fallin', Now I'm free- Oh! Free fallin'. “

#reddie #the sequel no one asked for #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #finn wolfhard #jack grazer #angsty #itmovieofficial #stephen king #IT by stephen king #Stephen kings IT #stanley uris #Wyatt Oleff #my fanfiction

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shawnjacksonsbs · 4 years ago

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I caught myself slippin’, and it's in these moments of clarity, that I swear I feel the most real. 7- -20 "This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive. And you stand up and see . . . the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder." - Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower WWFRD? Hey! (* snaps fingers in my face, *grabs smelling salts for under my nose) You good? You awake? Good. Now. . . Seriously, What would Fred Rogers really do? A thought, an example of a real-life application? I thought to myself, "How? What does that even look like, when this whole, whole thing is about how I try to actually live my regular life. I guess its all my regular life, but you get it. It's not just me trying this thing or that thing, here and there?" Then, thinking about how to expand that as a topic, it made me reevaluate, and in that moment I realized something, again. I realized that I have been starting to get carried away again with talking to those with opposing perspectives and political views on Facebook. Now granted, I'm leaps and bounds better at dealing with people of the "not quite like-minded" persuasion than I used to be, but I am still a far cry shorter with them than where I would like to be, so. . . When I start prejudging some things, from specific someone(s) to be . . . disingenuous, insincere, or it's just lacking the empathy and compassion a lot of us know the world needs more of these days, then I need to take a step back. For me, more than from them, but it is a shared role to be sure. I'm not judge, jury, and executioner for starters. And it's also irrelevant that it could be a very accurate assessment that everyone agrees with. I will never, ever win hearts in this manner. Like ever. A step back is required, with a reinsertion at a later date. It's only fitting. I mean I should have seen this coming, as I've been posting about owning wrongs for days and days and days now. Lol And this is absolutely how I breathe life and hellfire back into my own. Grace, to me, is like a learn(ed) humble accountability for wrong or inappropriate words and/or actions. Owning them isn't enough by itself either. I need lessons absolutely learned through changed behaviors, or it just doesn't count. Steps toward progress even if they are small, are a necessary key. I have to get back to "What would Fred Rogers do?" for real. It's so super easy to get stuck on, and lost in, "What would Steve Rogers do?", but that's not the mission nor should it take precedence over pushing for kindness and civility as the first line of defense. The best defense is a good offense I always say. (Actually, that's probably the first time I've ever said that in my life, but still.) Regardless of being right about whatever it was, for me it's still irrelevant and still very wrong. Therefore, very much an issue for me to address. As soon as I let "WWFRD?" become more of a catchphrase than an actual question I present to myself, then it's coming up way too short on the old bar that I set for me to handle. I have to be able to not lose sleep over the things I do. The things that keep me up at night these days, are very, very, very different than they ever used to be. Anyway, some of you have to know what I mean right? Like when you get that notification and you see who it is, and you're like "Oh here we go again with this bullshit", all before you ever actually see the post or the comment. I imagine if I'm being totally honest, I feel like there's probably at least a few of my friends and family who think this about notifications from me. Lol Yes or no? Wait. You don't have to answer that, as I may not want to know for real. My point is that this entry shouldn't be lost on many. Whether or not I turn out to be right in presuming these things (or not), it's not ok. And when they do turn out a way I saw coming, I've planned a whole thing to say that covers a number of different directions, albeit it's in shorthand in my head, but still. . .not ok. Also, I could make that a whole entry someday as well. This is me, mine, and my issue only to see through to the other side of. Determining a . . ."time out" length of time shouldn't be too difficult. I think I caught myself fairly early on, so I'm thinking two full weeks of breathing outside of social media should do it. Time to let the fizz fall back down inside the glass, before adding more soda to it. The jury is still out on whether or not this "time out" is a Disciplinary act or a reward for elevated behavior. I need the breaks to keep perspectives from time to time anyway. Sometimes the ignorance, and indifference that I see in posts and statuses that promote selfishness over selflessness (like its something to be proud of), can be too much if it's for too long. It's exhausting as I've said before to argue empathy and kindnesses in such a broad range to so many . . .very reluctant and sometimes unruly recipients. Breaths, serenely deep breaths, are a very important part of maintaining unsaid sanity. I imagine I need to be sure that the end here is for me too. So we all need to share our love and our laughter with the world around us. The whole world actually. Let's keep pushing for kindnesses, and promoting gratitude where we can as well. I'll continue to keep myself in check as much as I can. Keeping me honest isn't as hard a job as it used to be, gratefully. Everyone is every reason, why I do damn near everything that I do or try to do. To reiterate, this entry is in no way saying that there isn't hate and fear-based ignorant posts and statuses, etc. Those things are absolutely and very much still prominent all over social media, but my prejudging others for them just isn't ok for me. I also know that, as I've said before, change is a real thing. It's not always hypocrisy. Its how hearts are converted. Trust me. I'm a convert. My attitude towards others in this way stems in no small part because of that fear, hate, and ignorance I see constantly in here. Hate and ignorance can be just as contagious as love and knowledge if we're not careful. So, except for the rest of today and next Sunday's entry, I'm out for the next couple of weeks. Also, please feel free to comment. I could use outside perspectives on this. I won't break away until I go to bed tonight, so I might be glued for the remainder of the day, to my phone. And just FYI most of the people we know are good decent people with big love in their hearts, and resentments are toxic, but can usually be avoided. Until next week; "And you’re listening to that song, and that drive with the people who you love most in this world. And in this moment, I swear, we are infinite." - Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

Photo

So,

The body had been floating for days before they found it.

The Nelson divers had recovered it in the early afternoon, and Dave Laing stood on the bank of Kootenay Lake and watched the team slowly maneuver it back to shore for identification. A local man had gone missing a week previous, and we’d kept up daily alerts pleading for him to be found, but apparently he’d built up the courage to jump off Bob, The Big Orange Bridge, without anyone witnessing it. Laing grimaced at the scene, then noticed me coming down the driveway towards him. We were both standing behind the RCMP station and the last person he wanted to be dealing with at that moment was a reporter. I could see all of that in his face.

“So it’s him?” I asked.

He closed his eyes tightly, then shook his head. “We haven’t identified the body, and we can’t comment until that happens, but off the record it’s very likely it’s him. It’s hard to say when it happened though. He’s been floating out here for a while.”

“A while like hours, or a while like days?”

“From what I hear, it looks like he’s been out there for a multiple days.”

“And how did he get found?”

“A guy in a sailboat was out for his morning lap and saw the body floating along the banks, over by the Elephant Mountain school district office.”

I went right ahead and asked the obvious question. “Pretty obviously suicide, then?” It would be the second or third this year, I wasn’t sure.

“Looks like, but I can’t comment officially. I would tell your editor you’ve probably got a suicide here, another one, and that will be confirmed by the coroner. If you even end up running a story.”

I nodded. At the Star suicide was a topic we all kept off our radars. The Ryan Tapp story was an exception because of my personal interest in that particular case, but otherwise suicides were basically wiped clean out of the community newspaper because who really wants to share those sad, gory details in such a public forum? This was the fourth suicide scene I’d been at since starting my job, and none of them resulted in stories for our paper. We didn’t know how to process that much tragedy.

Dave Laing loomed over me, a giant handgun holstered to his hip, and shook his head with frustration.

“It’s such a waste,” he said. “This didn’t need to happen. This kid is mid-30s, halfway through his life. Why would he think he has to do this?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I gotta tell you the truth, Will. I think a big part of it is marijuana. I know that’s maybe not a popular opinion but the truth is, as an officer, I see so many stoner kids end up going psychotic. It happens over and over again.”

“I’ve heard people talk about that before, guys going mental and ending up in the psych ward. Hearing voices and having crazy delusions.”

He nodded. “Exactly. Now you add everything else they’re pumping into their bodies: MDMA, mushrooms, alcohol, cocaine, heroine, opioids...the list goes on. You’ve got all those things on board at once and you’re not the same person you used to be. It alters your whole personality.”

I knew that Dave had children, and I could hear as he ranted that his soliloquy was paternal in nature. This wasn’t the future he wanted for any of the kids of Nelson. Life could be mean and cruel and bleak in the Kootenays, but it was better than being six feet underground. The way he proselytized about drugs made him sound like the cop he was, but his reasoning was backed up by the on-the-ground evidence. In Nelson people were taking fuck-loads of drugs, and that was causing fuck-loads of problems for anyone working near the social safety net. Not to mention people were now overdosing in record numbers.

“We’re kicking down doors four days a week, Will. We’ve got so many bodies we don’t know what to do with them. It’s happening at parties, at the bars and night clubs, in hotel rooms and home offices. It’s never the people you think, either, or would suspect. Sometimes it’s just your elderly neighbour who happens to love speed.”

I shook my head. “How do you manage it, mental health-wise? Like how do you keep that much sadness in your head and still walk through the world normal? Like I think it would fuck me up, being this close to that darkness all the time.”

He snorted, looked sideways at me. “Most people figure we just hand out traffic tickets and break up loud parties. They don’t think about the fact that it’s us talking you off the ledge, it’s us that’s pulling you dead from the lake, it’s us that are the front-lines. We know what we’re talking about with this shit.”

“’Drugs are bad’ won’t really fly for a Star article, I don’t think.”

That annoyed him. “That’s the thing is everyone already has their opinion of whether drugs are good and bad, and the only real question is `are you ready to accept the negative consequences of your behaviour?’.”

“Like going crazy and throwing yourself off the side of Bob?”

He looked back out at the lake. The boat he was expecting had stopped moving, and the guys were hanging over the side fiddling with the load. A trio of RCMP officers sauntered past holding coffees, interrupting my recorded interview, and I quickly brought things to an end with a click.

He stopped in his tracks for a moment before leaving. “You have to find a way to work the drug angle of this. If you ask me, that’s the biggest thing we’re not reporting on enough. Talk to any other first responder, they’d tell you the same thing.”

“I’ll talk to Ed about it. I agree we don’t have a handle on it.”

“All you need to know is that drugs are now the leading cause of death in the Kootenays. If you put the suicides and the overdoses together, the numbers would make you cry. Trust me on that.”

By this point I was already beginning to compose my memoir manuscript, and Laing was the equivalent of The Wire’s homicide detective Lester Freoman. He was grizzled and subtle, with a salt and pepper goateed elegance, and a mind that was always busy sorting out what’s bullshit and what’s truth. He had no reason to lie to me, and he was easy to anoint as a pseudo-spiritual leader in my whole Bollywood-style Nelson narrative. If this was Les Mis, then he’d be my Jean Valjean. If this was Die Hard, then he was John McClane.

We were standing along the shore from Lakeside Park, which was right across the street from my house, making this the epitome of close to home. I hadn’t met the dead guy, but I knew some of his friends. None of them had seen anything like this coming it all.

He huffed to himself. “This shit they’re taking now? It’s elephant tranquilizer. Not horse, not dog, we’re talking enough oomph to knock out a fucking elephant. It’s called carfentanil.”

“And it’s a crazier version of fentanyl?”

“It’s a hundred times as strong. Three grains of this shit and it’s bye-bye time. That’s the shit we’re busting kids with these days. It’s terrifying. You should go and put that in the newspaper.”

And with that he took off down the bank, his radio squawking at him. It was sunny out, with just a few gusts of wind, and nobody seemed to have taken notice of the body retrieval going on in broad daylight. I could see people milling in their front yards, splashing around at the beach at Lakeside Park, hanging in their bobbing speedboats. A little further on in the distance was Red Sands, my safe haven.

As I stood there, I heard Brendan’s voice in the winds of my mind. It had a deep baritone quality like Hozier’s, and his masculine bass counter-balanced the female energy trifecta of Tove Lo, Chelsea and Jenny Butler. In this particular scene, I would be seen staring out towards the dead body and wondering whether not I should stick around for a better view. Jenny would be strumming away at her ukulele, while Chelsea channeled LP.

“Smoke 'em if you got 'em 'cause it's going down. All I ever wanted was you,” Brendan sang, dancing in the kitchen of my headspace.

“I’ll never get to heaven ‘cause I don’t know how. Let's raise a glass or two. To all the things I've lost on you, oh oh, tell me are they lost on you?"

I felt like McNulty, squinting hungrily at an intricate city-wide puzzle that everyone was trying to hide from me. Was the only way to create real change to deliberately fuck with the systems currently failing us? Was that my job as a reporter, to be a tattle-tale? And if everyone was a victim of the War on Drugs, then who were the real bad guys? The guilty parties were like phantoms, because real people wouldn’t do the disgusting things these real people did. How could I throw a wrench in the gears of this beastly machine and make a real fucking difference? How could I huff and puff until I blew down an institution with my journalistic aggression?

Brendan began to sing again.

“I’ll never get to heaven cause I don’t know how. Let’s raise a glass or two. To all the things I’ve lost on you, oh oh, tell me are they lost on you?”

The Kootenay Goon

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onemoremiraclefandoms-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Comfort in Hell - Chaper Two

Roy had been rushed away as soon as they had gotten to the hospital. He had fell asleep on Ed in the van, and hadn't woken up since – though he did whimper slightly when he was taken from Ed – so now everyone was sitting around in the hospital waiting for news. Ed was growing impatient as the hours ticked by. He knew that this was best, and didn't they say that no news is good news? What bullshit. This was just drawing out the pain. Ed was pacing, and he knew that the constant movement was putting everyone else on edge but he just couldn't sit still. What was taking them so long?

Just as Ed had decided that he was going to find out what was going on a doctor came out and Ed almost walked into the taller man. The doctor looked at them, trying to figure out who he was needing to pull away and talk to privately.

“Anything you have to say can be said to us all.” Ed snapped, folding his arms. The doctor glanced at him, slightly surprised but when he got confirmation from Hawkeye, he spoke at last. “I'm Dr Lockestone, I'll be treating General Mustang. We've taken him in for xrays and treated most of his injuries to the best of our ability at the time being. His arm had been broken and had started healing wrong, but we've managed to set it in place now.” The doctor paused, as if considering how much they needed to know. “He does have other major injuries and a significant head injury as well as burns to his back and legs. The best course of action is for us to induce him into a coma to slow down brain activity and allow him to heal better.” “What? No! You're not putting him into a coma!” Ed spoke up when the doctor went silent again. He scowled at the doctor and turned to the team for their backup. None of them looked him in the eye and he suddenly felt scared. “No, guys. You can't be telling me that you think its a good idea!”

“Edward. We need to do what's best for the General and if the doctor says that a coma will help...” Riza tried to calm the young alchemist down but Ed snarled at her.

“What if he never wakes up? Yeah, it might help him heal but what's the point if he doesn't wake up again? Or if he wakes and then doesn't know who we are or who he is. Or if he can't speak or move because his mind is destroyed!” Ed snapped, glaring at them all. None of them looked as if they were going to take his side and after a long moment he stormed past them heading outside. He heard Hughes call his name but he ignored the man and once outside he ran. He couldn't stand to be near them. Ed didn't slow down until he was gasping for air, and only then did he choose to slip into an alley and double over as he tried to catch his breath. He rubbed his eyes, which came away damp. He hadn't even realised that he'd been crying. He was scared, more scared than he had been in a while.

Ed finally arrived at the small apartment that he and Al shared. It was home, and had been for the past year after getting Al's body back. He was greeted by warmth and the smell of coffee. It helped him relax a little as he walked towards the kitchen. Al was sitting at the table, a mug in one hand, a textbook in the other. Ed stopped by the door to admire his brother. It still warmed his heart to see his brother's body after years of never knowing if he would have his brother back fully. Ed walked over to the counter and began making himself coffee, hearing Al's mumbled greeting.

“It's late, Al. You should go get some rest.” Ed advised, turning and taking a sip of the hot bitterness in his mug. His younger brother closed the textbook and yawned, stretching back in his chair. Al then turned to him and shook his head.

“Brother, you know that I couldn't go to sleep until you had gotten home. Did you find him?” Al, ever innocent despite their past, must have caught a look into the fear that was threatening to control Ed because he put his mug down and walked over to his brother. Al was taller than him which never failed to annoy Ed, who nodded and let out a sigh.

“Yeah. We got him.” He paused, shaking his head and taking a drink of his coffee. Al didn't rush him. “He's a mess, Al. He collapsed into my arms when I got to him. He passed out at least twice since we got him out. They're putting him into a coma because of a head injury.”

Al watched his brother for a long moment, and he didn't speak until Ed had finished his coffee. “He'll be okay, brother. The General is strong. Just let the doctor's do what they need to.” Ed knew that his brother was making sense, but his need for action was making him agitated. Edward didn't just sit and wait, he went out and dealt with the problem, but unfortunately this time the problem was Roy's condition, and there was nothing that Ed could do except for wait around.

After a long moment Ed sighed, giving his younger brother a nod. Ed moved past Al and collected up the dishes. “There's nothing I can do anyway. You should get some rest though, you have school tomorrow.” Al hesitated for a moment, but he nodded and wished his older brother a good night before heading to his room.

When Ed heard Al's door shut he sighed. He needed to help Roy somehow, but he couldn't and it was driving him mad. Ed washed the dishes and put them away. He tried to read but he couldn't concentrate. In his eighteen years, he'd been through more than most and it had made him wiser than his years suggested, but at times like this he felt like the same foolish, clueless child that tried to bring his dead mother back. He finally settled on crawling into bed and trying to sleep. It was difficult, but he finally slid into a light sleep. By the time Al was awake and about to go out to school, Ed was in a deep sleep and Al didn't bother to wake him.

It was a week after finding Roy that the doctor's had allowed people to go into his small room and sit with him. They had been told that talking to the General would help and that coma patients had been proven to hear people talking. They might not pick up the words, but they would recognise the voice.

When Ed first went in to visit Roy he hesitated by the door, shocked by Roy's appearance. His skin was pale, made paler by the dark locks of hair. His right eye was covered by a yellow healing bruise and his lips were pale. Roy's left arm was in a cast to allow the broken bone to heal. He had different wires attached to him, making sure that he was getting everything he needed and he was thin. He was so thin that it scared Ed and he didn't like the way Roy's cheekbones stuck out or how hollowed his faced looked. He didn't look like the Roy Mustang he knew, not really. He was some macabre version of Roy and it made him feel sick. Those bastards had done this to him.

Ed had been going into the hospital and sitting with Roy every day since they found Roy in that awful place. He'd go in and he'd talk to Roy. Mostly it was a nonsensical monologue of his life. He'd tell him about how Al was doing in school, and how that when he woke up and got back to work he would have so much paperwork. Ed would talk about anything other than his feelings towards Roy or the fear that clutched his heart when he considered that Roy might never wake. He didn't talk about how he wanted to kiss Roy, or hold his hands, or run his fingers through his hair. He certainly didn't talk about how he thought about Roy in bed. He couldn't remember when he'd developed such feelings for him. One moment Mustang had been his annoying commanding officer who he had reluctantly respected, the next moment Ed was noticing the shift in the General's muscles beneath his shirt, or the way his voice sounded when he was flirting with a pretty girl.

When Ed wasn't in Roy's room, he was at home. He was researching how to make Mustang better, but finding nothing. There was a little voice in his head that whispered human alchemy over and over and as the weeks went on, it was all Ed could do to ignore it. He was also trying to get information on the people that took Roy – who they were, what they wanted, where they were so he could go kick their asses, mostly so that he was out doing something about this rather than just waiting.

Ed sat in the chair by Roy's bedside two months later and sighed. There had been no change in his condition, though the doctor's did say that he was healing very well. His broken arm had healed and the cast removed, though there was a lot of muscles damage and loss throughout his body so Roy would still experience a bit of bother with his arm when he woke up. And he would wake up. Edward had to believe that, otherwise he'd give up hope altogether and he couldn't do that. The young man slipped his human hand over Roy's right one and then intertwined their fingers. Roy didn't react in the slightest and Ed watched Roy's face for any signs of waking up but they never came. He lowered his gaze from Roy's face, instead staring down at his automail hand as he continued to hold Roy's hand. After a long time, Edward spoke.

“I'm so sorry Roy. This shouldn't have happened to you. If I had only come in to report, you wouldn't have went out looking for me. But you did and they took you. I could have saved you all this pain if I had just stopped acting like a child. I need to grow up, have needed to for a while now I guess, but I didn't want something like this to be the thing that triggered it. This is all my fault.” Ed kept his voice low, murmuring more to himself than to Roy. It was only when the General's hand squeezed Ed's slightly that the blonde looked up, his heart racing at the first real sign of hope that shot through him, but Roy's eyes were still closed and Ed wondered whether or not he had imagined the gesture.

The light breeze that brushed against him wasn't the usual bitter chill that he was used to. It was a pleasant warm caress. He shut his eyes for a moment and relished the feeling as it blew his bangs into his face. The short grass had been cut recently because the smell lingered, filling Roy's senses. Roy liked it here, on this peaceful little hill. For as far as he could see there was nothing but grass and flowers and a sparkling, lazy river that flowed away into the distance. A clear, cloudless blue sky stretched out above him and only the occasional bird fluttered by. Roy looked around his area, and it was his area, and realised that he'd never felt so at home, so relaxed. If he never had to wake up and could stay here forever then he would have gladly.

“Roy?” A voice from behind him murmured. A soft voice that sunk deep into Roy, relaxing and comforting. He turned around and was stunned by what he saw. Behind him, about a hundred yards away, stood Ed. The sun made Edward's golden hair and eyes glow and made his automail shine. He was wearing his trademark tight leather trousers and tank top and Roy was at a loss for words, suddenly realising and appreciating how truly beautiful his subordinate was. Edward smiled warmly at him and then held out his human hand. Roy didn't even hesitate in taking it, it just seemed so right. Edward's hand was warm in his own and he gave it a small squeeze.

Ed pulled on Roy's hand and Roy couldn't help but step closer, drawn in by Ed's intensity. Roy stopped when they stood only inches apart, hand in hand. Ed pressed automail fingers to Roy's chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt and moving even closer. His smile turned slightly seductive and Roy's breath caught in his throat. His heart raced, pounding loudly in his ears. He could feel Ed's warmth rolling off him and he could smell the machine oil and leather from Ed and it was smothering him and he just wanted to grab Ed and kiss that smirking mouth because it just felt so natural. Ed seemed to know his thoughts because he tilted his back and pushed up against Roy so that their bodies were touching and Roy could barely breathe. He could almost taste Ed's lips and his skin and just before their lips touched the dream faded into blackness.

Ed stared at Roy. He may have just imaged the gesture, but he refused to believe that it was a trick of his mind. Hope was a brilliant flare in the pit of his stomach and he clung to it like a lifeline. Roy would wake up and this was the sign that he was coming back to them. After a long stretch of silence, Edward sighed. He slid his hand from Roy's and stood to leave. He'd just pushed the door open and was about to step out into the hallway when he heard Roy whimper. He paused turning to look at the man, deciding what he should do. In the months Roy had been in his coma he hadn't made any sound or moment and even the slight whimper or twitch made Ed beg for his commanding officer to open his eyes.

It didn't stay black for long. Soon there was fire and blood and pain. The smell of burning flesh choked his senses and made him gag. The pain was unbearable and he tried to scream but black smoke filled his lungs and he couldn't make a sound. The room was on fire and he didn't know how to get out. He tried to stay low as he searched for an exit, his lungs and eyes burning. The roar of the flames was deafening and he couldn't focus on anything. A flash of something through the darkness caught his eye and Roy looked over to see the shine of automail. With his heart in his throat, Roy made his way over to Ed. The blonde was lying on his front, automail covering the back of his head in an attempt to protect himself. His golden hair had fell from its tie and lay around his shoulders in a sea of singed, stained gold. It was covered in soot and the tips were stained a dirty brown from the pool of blood that he lay in. A gash on his head had poured the red life source from Ed's body, as did the wound caused in his back from the knife that had been forced in next to his spine. Roy dropped to his knees by his subordinate and shook him but even as he did he knew that Ed was dead. His eyes were open – lifeless and glassy as he stared out into the flames.

“Fullmetal. Wake up! Edward dammit, wake up. You can't die, Ed. Edward!” Roy somehow managed to scream but it wouldn't do any good. He couldn't slip into denial about Ed's state, not when it was so obvious. Roy coughed, the smoke was rapidly filling his lungs and he slumped to the ground next to Ed. Roy stared into those lifeless gold hues until his own eyes stung too much to keep open. “Ed...”

Roy tossed in his sleep and Ed shut the door. He'd stay and try to soothe the man. Ed was closing the door gently when he heard Roy murmur his name. His voice was weak and full of despair and Ed turned around to stare at the bed. As he watched, Roy's eyelids fluttered before he opened his eyes for the first time in months. He blinked slowly a few times before staring at Ed. The following moments were more tense than Ed had expected but Roy didn't recognise him and that hurt Edward more than he would have ever expected that it would.

Just when Ed was beginning to feel the first traces of fear and hurt, a small smile pulled at Roy's lips and he shut his eyes. His relief was so evident that Edward couldn't stop himself from asking what his dream was about. Roy froze, opening his eyes to look at the blonde as Edward walked over to the bed side and just shook his head. After a moment Edward shrugged and let it go. The dream wasn't that important anyway. It was just a dream after all. He helped Roy drink some water and then quickly left to get a nurse to check his commanding officer over. Ed stood restlessly by the side as the nurse checked Roy over, checking his vitals and asking him some simple yet clearly important questions.

After what felt like forever the nurse finished what she was doing and offered them both a small smile and reassured them that Roy's vitals were all normal. She then turned to go and stopped only to remind Ed that visiting hours were almost over, and the general still needed a lot of rest. Ed stayed with Roy until a doctor came by and made him leave. He did so with a promise that he'd come back the following day.

As Ed left, Roy allowed himself a small smile and then after eating a small portion of food and finishing a glass of water, he slipped back into sleep; exhausted despite the months of rest.

#royed #roy mustang #royxed #fullmetal alchemist #fanfiction #fanfic #fma #fullmetal alchemist fanfiction #edward elric #onemoremiracle-fiction

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