#spent almost an entire week on this godforsaken edit

[visenyatargaryn]

When the king brands us p i r a t e s, he doesn’t mean to make us adversaries. He doesn’t mean to make us criminals. He means to make us m o n s t e r s. For that’s the only way his god-fearing, tax-paying subjects can make sense of men who keep what is theirs and fear no one. When I say there’s a war coming, I don’t mean with the Scarborough, I don’t mean with King George or England. Civilization is coming, and it means to e x t e r m i n a t e us. (insp)

[fallen-gravity]

Step By Step

“Grunkle Ford, you should dance with me!”

“W-What?” Ford blushes, caught off-guard by the request.

“Dance with me!” Mabel beams, and gestures around the living room. “When else are we going to get another opportunity like this? Dipper and Stan are out of the house and we have the entire living room to ourselves? We’d be crazy not to take advantage of it!" She bends over to pick up the box of records and places it on the recliner. “I’ll even let you pick out the song!”

Notes:

~ written for @fluffbruary day 18: dance ~

Fun fact! The outline for this fic has been sitting in the notes app on my phone since at least October, and I've been practically waiting for an excuse to write it ever since.

Sometimes you just need to let yourself write the softest, mushiest thing you can picture, as a treat.

AO3

When Ford first moved to Gravity Falls, he loved listening to music while he worked on his research. One of the first things he bought for pleasure rather than necessity was a record player, and he always kept it where he could always hear it playing as he wrote. Whenever he found himself in a pawn shop, or a second hand store, he would always be on the lookout for the records his Ma always played when he still lived at home, as they always filled him with a sense of comfort and nostalgia.

When Fiddleford moved in to help further his research, his record player was a great aid in drowning out all of that godforsaken banjo playing. They would get into spats about it, but they were always in good nature, and if anything, helped to quell the intense loneliness Ford had been feeling since he left for college. Fidds eventually came to a “compromise” and started recommending records for Ford to play instead, but even those were often bluegrass or country singers yodeling for almost an hour straight. 

Ford would play them once or twice to be nice to his friend, but truth be told the moment Fiddleford had to fly home for a week when his son caught the flu Ford snapped the thing in half and buried the pieces in the backyard. 

After Bill’s betrayal, music became a safe haven for Ford. Every night when he attempted to work on dismantling the portal, he would pick out the loudest, most aggressive-sounding records he could find and move the player right next to his desk to stop himself from falling asleep. It didn’t help much with the exhaustion, but more important than anything else, it worked to drown out all the voices screaming in his head. 

One night, when he got just a little bit too careless and just a little bit too comfortable, he fell asleep at his desk. When he came to hours later, his record player was knocked to the ground, his box of records was nowhere to be found, and there was blood dripping from his right eye. 

That’s right, brainiac! I smashed all of your precious music to pieces! Bill’s voice shrieked in his head. That’s what you get for trying to drown me out and undo millennia of tedious work! He cackled, and no matter how many times Ford’s heard that same laugh it still managed to send chills down his spine. 

And for decades, he had no choice but to believe that was the truth. He didn’t have the time to turn his house upside down looking for the hidden records while he waited for Stan to arrive to help hide his journals, and he’d all about forgotten them in the thirty years he spent fending for himself in the multiverse. 

…As a matter of fact, Ford’s not sure he would’ve remembered them at all if he hadn’t just been startled by the sound of someone loudly playing music from upstairs. 

That’s…strange. He was sure he’d heard the Stanleymobile driving away about ten minutes ago, and it’s rare that Stan would leave in his car without taking the kids with him.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Ford closes the journal he’d been editing and makes his way up the stairs. A quick glance out the gift shop window tells him that Stan’s car is still missing, but there’s definitely still loud music coming from one of the other rooms. Frowning, Ford shoves his hands in his trench coat pockets just in case, and slowly creeps his way towards the other rooms to investigate where the music could possibly be coming from. He has no luck in the kitchen or in the hallway, but as soon as he peeks his head into the living room the nervous frown on his face is replaced with a soft smile. 

Mabel’s there in the middle of the room, eyes squeezed shut and grinning from ear to ear as she dances like nobody’s watching. Her arms are flailing around as her legs bounce from side to side, looking like she’s having the most fun she’s ever had in her entire life. Bouncing around in time to the music, she spins on her feet until she’s facing Ford, and when she finally opens her eyes and sees him watching her she yelps, freezing in place. 

“Grunkle Ford!” she squeaks, and dives towards the record player by Stan’s recliner to turn the music off. There’s a pink blush on her face when she looks at him again. “I thought I was home alone!” 

Ford chuckles as he steps into the room to join her. “I could say the same thing, dear. Where are Stan and your brother?” 

“At the grocery store,” she shrugs. “I told them I needed to stay behind and work on an art project, but I really just wanted to have a single-person-super-secret-dance-party-for-no-reason.” she nods firmly, but the blush returns to her face when she makes eye contact with Ford again. “Oh, my loud music wasn’t…bothering you, was it? I can always listen to my own music upstairs, but there’s something really charming about all these old-timey records that Stan keeps around the house.”

“Not at all” Ford smiles as he approaches the box of records on the floor beside the record player. “I actually came upstairs because I thought I recognized the song you were listening to,” he says, and kneels down to flip through the selection. It’s a significantly larger collection than the last time he looked through it, but he supposes that could be because Stan found the time to go out and buy more as the years went on. 

More importantly, though, there isn’t a single record missing, from what he can recall. Ford’s not sure how, but Stan managed to find every single record that Bill had supposedly “destroyed” and tucked them neatly back into their case.

Bill never destroyed them at all. If Ford had to guess, he had simply taunted him with a threat, and Ford was too paranoid and sleep deprived to see through it. 

“As a matter of fact…” he picks one of them up and inspects it with his hands. “Most of these are actually my records”

Mabel gasps, stars forming in her eyes at the revelation. “Grunkle Ford, I didn’t know you liked music!” 

Ford laughs. “Come on, now, I’m not nearly as stiff as Stanley likes to make me out to be” he ruffles her hair as he stands to his feet. “I love music. It was a vital part of my life when I was working on the journals”

“Ahh! I knew I wasn’t the only artistic one in the family!” Mabel squeals, excitedly bouncing on her feet. She bounds towards him to give him a hug, but she pulls away with a gasp after only a single beat. “Grunkle Ford, you should dance with me!”

“W-What?” Ford blushes, caught off-guard by the request. 

“Dance with me!” Mabel beams, and gestures around the living room. “When else are we going to get another opportunity like this? Dipper and Stan are out of the house and we have the entire living room to ourselves? We’d be crazy not to take advantage of it!” She bends over to pick up the box of records and places it on the recliner. “I’ll even let you pick out the song!” 

Ford hesitates for a few moments, but it’s near impossible to resist when Mabel smiles like that. Not to mention that she’s right; he hasn’t had an opportunity to allow himself to just enjoy music for what it is for decades, and especially not a quiet afternoon alone like this. 

“Alright,” he nods, and begins flipping through the collection of records. He knows just the song he’s looking for, and finds himself smiling when he finds it. “Let’s dance.”  As gently as he can, Ford removes the record from its case and places it down on the player. He backs away as the music begins to play, and offers a hand to Mabel as it increases in volume. Mabel, seemingly recognizing the song, takes his hand with a big grin on her face.

I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May

She gently sways back and forth in time to the music, looking carefully to the ground to avoid stepping on his feet. If Ford looks close enough, he swears he can see her mouthing the words of the song.

I’d guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

My girl, my girl

Talkin’ bout my girl

As the chorus picks up, Ford lifts Mabel’s hand into the air and gently twirls her in a circle, causing her to giggle. Her hair flies out in front of her face as she spins, but she makes little effort to fix it. Ford can’t help but smile, and when she attempts to lift his arm into the air to return the favor, he meets her halfway and spins himself in a circle. 

I don’t need no money, fortune or fame

I’ve got all the riches baby one man can claim

Well I’d guess you’d say

What can make me feel this way?

Ford’s not entirely sure when, but at some point during the song, Mabel had switched to standing on his feet while they danced. He merely pretends he doesn’t notice, and continues to dance around the room in slow circles.

My girl, my girl

Talkin’ bout my girl, talkin’ bout my girl

I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day with my girl

I’ve even got the month of May with my girl

As the song reaches its conclusion and begins to fade, Ford and Mabel remain dancing, and neither of them stop until the next song begins to play. Mabel steps off of Ford’s feet to allow him to turn the music off, but stands close behind him with a huge grin on her face. 

“Grunkle Ford, you never told me you were such a great dancer!” she beams. “How could you keep such an important secret from me?”

Ford finds himself blushing at the compliment. “Ah, well, I guess it’s been so long since the last time I went dancing that I guess I forgot” he rubs at the back of his neck, smiling shyly. 

“Aww, then I’m super glad I got to be the one to remind you!” she squeals, beaming from ear to ear.  “Thank you for that, Grunkle Ford, it was so much more fun than just dancing around the room by myself”

Ford smiles, and formally bows to her in return. “And thank you, my dear”

She giggles. “What are you thanking me for?”

Ford returns to a standing position, smile growing softer. “For reminding me what it’s like to take things slowly.”

Even before he’d been forced to live between dimensions for thirty years, Ford always found himself living in the fast lane. He was convinced he had to be the first to discover everything, the first to publish research papers, the first to deliver speeches about his findings. He would get such an intense rush from being the first that he’d almost entirely forgotten about the comfort in taking things at a leisurely pace. 

“Oh!” Mabel grins. “Of course! Don’t think you’re the only anxious mess in the family. I’ve gotta help poor Dipdop slow down all the time” she shakes her head in disapproval. “I swear, one of these days he’s going to vibrate so hard he’ll pop” 

Ford laughs. “Well, it helps to know that we have someone in the family with experience in knocking us down a few pegs”

“Yep, Miss Gentle and Down To Earth, that’s me!” Mabel puffs out her chest with pride, which only makes Ford laugh even more. A soft smile forms on her face as well, and she gently reaches to take one of Ford’s hands in her own. “In all seriousness, Grunkle Ford, I’m really happy for you. You deserve nice things like music and sugary snacks and all that kinda stuff just as much as the rest of us do” 

A tiny, choked up sound escapes Ford at the sentiment, but before he can say anything in return, Mabel rushes forward and winds her tiny arms around him in a hug. Ford returns the gesture instead of replying, and Mabel squeezes him extra hard for a moment before she pulls away. 

“Y’know…” she begins, a grin returning to her face. “Dipper and Grunkle Stan still aren’t back yet.” She offers out her hand the same way he’d done for her a few minutes prior. “Would you care for another dance?” 

Ford chuckles, a sense of warmth rushing to his chest.  “I would love one,” he replies, moving to turn the music back on before taking her up on her offer. 

[floralbuckley]

eddie carving E + R into the kissing bridge right under the R + E and then as adults , them realizing

This started out as someone else request and then kind of slowly turned to this one, but a little different? Also, this took me over a week to write and edit so please be gentle. I hope you all enjoy! 

Getting out of the sewers and getting Eddie to the emergency room was the real challenge. After the Losers had all finally seen the existence of Pennywise melt away to nothing, it became a reality to them that, somehow, they needed to haul up Eddie’s body and get him out of there. Sure, he was small, but after the battle, they knew they had limited energy. And they had to use it wisely if they were going to make it out of there alive. 

 It was Bill who had first posed the question of who would do the honours of carrying Eddie out, and how exactly they would do that. 

 “I’ll take him,” Richie said without missing a beat, his hand raised up high in the air.

 Mike shook his head as he rolled his eyes. Any sane person on earth could take one look at Richie’s distressed and dishevelled appearance and know that he shouldn’t be carrying another human being through these sewers. “Richie, you’re a mess. I’ll do it.”

 Despite Mike’s words, Richie began walking towards Eddie in haste and said, “we all know I’m the biggest. It just makes sense. I mean, really, it’s just science.” Mike stepped forward, about to protest once again, but Ben put his arm in front of his chest to hold him back. As Richie put his forearms underneath Eddie’s armpits and slowly lifted him off the ground, his arms began shaking due to Eddie’s beaten up body being so limp. But eventually, somehow, he managed to get one arm under his legs and pick him up bridal style. “Let’s go, Losers.”

 When they finally reached the emergency room, the only thing on their minds was Eddie and making sure he got the help he needed. Mike immediately went into leader mode, rushing to the front desk to try and get Eddie into surgery as quickly as possible while Richie stood behind him with Eddie still in his arms. What the losers didn’t really seem to realise was the state that each of them was in, too: blood all over their shirts, cuts on their faces, bruises littering their arms, tear streaks down their faces. But Eddie was their first priority, of course.

 Eddie spent several weeks in the hospital after surgery, eating nothing but disgusting jelly and sloppy soup, drinking sour apple juice and watching more daytime television than he’s ever seen in his entire life. If you asked Eddie Kaspbrak who his favourite soap opera character was, he would be more than happy to list all the soaps on Channel 5, plus the 2 on channel 7, then go into great detail about each character from each show long before telling you his favourite. 

 However, by his side was a person he didn’t expect to stick around.

 The other Loser’s practically begged Richie to get some rest or, at the very least, go back to the Derry Town House to have a shower and change his clothes. But Richie refused. He simply needed to stay by Eddie’s side in case any little thing happened.

 After a few days had passed and everyone had confirmation that Eddie was okay, it was time for the rest of the group to go back to work, back to their partners, back to their own towns. Except for Richie. Boy, that man was stubborn. Numerous phone calls, angry texts, and livid emails from his manager, and Richie dodged every single one. Eddie was the only thing on his mind right now, and there was no way he was leaving just to go tell jokes on stage. 

 By the 5th day of sleeping in the uncomfortable vinyl chair in Eddie’s room, and wearing the same clothes from the sewer, Richie eventually went back to the Town House. He showered, grabbed his and Eddie’s suitcases, and bought a sleeping bag for the floor of Eddie’s hospital room. If he had to sleep in that godforsaken chair for one more night, Richie was sure he’d be flying back home on a red-eye that day. 

 Oh, who was he kidding? Richie would’ve slept on the floor for the rest of his life if it meant he got to stay by Eddie’s side. 

 It was 3 weeks after Eddie’s surgery, and, really, Eddie should have left last week. He recovered perfectly from surgery, the stitches had been taken out of his cheek, and doctors said he was good to go home. But Eddie refused, too terrified that something would happen the moment he got onto the plane. So, Richie stayed by his side, catering to his every need to make sure that Eddie was as happy as he could possibly be. 

 It was 4 in the morning, and Richie just simply couldn’t get a wink of sleep. He grabbed his phone from the floor beside him and clicked the lock button, the home screen informing him of the early hour. Richie rustled around in his sleeping bag, attempting to get comfortable against the itchiness of the fabric before he eventually just gave up and got out of the damn thing. He plonked into the visitor chair and looked out the window at Derry’s street lights. He remembered seeing these lights as a boy when he and the losers would go out to the Summer carnival at night, and the entire town would be lit up. It was a sight he hadn’t seen in a very long time, and the memories bought a smile to his face. 

 “Rich?” Eddie whispered.

 Richie jumped a little, not expecting Eddie to be awake at this hour. He turned around to see the smaller boy looking at him, his brown eyes shining in the moonlight.

 “Mm, what’s up?” He whispered back with his eyebrows raised.

 Eddie shuffled around in his bed as he attempted to make space. He absolutely despised Richie sleeping on the floor. Sure, it was clean and sanitary enough given that they were in a hospital, but god, Eddie couldn’t even begin to imagine how uncomfortable sleeping down there for the last 3 weeks must have been.

 “Get in the bed,” he said gently as he gestured his head towards the empty space he had made. 

 Richie shook his head. “It’s fine, Eddie. You need your space.”

 “Richie, get in the bed,” Eddie repeated, his voice no longer a whisper as he rose it to a regular volume. He pulled back the corner of the duvet to show Richie the room he had made for him.

 “No, Eds. I don’t want to hurt you or anything,” Richie said as he put his hands up in defence.

 Eddie let out a low growl and grumpily patted the empty spot next to him. “Get in the fucking bed, asshole.”

 Richie sighed and thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, he really was worried about moving the wrong way and hitting the wound on his cheek or turning over and crashing into his stomach. However, on the other hand, he got to be in bed with Eddie. Of course, it was that thought that won him over. He stood up from the uncomfortable vinyl chair and made his way over to the hospital bed. He slipped a sock-clad foot under the covers first before slowly tucking the rest of his body in. The sheets were warm from where Eddie had just been laying, and after being in them for so long, they also smelt like him: a mixture of soft, just-washed clothes, and freshly cut grass. Richie breathed in the scent as he pulled the duvet up to his chin before turning around to find Eddie looking at him.

 Richie lightly chuckled. “Hey,” he whispered. “Can’t sleep, either?”

 Eddie shook his head as thought for a minute, his eyebrows furrowing. “I know it’s dead, but I can’t stop thinking about it, Rich.”

 Richie snuggled further down into the bed and rubbed his nose against the pillow they were sharing. His soft sweat pants brushing against Eddie’s bare legs sent a chill down his spine as he realised just how close they were to one another. He wasn’t sure where to put his hands, so he let them awkwardly sit in between his and Eddie’s bodies as he thought back to when they had fought Pennywise and all the nightmares that had come afterwards. That demonic face had been taking over almost every thought in Richie’s head for the last 3 weeks, its horrid laugh replaying over and over again.

 “Yeah, I know. Me too.”

 The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, thinking about the fact that, despite fighting and killing that thing, it was still haunting them weeks later. Eddie hesitantly took a hand out from underneath his head and slid it below the covers until his fingers found Richie’s. Eddie let his fingertips touch Richie’s ever so slightly before allowing them to run down Richie’s fingers and meeting at his palm. Eddie rubbed his knuckles over the inside of Richie’s hand, and it felt as if a swarm of butterflies was erupting within both of them.

 Richie couldn’t help but let a smile creep up onto his face at the delicate touch. “What’re you doing, Eds?”

 “Rich, I could have died in there,” Eddie started softly. Richie’s collarbones were peeking out from underneath his shirt, and Eddie made a point of staring at them instead of at Richie’s face as he spoke his next words. “It- it made me realise that I can’t keep living a lie, you know?”

 Eddie’s eyes stayed away from Richie’s face as Richie processed his words. He understood in every way what Eddie was saying because Richie, too, didn’t want to live this lie anymore. As much as Richie wanted this, as much as his heart pounded inside his chest and his head spun in circles, and his stomach fluttered with butterflies and his skin filled with goosebumps, Richie wasn’t sure he could do this. And although he’d been living with these thoughts inside his mind for the last 28 years, he still didn’t feel ready. No matter how in love with Eddie he was.

 Richie pulled his fingers away from Eddie’s and sat up in the hospital bed, and Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. He’d seen Richie’s smile just seconds before, and as he thought more about his actions, Eddie’s smile completely fell from his face. His cheeks were suddenly bright red and burning hot, with the sinking feeling that he’d done something terribly wrong growing in his stomach.

 “Yeah, uh-.” Richie didn’t dare look at Eddie’s face. He couldn’t. He got up out of bed quickly and reached for his shoes. “I need some air,” he said hastily as he slipped his arms into his jumper. He pulled his sneakers on and looked around the room for a second – his eyes refusing to meet Eddie’s – then rushed out the door and slammed it shut.

 Eddie felt his heart drop into his stomach, and for a moment, he sat in his bed as he thought over what had just occurred. He couldn’t let Richie leave. There was no way in hell Eddie was going to let his feelings for Richie ruin what they had. He quickly got out of the bed, grabbed his slippers, and raced out of his room. 

 “Mr Kaspbrak!” One of the nurses shouted as Eddie rushed down the hallway. “What’re you doing?!”

 “Something I need to do before I lose my chance!” Eddie called back.

 He continued forward, trying not to run but still going as quickly as he legs – and the nurses – would allow him to. Eddie could only just see Richie ahead of him, but the crowded halls and slippery floors stopped him from getting any closer. He trailed quite far behind, occasionally losing sight of the taller man in between doctors and patients and families, but eventually Eddie came to the exit. He could see Richie across the road, walking quickly with his hands gripped into a fist and his eyes set on the ground below his feet. 

 Richie, on the other hand, had not a clue that Eddie was following him. There was only one place in this town that Richie was focused on right now. The one spot that would give him the air that he needed, that he craved. He hastily walked, following the path alongside the quarry. His legs moved quickly, and he tucked his hands into his jumper pockets, keeping them tight in a fist. His hair was slightly blowing in the wind, but he didn’t really mind; the fresh air was already clearing his mind with every step he took as he headed for the kissing bridge – a place Richie hadn’t thought about until he set foot in Derry and saw Eddie’s face once again.

 As the wind grew stronger, Richie finally reached the bridge. Eddie was hot on his heels as he jogged down the street, a mix of confused thoughts running through his mind. He stayed back for a little, watching as Richie bent down to look at something on the wooden railing. Richie smiled for a second, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his fingers trailed along something on the wood, which he then placed his hand over and bowed his head down. 

 Eddie slowly began walking forwards.

 “Richie?” he asked hesitantly once he was close enough.

 Richie jumped slightly at the sound of Eddie’s careful voice, not expecting him to have followed him all the way out there. He shook his head a little to get himself out of his daze, then stood up.

 “Ed’s,” Richie said gently. “What’re you doing here?” 

 Eddie’s hands began to shake, so he shoved them into the pocket of his hoodie and made fists, attempting to calm his nerves. His mind was reeling with so many thoughts, but the biggest one floating around in his mind being how much Richie must hate him right now.

 “I just… Wanted to make sure you’re okay?” He asked, his gaze not leaving the road below him. Nerves and the feeling of complete and utter embarrassment were rising up inside him, and Eddie couldn’t name a time where he’d felt more ridiculously stupid than now. Basically confessing to his friend that he’s been living a lie and has feelings for him, making a move, and then following him around town? Eddie didn’t think he’d ever had a bigger facepalm moment in his entire life.  

 Richie took a moment to consider everything. He thought about the fact that he’s been in the closet for 28 years. That he’s been in love with his best friend for 28 years. That all this time, he’s never truly been able to live his life. Never been able to go on dates or have a relationship or have children. All because he’d hidden behind this mask. A mask that allowed him to do comedy and make up voices and cover up who he truly was. Who he truly is. And as his legs began to feel like jelly, Richie let these thoughts scare him enough into walking over to where Eddie stood. His hands were violently shaking as he tenderly laced his fingers through Eddie’s and dragged him towards the bridge railing.

 Eddie’s head was spinning with confusion. And the second that Richie stopped on the bridge and pointed to what he had been looking at, Eddie felt even more confused than before. But one thing he wasn’t confused about was the feeling of Richie’s hand in his. The warm skin and the gentle grip. It was something Eddie had been longing for since they were boys, messing around on the hammock in the clubhouse, or playing dumb games at the arcade. It was a feeling that he knew would be amazing, but now that it was actually happening, and it was reciprocated, it was even better than he had ever imagined it. And boy, had he imagined it. When Eddie was younger, sometimes as he lay in bed, he would interlock his own hands and pretend one was Richie’s just to help him fall asleep. 

 “What am I looking at?” He asked as he stared at the letters carved into the wooden panel.

 “That, Eds, is our initials that I carved 27 years ago,” Richie said, a hint of pride shining through in his voice as he stared at Eddie and continued pointing to the wood. A smile had formed on Richie’s face as his body filled with more confidence. 

 Eddie stared at the sharp, uppercase “R + E”, still confused with his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean… 27 years ago?” He asked. He let go of Richie’s hand and bent down to trace the letters, much like Richie had done just several minutes ago. 

 Richie stayed silent for a while. He was hoping that it would click shortly, and Eddie would understand what he was saying. Watching Eddie as he ran his pointer finger along the indented wood bought a flood of memories back into Richie’s mind. Remembering those times in the clubhouse, or at one of the Loser’s houses, or at the quarry, when Richie would stare at Eddie for so long, no matter what he was doing. His gaze would be so fixated on the smaller boy that hardly anything would be able to snap him out of his love-sick daze. 

 A particular memory sprung to mind from a time, long ago, when he and Eddie would have sleepovers most weeks. Though the one night Richie was currently recalling was the night that changed everything for him. He remembered sitting on his bed, the blue sheets crumbled and messy as he ran his hands roughly through his dishevelled hair. He was seated crisscrossed on the mattress, watching Eddie dig around in his draw containing his collection of VHS tapes, looking for the perfect film for their movie night. 

 It wasn’t that Eddie was doing anything in particular to intrigue Richie, but for some reason, as usual, he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the small boy. As Eddie spoke so fast Richie was sure his tongue would fall off, and as he held up tape after tape, putting them neatly in a pile next to him, and as his pastel yellow polo moved with his body and his blue shorts rode a little too far up his thigh, Richie realised it. It was like a light switch had suddenly flicked on inside his mind, and the globe was shining so brightly as everything began falling into place. And it was at that moment that Richie Tozier knew he was in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. 

 He faded out of the memory to see that Eddie hadn’t moved and was still knelt down in front of the letters, and he smiled as a flood of love and warmth filled his chest. Richie felt like a piece of his heart - a piece that had been dedicated to this man for so long - was starting to melt right then and there. 

 Richie walked forward and gently placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and the smaller man looked up at him. “Rich,” he said softly as he slowly stood up. A look of wonder and amazement filled Eddie’s eyes as a delicate smile etched itself onto his lips. 

 Richie let out a gentle chuckle, and the corners of his eye crinkled as he laced his fingers through Eddie’s.

 “Eds, it’s you. It’s always been you. I’ve loved you since we were kids and I still do.”

 Richie hadn’t felt such a surge of confidence in his entire life, but he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to get this opportunity to tell Eddie how much he truly cared for him. It really was now or never.

 Eddie’s spinning head was slowing as his heart grew soft over Richie’s words. He’d longed for the day he heard Richie say those words, and now that the day was finally here, he wanted to take every second to soak it in.

 It was now Eddie’s turn for an old memory to return to his conscious. He thought back to when he was 13, the image of him and the Losers at the quarry on a warm Summer’s day filled his mind. He remembered watching the rest of their friends swimming in the water while he and Richie sat on the rocks, tired from playing and splashing around. While Eddie was sitting up, a sandwich in his hand and a towel wrapped around his shoulders, Richie was sprawled out on his towel fast asleep. Eddie’s gaze lingered on the rise and fall of Richie’s bare chest. Lingered on the hand that was placed on his stomach as it moved up and down as he breathed slowly. Lingered on his hair that was blowing gently in the wind and his nose that crinkled every so often. And he lingered on the fact that he was slowly falling in love with every inch of the Trashmouth more and more every day.

 After all the Loser’s went their separate ways that day, Eddie headed straight for the kissing bridge. As he walked, he let his fingers drag across the wood until he found an empty spot right at the end. Eddie reached into his backpack and pulled out the pocket knife he had snuck out of Stanley’s bag, bent down, and slowly carved the letters that had been stuck inside his mind for god knows how long. He needed this. Some sort of secret place other than his thoughts where he could keep the idea of him and Richie being together alive. 

 Eddie smiled at the memory and gripped Richie’s hand tighter, dragging him further down the bridge. Richie’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion until Eddie stopped in his tracks and pointed at another panel of wood.

 Richie looked to where Eddie’s gaze was set, and there, etched deep and in lower case letters, was “e + r”. Richie’s eyes grew wide as he stared at the markings and a realisation settled over him. He wanted to reach down and touch the letters, but the feeling of Eddie’s hand in his own - the warm, soft skin that so gingerly held on to Richie’s - stopped him from moving.

 “When?” Richie asked, turning back to Eddie. His eyes were shining in the moonlight, much like they had in the hospital room, and Richie didn’t think he had ever seen him look so radiant and stunning, yet so delicate and soft at the same time. He reached out with his free hand and cupped Eddie’s face, rubbing his thumb across his cheek.

 Eddie smiled and relaxed into Richie’s touch as he let out a gentle sigh. “27 years ago,” he whispered with a quick shrug, his tone holding a glimmer of irony as he looked down to the ground. 

 For the first time ever, Richie didn’t have a single word to speak. For the first time ever, he was rendered completely speechless. Because for all these years, as Richie was pining after Eddie day in and day out, stealing glances and hoping and wishing so desperately that Eddie could feel the way he did, Eddie had been doing the exact same thing.

 Richie stepped forward and pressed his torso against Eddie’s. He took his hand out of the smaller boys and instead placed it on the other side of his face.

 “Richie,” Eddie whispered softly, so low that Richie almost didn’t hear him. Eddie moved his face closer to Richie, their noses touching and their lips ever so gently brushing up against one another as both men tried their best to soak in every second of each other.

 “Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie whispered back with a giggle.

 “Don’t call me that. I ha-“ Eddie was cut off from finishing his sentence as Richie finally leant forward completely and pushed his lips against Eddie’s, his thumbs brushing against Eddie’s cheeks and his fingers making their way into his hair.

 Eddie reacted quickly, grabbing on to Richie’s sides to try and pull him closer. But as desperate as their actions seemed to be, with their hands not knowing where to settle and their tummy’s pressing together more and more with every second that passed, the kiss still felt innocent. Sweet. It was soft and gentle and something that both of them had been waiting so long for. And after 27 years, something they both deserved - a happy ending.

[giftwrappingpaper]

If I may request a practice ficlet, Lan Zhan with a fever and sick and Wei Ying doting on him?

slight canon divergence where lwj gets sick in the xuanwu cave instead of wwx, bc apparently i’m never gonna write postcanon wangxian lolol

edit: polished and edited version posted on ao3

—–

The predicament Wei WuXian has found himself in is grim. The week he’s spent without food or water is beginning to gnaw at him, and the only chance he had at escaping this godforsaken hellhole had caved in during his and Lan WangJi’s joint effort in killing the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

All he could do now is wait for help to hopefully arrive, with only Lan WangJi as company.

Overly stoic, boring, and surprisingly temperamental Lan WangJi, who had spent however many hours with long, sharp chords digging into his hands as he suffocated the XuanWu to death. Lan WangJi, who had cried in front of Wei WuXian before biting him so hard he still has a mark on his arm the shape of Lan WangJi’s teeth. Lan WangJi, who, not even a moment after the bite, thanked him with more emotion in his voice Wei WuXian hadn’t ever thought the other man was capable of feeling.

Lan WangJi, who currently seems to be on the verge of collapsing where he stands, swaying listlessly as they haul themselves out of the corpse-infested waters.

“Whoa, there,” Wei WuXian cautions him, hesitating for a moment before grabbing at Lan WangJi’s shoulders. “You okay?”

As expected, his grip is immediately shaken off. “I’m fine,” is Lan WangJi’s curt response before taking a single step out of the murky pool, only for his knees to buckle under his own weight and send him toppling down. The resulting splash washes over them both, drenching their already soaked bodies even further.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Wei WuXian says drily as he watches him hastily right himself back to his feet. “Let’s get you back on dry land.” He fights off any attempts at pushing him away and slings Lan WangJi’s arm around his own shoulders, leading them back to their makeshift fireplace with a hand hovering over the small of Lan WangJi’s back.

Lan WangJi begrudgingly accepts his help and allows Wei WuXian to support him as he takes a seat near the fire. His eyes are cloudy and his cheekbones, tinged with red, are the only spots of color on his unusually pallid face.

“You’re burning up,” Wei WuXian says, bringing a hand to cup Lan WangJi’s forehead. “Here, why don’t you lay down?”

He does so, the dense thwack his head makes as he unreservedly drops it onto the rocky ground echoing throughout the cave. Wei WuXian tsks and, wholly unashamed, transfers Lan WangJi’s head to his lap.

“No,” Lan WangJi says.

“Yes,” Wei WuXian corrects. “Stop wriggling around and let me help you.” He brings a hand to Lan WangJi’s forehead again and brushes his long bangs from his eyes. He really is far too warm.

When Lan WangJi tries to swat him away, Wei WuXian only now realizes just how ruined his hands are. “Just how long were you up there strangling the Xuanwu?” he asks, taking in the deep lines of red that criss crossed Lan WangJi’s palms. “I think I passed out about a few minutes in.”

“None of your business,” Lan WangJi answers. Wei WuXian laughs and begins to tear the hem of his robes into long, thin strips.

“Have you always been this haughty? Is this what you’re hiding under your perpetual face of indifference?” he wonders out loud as he wraps Lan WangJi’s hands to the best of his abilities. Exhaustion tugged at his mind, but he shakes off the feeling. With Lan WangJi’s current state, Wei WuXian’s well being is at the bottom of the list of things to worry about.  

“I can’t wash your hands off, and we ran out of medicine,” he tells Lan WangJi. “So hopefully this won’t get infected despite all that.”

He gets no reply. Lan WangJi is too busy staring up at Wei WuXian’s face to give him the time of day. If Wei WuXian didn’t know any better, he would assume that Lan WangJi hasn’t blinked the entire time they’ve been out of the water.

Maybe that’s just how Lan WangJi gets when he has a fever. Hot headed and wide eyed.

When Wei WuXian is finished with his first aid, Lan WangJi’s voice is stuffy from congestion when he says, “Do that again.”

“Do what again?”

Lan WangJi’s eyebrows furrows, and if he were anyone else, Wei WuXian would think that the action is cute. “Your hand. My head. Do that again.”

Oh. Wei WuXian chuckles and does what he is told. “You really are sick.” Wei WuXian teasingly follows the slope of his eyebrow with his thumb, and Lan WangJi’s eyelashes flutter. “Deliriously so.”

“Mn,” Lan WangJi says. Wei WuXian wonders if, after they both get out of this damn cave and recover, he will remember this.

Finally, Lan WangJi blinks. And then he blinks again, his eyes closed longer than before.

“You’re tired?” Wei WuXian asks. Would it be okay for Lan WangJi to fall asleep? Would he wake up if he did? Cursing his past self for not paying enough attention in his medical studies, Wei WuXian panics and says, “Hey, stay with me.”

Lan WangJi coughs, his breaths scratchy yet wet. Fear begins to clog Wei WuXian’s throat, and he clutches at one of the other man’s hands to begin sending him spiritual energy. The glow of it makes Lan WangJi’s damp hair and damp face shine a faint red, dancing alongside the reflected light of the flames that already flickers across his prone figure and the fabric of his robes.

“Stop that,” Lan WangJi warns. His eyes are only half-open, and he’s as close to mumbling as Wei WuXian has ever heard him being. “You are hurt, too. Preserve your energy.”

“You seem like you need it a lot more than me,” Wei WuXian says. “I don’t — Hey! What did I say? Don’t fall asleep on me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan WangJi seems very keen on not listening to him. By his expression alone, it is clear that his mind is not entirely present.

“How about…” Wei WuXian bit his lip and ran a hand down Lan WangJi’s hair. “How about you sing me a song? To keep you awake. A good one, now; I’ll be judging. And I’ve been told that I can be a harsh critic.”

At first, Wei WuXian isn’t sure that Lan WangJi hears him. But after a moment of heartstopping silence, Lan WangJi starts to hum. His voice is still congested, scratchy, and so soft, and it is clear that he’s untrained. But his timbre is deep, and the melody is lovely, and the cave acts as an echochamber that has Lan WangJi’s voice reverberate in its every crevice until it sneaks into Wei WuXian’s hands and blood and intestines until it becomes a part of himself — and all he can do is stare and listen.

When Lan WangJi finishes, he settles more comfortably on Wei WuXian’s lap and looks up at him. His face is still pale and his temperature is sky-high, but there is, at least, a semblance of anticipation in his expression, like he is eager for Wei WuXian’s verdict.

Wei WuXian gives him a smile. “That was beautiful,” he says, wholeheartedly honest. He can still hear the melody in his head.

The tune is too well-structured to be improvised, but he has never heard of it before. So he asks, “Whose song is that?”

Lan WangJi, still so feverish he has an almost reverent look on his face as he stares up at Wei WuXian, still so sickly he must not have enough cognitive awareness to know what he is saying, answers, “Yours.”

[mandysimo13]

The Birth of Sisterhood

Okay, so I want to tell you all the story how me and one of my best friends met.

This fucker right here:

this beautiful creature, @sfumatosoups, is my sister from another mister. We share the same name and ever since the day we met it felt like we had known each other forever. We’ve had a lot of fun together, many adventures, and have grown very close. (not many pictures though, because she doesn’t like to be photographed much and I respect that).

And we owe our entire friendship to a giant pile of hobo shit.

Allow me to explain.

Picture the most cube-farmy, miserable office type work place. Now picture it at six thirty in the morning, full of bleary-eyed, miserable people having to show up to do a thankless job because everyone who uses your services thinks you’re a computer. This is where she and I worked for almost a year alongside each other without ever having met because this place employed somewhere around 800 people at a time and it’s impossible to know all your coworkers.

A large portion of us computer monkeys would park in the mall next door to our office for a discounted fee. To get to the office from the parking lot one would have to walk through a mostly abandoned mall and then over a skywalk bridge that connected to our office. And if you worked in the morning you got used to the sound of silence and sight of empty stores and even emptier abandoned shop stalls. It wasn’t too out of the ordinary to see homeless people wandering around there in the morning, junkies asking for change, or police officers patrolling to shoo them out. And you’d see the occasional cockroach, but that’s beside the point.

The morning we met was just like any other. We both drove to work, hating our existence in our godforsaken workplace, and just happened to meet as we were walking into the mall. We were greeted by a mall cop who was standing outside the entrance to the mall, smiling cheerily at us. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and would probably have been forgotten about if it weren’t for what greeted us next.

As we opened the door to the mall, a great, wafting wave of ungodly odor assaulted our nostrils. We both stopped a moment to gag and we turned to each other and asked each other “dear god, what is that stench?”

I was the one to see it first. The cause of the stench.

In a vestibule that led to a staff stairway, just off the entrance of the mall, was a splattering of shit.

Not dainty coil of polite poo.

Oh no.

This was a mural of shit. And whoever painted it did so with gusto.

And then, as the saying goes: “As Aphrodite sprung from the seafoam, so my sister sprung from hobo poo.”

Or something like that.

We bolted as quickly as we could to get away from the offending smell and the graphic display brought forth by the wonders of the human colon. We spent the next half hour before work laughing about it with another,  then new to us, coworker who we’ve affectionately named “Fake Brit”, a story for another time. We still to this day can’t believe that rent-a-cop didn’t even have the decency to warn us before we went inside. After that we began noticing each other in the breakroom at work and sharing our breaks and lunches with each other. It didn’t take long for us to start hanging out after work and sharing our lives with each other. She introduced me to the world that is fandom. She got me addicted to the crack that is fanfiction and tumblr. I took her to the Renaissance Faire and showed her around Chicago like a local.

We’ve been together as friends for almost five years now. And in that time she consoled me when I found out my mom had a chronic illness that will, in all likelihood, kill her sooner than we’d all like. She knew exactly what to say because her mom also has a chronic illness. She held me when I cried when, in the same week, my boyfriend of seven years broke up with me and my cat died. She made me smile again, vowing to hate everyone who’s ever hurt me even if I forgive them. She shared my interests and helped nurture them as best she can, even when sometimes they don’t always align with hers. When I began traveling for a living and moved a state away from her, she was sad but she supported me because she knows how hard I’ve worked to try and break into the tourism industry.

In return, I’ve been there when her mom took a bad turn in her health and there was a scare for her life. I helped her clean her house when her depression kept her from doing it herself. I’ve been her muse and sounding board when she writes her amazing fanfic stories. I was the maid of honor in her wedding and her rock when she was going through all the stress of planning and walking in her wedding. I’ve cheered her on and been an emotional support when she also decided to make a huge shift in careers and took the time necessary to school and certify herself so that she can be a success.

And, in her own words, via text message:

“U have been a counselor and a kick in the panster and a sister and supportive and a good ear and my writing and art creativity muse.

And you never fucking knitted me a nose sweater u whore”

My response is this: “you’ll get your nose sweater when I get that picture of us flipping off the camera at your wedding, bitch.”

Being a sister with her is something I never anticipated in life. We sometimes argue and piss each other off but, at the end of the day, we still wish each other well and cheer each other on and provide a much needed, as she says, “kick in the panster” when appropriate. As someone who grew up with a brother, I never thought in a million years I’d get another sibling. And, I’m sure she never thought that, as an only child, she would either. I can’t tell you how thankful I am that life, and a pile of hobo poo, proved us both wrong in that department.

Amanda, my love. My darling. My sweet, sweet sister. Thank you for being the amazing person you are. Here’s to many more years of bickering, inside jokes, writing and editing, lazy Sunday brunches, couch cuddles, pet harassment, and love. Never change.

And for the love of god, come visit me in Chicago you hoe. <3

[skadventuretime]

I am shopping in your bookstore and you didn’t notice my mother was standing directly behind me when you really blatantly hit on me. - Soma

Time to bust out of that post-resbang slump. Please accept this little bit of ridiculousness as I adjust back to writing past tense and Black Star’s shenanigans.

On FFN. Edit: On AO3 too, because I was too lazy to do it last night. 

It started out as a dare.

More like a challenge, really, one to see who could ask out their respective crushes first, and Maka refused to lose to her muscle-headed nincompoop of a neighbor who still insisted on being called by his childhood alter ego’s name.

Black Star. More like Black Death the way his nonsense seemed to kill all logic and reason with the speed and ferocity of deadly bacteria.

Gritting her teeth, Maka peered around the edge of the bookshelf she had strategically chosen for surveillance purposes - it was far enough away from the checkout that the grumpy object of this godforsaken mission would have a hard time seeing her, but close enough that she could gauge both how busy the store was and how tired he seemed. If she played her cards right, she could walk up when there were few people around, dazzle him with some tried and true wordplay that she had spent all of the previous night researching, and then be done before he woke up enough to realize he’d agreed to go on a date with someone as pathetically endowed as her.

She lurked in the sci-fi/fantasy section for another thirty minutes while the lunch rush came through, nearly forgetting about her mission entirely when she overheard a couple of teens talking about Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern series and getting into an animated discussion about the pros and cons of being soul-bonded to another sentient being. But then they left, and the relative quiet reminded Maka she had a job to do.

A final peek around the shelf confirmed that there was nobody else in the store but her and Sir Slouches-A-Lot. Remembering the Internet’s reminder that men like confident, assertive women, she put on her competitive jiujitsu face and strode up to the counter with her back straight and her head held high. Her script was memorized. Her research was iron-clad. There was no way this could end in failure.

“Do you have a name or can I just call you mine?” she asked him in the most neutral tone she could manage. No need to pull out the sultry yet - all of the articles she’d read had agreed that pacing was important.

“Excuse me?” he stuttered, eyes wide as he half-tripped, half-collapsed onto the counter.

Maka frowned. It seemed the initial line didn’t work so well - perhaps something more poetic would get the point across. “Do you have a map? I’m getting lost in your eyes.” That should definitely provoke the needed response - his eyes were a brilliant shade of wine-red that did funny things to her stomach when she thought about it too much, but she supposed that was why Black Star teased her about him so often. That’ll stop when she wins this bet, though. Surely Star couldn’t be faring any better with Kid given his utter inability to form coherent sentences that didn’t involve some inane portmanteau of ‘bro’ and the meme of the week.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand?” he wheezed, red splotches making his cheeks glow in an awkward, adorable way. “Do you uh, need some help finding something in the store?”

Maka took a calming breath. Of course she’d fall for the one who couldn’t take a hint. Third time’s the charm, they say, so she summoned her most seductive smile (the amount of time she spent practicing it in the mirror the night before was borderline embarrassing) and said, “Are you my appendix? I have a pain in my side that makes me feel like I should take you out.” If he missed the subtext of that last bit, she might have to resort to some of the more drastic measures mentioned in the article, like showing up at his window with a boombox and 80s music or giving him a bouquet of roses, and flowers were expensive.

“Are you hitting on me?” he said, voice cracking in the middle and rising an octave or so while he looked at her with a strange mixture of incredulity and something a little like hope.

“It appears that way, Soul,” an amused voice said to their right, and oh god, someone else was there the whole time. She had waist length blond hair, fine cheekbones, and some of the sharpest eyeliner Maka had ever seen. With a growing sense of horror, Maka realized this must be his mother.

Soul jumped and turned to face her, groaning when he saw the satisfied smirk and delicately placed hands on hips. “Why are you here? Weren’t you doing inventory?”

“Now now, is that any way to treat family?” she chided, still smiling while moving past Soul to collect a stack of receipts by the register.

“I try to forget I’m related to you,” he grumbled, scrubbing at his face in a vain attempt to rid himself of the color in his cheeks. “Don’t you have better things to do than creep around up front?”

She laughed and ruffled his hair with an easy kind of affection that made something in Maka’s heart twinge. What it must be like, to have a mother like that.

“I’ll leave you two kids alone. I can’t be late to my modeling gig, anyway. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She winked and, after making her way around the counter towards the door, turned and stage-whispered to Maka, “And that only involves anything without clearly negotiated safe words and boundaries, so have at it!” Another wink and she was gone, the small bell above the door chiming her exit.

“Your mom seems nice,” Maka said cautiously, not wanting to say much more because Soul already seemed like he was one wrong look away from disintegrating on the spot and she was busy trying to figure out how to steer this conversation back to dates.

“Mom?” he said, aghast. “That wasn’t my mother, that was my brother.”

Now it was Maka’s turn to blush. “Oh! I’m sorry, I guess I presumed with the hair and — do you think he can teach me how to do eyeliner like that? I always mess it up.”

Soul’s laugh was more like a whimper while he lowered his face into his arms, sinking into the small stool behind the counter like he wished he could simply fade away. “Probably. He’s always picked to do high fashion stuff like this.”

Maka allowed him one minute of embarrassed sulking before clearing her throat and asking, “So, is that a yes?”

He raised his head, confusion breaking through the pained set of his features. “Huh?”

“Will you go out with me?” she said impatiently, glancing at the clock. Kid had gotten out of orchestra almost an hour ago and she didn’t want to risk Star somehow being smooth enough to fingergun his way into a relationship before she could apply her hours of thoroughly researched technique.

“I mean, that sounds—” He’s cut off by the door slamming wide to none other than Black Star and Kid, the latter wearing an impeccable neutral face despite Star’s large bicep curling into the back of his neck from the arm around his shoulder.

“'Sup nerds,” Star said, sauntering over to join them by the counter. “This hot piece of sass agreed to go out with me just a few minutes ago, and given the awkward tension I felt from down the street, you two haven’t even gotten to the confession yet. So I’m gonna say booyah and you lose, Maks.” He raised his other hand over his head, fist formed, and didn’t break eye contact with Maka as Kid sighed and lifted his fist to bump Star’s.

Maka seethed. She’d been so close! All of her planning, her research, was for nothing after all.

“Actually, she was just waiting for me to finish my shift,” Soul said, glancing between Black Star and Maka. “She asked me out hours ago, and we’re also heading out on our first date soon.”

She tried not to look so surprised when he made eye contact with her then, that warm feeling coming back in waves and allowing her to return his smile with a genuine one of her own. “Yeah, right. We’re thinking about a movie.”

Star gaped at the two of them. “Are you kidding me? Punch Ya Albarn got a date before moi? Jeez man, we gotta be friends if this one’s nerdery didn’t scare you away. We were going to the movies, too, so how about a double date?”

“Sounds good to us,” Maka said.

“Great, we’ll meet you out front.” Black Star and Kid walked back outside, and the longer Maka looked at them, the more she saw the bashful tilt to Star’s smile and the small fidgets he made when Kid leaned into his arm. It looked like Star wouldn’t be the only one with teasing ammo.

“Thanks, by the way. For covering me,” Maka said to Soul when the others were out of earshot. “We’d had a bet about who could ask their crushes out on a date first and—”

“I’m your crush?” Soul looked dazed again, but this time with such an honest, open smile that Maka couldn’t help but indulge the melting emotion lapping at her heart.

“Yeah, you are,” she said, tamping down her own starstruck expression and remembering the need to project confidence. “I spent a lot of time looking up how to flirt. I’m glad it wasn’t all for nothing.”

“Well, that’s cool because you’ve been my crush for a while.” That wide-open smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face, and he held out his hand to her as he walked towards the door. “But just so you know, you shouldn’t take dating advice from cheesy pick-up line sites.”

Maka’s eyes widened. “How did you know where I sourced my information?”

Laughing, Soul enveloped her hand in his and opened the door. “Call it a hunch.”