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brzatto · 8 months

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i remember distinctly at some point i promised myself i would finish blue chicago moon before my birthday (lmfao) and now it is my birthday .. and unfortunately it’s been weeks since i’ve touched a google doc in general much less that fic but to celebrate i’m posting an excerpt from a later part in the fic i’ve had written out for a while now. enjoy ^_^

They’re laying in bed together, after, the way that’s become more casual as of late, more natural; they take turns taking drags from the same cigarette.

Carmy’s telling some story, “And then Pete—”

Richie interrupts him with an exaggerated scoff, rolling his eyes, and Carmy smacks him on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “I know, I know, stop it—but Pete’s not bad. Really. He can be cool, sometimes, like actually cool—”

Richie groans, rolling away from Carmy, except the bed’s too small for him to go anywhere, so he really just turns onto his other side—Carmy rolls after him, propping himself onto his elbows so he can wrestle Richie onto his back, stubbornly crossing his arms over Richie’s chest and leaning his weight onto him to keep him there; he reaches over to crush the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. “I’m serious, Pete’s not that bad, and maybe if you’d actually give him a chance or opened up to him a bit more Sugar wouldn’t hate you as much—”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that Sugar hates me? When have I ever given a shit about what she thinks?” Richie gripes, and Carmy rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t actually, you know. You just have a tendency of being a complete and utter piece of shit—”

“What, is she still fuckin’ mad at me for that one time—”

“You mean when you said women shouldn’t run for office,” Carmy interrupts him flatly.

“That was a fucking joke! And it was, like, twelve years ago! I love women in office! I fuckin’ voted for Hillary in 2016—” he ignores when Carmy snorts in his face, incredulous, “—and maybe if she actually had a sense of humor sometimes she wouldn’t have ended up marrying that goddamn fucking narc. Has the personality of fuckin’ wet tissue paper. You know how many times he’s tried inviting me over for a fuckin’ family barbecue or some shit like that? Like I’m the one who actually needs an invitation. Probably just trying to trick me into making friendship bracelets with him while watching Paw Patrol or some other fuckin’ propaganda—”

Richie’s rant continues, and it’s so ridiculous that Carmy can’t help the genuine laughter that bubbles out of him at the mental image of it, ducking his face into his arms to hide his smile; except Richie’s caught on and started laughing, too, chest rumbling beneath Carmy’s weight, and it honestly surprises him, how at ease he feels. Naked under the covers, lying on top of Richie of all people, and he’s actually laughing.

Carmy doesn’t really use the word happy to describe how he feels because he thinks it’s too loaded, too precarious, too complex. He doesn’t want to say he’s happy because the notion is difficult for him to pinpoint, and even when he does it usually doesn’t last too long anyways—but he feels… light. All of his usual heaviness absent for once. He feels good.

When he brings his face back up he finds Richie already looking at him, focused on his face, the trace of a smile still present in the curve of his lips, and Carmy can’t tell what the emotion in his eyes is but it looks a little bit like—marvel. It’s the same way Marcus looks at the pages he’d printed out of Carmy’s cookbook, carefully and lovingly taped onto the wall of his station, the fascination of discovering something new, of resonating with it; and Carmy doesn’t know what to do with that.

But then Richie’s eyes fall a bit, fixing themselves on a specific part of his face—Richie’s hand comes up to cup it, nothing unusual by now, but Carmy’s overcome by the warmth he still feels in his chest at the touch, this simple intimacy. Richie’s palm is familiar and calloused around his cheek, and it makes Carmy want to lean into it.

“What’s this from?” Richie murmurs questioningly, running the pad of his thumb gently down the skin of his cheek, just below his right eye, and it takes a moment for Carmy to realize he’s talking about his scar. “Fall into a barbecue again?”

Carmy huffs, half amused. “No. No, uh… it’s stupid. Happened while I was drunk, years ago. Back in New York, when I first left.”

Richie raises his eyebrows at that. “What, you actually got into a fuckin’ fight? I mean, sounds dope, but having a sick ass battle scar on your face isn’t really in character for you, no offense.”

Carmy rolls his eyes. “No, it wasn’t a fight—I… was drinking, and it was kind of just something I did, in the very beginning, I guess. In my downtime, by myself in my apartment because it wasn’t like I had any friends or anything better to do, and it was just supposed to be a way to keep myself occupied. Get me to fall asleep faster, if anything, so I wouldn’t fucking lie awake in bed all night thinking about shit. Except that time it backfired on me, because I got—” Carmy breathes out through his nose, an almost amused, self-deprecating laugh, “So drunk, and all I could think about was—Mikey.

“And I was just so fucking upset. I felt hurt, you know. Had been hurt for the whole past year, and I’d deleted Mikey’s number off my phone months ago so I wouldn’t do anything monumentally fucking stupid like call him while I was drunk or something. And I think I was just… fed up, at that point. I was so fuckin’ angry, at Mikey, at myself, at everyone that I just… kind of had this meltdown. Nearly trashed my whole fuckin’ apartment. Was breaking shit, throwing shit around, and when it was over I found myself in my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror for the longest time. And I hated what I saw, because it didn’t feel like me. I never felt like myself back then. Didn’t know who I was supposed to be without Mikey and Sugar and everybody else around, and I hated that about me.

“And eventually all I could think about was—” Carmy cuts himself off, thinking about the words. How to say them. “How much I needed… a change. How much I wanted to. But I think I took that a little too literally, or maybe I just wasn’t fucking thinking at all, because I just… slammed my face into the mirror, as hard as I could. Like I was in a fuckin’ movie or something, you know. And there was all this fuckin’ glass, blood everywhere, my face totally fucked, all that shit. It was a mess. I could barely fucking see.”

Richie watches him recount the story with quiet intensity, and even though Carmy doesn’t look back at him he can feel Richie’s eyes on his face, gaze intent. But it doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable, or awkward, or exposed, the way having someone’s undivided attention usually makes him feel. In the moment, he simply just feels listened to. Richie’s watching him, but Carmy doesn’t feel watched; just seen.

“So what happened after? Just bled out all over your fuckin’ floor?”

Carmy huffs. “No, I, uh… had to take myself to the hospital. It was, like, three in the morning. Got four stitches out of it, and still showed up to work the next day.”

He’s expecting Richie to make fun of him, honestly. And why wouldn’t he? He thinks it might just be because of the good mood he’s in, but Carmy’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel any residual bitterness recalling the memory. Thinks if he were anybody else he’d laugh at himself, too.

Richie doesn’t make fun of him, though. “That might actually be the most hardcore shit you’ve ever told me.” Richie sniffs. “Almost as hardcore as walking off a stab wound, anyways. You’re getting there.”

Carmy actually laughs, the memory of it amusing now that it’s all behind him. It seems fucking ridiculous, looking back on it now. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like a lifetime ago; when he tries to think about it now, he feels like a spectator of his own life, watching the events unfold from someone else's perspective, or like standing from the outside and looking in. He gets that feeling a lot, Carmy thinks.

“You know, I never actually asked you about that. Were you good? Like, was the wound deep, or…”

“Gee, thanks for the concern. Not like it happened, like, six fuckin’ months ago. Glad to know I mean so much to you.”

“Shut up and just tell me. And you probably really did fucking deserve it.”

Richie scoffs. “Couldn’t fucking tell you. Hurt like a goddamn bitch when it happened, though. Got Ebra to patch me up. Couldn’t sit right for a couple weeks, but it was whatever.” He sniffs. “At least it was somewhere people don’t see it. Not sure if that’ll make for a cool scar story in the future.”

“What, like mine was?”

“Nah, yours is just depressing. Do me a favor—next time somebody asks, just tell them you got it in a bar fight like a normal person.” Richie says, and then after a pause, “That why you don’t drink?”

It’s this question that finally makes Carmy feel embarrassed for some reason, glancing up at the ceiling. “Something like that.”

“Damn. And I thought Mikey was the one who was fucked up.”

Carmy laughs a little again, in spite of everything, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. Guess it runs through the fuckin’ family.”

“They call you guys the Bears for a reason,” Richie says simply. But he still has his hand on Carmy’s face, running his thumb over his scar absentmindedly, like trying to soothe away pain that hasn’t been there for years. It’s a subtle sort of intimacy, quiet and tender. It’s Richie’s touch and not the recollection that makes Carmy’s chest prickle, and he wonders briefly if this is something he ever did with Mikey: lying in the dark, listening to each others’ stories, touching without thinking about it.

He wonders if this is how Richie treats those he cares the most about, or maybe if he’s just gotten close enough to be able to experience this side of him. If this is what it’s like to be Richie’s best friend, to trust someone wholeheartedly, sharing moments that are quiet and intimate and vulnerable.

“Alright,” Richie continues, making Carmy glance up. “Your turn.”

Carmy looks at him quizzically. “My turn for what?”

“Ask me something. Nothing off limits, everything on the table. You shared something about yourself so it’s only natural for me to do the same.”

Carmy frowns a little at this, if only because the notion is strange to him. It’s not like he’s never been open and honest with Richie before—in fact, those moments have been occurring more often than he’d honestly like to admit—but it feels different, this way. To be given the opportunity, no holds barred, because usually Carmy refrains from ever prying too deep; not just with Richie, but with everybody.

He rolls off Richie’s chest back onto the bed, lying on his side with his head propped in his hand as he considers. Richie is surprisingly patient for once, offering him the silence to think, and the whole thing honestly just makes Carmy flustered.

“Is there…” Carmy starts uncertainly, hesitating, but continues when Richie turns to him, expectant. “Is there a reason why you keep your ring?”

Richie stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before glancing down at the golden wedding band on his finger, like he’d forgotten that it was there, like he didn’t even know he was wearing it. Then his expression twists, incredulous, like he can’t believe that out of all the things Carmy could’ve possibly asked him about it’s his goddamn wedding ring.

“Why, does it make you jealous or something?” Richie teases him. “Does it make you feel like you’re my mistress?”

Carmy’s face turns hot, but he tells himself it’s out of annoyance rather than embarrassment. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

Richie chuckles, running his knuckles over Carmy’s side placatingly. “Nah, nah, I’m kidding. Uh… if I’m being honest, it’s, like, a distraction. Something for me to worry with. I stopped wearing it after me and Tiff split, but I started wearing it again after Mikey. I dunno. I guess after he died it felt like… nothing was right. Just everything gone to complete shit, and the ring just felt familiar. Like, having it there reminded me of this time in my life where I kind of, sort of had things together, and I guess I just wanted to feel that way again somehow, even if in reality it’s the complete fuckin’ opposite.”

Carmy nods slowly. In a sense, he thinks he gets it. Clinging onto that sense of familiarity; needing the illusion of stability in his life. He understands him.

#this is also to celebrate the blue moon on the 30th!!! that felt way too coincidental :/#btw sorry if the formatting makes it hard to read i wanted to condense it since it is a bit of a longer excerpt #some of my personal hcs coming to light here… i wrote this way wayyy before s2 came out and it’s still subject to some inevitable tweaking #as i continue to write and edit and piece things together. but this was inspired by a jaw interview where he talks about the scar on his #face. i just thought it was so in character for carmy so i toyed with the idea a little bit to make it fit into his life #this also happens much muuuch later in the fic… i’d post something closer to where i left off in ch2 but as of right now!#it is not written. <3 #anyways i hope at least someone can enjoy this.. thanks for all of your patience mwah #my txt #carmy x richie #carmrich

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gerbiloftriumph · 6 months

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"I'll deal with the goblins myself. And to the rest of you, NO!"

#take a screenshot it'll last longer #kings quest #king's quest #more favorite locations #i also super love the jazzy club style space in the frog prince stage but it's too dark #people didn't like the chapter because caves weren't as pretty as daventry but honestly the caves are stunning #ch2 #first time i played i was sure the dragon was going to appear in the king arthur room and i treated it with great care just in case

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alastairstom · 1 year

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"He had never connected with anything more, he thought, than [Wilde's] descriptions of art. The spirit that an artist brought to his work was personal; it was an expression of the self. Matthew thought of his colorful waistcoats, of his rings and hats. An expression of the self, indeed."

Or, the 5 times Matthew credits Oscar Wilde for his personal growth (and the 1 time he learns to credit himself).

tagging @staywildefairchild @s0urlemons262 @belle-keys

#matthew fairchild #chain of thorns #chot #the last hours #tlh #my fic #oscar wilde #in this chapter we also have:#charlotte fairchild #i also have like half of chapter 2 written lol which is WAY longer #and full of herondales #so #it's hard not to tag them rn because my brain is still in ch2 #tnwgom

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meatriarch · 4 months

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im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

#[ ♡ ] ── * maria f. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦.#[ 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦. ] ── * queue.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * cold case.#[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * no one saved you.#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the #broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill.#who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to #do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of #connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated.#SO fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you.#who talks to you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist #like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion.#but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living.#and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then?#for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now.#why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now?#in nosy she suppresses it w. her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came back #20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then? at any point in the last two decades?

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meatriarchived · 5 months

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i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the #broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill.#who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to #do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of #connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated.#*so* fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you.#you speaks with you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist #like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion.#but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living.#and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then?#for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now.#why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now?#in nosy she suppresses it with her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came bac #20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then?#[ mf ] ── * 𝐇𝐂 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. { maria. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { cold case. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { no one saved you. }#[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { we saved us. }

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bandtrees · 1 year

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"but who will scare the crows away?" is a very professional fic with a very professional writing process @sammisafetypin

#babbles #sammi tag #but who will scare the crows away?#ch3 is going to be… even longer than ch2 which was like 20k words ITS GONNA BE VERY VERY LONG #we’re only partway through and it’s LONG but we’re makin good progress! it’s a banger so far #this is what we get for very FIRMLY going ‘yeah this’ll be five parts and part 4 will be [DATA EXPUNGED] and part 5 will be epilogue’#YOURE GONNA GET THE WORLDS LONGEST THIRD PART AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!!! it’s been so so fun to write #very excited to get it out

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newty · 8 months

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i wish all the other creators who also do post-game dion right arm shenanigans a very i am shaking ur hand

#my life gets extended thanks #i took an unintended break from writing for the past few days #worked out a couple ch3 ideas so they make more sense #i need to rotate kihel in my brain longer bc i need her to Do smth in ch2 #but not alot of props to work with hmm #brihamut's mercy

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sunshinereddie · 2 years

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Could I have

''then why did you do it?'' ''BECAUSE I LOVE YOU'' with reddie? Preferably part 2 version?

(from this post)

[BTW for this one i’m changing up eddie’s ,,,accident,,, in the second battle! so nobody yell at me ‘that’s not what happened!!!!’ i know i changed it!! anyways enjoy <3]

Richie is used to living alone.

He’s used to waking up alone in the silence of his apartment. He’s used to slow mornings and doing things at his own pace without following someone else’s schedule. He’s used to walking around in his underwear because no one’s going to see him, so why the hell not?

So when he comes downstairs one morning and sees Eddie standing in his kitchen, he can’t help the frightened string of curses that slip out. Eddie turns to face him, probably to scold him for using such colourful language so early in the morning, but then his eyes land on Richie’s nearly naked body and his face flushes red and he quickly turns back to the stove. “Jesus Christ, Rich,” he murmurs, vigorously scrambling some eggs. “You’ve got a guest, put some fucking clothes on.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie says, quickly scrambling to grab and pull on a shirt that was hanging over the couch in the living room. “I’m still not used to you being here. Okay, I’m decent, you can look.” Richie isn’t sure he can classify a wrinkly , half buttoned-up shirt and boxers as ‘decent’, but he’s tired and doesn’t feel like going back to his room, so that will just have to make do.

Eddie steps away from the stove holding a frying pan, and seems to be desperately trying not to look at Richie as he scoops eggs onto two plates. Richie waits for him to chastise him again about putting pants on, but instead Eddie just says quietly, “Sorry. I can go stay in a hotel, if it’s easier, I really don’t mind-”

“Eds,” Richie cuts him off, placing a hand over his. “You are not staying in a hotel when I have a perfectly fine guest bedroom. Also, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t need to help out.” He steps beside Eddie and takes the frying pan out of his hands. “You’re still recovering. You should be in bed resting, not making me breakfast. Fuck, it should be the other way around.”

Eddie frowns. “But I want to help-”

“Eddie,” Richie says firmly, putting the pan down and placing his hands on the other man’s shoulders. “You have a literal hole in your chest. What you need to be doing is resting, and letting me take care of you until you get better, okay?” Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but he nods. “Good,” Richie says, lowering his hands and pushing one of the plates towards Eddie. “Now, sit down and eat. I’ll make us coffee.”

Richie finishes making them breakfast, and they eat together in comfortable silence. Eddie’s been staying with Richie for nearly a week now, ever since Eddie got discharged from the hospital, and the first thing he did afterwards was file a divorce from his wife. Eddie hadn’t quite explained his reasoning why, only that he needed to ‘get out of there’. Richie didn’t push him, but he was more than happy to offer up his apartment as a place for Eddie to stay while he gets things in order.

After breakfast and Richie forbidding Eddie from helping clean up, Richie helps Eddie back to bed. No matter how much of a brave face Eddie tries to put on, Richie can see the pain in his eyes as he moves, the suppressed wincing as he lies down, and the strained ‘I’m fine’ when Richie tries to help him.

Eddie gets as comfortable as he can in the bed, and Richie’s about to leave to give him some time alone to rest, but Eddie only tightens his grip on Richie’s hand. “Will you stay?” Eddie asks as Richie turns around, and Richie can’t say no. He pulls a chair into the bedroom and takes a seat at Eddie’s bedside, and suddenly it feels like they’re in the hospital all over again, when Richie refused to leave Eddie’s side the entire time.

With his other hand, Eddie gently massages his chest, and winces with each touch to his wound. Richie waits until his pained breathing slows down to a calm and steady rhythm again, before asking, “Eds, do you have some kind of death wish or something?”

Eddie’s face pulls into a frown as his head rolls over on the pillow to look at Richie. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You won’t let anyone take care of you,” Richie says. “I’ve had to re-patch up your injury four times this week because you won’t stay in bed and let it heal. I know that you’re not sleeping because of the pain, which is only going to make things worse. And I swear, if you try doing my housework one more time I’m going to bring your ass right back to the hospital and tell them not you let you go for a month.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I don’t like depending on others,” he mutters. “You’re already doing so much for me, I have to-”

“Eddie Kaspbrak, you fucking saved my life,” Richie says firmly, squeezing Eddie’s hand in his. “You are the reason I’m not rotting away in those sewers back in Derry right now. I... I can never repay you for that. I know there’s nothing I could do that would even come close to what you did for me, but please, just let me take care of you, okay? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie looks like he wants to keep arguing, but he doesn’t. He nods, looking away and leaning his head back against the pillow. Richie knows that that probably means that Eddie wants to be left alone now, but he can’t stop. The memories of that night, they all begin to flood back into Richie’s mind, the horrors of what happened replaying over and over again.

“God,” he says, feeling a lump build at the back of his throat and his heart swell in his chest. “Eddie, why did you do that?”

Eddie looks over to him, a look of confusion on his face. “Do what?” he asks, though Richie is pretty sure they both know what he’s talking about.

“Come on, Eds, don’t play dumb. During the fight, when It had me cornered, and I was good as dead...” Richie looks away, struggling to keep his voice steady. “...why on Earth would you jump in front of me and take that stab to the chest?”

The vision replays in Richie’s mind, the memory of It’s giant claw coming down on him, and Richie thinking that this was it... until Eddie suddenly appeared in front of him, and Richie watched in terror as the claw pierced through Eddie’s body. Richie closes his eyes hard, attempting to shake the image from his head.

“Richie, I...” Eddie’s voice is weak, and it sounds like he’s not sure what to say.

“You could have died,” Richie goes on. “Hell, I thought you were going to die. When I was carrying you out of there, I genuinely didn’t know if you were going to make it, and all I could think about was that if you died, I...” Richie couldn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t even want to think about that.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “But Richie, I had to, It had you and it was going to kill you, and-”

“And so, what, you thought getting yourself killed was better than it being me?” Richie interrupts, his voice snappier than he meant for it to be. He doesn’t want to argue with Eddie, it’s the last thing he wants, but his emotions are all over the place and he can’t bare to listen to Eddie imply that he should have died instead.

“No, of course not, that’s not what I meant,” Eddie says quickly. “I just... I couldn’t let it happen, I couldn’t stand there and watch you die.”

“But you didn’t have to risk your life-”

“And I couldn’t risk yours either.” Eddie sits up in the bed, adjusting himself so he’s fully facing Richie. “And yes, I know that it was a risky move. I know that what I did was dangerous and stupid, and I know that I shouldn’t have just jumped in without thinking, and I know that there was probably a million other things I should have done instead-”

“So then why did you do it?”

“Because I love you!”

A heavy silence grows between them as Eddie’s words echo through the room, and slowly fade out to nothing. Richie’s eyes widen, his head is spinning, and the entire world could have been falling down around him and he still wouldn’t be able to look away from Eddie, because, holy shit, did he just say what I think he said?

Eddie’s breaths are coming out as trembling puffs, and Richie can’t tell if the expression on his face is angry, sad, scared, or some other combination of feelings. “I...” Eddie starts, but his voice cracks. He clears his throat, blinks some tears from his eyes, and starts again. “Richie, I couldn’t stand there and let you die, because... I love you. I always have. When we were kids... you were the first person I ever had feelings for. I always thought it was just... just a crush, but how I felt for you... it never went away. It only got bigger.” Eddie is holding on tighter to Richie’s hand now. Richie isn’t sure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s too taken aback by Eddie’s words to care. “For the past thirty years I’ve been living with these feelings. I forgot a lot of things during that time, a lot of things. But I never forgot how I felt for you, Richie. Even when I got married, I always thought... I always knew... I knew that it wasn’t right. That she wasn’t the one for me. But I just tried to deal with it, because I thought that that was what I was supposed to do. But then, I got Mike’s call, and I came back here and I saw you again, and...” Now, Eddie wasn’t trying to hold anything back. Tears swelled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks- but Eddie was smiling. “I saw you, and suddenly everything I had been feeling, everything I’ve been confused about for the past thirty years all made sense. Richie, I’ve been in love with you my entire life. And so when I saw you there, lying on the ground, with It over you, I had to help you. I know taking that hit was dangerous, but if there was even the slightest chance that I could save you, well... that was enough for me.” Eddie takes one last shaky inhale in, and holds it in his chest, as though he’s waiting for Richie’s reaction before finishing his breath.

Richie tries to gather his thoughts, but his brain is just so muddled. He’s still got the image of Eddie being stabbed in his mind, but now it’s mixed in with the surprise of Eddie’s declaration of his love, and the uprise of Richie’s own complex feelings aren’t making things any better. He wants to think about all of this, process it all, and come up with a good, well-thought out reply, but Eddie is still sitting before him, staring at him, waiting for a response.

And besides, Richie’s never been very good at thinking things through anyways.

Richie pulls his hand from Eddie’s, and for a split second Richie can see a flicker of panic in Eddie’s eyes, as though he believes that he’s messed everything up. But Richie doesn’t let him worry for any longer, because before Eddie can spiral away in his own thoughts, Richie reaches up, gently cupping Eddie’s cheeks with his hands, and leaning in to press a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips.

It’s everything Richie’s been wanting for the past thirty years. All this time, Richie’s always felt... empty. Alone. As though something’s been missing, but he’s never been able to quite pinpoint what it is that he needed.

Until now. Now, as he feels Eddie’s hands against his chest and Eddie’s mouth against his, he finally realizes what has been that missing piece from his puzzling life all this time: Eddie. It’s always been Eddie.

When Richie pulls away, he keeps his hands pressed to Eddie’s cheeks, and gently touches his forehead to the other man’s. Richie feels Eddie’s hands against his own, the soft skin of Eddie’s fingers against Richie’s rough knuckles. Richie inhales deeply, trying to slow his own breathing and calm himself down properly before he speaks this time.

After a long while of holding each other, Richie finally speaks up. “I love you too,” he whispers, running his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “I’ve loved you since... God, I don’t even know when I started loving you. Probably since the first day I met you,” he says, which makes Eddie laugh. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Eds. Not once in the past thirty years.”

Eddie’s hands tighten around Richie’s, and he pulls Richie in for another kiss, and fuck. Richie thinks he could get used to this.

On Richie’s orders and without complaint, Eddie does spend the day in bed, resting and letting his body heal. But he has to admit, it’s a lot easier to do that with Richie lying in bed beside him, Richie’s arms around him holding him close as he rests his head on Richie’s strong chest and Richie runs a hand through his hair and presses soft kisses against the top of his head.

After three long decades, Eddie’s heart has finally healed. As for the rest of him, well, that would still take time. But with Richie by his side, Eddie knows that things will be just fine.

#WOOWEE THIS WAS A LOT LONGER THAN I WAS EXPECTING IT TO BE......#BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT NONETHELESS !!!!#(also so sorry it took a while i had to go to work and i just got home skdnslnfksks)#BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING THIS BC I LOVED WRITING IT....... AND THANK U FOR SPECIFICALLY REQUESTING CH2 REDDIE BC I LOVE THEM #<3 <3 <3 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #reddie hc #reddie headcanon #reddie fic #it #it au #it hc #it 2017 #it 2019 #sunshinereddie asks

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