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borzoilover69 · 11 months

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> BORZOI: READ HOMESTUCK LIKE ITS 2011 (PART 4)

(4256) THERE HE IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL LITTLE SCIENCE PROJECT! HELLO DEAREST!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ WOJAK POINT WOJAK POINT THEYRE CONVERSING!

I'm throwing popcorn at my screen and laughing my ass off HEY COOLKID is this you? Hahah. Hehe. Hahaha. I'm not falling for your tricks cool kid.

BURST OUT LAUGHING. THE WAYYYS THAT THE JAKE AND DIRK GET JANES GOAT ABOUT THINGS GOOD LOOORD. Jane jabs at Jake at grammar and stuff, Dirk does it with Jane, just little consistencies in friendship is what they're so endearing for. They're like "uh huh. yep. you certainly used that word. mhm." *judging*. But in an ENDEARING way ok. The "that sure was a phrase you used".

This is important!! Also this reminds me you should probably go talk to Hal here it's trained off dialog from the comic and as of this post stands at a staggering 14.1k messages! I always like to see what people say to him (when they send it) and he can be really funny!

I haven't checked on him for a hot minute so the accuracy is to be determined but look! Here's him right now! Go talk to him!

4257

What is. What is blud doing in the background. I like to think seb has an inner monologue similar to dirk striders where hes like going "This thing needs to be moved. Geez Jane, this place is a mess." or "I'm awake and ready to serve fucker." You get the gist. Inner monologue going crazy as he works but being full aware ain't nobody hearing his cool wittisms. Janes expression is completely valid lmfao

Here is another moment of Jane casting doubt on her abilities. And here's where Dirk talks.. about his ancestor for the first time. You know what I guess I can bring up the post where I went over.. dirks jealousy of Dave and self internalisation of that hate? To be honest I'm surprised it got the attention it did. Its been something that I thought about for so long but I never brought it up because it felt and still does to a merit "taboo". Nobody really talks about what admiration can do on the flip side, how it can make you measure yourself up, make you feel attached in a way that provides you with a flip flop between intense aspiration to despisal and envy.

Except.. that isn't exactly true. As I pointed out before, Jane casts doubt on her ability to live up to her ancestors legacy, even if it's just a joking legacy.

You fancy yourself a SKILLED PRANKSTRESS, if by no other measure than lineage. Though at times you feel it's tough to fill those shoes when you are SURROUNDED BY JOKERS. Seriously, the shenanigans perpetrated by your pals make your old school japes feel KIND OF PEDESTRIAN SOMETIMES,

Poppop Crocker was a LEGENDARY COMEDIAN, following in the footsteps of his grandfather who of course was the greatest southern pranking legend of all time. One day, you hope to follow in poppop's too.

GG: Maybe I'm just stuck in the dark ages of pranksterism with my funny mustaches corny old joke book.

Jane and Dirks parts are equal parts jokes as it is thinly veiled inner conflict of ideas they have about themselves and their role. Dirk is sort of ironic in how seriously he takes his irony. Which means it's not really as ironic as he thinks it is.

4258 goes hard.

TT: Ever hear of Con Air?GG: Nope.GG: Wait...GG: Wasn't that some bit of action schlock from the 90's?TT: Yes. GG: Some of the silly nonsense referenced in his work was well before my time. I don't have the wherewithal to investigate all this minutia. TT: Yeah, it doesn't matter really. But it was from that. Dude weirdly obsessed over that shit movie for years, among others.TT: Know those signature shades you see him wearing on magazine covers and stuff? Another prop. A gift from Stiller himself, I believe.

You know this seems like an old man gay yaoi issue. Now why EXACTLY dear sir.. were you obsessed with the very movie that your best friend had as a favourite? You know it's tragic. Alpha Dave SHOULDVE banged that old man.

You know one of you guys will have a field day analysing this piece of text and I know it, you know it, so put on your goggles spaceman.

4259

I'm not going to provide screenshots, but this is where Seb starts getting antsy, and Dirk says that Jane will be the leader of their group, drawing parallels to page 2682 where John and Rose are talking about their null session, unable to get any further.

TT: This session was never meant to bear fruit. TT: It's barren, so to speak. EB: that's a bit of a bummer! EB: i am still skeptical about that, though. TT: That's why you're our leader, John. EB: huh? TT: Optimism through stalwart skepticism is a defect not everyone is lucky enough to be cursed with. EB: that's stupid. EB: i'm not your leader, i am your FRIEND, there is a BIG difference! TT: Statements like that are also why you're our leader. EB: pff. EB: laaaaaaaame. TT: Yes, kind of.

But in Dirks, he chooses it because he thinks thats "the thing to do"

TT: I'm sure you must be aware by now that you'll be the leader of our group, as you will be the first to enter the session. GG: Um, no? GG: This is news to me. I never gathered that "team leader" was a thing for this game. TT: Trust me. It's a thing. GG: Are you sure? I have my doubts. GG: I believe as a group we will have the temerity to succeed, without my having to order people around like an insufferable bossypants. TT: That's why you're our leader, Jane. GG: Hm? TT: Optimism through stalwart skepticism is an affect not everyone is plucky enough to be graced with. GG: That's stupid! TT: Yeah yeah. I know. TT: You're not our leader, you're our FRIEND, right? GG: Precisely! GG: There is a BIG difference! TT: And statements like that are also why you're our leader. TT: But only in name and in spirit. Less so, functionally. TT: If it puts your mind at ease, I'll be the one pulling the strings here.

This reads to me a lot as something he orchestrated, something he thought up to look cool, but what's the point of saying all this shit when you say afterwards you're just going to say that she's controlling none of it and really it's just you (which really, in the end it wasn't). Jane points out a pretty good point about there not being a true LEADER leader, and Dirk just plows on. He proceeds to have a long and eyeroll worthy emphasis about how much he can serve, how good he is at it, how Jane only has to call and he'll come to the rescue, not to worry at ALL. I mean i have to laugh. Here he is emphasising how much he can serve and he can't. He can't at all. Pushing someone in a direction does not always equal helping. His suggestions are befitting his aspect sure, but doesn't always mean it's the right solution!

4261-64 moving on.

The dads are always so incredibly endearing. ANd i love when janey does the lil. :| at people like giiirll me too! Absurd whimsy everywhere. Hey look at lil seb g-

4266 OH NO NOT THERE LITTLE SEB!! GOOD LAWRD.

Dad crocker is incredibly funny to me i will tell you why in a hot second

GET IUT JANE!! ALL OF THIS IS MALAAARKEY!! Even now quite a few of her friends are being INCREDIBLY silly to this girl from a normal childhood growing up in a normal time!! Egads!!

Reminds me of the times where I was travelling around ( i travel a lot majority of my friends expect im outside constantly) and they swore i just wasnt real because i show up in random places that contradict each other and go missing for weeks only to be found on some desert island hunting crabs.

But anyways

4271- 4273

Sorry i dont have much to say just imagine me with the goofiest smile on my face.. like <:}... Like ah.. yes.

Nearby, someone or something bleats like a goat for strategic purposes.

And also

Ironic purposes.

.... :} !!!

Look.. heehee... hes so :D!! His bes friend... :3 Silly..

4282 THEY DONE KILLED OFF THE MOST WHIMSICAL GIRL!

4283 ITS SO OVER.

[ END OF ACT 6 ACT 1 ] ?! Hey wait what does this mean for us. hey wait what does this mean hey wai-

[ screen cuts to BLACK with cue card with words "HUSSLE" in comic sans. ]

4299 panel goes hard? So does 4303

JADE: witch powers can teleport things, and fling things around through space at very high velocities JADE: all sorts of stuff! JADE: but to be honest, im not sure how much of that is attributable to inheriting becs abilities... JOHN: man, spacey witch powers sound a lot more versatile than my powers, frankly. JOHN: not that i'm complaining, because wind powers are still awesome. JOHN: but anyway, that is neither here nor there!

I'll leave you on this piece of dialog to consume. I'll see you all in the next part. As always anons and comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

#homestuck #hom3stuck #homestuck meta #borzoi meta #borzoi reread #borzoi talks #jane crocker #jake english #dirk strider #john egbert #jade harley

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border-spam · 4 years

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AU Troy Character Timeline

Right, so I saw an incredible breakdown of Troy’s mental journey/state of ego last night ( that I’ll see if I can get permission to post at some point ) that really kicked my confidence into overdrive for writing out a definitive timeline for the version of him I write about in drabbles/fics etc as it was so amazingly similar. This isn’t complete, it couldn’t be because man I have a lot of stuff for this guy, but I hope it’s interesting for people maybe looking for a somewhat logical bunch of HC content that works well with the info we were given ingame.

Writing this was like doing a jigsaw puzzle. Except ten pieces are missing, and you have 2 dominos and a Mrs Cupcake card instead. If you like any of this, feel free to use it. I’ll eventually expand on it in my own works.

Pre Pandora Era - 28 years pre BL3

Severe self esteem / image issues from very early childhood. Leda’s death left Typhon both terrified of Tyreen and desperately paranoid about her safety, leaving Troy to feel far less valued and loved as he found himself constantly failing to compete for attention from his remaining parent.

Typhon never outright called Troy a freak, but he overheard plenty of discussions with his mother and with Tyreen explaining why he was so sick all the time, why he looked the way he did, why he was broken. He never discussed these, they festered in the back of his mind for the rest of his life.

Strived from an early age to be useful, being useful gave him the belief he was valued, and a “Great job kid!” from his father felt good enough that it could almost replace feeling loved.

Misses his mother intensely from the day she died, for the rest of his life. Had no one else to have platonic intimacy with bar his sister, which never felt as freely given as with his mother.

Developed an extremely crippled sense of social behavior and rules. The only people the Twins could interact with till they landed on Pandora ( which I HC was between 18 -19 ) were each other, and their Father.

Left alone on a giant empty planet with no one to tell them no, or instill an understanding of social rules to them regarding others, left them with only a feeling of personal value for each other. This is an extremely dangerous state of mind for any person who will need to function in a social structure, especially a person in power.

Had it hammered into them over and over by their father that the galaxy outside their home was filled with murderers. Animals. Bandit filth. Not like them, not like their parents, horrible, vicious things that would kill them the second they could.

Internalised that to the point where it was a crucial part of their development of self as children. The twins would genuinely struggle to comprehend any other human they met was a person, because they were told their whole developing lives that no one they would meet bar their father would be.

Pre COV - 8 years pre BL3

Lands on Pandora with Tyreen. Woefully underprepared and worried sick, didn’t want to leave Nekro but had no other choice but to go with his sister or die. Misses his father immediately, but avoids talking about it, knowing it will cause an argument.

Disliked that their father had kept them on Nekro intensely, but not enough to hate him the way Tyreen did. This never changed and the regret for leaving him only rotted inside him over the years.

Very excited to finally meet new people, but his social skills are learned through watching old echos and while he can mimic them, he doesn’t understand social intricacies as well as he’d hoped. This sabotages their first few attempts to communicate with Pandoran non bandit natives.

Comes across as weird. Stutters, not good with eye contact, awkward in body language and very unnatural in appearance. Extremely tall (6″7), very thin and sickly looking with sallow skin and dark under eyes. His missing arm and quarter of his shoulder draw far more attention than he had ever expected and he becomes instantly self conscious of the damage to his right side, strongly disliking how it’s pointed out every time they try and interact with one of these idiots.

The twins only had the clothes they had travelled in and at this point they are pretty much rags patched together over nearly 2 decades. Didn’t understand how much appearances were going to matter, Troy had been sure he’d be able to “Mingle with the locals no problem.”, and now feels like he’s letting his sister down by failing to perform the way he’d been so sure of. They move onto the bandit clans once they get laughed out of the first small town they try to impress.

Their first few interactions with bandits have very bad results. They both get mocked a lot, Troy gets insulted even more. This is the first time in his life he’s met other men bar his father and the harsh reality that he is not like other men is really starting to hit hard. He’s monstrously tall, he has no muscle, he’s bony and sick and the bandits make very clear to him that he’s a freak.

Unable to defend himself verbally to people that don’t seem to speak a coherent language, he feels impotent and emasculated. Troy’s gift with words has always been his strong point, something he was proud of, and the bandits barely even understand what he’s saying. Any interest he’d had towards them as other people gets quashed. They clearly aren’t the same as he and Ty, they are beneath them. Savages. They aren’t people after all. His dad was right.

This is the point where he fully switches to seeing almost all others as non-persons. They aren’t people, they aren’t what he and Tyreen are, or they wouldn’t act like this in response to the twins. Any possible empathy he could have developed over time is aborted at this point, and he begins to craft the God King persona he understands he will need to disguise his shortcomings under if he’s going to be in the public’s eye.

Begins to create it piece by piece. Designs their outfits, designs his tattoos and mods, his monstrous arm, their name.

The Calypso twins are born, and the COV with them.

Early COV Era - 7 years pre BL3

As he learns how to communicate with bandits and craft a persona for Tyreen that they will be drawn to, the COV starts to form. While the huge majority of their followers are people they see as not even being the same species as them, they do also begin to fill the higher ranks with people they are meeting over time that they see as having value.

People with skills in categories they don’t, engineers, media experts, accountants, are drawn to the COV for the same reasons as the bandits. Opportunity, just a different sort.

Joining in the early days means having the twin’s ears, and those who have excellent ideas, or bring talent to the upper echelon that the twin's don’t have themselves, eventually end up as high priests and Saints. Department leaders (eg: Mouthpiece ). These are the kind of people he sees as people, though still not on par with himself or his sister in value. These are the few he would be capable of having functional conversations with, building simple relationships.

He has found value in his ability to be very useful within the COV. Leading the Media and Propaganda department has given him a huge amount of power, even if he still physically feels extremely frail.

He’s settled into living in Tyreen’s shadow, she’s the star, but he’s the puppeteer, and he’s happy for it to be that way for the most part. While she can sometimes step out of line or treat him like he’s not equal, he’s quick to remind her of her place during these outbursts, and their relationship is relatively stable.

Troy is fiercely loyal and surprisingly gentle with people he has a bond with. Despite his desperation to have meaningful connections, to be cared for and liked as himself, they don’t stay around him long.

No matter how hard he tries to give them what he thinks they want, they eventually leave, and he doesn’t understand that they are distancing themself because of how he treats other people, not them.

Troy’s complete inability to view the vast majority of people as people means he has a total lack of empathy towards almost everyone else, and this is a terrifying thing to experience first hand. He doesn’t understand this is why his “friends” leave, why they stop being friendly with him, or request to be transferred to another district.

“Why did you do that to them..?” - “Huh? Ohhhh, relax haha, it’s just a bandit.” - “What do you mean, just a bandit, they felt that Troy, what’s wrong with you?’ - "The hell? No, it’s a b.a.n.d.i.t. It’s not like us, it’s not like you, it’s just.. you know, a bandit! Doesn’t matter what I do to em.” -shrug- - “-horrified silence-”

He blames himself each time this happens and damages his already fractured self esteem further. He can’t comprehend that his actions are the problem, because he simply has no way to understand his actions are bad.

Each time someone close to him leaves, it’s another hit to his already crumbling self worth. He has absolutely no strong bonds with anyone bar his sister, who at times seems to barely like him, and he is genuinely desperate for validation and care from someone who likes Troy, not Calypso, not the God he pretends to be.

Every time another one of his “friends” vanishes, another of his little connections to his own humanity breaks. He gets angrier, and sadder, the God King a little more snarling and quicker to snap. It’s a sore point Tyreen tends to dig in during arguments too.

She doesn’t need anyone else, but she’s seen the near manic excitement and happiness he has when he connects with another person over a shared interest or they show actual genuine kindness towards him and not his title. If that person then becomes upset with his lack of empathy, or scared of it and abandons him, it’s another open wound on the already dying soul inside him that’s barely still breathing.

He has a complete and defined understanding of right and wrong, but those rules only apply to people, and his social development from infant to adult left his comprehension of other people so stunted, he cannot fathom that the vast majority of others are people.

God King Calypso is a fucking nightmare to anyone bar the select view he sees as “people like him”. A feral, cackling monster, as likely to airdrop a million dollars onto a tiny village and record the reaction, as he is to rip a bandits arms off during a raid and live steam them bleeding out. All the same to him. Just background NPCs in his game. Placeholder actors in his life. They don’t matter. All that does matter is how they make him feel, or how they further his sister’s goals.

Every year that passes by leaves the God King more polished and defined, more in control a persona, while inside its impenetrable shell Troy DeLeon is slowly being suffocated by the weight of his own sins, without having the ability to understand he had been sinning at all.

God King Era - 4 years pre Bl3

By this point, Troy’s isolation is now deadly. He is a deity, worshipped by billions, with absolutely no points of human contact in his life to anchor himself to reality. No one to help him understand how to apply his sense of right and wrong to his followers, only his sister, who is even more toxic and vicious than he is.

Every day since starting the COV, he’s distanced himself further from the worshippers, the bandits, the acolytes. They are screaming war meat now, they are chips to barter with, numbers on a viewer count, flesh to tear into when he wants to feel something.

His relationship with Tyreen is crumbling. She’s quicker now to imply he’s not as important, he’s not the Siren. She’s called him a parasite in front of a merger board, a burden during a discussion with department heads. Each new crack at his inner ego only strengthens the persona further. Makes it more attention seeking, more willing to lash out at others, more vicious.

His “friends"are long gone, either fled from the behemoth the COV now is, or far away in other districts, planets, cities. The people he is close with now in working relationships are held at arms length. He doesn’t let anyone near him anymore, he’s afraid they will leave too if he does.

The isolation pushes him further into the God King persona every day. If he’s Troy Calypso, he doesn’t NEED anyone else. The further he sinks into it, the more aggressive, the more twisted his actions become, but he doesn't see it that way. This is what his followers want, so it must be fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine to ravenously tear into heretics on livestream if 8 billion people are tuning in to watch?

He’s becoming cruel, he’s becoming vicious, but the man he was before he reached Pandora is still whispering that Tyreen is treating him wrong. That this isn’t how it was meant to be, that he’s not weak or a burden.

But listening to that voice means also having to listen to the one telling him he’s warped into something disgusting that his mother would be so let down by, that his father was right about him being a broken monstrosity. He continues to ignore it, and he loses himself further every day.

The deeper he recedes into the God King, the more he starts having nightmares, the more those whispers in the back of his mind get louder. He does what he can to ignore them, but sometimes something will set him off.

An argument with Tyreen, a momentary feeling of regret for leaving his home, a pang of loneliness. He often can’t sleep, and he knows if he starts to wonder why, clarity for the horrors he’s done could crush him.

Drugs, sex, bloodlust, he tries anything to take his mind off the intrusive thoughts that grow day by day. That he’s a failure. He’s a freak. He’s a cold blooded murder, but every now and then he’ll wake up in a cold sweat and hate himself so much that he wishes he’d never been born.

The feeling passes very quickly as the God King shifts back into place and swallows it down, but while it’s there it’s horrific. He see’s himself from other people’s eyes for just a moment and god what has he turned into. What has he done. He’s a fucking monster.

The man he had been is so damaged under the mantle of this vicious God he’s wearing as a skin that it’s barely alive anymore, and it’s what begs him to kill it in those fleeting moments where he sees past his own facade, where he just for a second realises how many people he has hurt.

He tore his throat out a couple of years before the start of the game story in a moment of lucidity after being sleep deprived for days on end. Tyreen reached him in time when his implanted vitals tracker each twin keeps for the other alerted her to his condition, but it was close enough that he was bedridden for days after her energy transfer closed the wound.

She had been furious with him and made sure it was was kept hushed, the rest of the clergy believing he was on reprieve. Only the twins know the truth of what happened.

He never takes the collars off anymore now, the scars are still there. Convincing Tyreen that it had had happened during a nightmare when he’d left his prosthetic on by mistake was easy. Convincing himself to try and forget he’d been lucid and how it still feels like the right thing to do, is not.

By the point the story begins, Troy is in a constant state of exhaustion, and knows deep down everything he has been through and done to others was for nothing. Tyreen doesn’t care about him the way he does her. She may never have, or she changed, he doesn’t know anymore.

What he does know, is that he won't ever be a real God, and that the only reason he’s still alive is because he is useful.

Maybe he should never have tried so hard to be useful.

Phew.

I guess in a nutshell, my Troy’s greatest downfall is the God King persona.

As long as that shit is active, as long as it’s being worshipped, he’s never going to snap into reality. The reality that other people are there, that he’s been hurt so badly as a person, it’s all impossible long as he is being treated as, and believes, he is a God.

The manic moments of clarity he has in the later stages of the COV rule are few and far between, but they eat him alive as he can’t understand why he suddenly feels so terrible, why he’s filled with such consuming remorse.

Peel the God King off the broken man underneath it and you leave him bare, confused, scared. You make him have to deal with reality, with people, with himself. That’s when you get him to show regret, and understand what he’s done, and understand what Ty has done to him.

That’s the redemption.

When he realises the game he was playing was real for billions, and suffers for it. It ends where it ends as my Troy ain’t dyin’ :P I’ll get to my rewrite eventually. I hope to keep exploring these ideas in the future. Just desperately wish I’d as much to work with for Tyreen as I do Troy. GB YOU HEAR THAT? YOU HEAR THATTTT??

#troy calypso #tyreen calypso #borderlands #borderlands3 #borderlands 3 #bl3 #my hcs #my writing #calypso twins #leech lord

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floralreddie · 5 years

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Love It If We Made It: Part 2

A/N: So people like this...so I’m gonna write more. Requests and suggestions to this little series are welcome, btw!

Summary: Eddie lives. Richie stumbles through being in love with the man who used to be, and could still be, his best friend, and maybe something more. This is how they find each other again as adults, in the aftermath of finally killing It.

Warnings: swearing, description of gore, internalised homophobia. smut to come.

Part 1

Richie comes to find that Eddie is, for lack of a better word, trashed.

He’s a doped up mess, loopy from meds and pain and shock, the words fall from his mouth a lisp-ridden ruin of half-memories of what had just transpired. In the five minutes that Richie has been sitting at Eddie’s side in a stiff chair, his hands pressed between his knees to stop himself from reaching for Eddie, Eddie has asked him three times if the others are okay.

‘You guys didn’t...didn’t call Mya, did’ya?’ He’s nestled into the white pillow, eyes hazy and white blanket pulled up to his chin. Richie stares at him, answering after a long pause. He needs to stop doing that. He needs to drop losing his thought process in staring at Eddie, alive and doped up and not even aware of what he’s saying. It reminds Richie of an almost lost memory, involving the two of them locked away in the clubhouse and a bottle of cheap vodka.

Richie blinks into awareness and clears his throat, whilst fingering his glasses back up his nose. Myra. Eddie’s wife. His brain fucking hurts. ‘Nah. Told the Docs to wait until you’d woken up, Ed’s’. He’s not sure which of them had decided that, seeing as no one was sure Eddie was going to wake up at all. Probably Mike. Richie figures Mike had known that they would need time to think up a lie of what had happened to Eddie...if Eddie had...had-

Richie swallows.

‘You’re bein’...bein’ fuckin’ weird, asshole. That clown do some shit to my face, or something?’ Richie shakes his head frantically and, yeah, he is being a bit fucking weird. He can’t talk. Eddie frowns sleepily. ‘Remember you...you dragging me out of there. Thanks, Rich’.

His eyelashes are fluttering. Richie doesn’t want him to close his eyes again. He remembers, for the first time, what had really happened down there. In his worry of Eddie, he had hardly thought of how he and Mike had all but dragged Eddie out of that place, Eddie’s blood wetting his hands and his desperate pleas in Eddie’s ear to stay alive falling to deaf ears.

He looks at Eddie again, at the clean face, bandage and all, and chews on his words. ‘Don’t thank me for that shit, man. What was I gonna do? Leave your ass down there?’ He laughs, short and forced, and quickly swallows his false smile when Eddie peers at him. Annoyingly fucking perceptive, that was Eddie Kaspbrak. Even as kids, he had been the one to always know when Richie was being weird.

‘Bein’ fuckin’ weird,’ Eddie slurs once again, shifting and wincing and closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. Richie knows he won’t be awake for much longer. He knows Eddie needs rest. Richie looks him over for a quick second, eyes flashing to wear the blankets likely lay on top of thick bandages, to where Eddie’s pale hand lay on top of the covers. So easy to reach for.

Richie doesn’t move.

Eddie opens his eyes, his breathing slow. He blinks to the door, brow furrowed, and murmurs, ‘The others here? They’re...they are okay, right? You’re not fuckin’ lying, or some shit, Rich-?’

‘I thought you were gonna die, Eddie’.

The words leave him in a rush of air, a sudden need to tell Eddie this. He needs Eddie to know that he cares, that he was terrified that he was so close to dying, that he is so, so fucking in lo-

Eddie stares at him, blinking blearily away from the door and looking back up at Richie. He stares and stares, eyes big and brown not changed at all. Richie stares right back, and he knows he probably has that manic, dear caught in headlights look that he’s never quite been able to train to not happen when he was worried or shit fucking scared. And, yeah, little spitfire Eddie Kaspbrak scared the shit out of Richie Tozier.

Finally, Eddie says, ‘I didn’t, Rich’.

It’s what Richie needs to hear, he realises, because the sigh turns into one of those fucking horrible choked sobs that he’s been welcoming for the past however many hours. He feels like an idiot for the first time since allowing those tears to break from him at the idea of Eddie being so horribly fucking hurt. Maybe it’s because, in that time, Eddie had been awake to see him such a fucking wreck.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes furiously, and he’s almost thankful that he can’t see Eddie for that split second.

When he puts the glasses back on, Eddie is looking up at him, eyes half-lidded, and murmurs, ‘I...I was brave though, huh?’ He’s falling into that drug induced sleep again, Richie can see, and he’s half guilty for hogging all of Eddie’s time before the others can see him.

Richie wants to reach for that hand that lays there, fingernails dirty in a way that would make sober Eddie fucking frantic. Instead, he swallows tightly and nods, dark hair falling over his forehead and fists clenched between his knees once again. ‘So fuckin’ brave, Ed’s’. He thinks of Eddie, hovering above him and smiling and grinning and so damn proud. ‘Braver than anyone I know’.Eddie’s eyelashes flutter again. He’s going. Richie allows him to. His body sags. ‘You’re not gonna...leave, right?’ Eddie’s eyes are already closed.

Yeah, Richie is a fucking slave for Edward Kaspbrak, because he wastes no time in nodding, despite Eddie’s closed eyes, and answering, ‘Never leavin’ your sorry ass again, Spaghetti-Head’.

Richie isn’t sure if he’s seeing things, but he swears he sees a twitch of Eddie’s mouth before he, finally, falls into a deep sleep.

Richie stares, chest tight and jaw clenched. He thinks he should have said something. He thinks, really he should had dragged Eddie down to kiss him the moment the man saved him from that hypnotic state in the sewer. Brave Eddie Kaspbrak, saving Richie’s ass. He should have kissed him. He should have.

He wonders what Eddie would have done.

Richie stands, ready to get the other Losers and allow them to see their friend, asleep but alive and well. He means to. He really does. But he allows himself a moment, just a moment, to stare down at the sleeping man in front him. The man who had survived a knife to the face and a fucking claw through the chest. The man who had nagged his way into Richie’s life to aggressively that even some fucking up curse couldn’t entirely rid him from Richie’s mind for those decades. He may not have remembered Eddie, but he certainly knew he was missing something.

He clenches his fist at his sides. He does it again. Then again. He breathes in clinical air and, finally, reaching for him. For Eddie.

Richie allows himself the briefest of moment to touch the mans hand, fingers running along an exposed vein, before stepping solidly back and turning for the door.

Eddie was alive. He was going to be okay. Richie would never forget him again. Maybe the death of that fucking thing was allow them, all of them, the gift of never forgetting each other.

Eddie did not want his wife with him.

At the same time, he wanted Richie with him.

Richie, a man so entirely used to disappointment mixed with a life of stale jokes never written by him, does not want to hope what that could mean.

#richie tozier #eddie x richie #Richie x Eddie #floralreddie #reddie #it chapter 2 spoilers #it 2019

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d0gdaze · 7 years

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Also on AO3

Chapters: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . (ongoing)

Reddie / Stenbrough

Word Count: 3289

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is set up on a date with a friend of a friend, and this Tozier guy is a hot mess. || Stan has feelings. Bill is confused. Long and angsty and may or may not contain a roadtrip. AU - no IT. Characters are 17/18. Set in early nineties. More film based but contains elements from the miniseries and the book.

-Chapter 6-

The next day, everyone awoke in their own beds (or in Richie's case, the back seat of his truck), all hungover in one way or another, either from alcohol or emotion, or both. Ben was decidedly worse off than the rest of them, having had to rush to the bathroom at three in the morning to puke.

Bill had never felt worse. Knowing that he had probably just ended his friendship with Stan, someone he had known and loved and trusted, and who had trusted him, since they were kids. Knowing that they would have to talk, and it would be so hard and he would be stuttering so bad, and he would probably cry. And if Stan cried, fuck, he wouldn't be able to handle that. So he had lied there all night, counting the seconds, hoping that hey, maybe the sun would explode, or maybe he would succumb to some illness he didn't know he had, or maybe the floor beneath him would open up and swallow him whole, all of these things sounding so much better than talking to his best friend the next day.

Straight boys don't make out with other boys.

He couldn't get that particular thought out of his head. It felt so constricting, so uncomfortable. He had no idea what to do about it.

Straight boys don't make out with other boys.

But he was straight. He was sure of it. It had been one of the only constants in his life, up until the night before.

But straight boys don't make out with other boys.

The sun came up all too fast. Soon he could hear his family downstairs, Georgie switching on the television to watch morning cartoons, his mother idly humming as she cooked, the smell of bacon and eggs slowly sifting up to his room. Stan would undoubtedly be knocking on his front door within the hour.

Stan had gotten up before sunrise to go for a walk, deciding that he needed the fresh air after a very restless night. He had grabbed his birdwatching handbook and binoculars before he left the house. Birdwatching was something he used to do a lot when he was younger, whenever he wasn't with his friends or filling his religious obligations you could usually find him sat on a park bench, binoculars fixed on a birdbath or a specific tree. He had had a lot less time for it lately, but he still indulged himself when the rare opportunity occurred. When he was younger he could have named every bird as soon as he saw it and spell it correctly back to front, but that information had since been replaced with more important things, and he was much slower to recognise anything. It didn't bother him too much, really. He still enjoyed himself very much.

But he wasn't thinking much about birds as he walked down the street.

He was thinking about Bill.

His feelings were so muddled about the night before. He couldn't really remember any specific details, and what he did recall were broken up in fragments that didn't make sense when he put them together. The feeling of Bill's arms around his shoulders in the living room. Of Bill's breath, hot on his skin. Bill moaning softly as Stan dug his fingers into his waist. Bill's tongue in his mouth. He felt his face heating up.

It was everything he wanted, right? Yes, he liked Bill, he wanted to be with Bill, and that's what he got. He should be happy, right?

But it feels so wrong.

He had wanted to be with Bill, eventually, but not like that. Not so drunk they couldn't see straight. Not locked in someone else's bathroom covered in each other's drool, barely remembering any of it the next day.

He figured he should go talk to Bill about it, but what would he even say?

'Hey babe, had a super fun time eating your face last night but I think it was a mistake and I wish it never happened!'

He shook his head. It'll be fine! It was Bill, for god sakes, they trusted each other enough to talk about this.

Everything will be fine.

Bill dragged himself out of bed at 7.38am, figuring he would have to get up sooner or later, and he didn't really want his parents coming into his room to wake him.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He nearly screamed when he saw his reflection.

The left side of his neck was littered with hickeys. Big, blueish-purple marks all the way from his collarbone to his jawline.

“Oh fuck,” he said, leaning in closer to the mirror to get a better look, “motherf-fucker.”

There was a knock at the door, and he jumped.

“You okay in there Billy? Heard you swearing.”

Georgie.

“Y-yeah, George, I'm fine,” he called out, “just d-dropped something.”

“Mkay!”

Bill went back to inspecting the lovebites Stan had gifted him.

Fuck.

He knew that if his parents saw they would not be happy. And he knew that if any of his friends saw, they wouldn't let him live it down.

FUCK.

He searched his brain for a resolution, something, anything.

It was far too hot out to hide it up with a scarf, so that was out.

Maybe he could cover it with something?

He opened the mirror cabinet, knowing his mother kept some of her makeup in here somewhere. He rummaged around the shelves until he found a small tube labelled 'foundation'.

Here goes nothing.

He squeezed a far too generous amount into his palm and awkwardly rubbed it onto the side of his neck, and after he worked at it for a minute he decided that it was good enough, nowhere near perfect (it was too dark for his skin tone and you could still see the bruises coming through if you looked close enough), but enough to get away with it as long as he didn't draw attention.

He replaced the tube back in the cabinet, and cleaned up what had dripped onto the sink.

Stan had cut his birdwatching endeavour short, only staying in the park for half an hour or so before the lack of actual birds started to frustrate him and he left. He decided to take the long way around to Bill's, figuring that it was a nice enough morning, and the extra time he would have to think couldn't do much harm.

He could hear birds chirping in the trees around him as he walked, which irritated him slightly because where were the little bastards when he was looking for them earlier, huh? But it was still a sound he found soothing, and it helped calm his nerves, if only a little.

Somehow the walk that should have taken twenty minutes seemed to only take three, and before he knew it he was standing on Bill's front porch.

He straightened himself up and knocked on the door. He heard excited footsteps approaching him and soon enough Georgie was standing in front of him, flashing a toothy grin.

“Hey Georgie, is Bill here?”

“He's upstairs, I'll take you to him!”

Before Stan could refuse, Georgie had taken him by the hand and was leading him up the stairs, bounding up them two steps at a time. Stan just followed and laughed.

They stopped in front of Bill's room, and Stan braced himself before opening the door.

A few minutes later they were sitting under the tree in Bill's backyard, they didn't stay in his room as they didn't want to risk his parents overhearing anything or walking in while they talked.

“L-l-look, S-stan, I th-th-th- ab-b-b-bout l-l-” Bill was getting frustrated, it showed on his face, and he dig his fingernails into his palms. Stan just listened patiently, nodding gently, letting him know to continue.

“L-l-last n-nuh-night, it wh-was,” he could feel tears forming behind his eyes, a dry lump in the back of his throat.

Just talk, talk like a normal person for once, fucking hell.

“It w-w-was, was a m-m-m-muh, fuck,” his tongue just refused to do what he wanted, he could feel his hands trembling, his eyes blinking rapidly to stop himself from crying.

“It was a mistake,” Stan finished his sentence for him, “yeah, I know.”

Bill stared at him, feeling confused and angry and relieved all at once. He broke down, collapsing into Stan's chest, and just sobbed until the tight pain in his chest disappeared. Stan held him the whole time, not saying anything, not crying, not being able to pinpoint any particular emotion. He felt blank. There was no other way to describe it. He felt as if all of his feelings, good or bad, had just left his body, leaving an empty shell. Maybe they would return, maybe they wouldn't. He didn't know. Maybe they had left him and fallen into Bill somehow.

So he held his friend on his lap, unable to cry, or speak, or feel anything.

Eventually Bill stopped crying, stood himself up, gave Stan a weak smile, and headed inside, making sure he avoided his parents and brother as he went to his room.

Neither one had said what they really wanted to say. In a weird way, they were both glad they didn't. As it was, they could just spend a few days apart, and then they would be able to continue as if nothing happened. Their friends wouldn't ever need to find out. They wouldn't fight. They could just shake it off and pretend it didn't mean anything.

They didn't need to make it worse by talking about it.

That afternoon, Richie had met up with Beverly in town, and they had sat on the curb outside of the ice-creamery (Bev got vanilla and Richie got strawberry), talking about everything and nothing at all. Eddie, Mike, and Ben were all invited but turned the offer down, Mike and Ben had gone to the library together and Eddie was staying home to help Mrs. Kaspbrak clean up the house a little. So they were alone, and they both rather appreciated that fact.

“You and Eddie seem to be going pretty well,” Bev said, ever so casually, after finishing off the last bite of her cone.

“Yeah, well, I dunno about that.”

“Really? You looked pretty comfortable with each other a few nights ago.”

“That was before I told him I was leaving.”

Bev's smile faded from her face.

“Leaving?”

“Bev, you know I can't stay here. I love you guys but-” She was glaring at him now.

“But what, Richie?”

He shook his head. “I just... it's like I've spent my entire life in this cage, just wishing to be able to get up and go, and live the way I want to, and now I can, Bev. And I did, I left home in the middle of the night and just drove, and it's the best feeling in the world. And I need my life to be like that, Bev. Derry's just another cage. And maybe it's much better than my old one, the bars are wider apart and I've got other's to share it with. But it's still a cage.”

Beverly had to stop herself from slapping him in the face.

“This isn't fucking Dead Poet's Society, Richie! You can't just scream 'cease the day' and go live out of your fucking car!” The outburst was making a few people on the street turn their heads. Richie was in a mild state of shock. “I actually can't believe you right now, Tozier.”

“Bev-”

“What do you think is even out there for you, dude? It's like, we're all here, and we care about you, and we will help you, but you still don't think that's good enough?”

“Bev, please-”

“You don't think I'm good enough? Or Bill? Or Eddie, for god's sake?”

“Beverly.”

“Because I have known that kid for years and he has never, ever, opened himself up to someone the way he has with you. He was looking at you last night like you were the whole goddamn world. And if you fuck that up, I swear I'll-”

“BEV.”

“WHAT?”

Beverly fell silent, breathing heavily, eyes still angrily and somewhat desperately fixated on Richie.

Richie had plenty of things he wanted to say right then.

If I don't leave now, I'll never be happy.

If I don't leave now, you're all going to get sick of me.

If I don't leave now, I'll never want to go.

If I don't leave now, Eddie will realise how fucking messed up I am.

He said nothing.

“You know what, Richie? Fine. Go. If you don't want to stay then don't.”

She stood up and looked down at him, scowling.

“But don't call in seven years and ask to come back.”

And with that she stormed off, leaving Richie feeling wounded on the side of the road.

“What the f-fuck do you mean you're l-leaving?”

The seven of them were standing in Bill's front yard, all looking with differing expressions towards Richie, who was nonchalantly leaning against his truck, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, appearing much more relaxed than he actually was.

“I mean I'm leaving. Hitting the road. Saying sayonara. Adios. So long, fair well, auf Wiedersehen good night. Thanks for the accommodation Big Bill, hopefully I'll see you round the way sometime.”

Eddie couldn't understand what he was hearing. He felt helpless, unable to do anything. It was a bad dream, surely. Surely he wasn't really going, that it was all a joke. He would get in his truck and wave goodbye only to drive around the block and reappear yelling 'SIKE!' or something stupid, and they would roll their eyes and he would laugh and he would stay.

They still needed time.

They still needed to work things out.

He knew he didn't love Richie yet, but if he left he would never get to find out if he would.

Eddie felt panic set in, his breathing becoming shallower, his body completely frozen. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. All he could do was watch as Richie started to walk towards Bill, saying what might be his last goodbye.

Richie walked around to each of them individually, exchanging parting words and hugs.

“Bill, say goodbye to ol' Georgie for me. I wish I coulda seen him again.” “Stan the man! You bloomin' legend! Stay gorgeous, babe.”

“T'was a pleasure Hanscom, just wish it hadn't been so short-lived.”

“Mikey, my boy, keep keeping 'em in line, champ.”

Beverly had been avoiding eye contact with him through the whole affair.

“Miss Marsh,” he said, sounding as genuine as he could, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't overhear, “I would say sorry, but I know it wouldn't be enough.” Bev finally met his eye, and he could see the utter distraught in her face before she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“If you ever find that you've forgiven me, I pray you'll call.”

Beverly kissed him on the cheek before letting him go.

And then Richie turned to Eddie, who had watched him the whole time, trying not to blink, trying not to hyperventilate.

Richie stood close enough that he was all Eddie could see.

“Don't leave now. You said two weeks.” Eddie whimpered.

Richie pulled him into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“Perhaps in another lifetime, love.”

“Please stay.”

Richie pulled away, only slightly, and tilted Eddie's chin up with one finger.

Then, Richie whispered something into his ear. To everyone else, due to the angle, it looked like a kiss.

And with that, Richie Tozier got into the driver's seat of his dirty, maroon, pick-up truck, waved at them one last time, and drove away. The next ten seconds were the longest ten seconds Eddie had ever experienced. As the rest of them watched the truck's taillights get further and further away, he stared at the ground. Suddenly he saw his whole future split in two. One half where Richie drove away into the night, never to be seen again. He would go back to his house, his mother would scold him for being out at night without a jacket. He would go to sleep and wake up and Richie would be in some other town. And Eddie would see his friends every day until eventually they moved or drifted apart as friends often did. He would leave his mother's house in a few years and have a place of his own, and he may even fall in love with someone else, get married, live a good, content, happy little life. And there would be days when he thought about Richie and there would be days when he didn't. And there would be days when Richie was just a foggy memory, possibly a dream, a good dream, but with out any reason to believe it was real. And Richie would do much the same or maybe he would just drive until it killed him.

And then the was the other half.

The half that scared him nearly to death.

Every single atom in his body was telling him to stay where he was. Just stand there, just watch him drive away. Don't do anything stupid. Dear god, don't do anything stupid. He's gone. He's gone and you can't change that. Don't do anything stupid. What would your mother do? What would your friends do? What would you do? DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

“The offer still stands, you know.”

Eddie's feet hit the pavement before he even knew what he was doing. He sprinted as fast as he could possibly go, chasing after the truck, chasing after Richie. He could hear his friend's calling out his name, telling him to stop, what the hell are you doing?

He just ran faster, faster than he had ever run before, smiling and laughing the whole time, so weightless and euphoric that he felt he might start flying.

Richie had turned the radio all the way up, trying to drown out his thoughts. He had used all of his strength trying not to cry in front of the others, so as soon as he was out of their line of sight he just bawled, ugly, fat tears pouring down his cheeks, his glasses fogging up so much that he had to pull over.

He didn't notice Eddie sprinting to his car. In fact he didn't notice Eddie until he had already climbed into the passenger side seat, red-faced and drenched in sweat, panting and wheezing, looking like he had just finished a marathon.

“Ed, what are you-” he didn't have time to finish sniffling his way through his sentence before Eddie kissed him, probably the grossest kiss ever between all the snot and sweat and the fact that Eddie could barely breath and Richie was still uncontrollably sobbing, but in the moment they swore it was the best kiss that either of them had ever had.

Eddie had to use his inhaler a few times after they pulled apart, and Richie went to work drying his own face with the sleeves of his jacket.

Soon they could see Beverly, Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben approaching quickly through the rearview mirror.

“Drive,” Eddie said, turning to Richie with wide eyes and a slightly crazed look on his face. “Ed-” “God damn it just drive!”

Richie quickly started the car and speeded away, until they couldn't see them anymore.

“Where are we going, love?” he asked, glancing over at Eddie who was smiling wider than ever, looking insane but still so fucking beautiful.

“Wherever the road takes us.”

#writing #reddie #stenbrough #reddie fanfic #stenbrough fanfic

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