#now it feels like I’m looking over my shoulder and I’m on the fucking Truman show
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Why can’t people see what I see
#9 years is a long time and you said yourself it’s been a while since you saw each other.#no one owes anyone anything of course but this feels like a boundary set too far#i know I’m close to the situation#people treat me like I’m some sort of victim when the truth is#I’ve never felt more sure in my life that this relationship is right for me#I don’t feel like I’m compromising on my wants#I feel understood in ways I cannot articulate#why can’t people see the way things truly are#I don’t know what it is. I just know he sometimes tries too hard because he’s afraid everyone around him hates him#it felt wrong telling him for you#it felt like actually you should tel him yourself. why am I enforcing boundaries that you should set with someone directly#fear of conflict is one thing but making me do your dirty work is another#he’s a good person. it just comes across like you can’t forgive him#but then why am I surprised by that when you have never been a forgiving person#you write people out of your life before you tell them there’s a problem.#you set lines in the sand and never cross them before talking to people with the honesty we all deserve.#now it feels like I’m looking over my shoulder and I’m on the fucking Truman show#like ok. you have been holding a grudge for 6#3#and 8 years#now those are bigger in your head than his personhood is
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hi lovelies!! congratulations on hitting 2000 followers, you’re both so wonderful and i can’t wait to see more from you all :D
could i request “are you wearing my shirt?” with seokmin pls?
hi!!!! thank you so much for your sweet words <333 also i’m so sorry for not writing anything in a hot minute and for being so behind on our 2k requests <//3 we haven’t forgotten ab them we promise 🤧💗 anyways i was literally just thinking about something like this yesterday bc i was watching their truman show (?) gose and seok looked so broad oml…anyways wo further ado…
ceo!seokmin unlocks the front door with a small sigh passing through his lips. despite being exhausted from a full day of work, he still can’t bring himself to be in a bad mood, because he gets to come home to you.
he’s grinning widely to himself when he hears your humming from your shared bedroom. he approaches with quiet footsteps so he can spend a few moments simply admiring you from the doorway, gazing at your side profile as you type away on your laptop. finally, your eyes flit around the room before meeting his, and within seconds you’re crashing into his already outstretched arms.
“you’re finally home,” seokmin hears you murmur, and while he’s a little confused by the relief flooding your voice (why wouldn’t he come home?), he’s not one to complain about a bad thing. he wraps his arms around you, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.
he isn’t telling you about his day animatedly as he usually would when he comes home; the air feels a little more solemn. “rough day?” you ask sympathetically.
he shakes his head, offering a reassuring smile. “no, just tired,” he says, taking your hand and pulling you to the foot of the bed where he takes a seat. “why don’t you sit on my lap for a bit, darling?” you’re almost too happy to oblige, quickly moving to straddle his lap and loosely looping your arms around his neck. it’s then when seokmin finally realises—
“are you wearing my shirt?” he asks, smiling fondly at you as he toys with the hem of the familiar button-up. you smile back shyly and nod, prompting his smile to widen. “you look so pretty, you look better in it than i do.”
the aching between your thighs remind you of how relieved you were when he finally came home, having spent most of your day desperate for his touch. his warm hands rubbing your bare thighs sends a shiver up your spine. emboldened by his actions, you adjust your position on his lap before starting to slowly grind down on his thigh, your hands gripping his shoulders now for support.
seokmin’s eyes turn dark as he catches on, his hands now moving to your hips to guide your movements while quiet gasps spill from your lips. it doesn’t take long before he feels your slick seeping through his slacks and making a mess, and when his hand reaches under his shirt to touch you he’s met with another surprise.
“no panties?” he rhetorically asks with hardening eyes, and you let out a loud moan when he drags his fingers through your soaked folds, attempting to grind down on them to finally get the relief you need for your throbbing core.
your head tips back as he slowly pushes a slender finger into you, your walls impatiently sucking in the digit. “wanted you all day… wanted you to come home so bad so you could fuck me hard,” you whimper, feeling his finger push in and out of you and drawing more of your juices.
“did you touch yourself, darling?”
you shake your head frantically. “no! i didn’t, i promise! wanted to wait for you…”
you whine disappointedly when his finger slips out of you, causing your walls to clench around nothing. his strong arms flip you over easily, your back hitting the soft mattress as he gently pries your legs apart, bunching his shirt around your waist to expose your dripping pussy.
“good. let me reward you now, you deserve it.”
— admin lily (hahsjajs this is a little different from my usual writing style? maybe it’s bc i haven’t written smut in a while so i’m a bit rusty and don’t really know what i’m doing </3 so sorry if there’s too much exposition 😭😭)
#seventeen smut#svt smut#dk smut#seokmin smut#dokyeom smut#lee seokmin smut#lee dokyeom smut#seventeen dk smut#svt dk smut#answered!#🌷 answers!
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Burning Words Extra
Harry’s POV for Chapter 11
TW: anxiety/panic attack
***
“Kayaking!”
I nudge y/n when she brings her glass of champagne to her mouth. She flinches, and swats at my arm like I expected, but giggles nonetheless.
“I don’t know, a fucking row boat?”
“Language!” My mum berates uncle Matt. “We have children here.”
Y/n clears her throat, “Gondola?”
“Thank you!” My cousin flips Matt off when mum isn’t looking, and tosses his charade card on the table.
I lean over to whisper in her ear, “you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“Go?”
“You guessed it right. It’s your turn.”
“Oh.”
I see it all over her face, and I know she’s scared to say no. The box of cards starts making its way towards us, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
“Um…”
“I’m going.” I reach over her lap to grab the box from my sister.
“Hey, wait now, it’s not your turn,” Matt complains.
I flip him off, but my mum sees this one.
“Harry! Kids!”
“Sorry.” I pull a card out and make my way to the clearing we made in the living room. It takes me a second to remember what I’m doing, because mum scoots closer to y/n, sandwiching her in with Gemma, and I couldn’t be any happier to see the three of them smiling.
I knew they would love her, but I was still nervous when two different parts of my life came together for the first time. She was anxious too, more than she let on, but she seems to be okay now. She’s spent more time with them since we got here than I have.
Gemma whispers something to her and they start laughing. Probably at my expense, but I don’t care. I’m so sickenly obsessed, she could do anything and I wouldn’t bat an eye.
I love her. I fucking love her. Haven’t decided how I’m gonna tell her, or when. Maybe in Italy. I—
“You gonna start, or what?”
Right. The game. I slip my card into my pocket, act out the movie reel, and hold up one finger.
“Swimming!”
“Backstroke! Drowning!”
“Diving!”
“He said it’s a movie!” Gemma scolds. “Jaws?” She tries, rolling her eyes when she’s wrong.
I’ve been up here too long, and I’m about to give up when I get an idea. “Y/n! Come ‘ere.”
“You’re not supposed to talk!” Someone yells.
“Pipe down!” I focus on her, waving her towards me. “Darling, please.”
She hesitates, like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to, so I slip my hand in hers and tug her away myself. She’s warm and soft and I love her.
I stand behind her and lift her arms so they’re parallel to the ground, and as soon as my hands are on her waist, she yells out the answer.
“Oh! Titanic!”
“Finally!” I shout, still holding her waist with my chin on her shoulder while the room cheers in relief. I kiss her, aiming for her cheek but miss and catch her temple instead. When I spin her around to face me, she’s glowing. Golden, so beautiful and perfect for me, it makes my head swim. I haven’t had that much to drink yet, but I still feel like my bones have trapped in the heat, and it’s seeping into my bloodstream. “Love you! So much!” I pull her in for a hug, and I swear I feel her smile against my chest.
“Okay, who wants to go next?” Gemma asks, but her question is ignored.
“Harry’s supposed to play for us.” Danny squalls. “He’s done it every year, can’t skip on tradition.”
“Bad charade guessers don’t deserve my music.” I lead us back to the couch.
I reach for my glass of wine, but Gemma snatches it away before I can grab it. She smirks, and I know I’m about to pay for something.
“You owe us. You weren’t supposed to eat any of the gingerbread house—”
“No one told me!”
“We didn’t even get a picture! It looked like a frosting tornado swept over it!”
“Tasted amazing, if that makes you feel better.”
“It does not. And—”
“Okay,” Mum interrupts. “Enough. Harry, you know everyone loves it when you play.”
There’s no way out of this, so I just suck it up and make my way upstairs to get my guitar. It hasn’t dawned on me until tonight that I’d be playing in front of y/n. I’ve done it before at Truman’s, but that’s completely different.
This will be so much more...intimate.
But maybe that’s what I need. What she needs. We haven’t had many moments alone together since we got here, and the ones we’ve had have been interrupted.
The guest room is cold and dark. I take a peek out the window when I grab my guitar, hoping it’ll start snowing soon. She brings it up everyday, and if I knew how to make it happen for her, I would. It’d be even perfect if it snowed tomorrow. A white Christmas. She’d be thrilled.
When I come back to the party, everyone settles down and stops their conversations.
“No Christmas music,” Matt blurts out. “I’ve heard enough this week to last me a lifetime.”
I nod and take my seat on a chair that’s been centered in the room while I was gone. I’m not really much of a nervous type, but tonight there’s something in the air. A wave of unease ripples over me, and a looming sense of dread dances at the base of my brain. I try and push it away, clearing my throat and looking up to y/n for reassurance.
“Okay,” I begin, drifting my eyes around the room lazily. “Um, how about Elton John?”
I strum my guitar and fill my lungs with air.
“It's a little bit funny, this feelin' inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide.
I don't have much money, but boy, if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live.”
I don’t really focus on anything, just keep my eyes settled on y/n, letting her take up my peripheral. There’s a look on her face that I haven’t seen before. Unsettled perhaps. She must know I’m singing for her.
“Oh, I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do. My gift is my song and this one's for you.”
Once I get into the song, I feel comfortable enough to relax. I scan the room a few times. Everyone seems okay, nodding along or mouthing the words. She’s frozen though, stiff, except for the exaggerated pulse of her breathing. I don’t linger on her.
“So excuse me forgettin', but these things I do
You see, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen.”
I bite down on my tongue before the next line. I want to stop and go to her, but I know better.
“I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind... That I put down in words.”
She’s not here with me. I don’t even think she can hear what I’m saying to her. Fuck.
“How wonderful life is while you're in the world.”
I barely get the last word out before I’m beside her on the couch, restraining myself from touching her. “You okay?”
She nods, sips her champagne, and lies right to my face. “That was beautiful.”
#bw#ta!harry#cherryyharryy#cherryyharryy writing#Harry Styles#harrystyles#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles drabble#harry styles story#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles pov#burning words
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Wounded Hearts 1
Summary: When John Winchester leaves his two high school-aged sons in a motel in Fairfax IN while he goes off on a hunt, they both make friends. What happens after they have to suddenly leave when John comes to fetch them? Will those friendships endure? Does Dean leave a piece of his soul behind?
Word Count: 3,635
A/N: This is a sequel to Past Haunts, but it’s mostly what happened in the thirteen years between high school and when Sam and Dean return to take care of a haunting in their old stomping grounds of Truman High. The first couple of chapters will be mainly Dean’s POV and then after that, each chapter will switch from Dean’s POV to Rebecca’s POV. I will label them appropriately.
October 14, 1996 Dean’s POV
I watch with pride as Sammy schools some kid. My brother might not look like much but he can fight. I guess all the times sparring with Dad and I have paid off. He gets a few good punches in before laying the bully out. I smile widely as Sam tells the kid that he’s not tough, he is just a jerk. The crowd begins chanting ‘Dirk the Jerk’.
One of the onlookers turns to walk away and slams right into me. I look down to see a girl from a couple of my classes. It takes me a minute to remember her name. Rebecca. Rebecca Quentin.
The blush on her cheeks and the way she pushes her hair behind her ears is adorable as hell! She looks down at the ground after she apologizes but I’ve got to tell her it’s okay. No harm, no foul.
“Hey Rebecca, right?”
I get a glimpse of what a spitfire she is, when I accidentally call her ‘honey’.
“I’m not your honey, Dean!” she rages and honestly it is cute as fuck!
I smile and try to make up for my obvious mistake. “Listen, Becks,” I begin and cringe at another faux pas. ‘Dammit Dean keep it together.’ “Is it alright if I call you that?”
I sigh and relax when she nods her head that the nickname is okay.
“We got off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you. We can go get a bite to eat.” She looks like she is about to reject my offer so I quickly counter. “I’ll even bring my little brother so it won’t look like a date. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
When she agrees I can practically feel my heart rate pick up. This girl is beautiful with her gorgeous blue eyes and brown hair. She is a vision and she just agreed to go out with me! Well, Sammy too, but I get to talk more and learn about this angel.
I call Sammy over, never taking my eyes off her. As we leave the school grounds, I wonder if she is aware that she has strategically placed Sammy between us. Was that intentional or just a coincidence? The two of us carry most of the conversation during our trip since Sammy has his nose in some book, the big nerd!
Rebecca Quentin is 17 years old, the same age as me; a senior and is planning on going to college to become a Psychologist. She tells me that she has her heart set on Harvard.
“You must be really smart,” Sam quips glancing up at Rebecca before going back to reading.
On our walk, I learn that she is an only child and lives with her parents on the other side of town. I can’t imagine not having siblings because, although he can get on my nerves, Sammy is my life. I have been protecting him since I was 4 years old, it’s my duty.
As we pass a movie rental store, I get the bright idea for pizza and a movie in our motel room. After some coaxing, Rebecca agrees and I rush inside to get the movie. ‘All Saints Day’ is one of my favorites.
Our money situation is getting sparse but I want to splurge for her so I grab a couple bags of popcorn at the checkout and after paying, I join Rebecca and Sammy on the sidewalk.
We walk to the pizza joint and go inside to place our order. I look around the nearly-empty restaurant as we wait. The lighting is bright but is dulled by the amount of wood inside. Dark wooden panels cover the walls with even darker wood beams line the ceiling. The tables are draped with red-and-white checkered table clothes with a candle and a condiment tray in the center. The whole ambience of the place gives off a romantic vibe and I imagine bringing Rebecca here for a date.
‘Get a grip Dean!’ I think to myself. ‘You just met the girl and had to persuade her to hang out with you. She’s probably not even interested in you like that; just too nice to say no.’ The waitress calls our name and I grab the boxes before we continue our trek to the motel.
At the motel, I am a complete gentleman, holding the door for her to enter first and I even carry her food for her. We settle in, me on the floor and her on the end of my bed. We watch as David Yeager portrays the Hatchet man. Sometime during the movie Rebecca joins me on the floor and when a jumpscare scene comes up she hides her face on my shoulder. I smile as I lean over and whisper, “I’ll protect you.” That earns me a smile and from the look in her eyes, I can tell she actually believes and trusts me. I can’t help myself as I lean over and press my lips to hers, keeping it chaste and innocent because Sammy is right there. A few minutes later she places her hand in mine and I entwine our fingers, a smile breaking out on my face. I am scared that if I acknowledge it she’ll pull away and that is the last thing I want her to do, so I sit there with a big old goofy grin. We finish the movie and polish off the rest of the food before Sammy begins complaining that he wants to go to the arcade. I only have $20 left for us to live on until Dad returns and the brat is getting on my last nerve.
Suddenly Rebecca speaks up and pulls some bills out of her pocket. “Here ya go. There’s an arcade down at the end. Go crazy!” she tells him, with a laugh.
Sammy’s whole face alights and he begins begging me to go. “Can I Dean? I promise not to go any further. And to come straight back when I’m done. Please?”
I look at Rebecca and then to Sammy. That means Rebecca and I will be in the room alone, by ourselves. What if she is expecting something to happen. Fuck! I have not watched enough Casa Erotica on stolen pay-per-view for this. I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck!
I pull Sammy to the side. “No further. And if you see anything...suspicious come back here. You know the codeword.”
Sammy repeats the codeword and is out the door in a flash. Well this just turned awkward. I run my hand across the back of my neck as I turn to look at Rebecca. I take a step closer to her as she steps closer to me. Before long, we are standing toe-to-toe and I can smell her strawberry, I think it’s strawberry at least, shampoo. Her lips are still slightly swollen from the kiss I gave her and I lick mine as I hesitantly reach for her. She walks right into my embrace and wraps her arms around my neck. I lean down and kiss her and OH MY GOD! This kiss is even better than the first. I take a chance and swipe my tongue across the seam of her closed lips and am surprised when she opens to let me lick into her mouth.
She tastes like heaven, if there is a heaven. Her tongue wrestles with mine and she moans as I begin lightly sucking on hers. My hands begin rubbing up and down her sides, the hem of her shirt catching on my fingertips. I pull back and look at her questioningly and she nods so I grab the garment and pull it over her head. She is wearing a little peach bra with a tiny little bow in between her breasts. I swear I could cum right now. She helps me pull my shirt off and then we discard the rest of our clothing until we are left in our skivvies.
We lay down and make out heavily on the bed. I feel like my dick is going to burst, it’s so hard. I slide her bra strap down and then reach behind her to unsnap it. Of course with my bumbling hands, I have trouble but I get it loose and Rebecca pulls it off, dropping it on the floor.
I stare at the picture before me. Her nipples are hardening to little nubs as I gaze at them. Seeing breasts on television is one thing but fuck me, breasts in real life? There is no comparison. Gathering up all the courage I can muster, I dip my head and kiss one of the stiff peaks, flicking my tongue across it. Rebecca moans above me and her hands land on the back of my head. I continue laving her nipple all the while loving the sounds she is producing.
I slide my hand slowly down her stomach, praying she doesn't feel the tremble in it. My whole body is vibrating with nerves. I have never gotten this far with a girl and I'm worried I will somehow mess this up. I want to satisfy and please her. When my fingertips meet her panties, I lightly run them along the edge. I look up to see Rebecca's eyes watching me. She wiggles her hips and smiles. I take that as her consent to keep going.
I push up onto my knees between her legs, almost embarrassed at the obviousness of my arousal. I hook my fingers in her panties and pull them down. Once I get them to her feet I stand up and take them the rest of the way off. I grab the top of my boxers to remove them but my eyes land on her body. Taking my time, I run my eyes down from her face to her neck, over her heaving chest and gorgeous tits down her stomach to….her pussy. Fuck! I palm my dick as I look at the splendor before me. Her outer lips are bare and smooth and I can just see a peek of her clit. How the hell am I going to last, I'm already about to blow my load. I push my boxers down until they fall to the floor.
Climbing back onto the bed, I position myself between her legs and lean forward to capture her lips. My cock rubs against her inner thigh and oh my fucking god! How am I getting harder?!
Rebecca's back arches off the bed, breaking our lips apart. "Dean," she sighs and I look into her eyes. Holy shit! This is happening! I'm about to have sex. I sure hope to god Sam doesn't return anytime soon. "Do you have a condom?"
Fuck!! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Yea I have a condom; one dad gave me when I turned 13, four years ago. Dammit to hell.
I crawl off the bed, trying to figure out if I want to take a chance with that old thing. I look around the room and spot a half wadded sandwich wrapper on the table. It keeps sandwiches fresh and dry so it should work right? I grab the plastic and notice a few crumbs stuck to it. I shake them off and proceed to wrap the cellophane around my dick, making sure that the tip is covered well. When I am satisfied with the protection, I climb back onto the bed and take my previous place.
I grab the base of my dick and line it up with her entrance. "Ready baby?" I ask as sincerely as I can.
I’m nervous as hell but I want to make this good for her. I look down as I run the tip of my dick along her slit, her juices warm and slippery. I press in to breach her outer lips and notch myself at her entrance. I don’t know why but I am assuming this is her first time too. Maybe it’s the look of anxiety on her face or maybe I’m just seeing things. Either way, I want to ease her into this. Ok, yea and me too. “This might hurt and I’m sorry.”
I press into her and am immediately met with resistance. Yep, this is her first time too. Has to be, ain’t no way they are always this tight, right? I lean down and kiss her to swallow her cries as I pull out and push back in. A few more tries and our hips are flush, my dick is inside her! Holy shit, I am inside a girl and fuck does it feel wonderful! I have to bite my inner cheek to stave off the desire to shoot my load. It feels that fucking good!
When Rebecca whimpers, I freeze. Oh fuck! Did I hurt her? I should have been more gentle. ‘Good going Dean!’ I silently chastise myself. I wanted this to feel good for her, not to cause her any pain. I pull my upper body off her enough so that our foreheads are touching. Neither of us are moving, just our chests from the heaving breaths we are both taking.
“Are you okay?” I ask, although if she would say no I think I’d have to kill myself. I don’t want to have harmed her in any way.
Instead Rebecca grins up at me and nods her head. I feel relieved instantly. “Yea. Just keep doing what you are doing. It’ll get better.”
I start a slow and steady drive of pushing in and pulling out all the while trying to hide the euphoria on my face. I lean down and nuzzle into her neck, kissing the skin behind her ear.
Rebecca starts making these sweet little sounds that are so much better than anything I’ve ever heard on pay-per-view. It is music to my ears. I begin grunting on the push in and moaning each time I pull out. I swear I am in heaven. If there is a god, I want to shake that guy’s hand.
Oh god! Now her pussy is squeezing me tight, making my momentum wobble. I can feel my nuts drawing up and I know I’m about to meet my end. White explodes my vision and I push in as far as I can, pulsing and shooting my load into that plastic sandwich wrapper. This is so much better than jacking off!
Suddenly, Rebecca grabs my biceps; her fingers digging into my skin. She throws her head back onto my pillow with her eyes closed as she screams, “Oh god! Dean!” I can feel her getting wetter and seeping out around my shaft.
I kiss along her collarbone, careful to keep my weight off of her as we both come down from that magnificent high. Now I know what all the excitement is about. Sex with a woman is phenomenal!
After cleaning up and getting re-dressed, the awkwardness creeps in. We stand in the middle of mine and Sammy’s motel room, just staring at one another with small smiles on each of our faces. Mine will probably be etched on and never go away.
“Well, I uh….I better get home,” Rebecca stammers, pushing her hair behind her ear. Does she realizes how fucking adorable and captivating that little habit is? Probably not, but it fucking is.
I don’t want her to go but I know she needs to get home. I look at my watch and balk as I see that it is almost 6 pm. So that means for almost an hour she and I had sex. Wow!
I grab her wrist and pull her toward me, running a finger down the side of her face. “See ya tomorrow, Becks.” I lean in and give her a quick kiss on the lips and wistfully watch as she opens the door.
Before leaving though, she looks back at me one more time and smiles. There is a sparkle in her eye and I can’t help but feel proud; I put that there. After the door closes, I turn to grab my flannel; might as well go hang out with Sammy in the arcade. Maybe whoop him in a game of Mario Kart. A spot on the bed catches my attention and my heart flutters when I realize what it is. There in the middle of my bed, is a splotch of Rebecca’s cum. I’ll sleep great tonight, with the knowledge that I finally got laid. And we both enjoyed it. The proof is right there.
I pull my flannel on, checking to see if I had the room key before I strut down the side of the building to the room that the arcade is located in. I look through the window to see my nerdy ass brother sitting at a game for dorks; some type of trivia shit. I go to grab the door handle and wonder if Sammy will be able to tell a difference in me. I am no longer Dean Winchester, virgin but I am Dean Winchester, sex god.
I challenge Sammy to a round of Lethal Enforcers, totally demolishing him. But at 13 Dad hasn’t let Sammy get much practice in with a gun. Not like he has with me; by the time I was Sammy’s age I could take apart, clean and reassemble almost any caliber weapon in Dad’s possession. I ruffle Sam’s hair as we head back to the room, much to his chagrin.
“What’s got you in such a good mood Dean?” Sammy asks. “You and Rebecca do it?” I can tell by the playfulness of his voice and the smirk on his face, Sammy has no idea what transpired in our room. In an attempt to play it cool and nonchalant, I puff out my chest and say, “Yea. I rocked her world.”
Sammy rolls his eyes and continues walking towards the room. I shudder at how much of a jerk I sound like. It was nothing like that at all. What happened between Becks and I was magical and wonderful and I wouldn’t mind doing it again. At that thought, I remind myself to invest in some newer condoms.
The next morning
I can’t wait to get to school. I have first period with Rebecca and I am hoping to be able to sit beside her. That is, if Amanda Heckerling and her flunkies leave us alone. There is a skip in my step as Sammy and I walk the two blocks to the school. But it falls away when the cell phone in my pocket begins ringing. I know there is only one person with this number and there is only one reason he would be calling. Dad is done with his hunt and is on his way to pick us up. I curse as I take the phone out of my jacket pocket and flip it open.
After the call, I tell Sammy the news. “Dad will be here by lunchtime to pick us up. Do you have everything in your bag?” We had long ago learned to carry our personal possessions with us instead of leaving them in whatever motel room we stayed in. Easier for Dad to just pick us up and leave town before any questions or concerns arose.
“Yep,” Sammy answers and I can tell he is as melancholy as I am at the thought of leaving this town. In the three weeks we’ve been here, we have both made friends and hated leaving them behind, knowing we’d probably never see or hear from them again.
I go about my normal routine, checking in at homeroom and grabbing my shit out of my locker before heading to English Lit. As soon as I walk in I spot Rebecca but instead of the smile I expect to see on her face, she looks down. Is she ashamed of what we did? Did she tell someone and they made fun of her for having sex with the boy from out of town? I walk past her and take my usual seat at the back. I can’t wait for Dad to get here so we can get out of this shithole! Lunchtime cannot come soon enough.
At lunch, I track down Sammy and we go to the front of the school to wait on Dad. As we hear the rumble of the Impala coming we both look up at the building morosely. The best and worst things happened here. I met a girl and had sex just for her to turn around and deny she even knew me. “This place sucks. Come on Sam,” I say as I head around the front of the car to get into the front.
As we pass the sign that thanks us for visiting Fairfax, I silently wish Rebecca Quentin a farewell. My heart constricts and I feel sick. I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes and daydream about blue eyes and dark brown hair and soft silky skin.
@tftumblin @spnbaby-67 @markofdean79 @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @hoboal87 @squirrelnotsam @natura1phenomenon @drakelover78 @larajadeschmidt13 @blacktithe7 @atc74 @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @vicariouslythruspn @sandlee44 @mogaruke @deanwanddamons @supraveng @deandreamernp @lyarr24
#dean winchester#john winchester#sam winchester#wounded hearts#past haunts sequel#rebecca quentin#smut#fluff#angst#dean x becks
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Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 11
An unoriginal pain in the A.S.S
Beginning
Previous chapter
Next chapter
————
It was late when Curt arrived back to America, too late to report to Cynthia, although he was sure she wanted to see him as soon as possible; a hunch that was confirmed when the driver of the car that was taking him back to his apartment handed him a note in Cynthia’s almost illegible handwriting.
See me first thing tomorrow morning, and try not to fuck anything else up :)
She always added a smiley face, and knowing Cynthia, it wasn’t to soften the blow, but if anything, it was to make the note more threatening. It worked. Curt couldn’t shake the feeling that the bullet wound in his leg wasn’t going to be the only injury he received from this case.
The driver didn’t stop right outside Curt’s apartment, for security reasons. Obviously Curt wasn’t well known enough as a spy for the A.S.S to take full precaution as he’d probably be dropped off at a hotel instead if that were the case. But his time in England had made himself known to a select number of agencies, so you couldn’t be too careful.
The walk was longer than Curt had originally thought and he’d been dropped off at a part of town that he wasn’t very familiar with— he’d only moved here a few months ago and hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know the place. It was nearly two in the morning by the time he arrived home to his empty apartment, but if anything, he was glad about it. He would have forced himself to stay up late anyway until he was so tired that he’d naturally fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. Something that was even more pressing now that he’d arrived home. His apartment was small, dark. Certainly a sight nicer than the hostel, but at least the hostel hadn’t been so lonely; here there was no one. Unless you counted the neighbours above and below him, which Curt didn’t, since he’d hardly ever spoken to them save for a quick hello when he bumped into them collecting the mail.
The point was, his apartment was the perfect environment for Curt’s thoughts to run wild, so he told himself he only needed to be here to sleep, and only sleep. Only when he was tired enough. Otherwise he’d have to resort to a stiff drink, and he didn’t think that was an option anymore.
————
The A.S.S building, or at least the one that Cynthia resided in, looked the same as always. The same drab brick on the outside, the brown wallpaper on the inside. Curt didn’t know why he expected the building to look any different, he’d only been gone a few weeks. But so much had changed in that few weeks that it was only natural to assume that everything else in his life had as well.
But Cynthia’s door was the same as ever. Same wooden sound when he knocked, same harsh voice calling “come in!”. She was on the phone when he entered. She was always on the phone.
“Listen, all I said was that her son looked like my aunt Dinah with that haircut, I mean who cares? It’s not like old Bessie’s your first wife...” Cynthia saw him enter and indicated for him to sit down, throwing him the finger for good measure.
“What’s that?” She continued on the phone. “She is your first wife? Well, good luck with that after the election, whatever the result, she’ll either leave you, or you’ll leave her for the White House secretary.” She let out a laugh only reserved for her own jokes, stopping abruptly as the recipient on the other end of the phone clearly didn’t see the humour in it. “Oh get over it like a man,” she ordered. “No wonder Dewey’s beating your ass. I gotta go.” Finally. “Yeah I’ll talk to you later, President Truman.” She put the phone down with a clatter, any smile on her face disappearing instantly into a scowl as she turned to him.
“Now listen-” began Curt, hoping to get in an explanation before she went nuclear. “I did the best I could, and if you look at all the facts I did my job perfectly, it’s not my fault that-”
“Okay first of all,” Cynthia interrupted, which wasn’t a surprise. “Shut the fuck up.” Curt refrained from sighing irritably, and sunk his shoulders into the back of the seat behind him. “Second of all, I hope you’re aware that I now have the entirety of MI6 breathing down my neck, because not only did one of their employees get blown up but so did one of their buildings.”
“That wasn’t my fault! The employee was a mole, and he’s the one who planted the bomb-”
“Susan!” Curt let out a silent groan at Cynthia’s refusal to listen to a word he said. She was now calling for her assistant, Susan. A curly haired woman who hardly spoke and was like Cynthia’s own personal puppy dog. Susan quickly arrived through another door behind Cynthia’s desk.
“Susan, tell Agent Mega about the message we received from Agent Carvour’s superior,” said Cynthia.
“Um, well, the man said that Curt had deliberately disobeyed orders, gone against his partner and had therefore put himself and everyone else in danger, leading to the preventable death of Mr John Lawson.” Susan concluded as if she were reading from a stenographic machine. Cynthia looked back at him, as triumphant a look on her face as was possible for someone who never smiled.
“Tell me again, Mega, how it wasn’t your fault.”
“Look, if I had just been teamed up with someone who wasn’t as stubborn as that idiot Carvour, I never would have had to go against him. Besides, if I hadn’t broken into Lawson’s house, no one would have found out about the bomb in the first place and he would have gotten away with it scott free. I honestly don’t know what you’re blaming me here for.”
“So it isn’t true that you deliberately stayed behind in the building, leading to Lawson attempting to shoot you, and therefore getting himself killed in the process.” Curt said nothing. It wasn’t as if these were new facts to him. God knows he’d played his stupid decision over in his mind thousands of times, driving himself half insane over it.
“Well?” Pushed Cynthia.
“Okay fine, I shouldn’t have done that. But if you think about everything in domino affects then everyone could be blamed for everything.”
“You’re a spy, Mega. Your entire job is a domino affect. One tiny decision can fuck everything up, and that’s not the kind of spies I’m willing to send on missions.”
“So what, I’m here to get demoted? Get fired?” He was saying this a little antagonistically, but truth was he was scared. He really didn’t want to get fired.
“Actually, you’re here to be assigned a new case.” Curt sat up in his chair. Of all the outcomes to this conversation, he hadn’t expected this one.
“Really?”
“Unfortunately yes. We may have found the group that Mr Lawson was leaking information to. Since you knew him and the case better than my other agents, I need you to follow it up.”
“Right.” Curt’s belated feeling at being given a second chance quickly started to disappear. He had been hoping to put the Lawson case behind him for good, not open it back up again.
“The group’s located in Leningrad. You’ll be going undercover as a new recruit, approved by Mr Lawson. We’ve written up some fake documents for you. Kendris will explain your role in more detail.” Adam Kendris, in charge of assigning missions along with Cynthia, although he did more of the leg work.
“Your goal,” continued Cynthia. “Is mostly to find out information that can be used against the group; their informants, employees, networks, stuff like that. But we’ve also gotten wind that they’re attempting to design new plans for nuclear weapons.” Cynthia stood up and tapped the ash from her cigarette into the glass ash tray beside her. She walked to the front of her desk so she was right next to Curt.
“If these plans exist, if this technology exists, your job is to destroy it. Whatever it takes. And if you fuck it up, so help me God, I will personally throw you out of this building with my own hands.” Curt didn’t doubt it. If anything the threat was tame for Cynthia. Which didn’t last for long.
“When am I leaving?” He asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I don’t even get a break before leaving?” Cynthia smacked him across the face. It wasn’t very hard, just a warning slap. But he still- regrettably- said “ow!” out of shock more than anything, and brought his hand to his cheek. Cynthia pointed a finger in his face.
“Secret agents don’t get breaks. We are on the verge of war with the soviets and you want to sit back at home and put your feet up? Those days are over, Mega. You’re leaving tomorrow.” Curt bit his tongue to stop any retaliation.
“Fine.”
“Now get out of my office. Susan, show him the door.”
“I know where the door is...” but he had to trail off as Susan purposefully led him outside the office and slammed the door in his face.
Looks like he was leaving tomorrow.
#gentlemen of lies#spies are forever prequel#spies are forever#tin can bros#tcb#owen x curt#spies are forever fanfiction#saf#starkid
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Final Omori Update (8 and 9/9)-
•So HeroXMari is canon right?
•Kinda getting SunnyXBasil vibes, I think it would be cute
•Hero. I simp. Mmm. Yes. Simp.
•Okay but like this photo album is so god damn cute omg. I love it so much.
•So... Aubrey’s mom is neglectful and she lives in a pigsty huh...? I can understand the feeling honestly... my house is the same way cause of my mom -all the trash. I mean there’s trash but it’s mostly just clothes. So.. I can relate to that and how she feels. Her room is the only decent place, and even then... mmm... poor Aubrey...
•So we can assume Mari’s leg wasn’t always bad because she was able to carry Sunny home off the bus. We can assume it didn’t drop them off right at their house because it seems their house is at the end of a road? So it probably dropped them off at the beginning of the street. Buses don’t usually go down roads like that.
•Okay but Mari and Hero are just too dang cute omg. I really feel bad for Hero, he really lost the love of his life. Also Sunny in the sand is. So cute. He’s just a vibing little dude. Also Hero went straight for laying in the chest.
•Also also we can probably assume Mari has self esteem issues, because she didn’t think her flower crown was great while everyone else did. So this could also hint toward her depression which might’ve caused her to Kermit... also that was.. the last nice summer...
•SUNNY AND MEWO IN THE BOX ONG MY HEART- Also “Kel’s next victim” also also, the giant stag... I can only think of ACNH.
•1.) I want Mari’s chocolate chip cookies 2.) So Captain Spaceboy and Sweetheart are based off fictional characters from their universe, which makes sense. A child’s imagination will bring their favorite fiction to life. Trust me. I know.
•So Mari is... older than Hero? Or are they the same age and she was just preparing for college more?? Also... she died soon before their recital... :c
•I’ll take a hug Hero!!!
•Okay, so them visiting her grave hit me right in the feels, and I feel terrible for all of them because her death was so hard, and like Hero still blames himself and Kel regrets not visiting more and just... the picnic was so nice... god this episode is gonna make me sad... Also I feel bad simping for Hero because of all this. Like omg the mental toll that must have on him.
•Hero is me when there’s a spider. God I wish I had someone like Kel.
•FINALLY someone addressed that Sunny might’ve had it the worst when Mari died, and that someone should’ve worried about making sure he’s okay. I’m glad it was Aubrey too because she was the one who was like “you guys weren’t there for ME!” Like. No one was there for Sunny either, and that was his sister! Also... I’m starting to get the implications thay Sunny might’ve developed an eating disorder from the depression caused by Mari’s passing? Because this is the second time they’ve mentioned he’s gotten thin.
•.....oh my god.... hold on... I... need to go cry....
•Sunny has finally awakened in Omori’s world! So Sunny and Omori are two different parts of him! And Omori’s the bad part! Yes Sunny! Revolt! Break free! You don’t need White and Black Space anymore!
•... Sunny... killed Mari... and framed it as a suicide... he didn’t mean to... she broke his violin... And the eye thing... represents her dead body, with eyes open... and Basil... knew... So Mari wasn’t depressed... and if Sunny’s friends knew what he did... they’d never forgive him...
~~~~ (9/9)~~~~
•Basil no... my baby boy...
•Okay so in the bad ending since Sunny doesn’t overcome his trauma of killing Mari, and Basil dies, he.. well doesn’t overcome it and let it go, which is why the something follows him into the car, because he hasn’t let go or vanquished the trauma at all, he hasn’t come to terms with it so now it’s going to follow him to the new place, and no matter what it’ll haunt him forever. He isn’t free. The sirens at the credits could allude to Sunny having a.. similar fate to Basil or to the ambulance going to get Basil, or any of the other friends who might’ve fallen victim
•SPEAKING OF SUNNY HAVING A SIMILAR FATE. Uh. Fuck. I don’t even have a comment why are they all dying??? So in Bad Ending 2 Sunny... also Kermits and it’s most likely because of the guilt caused by both Mari and Basil’s death. He inadvertently caused both. White space could no longer keep him going. It pushed him over the edge you could say.
•Okay the one thing that annoys me about all the Sunny dies endings is that his mom like. Just calls. Forever. Like you’d think adventuly she’d go inside and realize somethings wrong but NOPE. Just chill in the car. And the movers don’t even say anything if he’s dead IN THE LIVING ROOM. Wtf. Like I get it’s suppose to be creepy but I would’ve liked to hear a scream of horror? Just change it up a bit?
•Okay so the deciding factor on if you get a good or bad ending is saving Basil.
•Okay this ending has a lot to unpack. So Basil is angry and Sunny for leaving him alone to carry this burden, but also for running away from it. Basil has also been driven to madness because he’s had to keep it all to himself, and he’s trying to convince himself that Sunny wouldn’t have killed Mari and destroyed the pictures. So all this is just weighing on Basil and causing him to get aggressive. Sunny left Basil alone with this secret and the idea of him being completely alone is maddening to him. Sunny is the only person who saw what he saw. The only other person who knows. Basil is also suffering hallucinations as he tries to convince himself that something else did all this bad stuff. He really doesn’t think his best friend could do anything wrong... seems.. kinda toxic actually. Like Basil has been manipulated and gaslighted except he wasn’t.. at least, not by Sunny.
•I love the idea of like. Omori and Sunny having to duke it out, Sunny is fighting his bad and inner/dark thoughts. He’s overcoming them. He’s believing in his friends and he’s not letting his depression control him anymore. Omori is all the bad parts of Sunny. The part that feels the most guilt, but also the side that views him as a killer, and that he killed Mari. He’s the one who thinks he’s irredeemable. In short, he’s Sunny’s depression, and if Sunny is ever going to be able to move on and let what happened in the past go, and forgive himself, he needs to overcome Omori.
•As someone who struggles with mental health problems, it’s really uplifting to hear the friend’s words, even if I don’t really believe it. They’re caring people...
•Main concern is if Sunny and Basil are okay. They were just stabbing each other.
•Yet another ending where Sunny basically succumbs to his depression, and let’s Omori take over.- Okay was not expecting that though...
•Sunny: *gets into position to play the violin* You Lose. (Honest that was really awesome!)
•Okay so this time Omori dies, showing Sunny has overcome his anxieties and has come to terms with his past. He accepts it. He won. OMG DID HE JUST DO A LITTLE TRUMAN SHOW BOW!?
•So Basil really did stab him...
•And he’s finally letting his emotions go, he’s finally crying over his loss and his pain... he’s allowing himself to emote.. I’m so proud...
•TOBY FOX WORKED ON THIS-
•So Basil and Sunny both attacked each other out of defense because of their growing anxieties and shit from keeping this huge secret, but once they came forward with the truth, the burden vanished, they were okay. A weight was lifted off their shoulders and they could try to be happy and be friends again.
Final thoughts- Now I thought this was a really cool and interesting game! I hope it gets more traction because, like I said, it’s very interesting and definatly can throw you for a loop. I went into it knowing there was a twist ending but I wasn’t even correct, and I’d say I’m p good at figuring shit out. But yeah I really liked it! I’m def gonna look up a bunch more just so I can see what I missed, or to just hear other peoples ideas, get a clearer view on the story! Also I’m so looking at the fan art now, omg I’ve been waiting for this.
I’m a little sad Sunny still moved away but I know they couldn’t just not... and I wish we could’ve seen everyone’s reactions. But yeah I still got a few more questions but as for watching the game, that’s it. That’s the end. And I’m happy about it honestly. I can’t say it enough but I really enjoyed watching it and figuring the stuff out! It was cool! (Also the music is a bop.) I’m just glad my children could be happy at the end.
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Self-Insert January: Let’s Go Steal A Protégé
Yes I did write a self-insert fanfic of my own fanfic. Most of this was written in December and then um, January happened. This takes place December, probably before Christmas (and is obviously not canon).
Happy Self Insert month!
Being with Leverage, Jamie had seen a lot of weird stuff. Done a lot of weird stuff, too. But all the breaking into highly classified places and museums and pretending to be a circus performer and jumping off the Eiffel Tower did not prepare them for the magic portal that opened up in the ceiling of the Leverage Offices, or the lady that fell through it.
Luckily, their startled yell had summoned an Eliot, which meant that if this was the beginning of an intergalactic space war or some kind of mutant criminal rival of Parker’s, Team Leverage was going to come out on top.
Except Eliot actually put away his knife and greeted the lady, who struggled out of the squashy purple beanbag chair she landed on. “Hardison, Parker, Inny’s here!” he called.
“What the hell is an Inny?” Jamie asked. Was it a species of alien? Was Hardison’s Doctor Who obsession because they literally knew The Doctor? Honestly, it wouldn’t really surprise Jamie.
“I the hell am an Inny,” Ceiling-Lady said, before gasping and pointing at them. Which was concerning, to say the least.
“That’s Inny,” Hardison said, coming into the office and handing the lady one of Jamie’s Mountain Dews. Rude. “She’s from a darker timeline and drops out of the ceiling once or twice a year to catch up. And get inspiration for her fanfiction. Apparently we’re like, a TV show over there. What’s up, girl?”
“Is that why nobody is allowed to move the beanbag chair?” Jamie asked. They had thought it was some weird Parker thing. Or perhaps that it was on top of some kind of secret trap door to Hardison’s BatCave or something. They ignored the part about the fanfiction and the TV show. That was too Truman Show to think about. Though their brain was already going over actors they’d cast as the team. Eliot would totally be played by Chris Evans, right?
Inny stopped chugging the Mountain Dew long enough to shrug. “They used to live somewhere with way lower ceilings. Nearly broke something falling from this one.”
“Yeah, me,” Eliot grumbled. He nearly broke something again when Parker dropped down from the ceiling onto his back. “Dammit, Parker!”
“Inny!” Parker proclaimed. “How is Deeks?”
“Good!” the lady fished a beaten up phone out of her pocket. “He met some alpacas, wanna see?” Parker snatched up the phone and made delighted noises. Jamie peered over her shoulder. They had to admit the dog was pretty cute, and the alpacas looked very intrigued by their small, same-coloured, short-necked friend.
“How’s life in the darkest timeline?” Hardison asked.
“What date is it here?” the lady asked, looking around. “I mean, if you still know.”
“Why wouldn’t we know?” Parker asked, still swiping through dog pictures.
“Well, I mean, 2020, am I right?” Inny said, waiting for a reaction. She looked incredulous at their blank faces. “It is 2020, here, right?”
“Um, yeah?” Hardison ventured carefully.
“How dark is this timeline of yours?” Jamie asked carefully. Sure, it was a tumblr joke, usually reserved for stuff like the however-many-renewed-season of Supernatural when great shows were cancelled or whatever creepy feature FriendCzar had tried to impose that month.
The woman paused, frowned, then took a deep breath. “In response to the global pandemic of a deadly respiratory virus, President Donald Trump suggested on television during a briefing that people should inject or ingest bleach to kill the virus.” She took another big breath. “And that’s not mentioning the fact that he downplayed the seriousness of the virus while knowing how deadly and contagious it was, called it a hoax, made taking safety precautions a political thing instead of a public safety thing, and held massive super-spreader events.”
“Donald Trump?” Jamie asked. “The ‘you’re fired’ dude?”
“Oh my sweet summer child,” Inny responded, before taking another swig of her Mountain Dew. “Yeah, I mean, I thought the fact that Australia was on fire at the start of the year was going to be the only terrible thing I was going to tell you.” She laughed and shook her head ruefully, like that was some kind of funny joke.
“Australia was on fire?”
“Yeah. Parts of the US too, for a while. Orange skies. But since the country was basically on lockdown anyway, it wasn’t like it was very different to stay inside for that…” Jamie stared at the lady, then back at the adults. Parker didn’t look overly concerned, but then, she never really did. Eliot and Hardison were both frowning, though. There was no sign that this was some kind of elaborate prank Hardison was pulling on them with the help of one of Sophie’s acting friends. Besides, he was good, but not ‘fake opening a magic portal in the ceiling’ good. At least not within the five minutes Jamie had been in the other room.
After a litany of horrible things, which were apparently not even all of them, the woman stopped. “On the upside,” she said. “I perfected my banana bread recipe, Deeks met some alpacas, Leverage is getting a reboot, and I figured out why I probably keep dropping in here.”
“To remind us that things aren’t so bad like some messed up version of ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?” Hardison guessed.
“Because Jamie is my OC,” she said, dropping a fucking bombshell like she just dropped out of the fucking ceiling. Jamie felt their brain fill with static, because no, they were a real person, and that either meant that this lady was full of bullshit, or, well, basically god. The Truman Show feeling returned ten times over. “This is my fanfic.”
Hardison recoiled a little. “No,” he whispered, fully understanding the implications of that. Hell, it was probably even weirder for him. Sure, knowing they were a TV show was probably cool, even more so with the reboot. But Fanfic Land didn’t fade to black and Jamie was pretty damn sure some kinky shit went on behind the soundproofed doors of their bedroom.
“Now, there’s two prevailing theories about this, as far as my internet rabbithole searches can tell,” Basically God Maybe continued. “Either I wrote this world into existence, because the multiverse is ever expanding and that is one of the ways it expands, or I just got some vibes from whatever crack between worlds keeps bringing me here and wrote down your shenanigans.”
At Parker and Eliot’s blank looks, Jamie clarified: “Basically, she’s either God or…”
“Some kind of shitty false prophet,” the lady on the beanbag chair beamed. “Probably the second one, honestly. My subconscious turns everything into a zombie apocalypse sooner or later, and you guys seem to be fine.”
Jamie whipped around to look at Hardison and Eliot, hopeful. “We’re fine, right?” they asked quickly. If anyone knew about a starting zombie apocalypse, it would be those two. Between Hardison poking around in basically every intelligence agency’s server ever and Eliot’s contacts, they’d know. God, Jamie hoped not. They were so not ready for a zombie apocalypse. Eliot hadn’t even taught them how to murder someone with an axe yet.
“We are definitely fine,” Hardison assured them.
“Yeah, I figured,” Not-God agreed. “If I had my say, Eliot would have stopped pining long before he did and kissed you guys.” Eliot grumbled and glared, probably because she was right. Parker patted him condescendingly on the head, which wasn’t helping matters.
The ceiling started crackling and glowing ominously. The lady put her can down as she slowly drifted off the beanbag, alien-abduction style. “Well, it’s been real. Be good, guys. Have some fun adventures. Ruin some rich douchebag’s day for me.”
“Will do,” Parker promised. “Say hi to your dog for me.” She got a thumbs up.
“Let us know how the reboot turns out,” Hardison said. Jamie figured it would probably fuck with the space-time continuum if she downloaded the show and brought it to them, but who knew. Maybe there was some kind of loophole for that, too. They were kind of curious to see what a Leverage show would look like. It probably had kickass fight-scenes.
“Stay safe,” Eliot said seriously. He’d been the most concerned about the talk of the pandemic, probably because you couldn’t punch it.
“Will do,” Inny shrugged. “I mean, 2021 can’t possibly be any worse, right?”
The portal crackled louder, which Jamie hoped wasn’t a sign. The lady was almost at the ceiling. She looked concerned, like she realised she just totally jinxed herself and the new year.
“Hey, just in case you are god,” Jamie called up. “Can you give me superpowers?”
The portal closed to the sound of laughter, and then there was silence. All that remained was a dent in the beanbag and an empty can of Mountain Dew.
“What the fuck,” they told the room at large.
“Yeah, you get used to it,” Parker said, before wandering off back to the blueprints she had been studying.
“I’m just gonna… check some things,” Hardison muttered, making a detour to the kitchen to grab a ginormous bottle of orange soda before getting behind his computer. “And buy a bunch of disinfectant and toilet paper, just in case.”
Eliot rolled his eyes, before bumping his shoulder against Jamie’s. “Come on,” he said.
“Come on where?” Jamie asked. “I’m having a bit of an existential crisis here.” If they were someone’s OC, did that mean that they didn’t have free will? Did it mean that all the cool things they had done the past year had only been because of some weird lady that fell out of the ceiling? Or did it mean-
“I’m gonna teach you to throw a knife so you can take out a zombie,” Eliot said.
Fuck that, the existential crisis could wait until 2am. They had more important things to do. Knife throwing would be fun and useful no matter if there was a zombie apocalypse or a pandemic, or they got superpowers.
#fanfic#self insert month#I wrote a thing#leverage#lets go steal a protege#HardisonxParkerxEliot#I almost didn't post this because of you know the civil war thing in the US#but then I thought wouldn't it be funny if this was pre-january and self insert Inny was just like: well fuck#dear americans I'm sorry#yes Deeks did meet some alpacas it was adorable
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The Denbrough Show - Chapter Thirteen
Summary:
“Your entire life is being fucking live streamed on Television, Bill!”
“I - what - no,” Bill shakes his head, as if that will somehow clear things up. “I would’ve noticed.”
The stranger shoots him a look that’s almost akin to pity. It makes Bill’s stomach crawl.
“I can prove it."
---
Bill Denbrough's life is far from perfect. But he has everything he could have ever wanted. Friends that love him, parents that smile just the right amount, a boyfriend that would do anything for him. Nothing special. And yet a stranger in a fucking fanny pack goes the extra mile and breaks into his home, just to tell him his far from perfect life is being viewed by a million different people. It's only fair to say this raises a few questions. Who can he trust to have his back? Where is Beverly? And, perhaps most important of all, what really happened to Georgie?
Or: The Truman Show AU
Chapter Summary:
“Bill?” Eddie’s voice pipes up. “Bill, where are you going?”
“Robert knows where Juh-Georgie is,” Bill says, only a foot away from the door now. “I have to-” He’s cut off by Ben stepping directly into his path. “Get ou-out of my way.”
Ben shakes his head. “You’re not thinking, Bill. We need to talk about this.”
“All we dd-duh-do is talk ah-about it!” Bill argues. “I want to do ss-suh-suh-something!”
TW: Brief mentions of abuse
Read on AO3
Chapter Thirteen:
Bill knows Stan is waiting for him to say something. He can feel his eyes soaking into his skull, burning into his brain as he searches for answers. The only problem is, Bill doesn’t know if he could give him an answer if he tried.
“You said no o-one knew where Juh-Juh-Geor-Georgie was,” he whispers.
Stan nods, still staring at him with that wide-eyed look. “I mean, no one had seen or heard from him in years.”
“Then wh-why would he suddenly come out in the oh-open?” Bill asks. “It doesn’t mm-make sense. And why would he ww-want me to go bb-buh-back there?”
“Maybe he doesn’t,” Stan suggests. “Maybe he was following a script. Most of the interviews we had to do for The Denbrough Show were scripted.”
“Georgie’s not an ah-actor,” Bill frowns.
“No, you’re not listening,” Stan says.
“Wh - Yes I am!”
Stan laughs, a natural reflex to Bill’s half horrified expression. “Just think about it, okay? There’s no reason Georgie would want you to go back there. This is the same station that the rest of us did interviews with. It makes sense that some executive - maybe even your own parents - found Georgie and coerced him to do this interview.”
Bill shuffles uncomfortably. “You think someone’s hh-huh-hur-hur-hurting him?”
Stan pauses, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Probably not physically, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they threatened him. Robert was never above using force to get the rest of us to do what he wanted.”
“He hh-hurt you,” Bill says simply. “I ss-saw the bruise, you said he hh-huh-hit you. What's to say he ih-isn’t doing the ss-suh-same to Georgie?”
“We don’t even know if Robert has Georgie,” Stan says hurriedly. “Or that he was there-”
“Of course ww-we know he was there!” Bill cries out. “Why wouldn't Rr-Ruh-Robert be there? This is his operation, he was puh-pruh-probably the one to write Georgie’s sc-scr-script!” Stan frowns down at the laptop. Georgie’s photo is still frozen in front of them, staring up into the camera with eyes sparkly with tears. It shatters Bill’s heart just a little bit more, and he quickly re-focuses his energy on getting an answer from his friend. “Stan?”
Stan tears his eyes away from the computer. “Sorry,” he says, not looking very sorry at all. He looks too distant to be truly sorry, too lost in thought to even know what he’s apologizing for. “I’m thinking.”
Bill nods slowly.
Stan has always seemed distant and far away when he’s thinking. He pinches his eyebrows and purses his lips, his whole face scrunching together like he’s just heard one of Richie’s particularly bad jokes. But his eyes are sharp and analytical, focused on nothing in particular. Bill’s always had a hunch that Stan can see whatever it is he’s thinking about. Whenever he thinks too hard about anything, it’s as if he’s been transported into another plane of existence. And the only thing that can bring him back is the right answer.
And while Bill’s never been more grateful for that than now, he’s a little afraid that Stan will never find the right answer. That he’ll never come back.
Then, “Robert was probably there,” Stan says slowly, picking out his words like they’re fruit on a thorny bush. His movements have to be slow and precise, making sure not to prick himself while reaching for the delicious food. “But it doesn’t make sense for Georgie to be with him. He’s not good with kids, he hates them. Why would your parents put their son’s fate in the hands of someone who hates kids?”
Bill shrugs. “Why would they ll-luh-let a psychopath put mm-my entire life on tt-tuh-television?”
“Touche,” Stan says. “They might be shitty parents, but they still want a good life for you guys. They thought living on the set of The Denbrough Show would make you happy. That it would make life easier. It was misguided, but they didn’t want to hurt you.”
“But wh-wh-what does that have to do with Georgie?”
“If they don’t want to hurt you, no matter how ill intentioned they are, then they aren’t going to want to hurt Georgie,” Stan continues. “They may be, admittedly, terrible parents, but they wouldn’t put either of you in harm’s way.”
“They don’t know that Rr-Robert would huh-huh-hurt him!” Bill insists. “Do th-they know he hurt yuh-you?” Stan doesn’t answer, which is all the answer Bill needs. A moment later he’s on his feet, marching purposefully across the apartment.
“Bill?” Eddie’s voice pipes up. “Bill, where are you going?”
“Robert knows where Juh-Georgie is,” Bill says, only a foot away from the door now. “I have to-” He’s cut off by Ben stepping directly into his path. “Get ou-out of my way.”
Ben shakes his head. “You’re not thinking, Bill. We need to talk about this.”
“All we dd-duh-do is talk ah-about it!” Bill argues. “I want to do ss-suh-suh-something!”
“Ben’s right.”
Bill wheels around to face Richie, eyes blazing furiously. He’s used to Richie having his back on almost everything, the fact that he isn’t willing to back him up on this is like a slap to the face.
“It’s dangerous,” Richie continues. “You can’t go rushing into shit just because you’re upset.”
“He doesn’t have to be rushing into anything,” Beverly says firmly. “If we actually helped him and came up with a plan-”
“What do you mean if we actually helped him?” Ben asks. He looks horrified, mouth agape and eyebrows drawn together. His cheeks are starting to become a dark red color, nearly dark enough to match Bev’s hair. But his eyes are what Bill can’t stop looking at. They’re dark and angry, furiously glaring at his girlfriend from across the room. Bill doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ben truly angry. It’s enough to make him want to retreat back into himself, to make him want to crawl away and hide until he’s sure he’ll be safe from Ben’s wrath. “Are you fucking kidding me? Bev, we risked everything-”
“And yet he’s still a prisoner!” Bev snaps. “You’re all keeping him trapped inside this house! Telling him what to do!”
“That’s not the same!” Mike argues. “You can’t even compare the two!”
“I think she’s right.” Eddie’s voice seems to breathe a wave of fresh air into Bill’s lungs. Eddie who, over the course of a few days, has quickly become one of Bill’s best friends in the world. Eddie who risked everything to help him. Bill can’t be more grateful to have him on his side. “We’re only keeping Bill here because we’re scared. It’s not fair.”
Richie shakes his head. “No. No, no. We’re not - That’s not why-”
“It is why,” Eddie insists. “What happens if he’s caught? He gets sent back to set? It’s two months there. Yeah it’ll suck, but then he can demand they set him free. It’ll be almost easier than all these hoops we’re jumping through.”
“You honestly think they’re just going to let him leave?” Richie says.
“They’re going to tighten their security,” Mike says, “find ways to make him stay.”
“They’ll do the same thing if they catch him in two months!” Eddie cries out.
Bev nods. “We need to start fighting back now. I know it won’t be easy, but delaying it won’t make it any easier.”
“It’s mm-muh-my life,” Bill says. His voice, despite the stutter, doesn’t shake. He can’t help but feel a swell of pride at that, and it pushes him to continue on. “Don’t I get a ss-say? It’s my ll-luh-life and I say we do something nn-nuh-now. I don’t ww-wuh-want to sit and hh-hide anymore.”
“Fuck, Bill, it isn’t just about you!” Richie blurts out. “The rest of us are going to be affected as well! You can’t rush into something without all of us agreeing!”
Bill opens his mouth to argue, to insist that next time maybe Richie shouldn’t hide behind the idea of protecting him just to save his own skin. But Bev beats him to it.
“Let’s take a vote,” she says. “Majority rules. Who thinks we should start fighting back now?” Bill, Eddie, and Bev raise their hands. “And who thinks we should wait until Bill’s eighteen?” Mike, Ben, and Richie’s hands shoot into the air.
There’s only one hand missing.
“Stan?” Bill creeps closer to him. “Ah-Are you okay?”
Stan nods. Despite this, Bill can’t bring himself to believe him. Stan, by no means, looks okay. His eyes are distant and far away, his sweater pulled down over his hands as Stan picks at a loose thread.
“You’re the deciding vote,” Mike says softly.
“I - What?”
“Oh wh-whether or not we go ah-after Robert now,” Bill says. He leaves his post by the door in favor of sitting next to Stan, knees bumping and shoulders brushing. It feels safer here, like nothing can hurt him when Stan’s looking at him like that. Like he would give up his life to protect him. In some way, Bill supposes he did.
“Right,” Stan murmurs. “I - um - I don’t know. It’s risky.”
“It’s my bb-buh-bruh-brother!” Bill cries out. “Please, Stan.”
“I know,” Stan whispers. “I know. But it’s dangerous. And making sure you stay out will be easier than breaking you out again.”
“But-”
“Bill…” Stan’s voice makes Bill slump in defeat. It’s tired and broken, the voice of someone who has tried everything - who has gone through hell - and still came out empty handed. “Please.”
“Ff-Fuh-Fuh-Fine.”
“Alright then,” Richie says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife through a stick of butter. “That settles it.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. He clearly does not think this settles it, but he doesn’t voice these concerns. Instead he slumps back down in his seat, burying his nose in his phone and doing his best to help from a distance. He still thinks going head to head with Robert would be much more effective but no, that’s scary, we can’t do that.
In Eddie’s mind, you can never reap a reward if you don’t plant the seeds. If they don’t go up against Robert themselves, they will never be able to be free from his clutches. They’ll always be his puppets, dangling from wire thin strings attached to his meaty fingers. The kind that could snap and send them plummeting to their messy, messy deaths in a split-second.
The only hope left for them is to sever the strings on their own, and to hope they don’t break any bones in the fall.
-
Across the room, Bill is still sitting silently beside Stan. He expected Stan’s answer, he knows how much Robert terrifies him, but it still stung to hear. Bill had been a sitting duck for all his life, whether he knew it or not. He had always been complacent. He’s sick of it. He wants to do something. He wants to fight back. He wants to feel heard for once in his fucking life.
Stan must know what he’s thinking because he tears his eyes away from the computer to look up at Bill, all wide eyed and apologetic, and says, “I’m sorry. You have to understand-”
“I uh-understand perfectly fine, Stan,” Bill says softly. “You’ve tt-tuh-told me more times than I can count hh-how terrifying Rr-Robert is. I know the rr-ruh-risk.”
Stan quickly averts his gaze. The hurt on his face is clear, and it quickly makes Bill feel nauseous. He did that. He hurt him.
But he refuses to back down. If he can just get Stan to change his mind, then he can go after Georgie. Then he can help him. And that’s what really matters.
“It’s just safer this way,” Stan murmurs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“That’s rr-really sweet, Stan,” Bill says. “But the oh-only one who should be ww-wuh-worrying about me is me.”
“That’s not true!” Stan says. His head snaps back up, and there are no apologies in his eyes this time. Now they’re all business, determined to tell Bill exactly how he’s wrong. “We’re friends. Friends care about each other. Friends worry about each other. And Richie’s right, this isn’t just your fight. Just, please, trust us?”
Except trust has nothing to do with it. Bill trusts the Losers with every fiber of his being, he would put his life in their hands a million times over. Who he doesn’t trust is Robert. Robert, who is one of the only people to currently know where Georgie Denbrough is being kept.
Still, he murmurs out a quiet, “okay,” because never would he want Stan to think he doesn’t trust him. He falls silent after that, watching quietly as Stan scrolls through article after article.
It makes Stan nervous. Sitting next to Bill, close enough that he can feel his warmth radiating off his body, but not having a word to be said between them. Not that Bill had been very talkative in the past. The taunting for his ever present stutter had been sure to shut him up quick. Although sometimes Stan wonders if anyone else knows that’s the reason for Bill’s soft spoken nature (although that nature may have taken a bit of a turn in light of recent events).
He had only brought his concerns up to Robert once - an affair he had to spend a week preparing himself for. But Robert had barely bat an eye.
“The show needs conflict, Stanley,” he had said. “Besides, people love it. The story of a boy who stands tall and fights back against the bullies. Little boys need to see people like that on their televisions. Don’t you think?”
Stan does in fact think so. Years of acting classes had drilled it into his brain. Representation in the media would reflect back onto the real world. The only problem was, to Bill it wasn’t a TV show. To Bill it was his life.
Stan can still barely stomach the idea. He wonders if he even truly understands the toll it took on his friend.
Gently, he bumps their shoulders together. “Hey. You feeling alright?”
Bill nods without a second thought. Then, after a moment to think, shakes his head. “Eh-Every-Every-th-thing’s a mm-muh-mess.”
Stan sighs. That doesn’t even describe the half of it. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Bill offers him a sad smile. It makes Stan’s heart crack, just an extra little splinter to go along with the already broken organ. “What huh-huh-happened ww-wasn’t your fff-fault. I know wh-why you vv-vuh-voted ah-against finding Juh-Juh-Geor-Georgie.”
Stan ducks his head, his cheeks flushing in humiliation. Maybe he was a dick for that. Hell, he definitely was. Georgie’s just a kid, he deserves better than to be hidden away once he’s no longer of any use to Robert. But they would have a better fighting chance after Bill’s birthday. There’s no reason to take any more risks than they already have.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he just mumbles out another apology and tries not to think about the far away look in Bill’s eyes.
“It’s oh-okay,” Bill murmurs. Though Stan is starting to suspect that it’s very much not okay.
“We’ll find him soon,” he promises.
Bill nods. Soon. They’ll find him soon.
-
Richie still hasn’t talked to Eddie. He had been working up the courage, but now it’s nearly impossible to think about crossing the few feet that separate them. Eddie looks pissed. Like a chihuahua whose toy has just been taken away, and chihuahuas aren’t exactly known for their friendliness in the first place. If he gets too close, he’s bound to get bitten.
It’s not like Richie’s never been on the receiving end of Eddie’s fury before. He’s not known for being the most thoughtful guy in the world, and he’s well known for having a big mouth that’s bound to get him in trouble. But this is different. He’s done more than simply saying the wrong thing or making an off-color joke at a cast party.
He thinks in another life he might find the courage inside him to talk to Eddie. To explain himself. He thinks in that life, Eddie would understand. That they would go on as if nothing had happened, as if Eddie had never been mad at all.
But this life isn’t that life. And Richie doesn’t know if Eddie will ever be able to pretend Richie hadn’t betrayed him. Because Richie knows that’s how Eddie sees it. A betrayal.
And so Richie Tozier does not talk to Eddie Kaspbrak that day. He doesn’t explain himself. And he certainly doesn’t fix anything.
But some things are simply too frightening to do. Sometimes telling someone you love how you feel is scarier than standing up in front of the whole world to carry out a lie made by a power hungry maniac. Because it doesn’t matter if every single person on the planet hates you, as long as you have that one special person by your side. But if that person hates you too, then who is there to turn to?
He forces his gaze away from Eddie, instead focusing it on his phone. He has to focus. Once he’s managed to clear his name, then maybe he can think about talking to Eddie.
In his dazed state, he hadn’t noticed his phone shut off. It’s not a big deal, all he has to do to turn it back on is his thumbprint. What is a big deal is the website he was on seems to have reloaded. And there, in big, bulky letters, is the headline to haunt all headlines:
Fan Claims To Have Discovered Whereabouts Of Missing Child Star William Denbrough.
With rising panic, Richie clicks on the article. He prays to God it’s just speculation. That someone saw someone vaguely similar to Bill and decided to sell the story for a few extra bucks. He can already see it in his head. “It is suspected he’s hiding out in the busy streets of New York.” “That he’s making his way to the real Maine.” “That he was spotted at a gas station somewhere between Oregon and Washington.”
Richie can feel his shoulders start to relax. Yes, he’s sure now that it won’t mean anything at all. He should know better than anyone, the news can be spun any direction you like. You can’t trust everything on the internet.
Unfortunately, this article was spun in the right direction.
Staring back at him is his own face. He’s wearing a grin full of teeth and has one arm around a fan, two of his fingers poking out from behind her head like bunny ears. It’s a pose he does with most of his fans - even if they mock him for it on Twitter and Tumblr - because it makes them laugh. And what better sound is there than the laughter of someone who looks up to you?
Despite the familiar pose, he can tell who this fan is immediately. It’s the fan who ran up to him as he was chasing after Eddie. As he was chasing after Eddie with Bill.
He swears under his breath. He was sure it was dark enough. He was sure his explanation had been enough. He was sure she hadn’t really noticed.
But he should have asked to see the photo.
Because in the background, though blurry and half hidden by the shadows, is Bill.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, because one fuck doesn’t fully encompass how he’s feeling, “Fuck!”
Mike’s peeks out from behind the couch. “Richie? Everything okay?”
Richie offers Mike a sarcastic grin. “Just peachy,” he says through his teeth.
“Okay, no need to be a dick about it,” Mike replies coolly. Richie can’t help but feel relief at his calm response. He’s known for lashing out when he’s angry, and it’s often only made his problems worse. But Mike is kind and soothing, a welcomed contrast to Richie’s own internal fury. “What’s up?”
Richie opens his mouth.
Then closes it again.
How is he supposed to explain this? The fan had been talking to him. He had been too lax about letting Bill walk around in the open. It’s his fault this fan had spotted Bill.
His friends would know that. They have always been able to see right through him.
He could lie to everyone. The entire world. He could spin any tale he wanted and play it off as reality.
And he had. He had done it with a grin on his face.
Richie Tozier. Star of The Denbrough Show. It was all he had ever wanted: adoring fans, thousands of instagram followers, no problem getting a date if he were ever in need of one. But it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Because the only people he could never lie to were the only people that really mattered - the people in this room. And looking around the shoebox of an apartment, he knows they’ll know that it’s his fault.
“Richie?” A hand on his shoulder sends him leaping nearly a foot in the air. But when he turns around, it’s just Bev and the concern in her eyes.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
Bev nudges him gently. “Are you gonna tell us what’s wrong?”
With a horrified jolt, Richie realizes the entire room is staring at him. “I - Um-”
Stan seems to recognize the panic in Richie’s eyes immediately. Before Richie can blink, Stan’s by his side, interlocking their fingers with one hand and gently rubbing his back with the other.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”
Richie shakes his head. “I do. I do have to.”
“No-”
“Yes!”
Stan jumps at the force of Richie’s voice. For a split second Richie can see the fear in his eyes, a red hot flash that stabs Richie’s heart and twists until he’s sure it’ll stop beating all together. But then the moment ends. Richie’s heart keeps beating. Time goes on.
“Sorry,” Richie says. “Um - I do. I do have to show you. It’s-” He swallows thickly. “It’s about Bill.”
Bill’s shoulders stiffen. “Mmm-Me?”
Richie nods. “Someone - A fan - I mean, the fan, they took - in our photo-”
“What do you mean the fan?” Eddie asks, his voice sharp and to the point. It sends chills down Richie’s spine.
“The one from the other night!” Richie says. “When you ran out and I went after you, and-”
“And Bill chased after you,” Eddie finishes. His tongue darts out, wetting his suddenly chapped lips. “There’s a photo? Of Bill?”
Richie nods.
“But - Bb-But it www-wuh-was dark,” Bill says. He glances around the room desperately. “Hh-How could sh-she huh-have gotten a guh-guh-good ph-photo?”
“It’s not that good,” Richie says. “But it’s enough. You can tell it’s you for sure.”
Eddie pushes himself to his feet, crossing the room to peer at the photo. Sure enough, there’s Bill. But Eddie himself can’t be seen in the photo.
He can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over him. He knows it’s nothing compared to what will happen to Bill if he’s caught, but if Sonia Kaspbrak found out her darling boy was hanging around with Richie Trashmouth Tozier again, Eddie would be in for hell.
“Wh-What do we dd-duh-do?” Bill asks.
Bev shakes her head. “I don’t know. Robert’s going to put two and two together. He knows I live on this street.
Her eyes meet Bill’s across the room. The simple action is enough to bring Bill to his feet, enough to get him to cross the room and take a peek at the photo for himself. Mike and Ben are quick to follow, and soon all seven of them are gathered around the kitchen island. It feels weirdly intimate. Like the rest of the world has fallen away, and all that is left are them and this apartment.
“You have to leave,” Bev says. “You all need to leave. Robert can’t know any of you were here.” No one moves a muscle. “I’m serious! I’m not letting you get fucking blacklisted because of me!”
“We’re going to get blacklisted anyway.” To Bill’s shock, it’s Stan’s voice that meets Bill’s ears. He speaks slow and even, and Bill doesn’t have to ask to know he’s been thinking over his next words ever since seeing the photo. “I say we fight back. Against Robert.”
Bill’s head jerks over, staring at Stan with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Rrrr-Ruh-Ruh-Really?”
Stan nods. “Really.”
Richie lets out a shout of horor. “You can’t be serious! Stan we’ll never get out of there alive.”
“I’m not saying we see him in person,” Stan says. “That would be insane. He’s using the media as his weapon, I think we should use it as ours as well.”
Eddie leans across the island. Stan didn’t have any doubts about him being on his side, but the curiosity and excitement that shines in Eddie’s eyes is more than Stan could have ever expected. “What are you thinking?”
“We post our own video,” Stan says.
Ben shares a nervous look with Mike. “What kind of video?”
At that, Stan falters. “I’m not sure yet.”
“We can figure it out,” Bill says. For once, his voice feels steady. “I know what I want to say.”
-
An hour later, there’s still no response from Robert.
“This is bullshit,” Richie says. As much as he hates the idea of Robert seeing this and making their lives a living hell, the waiting is so much worse. “I thought he would see it immediately. Doesn’t he have tabs on all of us?”
“You would think he would have a whole team of people stalking Bev’s social medias specifically,” Mike says.
“I'm positive he does,” Ben says through a huff. “He’s tried to get her to take stuff down before.”
“Be patient,” Bev says. Despite this, she’s sure she’s refreshed her instagram at least a hundred times in the last hour. “If I see anything from him, I’ll contact you guys.”
“And ih-if he dd-duh-doesn’t respond?” Bill asks.
“We keep pushing,” Bev says. “We’re bound to catch his attention eventually.”
“But how do we know if he hasn’t seen it,” Mike frowns, “or if he’s just planning something worse?”
The group falls silent. Ever since the shutdown of the show, it’s not like any of them have had constant contact with Robert. Their relationship had always been strictly professional. Sometimes the Losers can’t help but wonder if it was less than that to Robert. If they were all just pawns in his mind, moving across the board in a worldwide game of chess.
Then, quiet as a mouse, Eddie’s voice fills the room, “I can find out.”
-
“Are you ss-sure this is a good ih-id-idea?” Bill asks, watching Eddie pace around his room. The Losers had gone their separate ways soon after hearing Eddie’s plans, and while Eddie had seemed confident in the moment, more and more of that confidence is slipping away now that the moment of truth is upon them.
“No,” Eddie admits. “But it will get us further than playing cat and mouse.” He finally stops pacing, which Bill is silently grateful for because it was starting to make him antsy, and fixes his gaze on Bill. Bill squirms, unable to help but feel like an ant under a microscope. “Are you sure you’re okay going to Stan’s?”
Bill nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A grin breaks out across Eddie’s face. It’s sharp and knowing and Bill doesn’t like it one bit. “Just making sure.” Bill opens his mouth to push the issue, but Eddie cuts him off with a loud huff of air. “Alright. I’m going to ask her.” Bill nods, snapping his mouth shut. “Wish me luck.”
“Good ll-luck.”
Eddie offers him a shaky grin before spinning on his heel and marching out of his room. The rest of the house is, quite frankly, a mess. While Eddie’s room is almost overly clean, the rest of the house looks not unlike something he might see on Hoarders. He weaves throughout unopened boxes - shit from various As Seen On TV ads that his mother actually had the nerve to buy. Sure, she has the money. Robert pays his executive writers well. But the question isn’t can she? It’s should she? And, if Eddie were to be honest, she shouldn’t.
“Mom?”
An excited squeal can be heard from the kitchen “Eddie-Bear!”
Eddie winces. He fucking hates that nickname. But he schools his face into an easy grin as he descends the stairs - entering a much less cluttered area - and turns into the kitchen. If he wants this to go well, he has to play the part of her good, sweet baby boy.
Sonia is inside, hunched over a microwave. There are two Eggos inside, two more already warm and set aside on a plate, and while Eddie can’t admit his love for the waffles, his mouth waters for the homemade pancakes Ben’s mother always sets out.
“How did you sleep, dear?” Sonia asks.
“Good,” Eddie says. “Did you sleep well, mama?”
Sonia nods and pushes the plate closer to Eddie. “Eat, eat. You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
Eddie doubts having the same processed waffles every morning counts as a healthy breakfast, but he doesn’t dare bring this up to his mother. He just silently takes a bite and nods as if the taste hasn’t become bland and flavorless over the months.
“So I was thinking,” Eddie says, “We haven’t had Robert over for dinner in awhile. I haven’t seen him since before the shutdown, it might be nice to catch up and see how he’s doing.”
Sonia’s eyes light up. It makes Eddie sick to his stomach. “Oh, honey, that’s a wonderful idea! Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Oh, I’ll call him as soon as we finish breakfast.”
Eddie pushes down his disgust, forcing himself to grin and bear it. “Great! It’ll be really good to see him again.”
“It will be,” Sonia says. Then, as if it’s an afterthought, though Eddie knows it’s what she’s been thinking of this whole time, “Maybe I can finally ask him about that promotion.”
“Good idea!” Eddie grins. “Maybe then you can buy more As Seen On TV.”
Sonia narrows her eyes at him. “What?”
“It was on in the living room,” Eddie lies. “There was something I thought you might like.”
Sonia gasps quietly. “Oh, I’ll have to check! Eddie, dear, you don’t mind cooking tonight, do you? I wouldn’t want Robert to have to eat take-out.”
But it’s no problem for me to eat take out every night, Eddie thinks bitterly.
“Sure thing,” he says instead. “I’ll go look at recipes now.”
Sonia grins, but none of it holds that motherly kindness Eddie so desperately searches for. “Thank you, Eddie-bear. You’re such a help.”
Eddie plasters his own grin onto his face. “That’s why I’m doing it. To help.”
#stenbrough#reddie#the losers club#bill denbrough#stanley uris#eddie kaspbrak#richie tozier#ben hanscom#mike hanlon#beverly marsh#stenbrough fanfic#stenbrough fanfiction#the losers club fanfic#the losers club fanfiction
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Concept: Mac isn’t really in love with Dennis. He’s been faking the entire time as part of a bet/experiment as to whether or not he can make Dennis fall in love with him. As soon as Dennis confesses his feelings, the experiment will end and he’ll be debriefed. (Alternatively, everyone Dennis hasn’t known since school is actually an actor playing characters written by Dee and it’s all a Truman show situation to see how far they can push Dennis.)
I...wow. I totally think either scenario would COMPLETELY break Dennis. Dude is hanging by a very loose thread at all times to begin with but finding out most of everything in his life has been a complete lie? He'd snap. I mean look what happened in Broke Dee. That wasn't even supposed to be a prank on him and it fucked him up.
Okay and let's talk about the first one because that's super fucked up but I'm kinda living for it? It's definitely a role reversal for Mac and Dennis. Tbh I cannot see current Mac doing something like this but young Mac (s1-5), I'd buy it.
BUT there’s also no way Mac doesn’t fall in love with Dennis in the process and then feel guilty about the whole thing only to call it off once things get Too Real.
And whoops my hand slipped and I wrote another mini fic:
Him and Dee made the bet in high school because they thought it would be funny and Mac is all "Have you seen me? I could make any one fall in love with me." And Dee's all "Prove it."
Charlie doesn't know the full extent of it because I think he'd probably let it slip to Dennis.
So because of that, Mac has so be kind of subtle about it around the Gang. He turns it up a few notches when they're alone though. It takes forever. Like years. Because Dennis is stubborn and on a good day, has one (1) feeling.
Dennis graduates college, they get an apartment together. They buy the bar. Dee's wondering what the fuck is taking so long and Mac insists this is all part of his plan.
The Gay Bar Scheme sets Mac's progress back a bit, and he swears Dee did it on purpose to try to mess everything up. Stupid bitch.
It takes a while for Mac to get back on track. Dennis and Dee’s dad shows up one day out of the blue and actually sticks around. Mac starts banging Carmen. He sleeps with Dennis and and Dee’s mom which, he really thought would help move things along. It...did not.
The turning point Mac needs comes in the most insane and unexpected way. They get held hostage by the McPoyle’s in their own goddamn bar. It’s absolutely batshit.
There’s a real moment there where Mac thinks they’re not going to make it out alive. Mac tells Dennis he loves him, which Dee will argue later is against the rules of the bet, like watching Dennis’s sex tapes. Mac will tell her that there are no rules, that’s strictly for research purposes. He won’t tell her that, in that moment, he’d completely forgotten about the bet.
Dennis never mentions it. Hell, he barely even acknowledged it when it happened. Mac starts to think God is punishing him for everything. He knows it’s wrong and kind of gay but..it’s a joke. And Mac’s pretty sure God can take a joke. He plans on explaining the whole thing to him when he gets up there anyway. He’s sure they’ll laugh about it.
But Mac starts to notice something that makes him think God does have a sense of humor after all: Dennis starts touching him. Like. A lot. Like, more than he’s pretty sure he ever has.
They’ve always been inseparable but now it feels...different. They hang out all the time and when they’re not physically together, they can’t go even an hour without texting one another.
Mac starts to realize his evil plan is finally working.
He sits back and let’s Dennis take the lead. Mac’s planted the seed and now he’s got to just wait for the flower to grow.
He pretends not to notice when Dennis starts inching closer to him on the couch during movie night. He lets Dennis pretend to fall asleep on his shoulder.
During Charlie’s musical, Mac starts to lay things on a little thicker. He acts like he doesn’t realize how this is all coming off--like it’s all just him playing the character. (The boner he popped on stage is irrelevant. His body was also in character.)
Mac realizes he wants to kiss Dennis in the middle of a strangers living room in a house they’re trying to flip for a profit. Well--no wait. It’s Dennis who wants to kiss him, obviously. There’s no other explanation for it. You don’t just cup someone’s face like that, call them ‘baby boy’ like that if you don’t want to play tonsil hockey.
They pretend to be a couple. “Partners in Real Estate and Partners in life.” “He’s my bottom.” Dennis won’t take his hands off him. Mac’s got him right where he wants him.
That night, Dennis kisses him.
(It’s about goddamn time.)
Mac doesn’t tell Dee. She doesn’t need to know. Not yet. He wins the bet when the words “I love you,” un-ironically come out of Dennis’s mouth.
It’s surprising how much doesn’t change between them. Aside from where Mac sleeps, it’s really not that different. He’s just getting laid more and it...it’s fucking great. Mac thinks it’s probably because of all that adrenaline he gets knowing he’s winning the bet.
Everything’s going great until Dee finally catches on.
It’s a Tuesday. They just wanted a bowl for popcorn. They didn’t need Dee to stick her giant nose all up in their business.
“It's funny 'cause I feel like you guys are two codependent losers who are so wrapped up in each other that it's hard for you to see how pathetic your lives are. It's like you're an old married couple.”
They laugh at it. But, Mac can see the wheels turning in Dennis’s head.
Dennis takes too long at the video store and that’s when shit hits the fan. Yeah Mac panicked but that’s only because he really REALLY wants to win this bet. And he can’t do that if Dennis is fucking some video store twink.
They argue. Dennis wants to be left alone. Mac wants to know where this is coming from (he knows but he wants to hear Dennis say it.)
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what Dee said and I do think maybe we are spending a little bit too much time together.”
Son of a bitch.
Mac leaves and Dennis let’s him go. On the way to Charlie’s, Mac calls Dee and tells her that’s cheating--she’s not allowed to interfere in the bet. They had a deal. She tells him she can do whatever the fuck she wants then hangs up because something about her stupid cat. Mac stopped listening.
He’s at Charlie’s for a few hours when Dennis calls. He’s a Dee’s apparently and Mac’s heart sinks. She’s going to fuck everything up beyond repair. There’s no way he’s going to win the bet now...not because he actually really misses Dennis.
Mac’s resigned himself to the fact it’s over. The bet, his relationship with Dennis. It’s done. Bye. See ya. But then Dee calls him, and she sounds pissed off and stressed the fuck out. She tell him to be at this restaurant at this time for a “date with a beautiful woman with giant breasts”. Well, Mac thinks, at least she knows how to apologize.
He gets there early and sits down at the table by himself. He’s nervous, which is unlike him. He’s a badass, he never gets nervous. Mac tells himself it’s because he’s meeting a really hot chick, not because he’s not sure if he’s ready for this thing with Dennis to be over. He orders a rum and coke. Then another. Because alcohol solves everything.
Dennis walks in with Dee and Mac has never been so close to committing murder. What the fuck is she trying to pull?
Mac doesn’t have time to ask. She leaves in a hurry, muttering something about getting a bird.
“She looks like a bird.”
And...fuck. Mac missed Dennis so much.
They make-up and make-out on the way home. They invite Charlie and Frank over to watch a movie and once the Grusome Twosome leaves and they’re finally alone again.
It’s dark, it’s late and it’s quiet. Dennis joins Mac on the couch after he’s tossed some beer bottle into recycling. He’s looking at him like he’s seeing Mac for the first time and Mac feels his throat tighten.
Dennis starts talking, and Mac starts to panic. He thought he’d be able to see this moment coming a mile away but he’s not prepared for this. Dennis is telling him how sorry he is for everything. How he let Dee get into his head. How stupid it was.
How he realized the reason why he panicked so much was “Because I think I’m in l-”
“Dennis.” Mac cuts him off as everything comes crashing down on him all at once. His heart’s pounding in his chest, ready to burst through his chest at any moment.
He should’ve called this off when he had the chance. Dee definitely gave him a few outs over the years but he said No. When he made that stupid bet all those years ago, so young and so high, he never thought it would end up like this.
Mac didn’t think he’d be the one to end up falling in love with his best friend.
But, if he let’s Dennis say it, then what? They become a real couple? They tell the Gang so Dee can lay everything all out on the table. Tell Dennis that everything was just a big joke--even though it stopped being one for Mac longer than he cared to admit. Mac could deny his part in the whole thing, but Dennis would believe him.
So Mac has to let him off the hook now, by crushing his best friend’s heart into dust.
“I think Dee was right,” Mac says finally. He can’t even look Dennis in the eye. “I can’t--I don’t think we should do this anymore...”
To drive the final nail into the coffin, he adds, “Plus, y’know I’m not even gay.”
Dennis doesn’t say anything for a long time. Mac shrugs and tells him “Sorry.” Then he gets up and goes to his room, shutting the door behind him.
He calls Dee to tell him the bet’s off. To his surprise, she let’s him off the hook. Tells him it was about time he admitted defeat after all these years. Mac calls her a bird and hangs up. That night he goes to sleep alone.
The next day at the bar, Dennis unveils the D.E.N.N.I.S. System. It’s a low blow, but Mac deserves it.
They don’t check in much anymore. On movie night, the stick to their corners of the couch. Dennis marries Maureen Ponderosa and Mac thinks that means he’s off the hook.
Until they’re wasted and dancing and giggling back in their apartment and it feels like old times except Dennis’s wife is there. And he turns but then says to Mac, “I don’t love you Maureen. I...I never loved you.”
And Mac thanks God he called off the bet.
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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 13 of 29)
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29
Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Paul and Gene go to the temple of mammon, Studio 54.
“You look,” Gene said, throat drier than sandpaper, “really good.”
Good was an understatement. Paul looked hot. The light blue of the dress made a good contrast against his still-suntanned skin. The neckline made up for the dress length, providing more cleavage than Gene had seen out of Paul since he’d first met him on the front porch in the bathrobe. The heels accentuated his legs—even as a guy, Paul had always had nice legs—but for maybe the first time in three days, Gene was paying more attention to Paul’s face than his body.
It wasn’t like he’d done anything wild with makeup. Blush, red lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara. Except for the eyeliner maybe being a bit heavier, it was about the same look as the night prior. But Paul seemed happier. Relaxed. There wasn’t that tightness to his jaw anymore or that tension to his mouth. And that was a surprise, given the stilted way their dancing earlier had ended. Gene thought Paul might have been sore or tetchy, or at least awkward, but he’d just carried right on. Those sad brown eyes of his didn’t look sad at all, for once, and if Gene were sentimental, he would almost have said they were sparkling.
Maybe he’d just liked sharing a few dances with Gene. And maybe tonight really was the night that this would all be over. Every bit of it. Back to normal life for them both, touring and signing and interviewing. Back to life a hotel room away from each other. He’d be stupid to regret the change. Just stupid.
“You’re not half so bad yourself, Gene.” Paul crooked his head as if he hadn’t seen variations of his outfit at least a dozen times over just this year. As if he hadn’t been suggesting half of it while Gene had asked for the clothes to be sent over. Black leather everything, including the pants—something he already was regretting bitterly. Silver accessories. A belt with a spider encased in enamel as the buckle plate. The public demanded a monster movie out of Gene even when he got off the stage.
“That’s generous.” The limo was already idling in Paul’s driveway. “You ready?”
It took a few seconds for Paul to answer. He wasn’t looking at Gene, at least, not directly in the face; it almost seemed as though Paul was scoping him out, assessing him like there was something new to assess. Gene would have called him out on it, except during times like this, he never was sure if it was Paul’s hearing or Paul’s daydreaming to blame.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
The limo ride was uneventful. Gene decided he didn’t care for Studio 54 long before they pulled up to the VIP entrance. He decided that through the line wrapping around the building for what seemed like miles, the garish outfits of the wannabes begging for admittance, and the weird air of desperation mixed with eagerness that seemed to permeate through the limo windowpane. It made him feel itchy. Beside him, Paul had spent a bit of time doodling peace signs and dicks in the misted-up windowglass like it was a school notebook. His good mood didn’t seem to dampen until the limousine stopped, and he saw the press, out there already, all cameras and notepads.
“Gene—”
“It’s fine, I’ve got my bandana.” He’d forgotten to ask for it over the phone, but it’d been in the box of clothes for him anyway. A couple of them, actually. “Do you want one?”
Paul shook his head.
“No, it’s okay. Switch spots with me, would you?”
Gene swapped obligingly. The limo wasn’t roomy enough to avoid Paul brushing up against him as they traded seats. He caught the woodsy scent of Aramis cologne in Paul’s hair, just another indication of what he’d spent three days pounding into his head now.
“Want me to hold the door for you, too?”
“God, no.”
Gene laughed, and got out first. The bandanas always made him feel like he was about to rob a bank. Every so often, they’d get goofy with it, find weird headgear—knight and astronaut and football helmets—but for the most part, bandanas and scarves were enough out in public, real public. Places where they wanted to be seen, under normal circumstances. The first half-dozen camera flashes were blinding as always. He helped Paul out of the limo, hovering over him as he stepped out. Part of him wished he’d thought to bring a jacket, but maybe that would’ve made it worse, provoked the paparazzi more, if he’d tried covering Paul up too much.
“You okay?” he asked, as the crowd shuddered and swarmed around them. A horde, just a horde, worse than the CBGB crowd ever considered being. Fans would want an autograph or a lay. The press only ever wanted blood.
“I’m fine, I’m—”
“Mr. Simmons!” A woman reporter called out, touching his free arm. “Can I have just a moment?”
“No,” he said, brushing past, his hold on Paul’s arm only getting tighter. Walking quickly, not making eye contact, until the line—there was a line, unbelievably, for VIPs—forced him to stop. Paul had his head half-buried against his shoulder for the whole duration of their wait, tensing with every camera flash and intrigued leer. Gene realized, offhand, that the attention wasn’t pissing Paul off the way it had at CBGB. Instead, it was scaring him.
It made sense, he supposed. CBGB wasn’t nearly important enough to have reporters and cameramen about. They didn’t have big names there, either, no one that Paul would’ve really worried about bumping into. Paul had said earlier that he didn’t think he could pull off talking to someone that knew him, and Gene suspected he was right. Gene suspected an interviewer was even further beyond him at this point.
He’d expected to just be let in once they arrived at the velvet-roped entrance, not really believing Paul’s claims about exclusivity, but instead, a broad-shouldered kid with a grin held them up at the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Gene echoed, and shoved down his bandana. On wry automatic, he held up his free hand—full of rings, including the skull one that the teenyboppers seemed fascinated by—as if it was a secret signal. The doorman blinked, unconvinced. Gene could hear Paul snort beside him. “I’m Gene Simmons from KISS, and the—lovely Miss Eisen and I would—”
Still smiling, the doorman pointed at his own tongue.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” But Gene stuck it out anyway. The kid’s expression didn’t change much as he opened the door to let them in. Gene pocketed his bandana, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Paul until they were on the VIP floor, and hopefully beyond the bulk of the press’ touch, and even then, he didn’t let go. Paul looked a little shaken up, anyway, though Gene couldn’t blame him. It was a different beast from last night, for all their objective hadn’t changed.
“Don’t worry. They won’t have gotten any good shots,” Gene said.
“That may not matter. Depends on who else is here.” Paul sighed, worming his arm out from Gene’s, shifting to hold his hand instead. No hesitation. He was getting accustomed to it. So was Gene.
Gene stole a glance Paul’s way before really taking a look at the scene, trying to absorb New York’s hottest discotheque, decide if the interior impressed him any more than the exterior. He decided it didn’t. Maybe too promptly. But the flashing lights, the blaring music—all that was ostensibly no different from CBGB, or any other bar or club; it was just a matter of size and budget and spectacle. It didn’t matter if someone was worth ten bucks or ten million; they all looked the same passed out on the floor. Enough of them were already that Gene couldn’t quite believe they’d gotten to Studio 54 on time.
“What do you think, Gene?”
“You liked it here?”
The VIP floor was covered in lounge furniture, long couches and glass-topped tables. The carpets were dirty, and the smell of booze was heavier in the air than Gene had experienced in years. Probably not since that ill-fated Hotter than Hell shoot when they’d first started off, the one that had very nearly ended with—well. Gene wasn’t in the mood to consider that one, not given Paul’s current shape.
But almost every square inch of the place was smothered in people. Hollywood giants, of vintage and modern flavors. He saw Liz Taylor—wild, to see Cleopatra in the flesh, nearly fifteen years out from the role and easily fifty pounds heavier. He saw Michael Jackson, making moon-eyes as usual at Diana Ross. Poor, hopeless kid. He could’ve sworn he saw Truman Capote, hitting on a well-muscled, shirtless bartender. And all around the giants were the hangers-on and the hopefuls and the arm candies of the duration. Transvestites in g-string bikinis, lesbians in suits. It was viscerally strange, the sheer variety. No one was paying them much mind yet, aware, somehow, that they were too sober to be worth noticing. Paul cleared his throat, defensive.
“Well, yeah, I like it. It’s kind of wild, yeah, but—”
Three feet from them, a producer was puking straight onto the carpet, while a Playboy bunny rubbed the top of his head. On top of one of the tables, a guy was snorting a line of coke straight down a naked girl’s breasts, and as he kept sliding, Gene realized that the powder ran all the way down, bisecting her torso.
“Paul, this is a cesspool.”
“C’mon, you’ve seen this shit before.”
“Not all at once.” Gene shook his head. “You’re not even into it. Why would you go here?” He understood it for Ace and Peter, as drugged-up as they’d get. He didn’t understand it for Paul. What was he trying to accomplish? What would it really matter, getting with the big names right in their stomping grounds, when those names were so trashed that they were useless? I want to belong somewhere, that was what he’d said. But this somewhere wasn’t it.
“I just—”
“Mr. Simmons!” came a voice out of the din, eager and excitable. Not a VIP. The tone was too innocent, too close to admiring. Gene turned around.
“I’m not doing auto—”
“Mr. Simmons! I work for Mr. Rubell! I’m one of the doormen!” The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, blondish and broad-shouldered. “Sorry I didn’t get you at the door, we’ve got a couple new guys, they don’t know—but listen, we’re all looking for that Carol chick!”
“Good.”
“We’ll tell Mr. Stanley when we see him, too.”
“Thanks.”
The doorman nodded, making an awkward salute before heading back. Obliquely, Gene wondered if Bill and Sean had checked Studio 54 out yet. Rubell seemed to have a hiring preference in line with their tastes. He turned to Paul again.
“Looks like they got the memo. You wanna sit down?”
“I… maybe for a minute.” Paul’s eyes darted around, searching for an empty table. Gene looked, too, but he didn’t see one. No corners they could tuck themselves into—not that a corner would’ve been great for keeping a lookout for Carol. Gene felt Paul squeeze his hand. Shot nerves already. Gene could tell that much before Paul spoke again. “If I can keep from talking to anybody, that’d be great.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be that lucky,” Gene said dryly, spying a tall man getting up out of his chair and waving them over.
“If it isn’t Gene Simmons!” the man called out in a distinctively non-American accent. Even if he hadn’t spoken, the feathered brown hair and bright smile would’ve made it obvious. It was Barry Gibb, holding a glass of champagne. “I thought your band was back on the road!”
“Barry, hey,” Gene said, sticking out his hand on automatic. Barry shook it exuberantly. “You’re a few weeks early for that one. How are you?”
Paul looked a bit like he wanted to die on the spot. Barry didn’t seem to notice.
“Great, great. My little brother, Andy…” if possible, Barry’s beaming increased, “he’s just released a single. It’s a guaranteed hit.”
“Really? I think I’d heard he had his own group in Australia—”
“Zenta! You do keep up!” Barry clasped his shoulder. “No, that’s done with now. He’s doing some fantastic solo work…”
Despite the meaningful, sour glances Paul kept throwing his way, Gene’s interest was piqued enough at the thought of a hit, and the thought of a worthwhile contact—the time or two they’d met in passing prior, Barry had been just about this congenial, so Gene didn’t think he was drunk—that he accepted Barry’s invitation to sit down. The next twenty minutes were filled with shop talk, Barry sending off for a Coke for Gene and a whiskey highball for Paul (Gene suspected Paul took Barry up on the offer as payback rather than an actual desire to drink, since he barely touched it), and praise Gene had a hard time fully enjoying.
“My son loves KISS, you know,” Barry said at one point. “He’s never gotten half so excited over our albums.”
“Really? How old is he?” Gene took a sip of his Coke, leaning forward. “We’ll have Casablanca send him something. We have a whole catalog of new merchandise in the works.”
“He’ll be four in December.”
Paul, who had stayed mostly silent up until that point, looked mortified.
“Four?” he almost wailed. Barry seemed amused.
“Oh, love, it’s not an insult. I wish we had that kind of mass appeal behind us.”
“Gene, this—we’ve got to talk to Bill, Gene, we just can’t—I know we don’t get taken seriously, but for God’s sake—”
Under the table, Gene nudged Paul’s bare ankle with his boot. Paul flushed and cut himself off abruptly. Barry glanced over at Paul, then took a swallow of champagne.
“The youth market's the best one to be in, Polly. I've been in this industry long enough to promise you that."
“What, ten years?”
“Next year it’ll be twenty.” Barry got up, shaking both their hands. “I hate to leave you too abruptly, but I’m to meet up with Maurice in a bit. Great to meet you, Polly, great to see you again, Gene.”
“Yeah. And I do mean it, about the merch. We’ve got dolls—”
“Oh, Steve’d love them. Thank you.” Another bright smile, and Barry headed off. Paul let out a groan as soon as he was out of earshot.
“Twenty years,” he mumbled, slumping forward, propping his head up with his hand. “How the hell was I supposed to know the Bee Gees have been at it for twenty years?”
“I didn’t, either,” Gene admitted.
“Fuck, how old is Barry, anyway? Peter’s age?”
“I have no idea.”
“At least he’s not gonna see me again like this. God, he thought I was a jackass…” Paul sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t take it personally. Barry’s a good guy.”
“Twenty years stuck with his brothers. I’m amazed they haven’t killed each other.” Paul got up, stepping away from the table, and Gene followed suit. “Think we can get a better look around without getting interrupted? I couldn’t see anything from here.”
Just from a cursory glance, Gene doubted it. Most of the other tables were full or near-full, and no good for people-watching. They’d be better off on the floor.
“We’re going to have to stand to see.” Gene started to take Paul’s arm again, almost on automatic, but a glance at his shoulder stopped him. “Did you get another bra?”
“What?”
Gene pressed a finger against the purple strap hanging past Paul’s sleeve. Paul shook his head, looking abashed.
“No, this is… this is just the nightie.”
Paul’s cheeks were going a little pink. That pink went straight to red when Gene tugged the strap back into place for him. He had to push Paul’s hair back and turn up his sleeve in order to fix the strap up again to his shoulder, under the dress. His skin was soft, dotted with a handful of moles Gene hadn’t ever really noticed before. There was the pitted smallpox vaccination scar, and the tattoo, of course, the green stem peeking a little past his sleeve. Gene’s fingers lingered longer than they needed to on his arm before he remembered himself enough to pull back.
“The nightie? Why are you wearing that here?”
The redness in Paul’s face wasn’t anywhere near abating.
“Because I didn’t buy a slip. This dress is thinner than I thought.”
“I bet it looks cute on.”
Paul fidgeted, starting to adjust the strap himself, fiddling with the slider.
“Thought you said you just liked what was underneath.”
“Well, that’s the main event, but you’ve got to say something for packaging—"
“Keep pushing it and you won’t find out.”
“I’ll take the chance.” Gene grinned. “Dance with me.”
He said it on impulse, almost airily. The song blaring through the speakers—some new funk bit from Marvin Gaye was already midway through. Paul put one hand on Gene’s shoulder. Still worried about what people thought of him, even in a place like this. A place where no one would’ve even given much of a shit about them dancing if Paul was like he ought to be. And yet here Paul was, thinking anyone’d care about a girl leading a guy. Gene shook his head, taking Paul’s arm and moving it to his waist.
“No, you lead.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
The driving, pulsating bassline and wailing saxophone were such a far cry from the CSNY album they’d danced to in Paul’s basement. There was a flippant, overly sexual air to disco that was kind of fascinating. More marketable than their own sordid stuff. Gene didn’t know if KISS would try and ride the wave—they’d talked about it, and Paul had tossed around a few song lyrics—but it hadn’t come to much yet. Might ruin their image. Might solidify it.
Step by step. Paul was stiffer on the dance floor than he’d been in the basement. Partially because of how he had to keep shifting them both around, to avoid dancing into other couples, or stepping on passed-out partiers. But there was more to it than that. His lips were pursed, as if he didn’t quite know how to handle the song. Maybe, for once, he was listening to the lyrics.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
A little sweat was clinging to Paul’s brow, and a little more to Paul’s palm, enclosed in his. He hadn’t tried anything close to fancy, not even any turns or spins. He’d seen Paul do better than this just a few hours ago. Nerves. Except the only time Paul didn’t nerve out was in front of an audience. And this audience was too wasted to care if the two of them were tearing up the dancefloor or stumbling through each step. Paul’s tongue was poking out between his teeth again, and he wasn’t looking Gene in the face, and he wasn’t looking around the room.
Something warm was spreading in Gene, the longer he looked at Paul, the longer they danced. Stepped in time, more like. That concentration made his features seem almost sweet. Paul’s hand on his waist was fidgeting, like he’d forgotten how to hold it. Gene squeezed his shoulder, and Paul raised his head, finally, as Gene cleared his throat to speak.
“Hey. What’d you say dancing was earlier?”
Paul blinked, caught off guard enough that he stopped moving.
“Getting a feel for your partner. Mirroring them.”
“That’s right.” Gene exhaled. His fingers inched up past Paul’s shoulder, touching his cheek for a brief second before returning to his shoulder again. “Could you mirror something for me, then? Right now.”
“Yeah.” Paul had turned his head towards Gene’s hand. Was looking right at him, all big dark eyes and red lips. Red lips that were twitching up, suddenly, in the faintest ghost of a smile. “What do you want to—"
Gene inclined his head and met Paul’s lips with his own.
Paul kissed back instantly. Greedily. Gene was almost taken aback. It wasn’t ferocious so much as desperate, as though all his pent-up energy was suddenly given just a single release. Paul’s tongue licked across Gene’s lips for entrance before Gene could even get there first, hot and overwhelming. Gene dropped his hold on Paul’s hand to cup his smooth, soft jaw, fingers careful not to brush too far past it. His fingertips caught onto Paul’s curls, stiff with hairspray, yet they still somehow felt good against his fingers. The scent of his cologne, emanating off his hair and neck, was almost overwhelming, cologne and sweat and something else; for an insane moment Gene felt like he could almost smell the want on him.
Paul tightened his grip on Gene’s waist, pulling him forward until their bodies were flush. Gene’s hard-on was getting unbearable, pressing up against Paul nearly worse than no relief, because of all the things wasn’t. Gene couldn’t think straight. Could barely let himself remember who was kissing him so ardently, who he was kissing back, whose lipstick was smearing against his mouth and jaw and neck—
Gene only pulled back to get a breath in. Paul’s hand had sunk below Gene’s waist, groping at his ass through the leather fabric. Paul kept shoving his hips against him, friction that didn’t really quite manage to hit its target. Too much of a height difference. They could fix that. Fuck, they could fix that right here in the disco, in one of those basement rooms—he could fuck Paul there, against the wall, or on the floor; he didn’t care, anywhere. He murmured against Paul’s neck, lapping and kissing, not quite daring to leave a mark against his skin. Gene barely felt Paul’s ankle latch around his boot, almost as if he was laying claim, but it warmed him, nearly as much as Paul’s little hitches for breath, the needy press of his lips against his skin. Gene grunted, fingers tightening on Paul’s hair, intending on tugging him back in for another kiss when Paul’s expression shifted, dilated, glassy eyes suddenly going wide, whole body tight as piano wire. His foot went back into place on the floor, stiff as a soldier, hands seeming frozen on Gene. The color was starting to drain from his face.
“Paul? What’s wrong?”
It must have hit him. His brain must have caught up with his libido faster than Gene’s had. Gene started to let go, feeling his brow furrow, a little, hopeless shame twitching in his gut, but then Paul grabbed onto him harder, shaking his head.
“It’s not you. It’s not you, I swear.” One hand withdrew, just to point. Gene couldn’t follow Paul’s finger at first, with the slew of people, but finally he caught sight of the blond doorman from earlier, ushering someone forward, towards them. Someone cute, but not beautiful. Not a VIP. Someone he knew wouldn’t belong on her own here, any more than Paul did.
A small young woman with light brown hair.
“She’s here.”
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Wake up Parker! - Chapter 10: The Interview
Relationship: Peter Parker x Tall Older Reader (Peter is 22 and Reader is 26/27), Bucky Barnes x Reader (Bucky is older and slightly taller)
Warnings: None
Word Count Total: 1313 (This Chapter)
Summary: Peter Parker is a student in the city of Brooklyn. He’s lazy, spoilt and he procrastinates a lot. He meets a woman named (Y/N), She’s recently moved to Brooklyn for an independent life. Something Peter is fascinated by. Over the course of a few months, Peter needs to realise that he has to grow up and become responsible for his life.
Tagged: @bggerbtch
WAKE UP PARKER! MASTERLIST
It has been a month since her birthday and delay after delay, the editor of Brooklyn Nights, James Barnes was finally free from his work duties and he had time to interview potential employees. (Y/N) was really angry, no she was fucking angry at the amount of time she wasted waiting for her second interview. She was close to filing a complaint.
She really should have but at the same time he probably had a lot of work to do so she was at a mild angry simmer. He was finally free and she didn't want to mess up her chances for the job. This would be the first stepping stone as a writer. She should just grab this opportunity. Which she was doing, right now.
She stood in his office, patiently waiting for him to come interview her. His office had glass walls but the left side was filled with papers. Absolutely filled with papers. He had a bookshelf opposite to her and his desk was just angled at the right side of the room. He had a single sofa chair with a blue throw draped across the back of the chair. The only thing to stand out in the office.
The desk was coated with papers. The office was a mess and no doubt James Barnes might be the same. He did have nice taste with books, works varying from Maya Angelou to Ernest Hemingway and Truman Capote. She glanced at the clock on her phone, noticing it has been fifteen minutes. Where was he?
Speaking of him, the editor-in-chief, finally entered the offices. James Barnes. Dressed in a blue shirt and dark denim jeans and hair tied up in a bun. He had a scraggly beard and (Y/N) was right about the man being as messy as his office. Mr. Barnes was glancing through a clipboard as he went around to his desk to take a seat. He had not noticed (Y/N) as she cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Hi. Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I have an interview with you, fifteen minutes ago." She couldn't help with the sneer at the time but it wasn't her fault.
"Interview?" James turned to his mess of a desk and picked up a paper with a list of names and times. He completely forgot he was interviewing people for the assistant role. He went through the list and spotted a name. "Right. Interview. Are you Sharon Carter?"
"(Y/N) (L/N)."
"(Y/N) (L/N), right." He pulled out a drawer and spotted the resume with a green post-it. The post it read:
(Y/N) (L/N)
Previous Interview, 7 weeks ago
Steve says "She's talented and fantastic."
"You've already had an interview here, with Steve?"
"Yes, I did."
"So why wait weeks for the second one?"
(Y/N) refrained from making an angry scowl at Mr. Barnes. He was the reason and he was asking her. She took an internal deep breath and answered calmly.
"It was because you were busy. Mr. Barnes, Sir."
James remembered that and couldn't help but smile at (Y/N)'s distaste. He understood it was his fault.
"Oh yes of course. I was busy. But, you know … well as my assistant, you should know that I'm a very busy man. My last assistant, Brock was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. And then he had to go on paternity leave," He glanced up at (Y/N), "My bad luck, I suppose. And your good luck!"
(Y/N) couldn't help with the frown on her face. As he turned his eyes over her resume. She straightened her black sweater and shifted her feet. She felt she dressed good in dark jeans, a black sweater with a pink heart crocheted across the middle and brown boots. Her red and black bag rested on her right shoulder.
"So, (Y/N) (L/N), your application letter was interesting but your resume is pretty weak. Two months at the State Library? That's it?"
She immediately stepped in to offer her talent. She has done more volunteering and has enough experience with writing.
"Yeah but I was also the editor for my college newspaper for two years!"
"I'm talking about actual experience. Experience working in a magazine. Look, I am a workaholic. I'm extremely hard to work for, Ms. (L/N). Think you could keep up?"
"Absolutely. I won't disappoint you, Sir. I've come far, only to become a writer. I'll learn much from you."
James's face dropped at the mention of 'writer'. The job he posted was for an Editor's Assistant. He combed his hair back and reclined on his chair.
"A 'writer'? Why did you apply for this job if you wanted to become a writer? An assistant's work is very clerical. Cleaning up my desk doesn't require any creativity. Besides, this is a magazine about Brooklyn and you're not even from here. What makes you stand out?"
(Y/N) couldn't believe Mr. Barnes. She wasted so much time just for him to say that she was nothing special. There was no way she was going to leave without giving him a piece of her mind.
"I applied for this job to gain editorial experience. Being a writer for this magazine is an end goal and I want to build up to that role. Even if it is taking on clerical work. I understand that you're a busy man but that doesn't mean you don't apologise for making me wait weeks for an interview. You could've tried to give me a call.
"And the thing about not being from Brooklyn: shouldn't make me less suitable for the job. Me being an outsider gives me more of an advantage to explore Brooklyn; with a fresh set of eyes. Unveil new things that Brooklyn bred people would not have noticed. There's a new cafe called 'The Milano'. They serve a true New York Cheesecake with apple cider.
"They've opened a new exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum to celebrate people of colour. There's a new ride at Coney Island called The Ricochet. It's not just a city. It's a lifestyle. I applied for this job after a lot of deliberation. In fact, I've pictured myself going through this interview a thousand times already.
"I did not expect it to go this way. So if you want me to leave. I'll happily leave." She felt absolute relief after her angry rant. A little too relieved. She noticed that Mr. Barnes had a smile on his face. Damn it! She blew her chances. She let emotions get the better of herself.
"Wow! Ms. (L/N). That was aggressive, passionate and honest." He stood up and rounded his desk to sit at the edge of the table, to level his eyes with hers. She hadn't noticed his eyes were grey and really deep. She started to feel a little flustered.
"I like you. Do you want to start tomorrow?"
(Y/N) blinked her eyes twice, trying to process what he said. He actually wanted to hire her! But what had she done to convince him?
"Tomorrow?"
"Yep. You have passion for the magazine and you speak honestly. Which is something Brock never did. You can tell me honestly if things don't work. So would you like the job as the editor's assistant?"
He raised his hand out to shake and she stared at it as if it was dirty. She couldn't believe her angry rant got her a job. She was beyond thrilled. Wait, was this a test? She seemed sceptical about Mr. Barnes.
"This isn't a test, right?"
"No. Not at all. The job's yours."
She creased her eyebrow and steadily shook Mr. Barnes' hand. It felt coarse but warm, he must really work out. She took her hand away and gave a nod.
"Right. Yes, thank you for the job. I promise to clean your desk very creatively and handle clerical work efficiently."
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then."
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE END OF ALL THINGS
#peter parker x reader#peter parker tom holland#peter parker#peter x reader#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#marvel cinematic au#marvel au#marvel crossover#mcu#mcu au#indian movie au#indian movie#indian au#indian movie crossover#bollywood#bollywood crossover#bollywood au#wake up sid#wake up sid!#wake up sid au#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader
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All For Us, (a Reddie x Euphoria HBO) fanfiction
"It was the end of summer, back-to-school was coming up, I had no intention of staying clean and Richie Trashmouth Tozier was back in Derry."
Without any filter but with humor and franchise, here's the harsh coming of age story of Derry's youth through the eyes of Eddie Kaspbrak, 17, fresh out of rehab.
read it on AO3 || Explicit || 8k || 1/?
Hope you like it guys !
There was a time in my life where everything was fine, but that, that was before I was ripped out of my mother’s womb. Since then, it’s been shit.
Chapter 1 : Screwed.
I was born on September 3rd, 2002 in a world post 9/11 completely overwhelmed by the mourning and the duty of memory. It has been four months since Sam Raimi's Spiderman was at the top of the world box office and that Peter Parker had managed to give hope to America and New York. Far from everything and from New York, there was my mother and my father, and I was their Spiderman. Nice, huh? I don’t think so.
---
My life begins without warning with a childhood in a big house in the depths of America's asshole. Derry, Maine. A small town so small that everyone knows each other and knows everything. That’s where the problems start. My father became ill when I was 9 years old and my overprotective mother was already beginning to fall into what I call "parental and marital abuse". Life at home was absolutely not great, especially because of my "not fitting" behavior.
"Eddie-bear, is everything okay?" asked Sonia Kaspbrak worried.
A 10-year-old Eddie was still staring at the front door counting seconds every time he heard the clock tick of the dining room.
"Eddie-bear, look at me." she added in a calm voice. "You did not even touch your .."
Eddie turned her head to Sonia and began to cry at once. Sonia and Frank looked at each other in amazement, feeling completely helpless.
They did what every healthy-minded parent would do, choosing to consult several doctors, a psychologist and a children's psychiatrist. I wasn't physically abused, I always drank at least a liter of water a day, my mother prepared me good dishes, my father did not hit me...
"Your son has OCD, ADHD and anxiety. He has a higher brain activity than the average child for his age, probably due to hypersensitivity and perhaps also to behavioral disorders... But he’s still too young to tell."
The psychiatrist's voice left a blank in the room and Sonia Kaspbrak burst into tears. Frank stroked his wife's back for reassurance and Eddie turned to his mother without understanding what was happening.
So why do I have this?
---
"Neuroatypical, you are neuroatypical, Eddie-bear."
Eddie mimicked his mother while eating his cereal bowl, she glanced him, he stopped and sighed.
"Show me your phone, I'll check your alarms."
An 11-year-old Eddie contemplated the capsules, pills and other medications that his mother was carefully distributing in each compartment of his medicine box. He handed him his yellow iPhone 5c that he had already unlocked on the alarms page.
"You have to take all your medicine, at the times indicated."
"I know, Ma."
Sonia looked at her son, who continued to eat with a peeved look on his face. She sat down beside him, putting down his cellphone and the box of compartmentalized tablets.
"You know ... there are lots of famous people like you - famous people, super creative and smart." She managed to catch Eddie's attention and then continued. "Look, your favorite actor who plays in The Truman Show for example."
"Jim Carrey?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Sonia with a smile.
Yeah, and we all remember Jim Carrey during the 00s New Year Eve on David Letterman's set.
"A genius." ended Eddie with a smile before getting up and packing his box in his fanny pack.
I don’t really remember my pre-adolescence and all that time when I was 10 to 12. I mean, I remember my friends, how meaningless life was, how fast everything was falling apart for us because of daddy’s pneumonia, and how the world was going way too fast for my brain. And that sometimes, if I happened to think too much about everything, to concentrate too much on an smell or on the number of germs present under the table on which I wrote or on the strange way that I breathed ... I had a violent asthma attack. The space of a moment. But very quickly the space of a moment became all the time and all the time became a fight to fight these crises. And frankly...
"So this day, son?" Frank asked with a smile as Eddie walked into his room still dressed with his backpack.
He could hear his father listen to Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure, one of his favorite songs who became one of his. That made him sketch a small smile.
"I'm fucking done with it."
---
I’m not necessarily proud of the choices I’ve made, but it wasn’t really like my mom didn’t push me. The house was full of meds. Meds here, meds there, meds in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the guest room, in the garage. My mother ordered meds profusely but gave me "gazebos" when I was perhaps the one who needed treatment the most. A treatment, I needed a treatment. I got it. It was there in front of me, everywhere, I knew every name and every dose of what the psychiatrist was giving me, it was not hard to remember, so I took it. I took but nothing. I did not feel any difference, the asthma attacks, the tremors, the sadness were still there. I took again and again and always more. When I went to the doctors, they increased the doses and I changed my mother's gazebos with my real meds. It made me feel something in the end, but it was too late, I was already addicted. But after all, is it really my fault? Oh, and I think we say "placebos".
12 years old and already on medication dependence. 13 years old and I stole my father’s morphine and other painkillers. 14 years old and I was asking for more with my psychotropics. 15 years old, I took my 1st taz and smoked my first joint. 16 years old and I sniffed my first rail, the first among others. That's why Georgie Denbrough found me unconscious in my own vomit. I had become a junkie ? I don’t know. I just liked the feeling. The feeling that it gave me, the nothingness. For once on earth, for as long as I can remember, I felt something new every time. It was this need that had led Georgie to scream with fear, which alerted Bill Denbrough to run to discover the disaster and tell him to look for my mother as he tried to wake me up. Poor Big Bill, he thought I was dead. I believed it, too.
I spent the whole summer in rehab after that, I never understood why. Well, I did but I didn’t think I was addicted to drugs. Drugs filled the gap that meds sometimes leave when it’s over. But I’ve learned that meds, too, are drugs.
"Eddie!"
"Georgie!"
Georgie ran into Eddie's arms, Eddie couldn’t help laughing and making remarks about how Georgie was almost ahead of him now. This made Bill laugh when he came to give him their secret handshake before taking the smallest in his arms.
"Hey!" whispered Eddie with a big smile.
Sonia in the distance watched her son squeeze the only two friends she had allowed to come with her to pick up Eddie, since they had been present and saved him with the accident. They ended up taking the road with them to their house.
"I'm so happy you're back home, Eddie-darling, I missed you so much, never do that again, you gave me up for 3 long months, you realize, I could not to do nothing without you, I was so lonely and you know how much I hate it, never do that again, I made an appointment with the hospital for full exams and we will change you your doses, I will take good care of you my ... "
Eddie stopped paying attention to his mother, he looked around, Georgie and Bill cheerfully discussed everything Bill had planned to do to make up for lost time with Eddie. Not to mention the Losers, but Eddie figured out they were in. The brunette one landed on the windowsill and let the wind caress his face. He noticed in the distance a boy on a bicycle, this long and thin figure was telling him something. Brown curls, an alternative style between neglected but sought after, worn out converses, pale skin to death. Eddie’s eyes marveled at his sight when the car passed him. He felt his heartbeat accelerate and his heart pounding.
And that’s when the beginning of the end really began. It was the end of summer, back-to-school was coming up, I had no intention of staying clean and Richard Trashmouth Tozier was back in Derry. I had to talk to the one person who knew everything about everything.
---
"So ... How long have you been back among us? You have completely hidden your return." Mike asked, eating his salad.
"A week and I didn’t hide everything! I was in quarantine between the hospital and at home all week, thanks Ma. Bill didn’t tell you?" said Eddie watching Mike eat.
"Bill and I don’t really talk right now when we see each other. You know that."
Mike is probably the smartest person I know, yet he still didn’t dare tell the love of his life that he loved him. At the same time, he was living on a planet other than ours and didn’t really have time to be a normal high school student. It was easier to fuck Bill and continue to just be his bro than become his significant other.
"Richie is back, by the way."
"Ah."
"Yup, he went to the farm and got a 50$ of weed. He didn’t even want me to give him a price."
"D'you know more?"
"Hm... He’s already been here for two weeks. He seemed pretty happy to be back, California changes you a man." said Mike laughing what made Eddie smile. "We’ll see when we get back to school."
Eddie nodded at Mike.
"How are you feeling ?" Mike asked, carefully watching Eddie.
"Great since I gave my life to abstinence and I stopped jerking off." Eddie answered seriously.
"Oh ...... Cool, cool, cool, I'm really happy for you."
"Mike, I’m messing with you. You should see your face." Eddie laughed while Mike gave him a pat on the shoulder. " Anyway, that’s not all, but is your grandfather here, Vegemike?"
"Are you serious bro?"
"Hey, it's not because I'm doing a rehab that I'm going to stay clean."
"But.... Isn’t that the point of a rehab? I won’t let you do something stupid again."
"Come on, just weed."
"You do not like weed, Kaspbrak."
"Fine but can I at least have your cherry tomatoes?"
Mike nodded and smiled at his best friend who continued to eat his salad with him.
Something I missed this summer? My trips to the Hanlon farm. Mike being a divine cook and plus a vegan, obviously, his food was safe and harmless to me. And the Hanlon house was the best hostess for parties, it was big, rebuilt in recent years and far enough to be quiet. I must have missed a lot of parties, but if there was one coming up, Stanley Uris'. And if you thought I was gonna miss it, the last big party before school, so the most important one of the summer, you can suck my dick. That’s probably why that piece of shit of Henry Bowers brought his ass back to the farm. It’s a good thing the Hanlons were selling him their wares for twice as much.
"Yo, there you go! That’s his mama’s boy!" he cried as he entered the storefront. "I thought you were dead. Good, because my knife will be able to tate the ground."
"Go get your shit and get off him, dude."
"You’re lucky I haven’t touched you since you’re the best drug dealer in town, but don’t trust me, nig.."
Mike rose sharply and faced Bowers. His eyes were black and Bowers backed away.
"All right, all right, I’ll go."
I never liked Henry Bowers, and I truly believe no one has ever loved him. Even his father hates him. If you were looking for someone to identify as the rich cis hit white man in this city, it was him. He was "untouchable" or rather believed himself untouchable because his father was the most influential guy in the city. He had been sheriff but had ended up building his business and it had taken. It was quite unbelievable, however, now Bowers was living his best life and did not think he had to be accountable to anyone when he still had a mullet cut in 2019 and that he should clearly shut up the fuck up. Before, he harassed me as well as the rest of the Losers club, for my part I was entitled to homophobic insults in profusion. But one day we humiliated him front of his friends. Since then he has left us alone and yesterday’s nerds his become today’s popular. Karma, as they say.
---
It was about to get dark in a few hours, a young man was cycling in the streets of Derry. He was tall, fine and handsome. A car passed by him and he was destabilized.
"Back among us, motherfucker, this is my secret sauce as a welcome gift, Tozier!"
Bowers' voice was loud and Hockstetter's laugh had not failed him. Richie had managed to avoid the milkshake he had sent him. He gave him fingers as he went away and Richie sighed on his way home. He passed by the kitchen and dropped off his racing bag and went to his room where he threw himself into his bed. He took out his phone and went straight to Grindr. Richie was scrolling, watching nudes, messages, chatting with people, going from Grindr to Tinder, and finally finding happiness. For tonight, anyway, then took a nap.
If there was anyone that nobody expected to see again in Derry, it was Richie fucking Tozier. He told me he was back from his parents' divorce. His father had kept the old family house in which he lived in Derry. Something must have happened with his mother in California because Richie preferred to come and live with his father in our good ol' Derry, but he refused to tell me what happened. That Tozier really is a moron.
Richie awoke. It was already 7 pm. He sighed, got up, went downstairs to eat with his father who had prepared some homemade pizzas and then went back to his room. It was 8 pm. He got motivated, launched his "Party times" playlist which debuted on Plus Putes Que Toutes Les Putes from the French band Orties. He took a shower and picked out an outfit. When he found the right one, he couldn’t help but smile. A black wide sweater with a yellow stripe in the middle and "The villa hopes" written on it, simple black slim jeans, red socks and its Converses x 70 x OFF Springs Velour Patchwork. He rolled up his sleeves, made himself up by putting on black, blue, yellow and red eyeliner to make an editiorial makeup, nothing too dramatic. He was dancing in front of his mirror and laughing. He passed his hands several times without his brown curls, put big silver rings on his fingers and finally put on his necklaces including his favorite, the one with a red balloon pendant. He took his Lacoste fanny pack and while looking at it, he had a little smile thinking of the one person who had never stopped wearing these before it became trendy again. He went down the stairs and fell on his father.
"Oh, look at yourself ! So, where are you going?" asked Wenthworth Tozier while observing his son.
Richie arrived in front of his father after crossing the living room. They lived in a beautiful house, quite luxurious from the outside as well as the inside. Richie hugged his father to reassure him.
"To a party, with friends."
"Friends ?"
"Yes, my old friends, dad."
Wenthworth nodded and Richie waved his hand with his index finger and middle finger at his temple before moving them away.
"Watch out, have fun and protect yourself, Rich!"
Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Tozier, Richie was sure to protect himself properly with those Saint Laurent condoms in his bag.
Richie smiled at his father before taking his bike and leaving.
Richie did not want his return to make too much noise. Yet it was all the opposite effect. Everyone who had lived in Derry between 2002 and 2016, so everyone, knew Richie Trashmouth Tozier. The first to know about Richie's return was Ben. Simply because the two were following the same two-week artistic summer course that the school had organized. It was a little stupid because Richie was a little genius despite appearances and Ben was just good at everything without having to force. At least Ben had been able to reconnect with Richie and pass the information to the rest of Losers, but except me, of course.
When he arrived in front of a hotel in the city, he smiled at the message of the chosen one and sent a message to Ben.
[Forget me for tonight, I have a date.]
Ben glanced at his phone, and then at Beverly. Both exchanged suspicious looks.
"What’s going on?" Beverly asked.
"It’s Richie. He says he’s not coming tonight."
"What did you told him?" Beverly looked at herself in the mirror.
"Nothing! He’s just gonna do his little business with someone."
"Oh okay, chill, he’ll come later. Why you scare us like that!" replied Beverly getting close to Ben to give him a kiss on the cheek.
Ben went red in action and Betty Ripsom made a disgusting sound. Beverly stopped to look at the brunette, she had completely forgotten her presence. After all, it was her who'll dropped them off at Stanley’s.
"Stop. You’ll do the same thing tonight and even more," she said looking at her.
In case you're wondering, yes, Ben is in love with Bev. For far too long for me to remember. For Bev, however, nobody really knows. Bev is a mystery to everyone, I still wonder why she's friends with us. She's a cheerleader, she's so popular, much more than Mike or Bill or Stan. She has a reputation behind her, yet it has never stopped her from being the baddest bitch in town. A real rolemodel to the twink that I am. Perhaps the most amazing thing is that she was fake dated for a month with Bowers just for a bet and it lasted until today, well, until two days ago. She still made 200 dollars on it every month.
"You slept with Bowers, you do not have the right to speak." Betty retorted.
"A hand job. It was a hand job and it happened once during the 3 months of the bet. Then anyway, Bowers is a clown. It’s not Penny Wise who’s gonna say otherwise. I was able to take away as much as I could before I dumped him. And tonight, we move on." she said, turning to Ben.
"Yes, that’s what everyone wants to hear! Shit Ben, tonight you have to fuck! Not just a handjob or a blowjob! It’s not the '80s anymore, you have to catch some pussy."
Ben smiled slightly embarrassed and turned to Beverly who grinned while listening to Betty. He totally ignored Betty’s words, then lowered his head, a little disappointed. He really wanted to disappear underground at this very moment.
In his place, I’d like to, too. Thank you, Betty.
---
"Ma ? I’m leaving."
"Where, Eddie-bear? And so late? You can’t leave me like this." Sonia said as her son came into the living room. "And dressed like that? You look like a bad boy, I don’t like it."
"That’s my usual style, Ma. It’s only 10 pm and I’m going to Bill’s. Don’t wait for me and don’t panic. And yes, I took my medicine with me and my insulin just in case. See you, Ma."
A 16-year-old Eddie closed the front door and leaned back against it, looking down the street and sighing. He was divinely handsome, he had combed his hair, put glitter on his eyes and mascara which gave him an even more intense look. He had put on a silk shirt with patterns like the rich women's scarves, the colors were soft and pastel like salmon, beige, yellow or baby blue but it contrasted with his lame bomber and his slightly tanned and brilliant skin. With that, he had put some necklaces and he also let see his chest. He was wearing his white low converses and black skinny ripped jeans. He took a puff from his inhaler and looked at his bike lying on the ground. He turned his head away and began to walk. He took out his airpods and launched one of his Daily Mix on Spotify, he closed his eyes at Alphaville's Forever Young.
It is never easy to leave this house with a mother as unbearable as mine. In fact, I lied. I’m not going to go to Bill’s, it would be too much of a detour. We’ll meet at the party. I preferred to walk because when I drink, I don’t take the road because...
All the times he passed out, in the middle of the road completely drunk, kept coming to his mind as a nightmare.
You got it, anyway. I know, you're surprised that I drink, but alcohol is pretty much the same as my meds. Except for beer, I hate beer.
Eddie was quietly walking around, dancing, listening to Rubberband Man from the Spinners, and clearly living his best life. When a noisy car because of the music made itself heard more and more as it passed by. The passengers listened to Dang! of Mac Miller and that made Eddie smile, he loved Mac Miller.
"Oh my god, stop the car." exclaimed Beverly. "I said stop the car, Betty."
"Why ?" Betty asked, slowing down.
"We just passed Eddie Kaspbrak!" said Ben looking in through the back window.
"Oh my God! I think he was dead." Betty laughed.
"Shut up. You should be the one to die, Ripsom." Ben replied.
Eddie walked in front of them, not paying attention.
"Yo, the comeback!" yelled Beverly what pulled Eddie out of his music.
He turned to her and looked at her with a smile. She had a big smile and he leaned towards her.
"It’s good to see you again, we missed you." she said in all sincerity.
Ben nodded, which made Eddie smile, he almost had tears in his eyes. His best friends had not forgotten him.
"Are you being dropped somewhere?" Betty Ripsom asked.
"Well, thank you !"
Eddie waved to him and Ben opened the back door. He got into beautiful Betty's Volvo and Bev turned to him.
"What the hell are you listening to? Certainly not the New Kids On The Block." She said looking at Ben who shook his head negatively by squinting his eyes.
Eddie looked at his iPhone 8, Rubberband Man was finished, he pouted at the next song.
"London Calling." he answered hesitantly.
"Perfect."
The music started in the car, all four began to jam in the car while singing.
The party was already in full swing when I arrived with the others. Stan’s house was shining from the outside and eclipsing all the other houses, it was beautiful to see. From the inside, it looked like it was going to explode. In every room, chaos. A kind of stifling heat emanated as Megan Thee Stallion’s Hot Girl Summer filled the house. The minute Stan’s eyes crossed mine, he left Patricia for my arms. It was nice, it wasn’t every day that Staniel gave you a hug.
"Oh, fuck, Edward Kaspbrak himself, that's crazy, I .. I'm so happy to see you!" Stan shouted in his arms. Stan held him so tight that Eddie felt he was going to choke him. He must have been a little drunk. He was wearing a stretch short-sleeved shirt in washed jeans with black pants and chelsea boots. It was divine.
He had always been, it was Stan, he could afford it. He was smart, mature, funny, an excellent counselor, the mom of the group and he also organized the best parties in high school. How having money is really cool.
"Hey everyone! Look who’s back! To Eddie!" shouted Bev while lifting up her shot of tequila in the air.
The people present in the room did the same and repeated these two words at the same time. Bill raised his glass in my direction, he gave me a big smile and I was a little embarrassed. Everyone drank their glasses. Bev gave me a shot of tequila, everyone was looking at me now. It was weird. Being the center of attention is clearly not my stuff. But, I drank that shot and after that, everyone screamed for joy. Bev gave me a hug, then Mike just added himself to the hug, then Bill and then Stan. The Losers were together and I could clearly hear Billie Eilish’s Bellyache in my head.
---
The hotel was rather classy, the room too, thought Richie. He did not know that places like this existed in Derry. The chosen one was therefore fortunate. When he returned from a room that served as a kitchen with two glasses of champagne. Richie looked at him carefully, he liked to sleep with older men, but he never imagined that Butch Bowers was that kind of man.
Thank you." he said, looking at the man standing in front of him.
"Your face is familiar to me, have we ever seen each other?" Butch asked, looking at Richie.
Later, Riche told me that at the moment he wanted to say yes. He really should have done it.
"Not that I remember."
Butch nodded and drank his glass of champagne.
Richie had said he was 18, technically he was not lying, he was actually going to have them. The knowledge. And Richie was consenting.
Butch watched Richie.
"We will not fuck, you're too young."
Richie nodded, he avoided swallowing.
"I envy your generation, however. When I see you, I see two life choices."
He stroked Richie's cheek, then his lips with his thumb. Richie was looking at him almost religiously. There was a kind of tension in the room. They were not going to sleep together, but it was almost as if. In a parallel dimension, it was happening.
"You can leave, live an extremely beautiful life elsewhere, be fully yourself, find love, or you can stay here and end up like me, hanging out in fancy hotels." Butch continued looking at Richie's eyes.
"Both choices are possible." retorted Richie.
Butch's thumb sank into Richie's mouth.
"If only I could, I'd smash you." he said in a low voice.
Richie closed his eyes. He could not really say what he was looking for in this kind of completely barge plan. But there was so much he was looking for. One was definitely that special bond he had once bonded with a unique person in his life. When both made leave of this vocal flirtation, this visual fuck. Richie put California by Lana Del Rey in his ears.
He looked at the door of the closed bathroom because the chosen one was taking a shower, he must have met someone before him and shoot his shot. Richie looked at his phone and left the room without making a noise. Once outside the hotel, he lit a cigarette. He took a few steps to his bike, when the song ended, the cigarette was too. He changed his song and went straight to Stan's house.
And there. The evening went fucking nuts.
The huge stairs in Stan's house were flooded and mobilized by people kissing, drinking or whatever. The music was in full swing, Eddie did not know the song, but he would have sworn it was one of the songs that Mike composed during his free time. He pushed people a bit to pass and went to the nearest toilet. He closed the door and looked at himself in the mirror before taking a breath of his ventoline. He kept looking in his bag with a tiny vial of white powder inside. There was almost nothing, but it did not matter because Eddie knew it was extremely strong. He spread it on a small spatula attached to his keychain which he had disinfected before and sniffed everything. He ran a hand through his hair and left the room. The sensations becoming stronger, his brain seemed to be reviving.
Blackbear’s Hot Girl Bummer burst into his ears. Suddenly, the world around him seemed to be totally out of sync with him. He almost lost his balance. Standing on the wall, clinging to people, Eddie laughed. The world revolved around him and he danced on the music that filled his brain.
All you need to know is that there are several versions of what happened tonight. It all depends on who tells you the story and... I’m not necessarily the most reliable narrator for this evening. But what I can assure you is that Bowers screwed up.
Bowers had been drinking since before with the party. He spent the night looking for Beverly and she wasn’t that hard to find she was in the Uris pool. Even wet, she was still the most beautiful girl of the party. She made a fairly simple make up. You’d think she had nothing if you didn’t know the basics of makeup. She was having fun with Betty and Audra Phillips, Bill’s ex, by doing a water fight and singing along on to Russ’s Do It Myself. And who knows why, Bowers as the fragile man that he is, wanted to break the moment.
"Slut!" he shouted as he reached the terrace.
He pointed to Beverly who turned to him.
"Yes ?" she replied, with a great deal of irony, a smile on her lips.
Everyone laughed and scolded Beverly's name. Bowers turned speechless. Beverly's smile widens.
"Well then, 2 minutes 30 lost his big mouth?" she said, coming out of the water and facing Bowers. "That is what I thought."
Everyone was watching the confrontation carefully. The first one since Beverly dumped Bowers and announced that it was all just a bet between her and Stan.
"Shut the fuck up, you only suck anyway."
"How could you know that since I would never suck you Henry Bowers? Now, please stop humiliating yourself in public. Go back to Greta Keene and forget about me, okay."
Bowers wanted to fight back but Beverly pushed him into the water and Georgie grabbed his leg to make it easier for him to fall. Everyone shouted and laughed. Stanley stood up and turned away from Mike, Bill and Eddie and apologized to see what was going on with Beverly.
"Really ?" He asked.
"You'll pay me Losers." he said as he stepped out of the pool and back inside.
Losers: 1.
Bowers: 0.
The school year is starting well.
Bill and Mike were laughing and Eddie smiled at Beverly.
It was at that moment that they concluded. The funny thing is that Bill, when he's alcoholic, totally loses his stuttering. So it was amazing to hear him speak clearly to Mike, especially when it was a rim job. I would have preferred not to be here to hear that. But I'm sure I heard a "I love you Mikey" so finally it was worth it.
"Everything's okay, bro?" asked Mike, noticing his presence again.
"Yeah.. Yeah, that’s fine... Glad to see you two are okay." he said, smiling and watching Bill blush.
At the same time, there was another one for whom things were going well. Ben Hanscom. Ben was playing truth or dare in one of the upstairs rooms with several of the Cheerios like Myra Stonehart or some of the guys from our class. Normally, truth or dare was the game we used to play when we were playing between us only, but here, it turned into a conversation about sex. And Ben Hanscom wasn’t a pro on the subject.
"What are you really virgin?" asked one of the guys in the discussion. "And do not say that a pipe, that counts."
"It counts." retorted Myra.
"You know nothing about it Myra. You're the one who wants to fuck Eddie Kaspbrak while everyone knows he's gay and clearly not interested."
Myra looked up at the skies with a grin.
"Who are you saving yourself for, man?" asked another one of the guys.
Beverly Marsh.
"No one. I’m just waiting for the right moment." Ben replied.
"Like, now’s not a good time?" asked another cheerleader. "If, I asked you to sleep with me tonight, what would you say?"
Ben blinked several times at Anna’s question and remained speechless.
Of course, Ben is an eternal romantic. He writes rose water's poems, appreciates courteous love stories and is much stronger when it comes to putting his thoughts on paper than saying it out loud. But, Ben Hanscom was definitely not a coward. He was just a virgin in a society where we wanted boys to breathe and eat porn all day long.
Anna leaned back to Ben.
"You’re super cute, Ben. You used to be before you started working out. In 5 years you’ll be a sex bomb and I want my cut now." she said in a rather serious tone.
The whole room was breathless, Anna was one of the sexiest girls in high school. Ben nodded softly and Anna smiled.
"Everybody clear this room now!"
---
While Ben surely lived what would be one of the most memorable evenings of his life. Richie Tozier had arrived at the party, and I was sprawled on that couch by the pool watching Mike and Bill be in love. Shit, I want what they have. At the same time, Beverly was playing in the pool with Audra and Betty, but you already know the rest.
"By the way, Eddie, you owe me 120 bucks." Mike said looking at his friend.
"Yeah, but I thought our friendship and the fact that I'm alive made up for that." Eddie replied.
"If you say so." Bill replied.
Stan came to join them.
"Frankly, Eddie, I missed you, we missed you all, it was not the same this summer without you, your drug stories make me feel bad."
"Aw Stan, don’t be sentimental."
"No, that’s not it. I love you, man, but... you really scared us." he said, taking a break before turning to Eddie.
Mike and Bill nodded in agreement with Stan.
"We thought you were dead. And seriously, Eddie, I’ve seen a lot of people die, but I would never agree to see you die for that. I’ve seen a lot of people die, but not people like you." Mike added. "I don’t know exactly what’s going on with your brain, but I can tell you one thing, drugs and getting high is not your solution."
A blank settled in between these four. He was not unpleasant, on the contrary. It was peaceful. They watched Beverly and Bowers fight.
"There’s one thing I remember... it happened when I was nine years old, shortly after my father was diagnosed. We were told that he was going to get better, I mean, that he had a chance of getting better. So, we celebrated it, we went to New York, seven hours back and forth. One of the best moments of my life. I told my dad that when I grew up, I would go to New York and live there."
Eddie’s voice started shaking and Stan gently shook his hand.
"Then we came home and I remember... that night, I slept with my parents and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. As if there was no oxygen in the world. My parents called the ambulance thinking I had a violent asthma attack. At the hospital, they gave me opium. Liquid. To calm me down and... then I thought, 'Okay, so that’s what I need'. Not mom’s medicine. That. Because all of a sudden, it was as if everything had become simpler. The noise, the voices in my head, everything was gone. Everything. Being in my head wasn’t a problem anymore. Four years later, he passed away and the asthma attacks that were actually anxiety and panic attacks continued. But that’s okay. I found a way to survive. I have you, guys. I have my psychiatrist. My medecine. Maybe it will kill me..."
Stan kissed Eddie's hand in support then got up and went to see the mess with Bev.
"Hey! Don’t say that!" yelled Bill slowly to Eddie before giving him a pat on his head.
"Touch me again in that ugly mustard buffalo shirt and I’ll kill you, Big Bill." Eddie laughed.
The three friends focused on the story of Bev and Bowers. Then Eddie stood up to give his best friends more privacy. Bowers had stormed into Stan’s apartment in the kitchen to get drunk. Blur’s Girls and Boys was in full swing throughout the house and the first thing Bowers did was not to drink, but to sweep a few bottles here and there with the back of his arm. Eddie and Stan followed Bowers wanting to throw him out of the party and Beverly Marsh had left the pool to annoy Mike and Bill that she had dragged inside after getting dressed.
"Get out of the kitchen!" screamed Bowers scaring everyone. " Get the fuck out."
The people around him backed back carefully to avoid getting a piece of glass, while watching Bowers lose it. Richie dug himself into a corner of the kitchen staring at Bowers totally destabilized by his behavior. Eddie, Stan, Mike, Bill and Bev entered the crowd.
"What's your fucking problem?" he said looking at Richie.
Richie looked at the sides and then looked at Bowers, he didn’t know what to say.
"Why are you here?" he says, moving forward and sticking to him. "Huh? You can't speak ? Aren't you Trashmouth Tozier for nothing?"
At the Trashmouth name agreement, Eddie’s attention got bigger. Shit, what is Richie doing here ?
"Can I know who invited you? You don’t even have any friends here. Everyone forgot you."
"Listen, uh. I don’t want any trouble, I just want to spend a chill night in my corner." Richie said, looking him in the eye.
He didn’t even blink.
"People like you are not here to stay in their corners. You are a problem here, you see, nobody answers. Nobody!" he shouted at Richie.
Richie grabbed the first kitchen knife and pointed it at Bowers, who backed away.
"You think you scare me? You think you scare me, Bowers? You know what we do to sons of cops like you in California?" yelled Richie in turn as he moved towards Bowers. "Back the fuck up!"
"I was fucking kidding. I was fucking kidding !"
"I’m not afraid of you, Bowers."
"W-put the knife down, okay? Put it down! I was laughing."
"You want to hurt me? You have no idea who I am." Richie yelled when he put the knife down.
At the same time he cut his hand without intentionally doing with one of the glass pieces of broken bottles. The spectators cried out in complete shock at this spectacle.
"You see. I absolutely don’t feel pain."
"Are you fucking crazy or something, Loser !?" added Bowers.
Bowers stood in his trembling corner, everyone watching the scene between confusion, admiration, shock and total chaos.
"No, I’m Richie Tozier. And it’s good to be home. Great party tho, Stan the man !" he said while smiling before leaving the room.
Oh yeah... fuck me.
Eddie quietly left his friends after that.
Ben came back down the stairs and saw Richie leave the party in fury.
"What did I miss?" Ben asked Mike.
"Where were you, man? You missed the craziest thing ever !" Mike asked Ben.
"I took care of my business."
Mike stares at Ben not fully understanding what Ben meant.
"I’ve lost my virginity."
"What? With whom?" asked Mike.
"Anna Addams."
"Wow. The Anna Addams?" he said with a smile. Ben confirmed by nodding his head, then Mike took him in his arms. "Well! Congratulations! How was it?"
"You should ask her."
Mike laughed and joined Stan in the kitchen. Stan gave Bowers a broom, cleaning supplies and a shovel.
"Clean up, or I’m going to get Richie." Stan said with a black look and a cold, stern voice.
Bowers took them and resigned himself. He glanced at Mike, Mike supported him, and Bowers resigned himself.
"I will stay in case you botch the job. Oh, after that, you and your friends will leave the party. Thank you." added Stan who was joined by Patricia, his girlfriend.
---
Eddie came out of the Uris house looking for Richie Tozier. He found him quite quickly getting his bike back.
"Hm... is everything all right?" Eddie asked while watching Richie.
Oh my God.
"Uh, yeah, it's good, don’t worry, m... Eddie Spaghetti?"
Richie smiled and blinked several times before moistening his lips. His smile came back, but this time in a corner one. He watched Eddie attentively, capturing every detail of his face. His hair was slightly unscrewed, his mascara had dripped a little and mixed with the glitter on his eyes. His pink lips, his freckles, his smile. Richie hugged him.
Wow. I think I’m getting hard.
"Yes yes, it’s m... Hey, don’t call me that!"
"You look good. It just smelled like trouble in here."
Eddie opened his eyes and began to blush slightly.
"Thank you, you’re not bad either... Yes! Yes, I understand your action. It’s just what you did... It was deadly classy."
The two stared at each other for a moment. Richie noticed the necklace on Eddie’s red balloon pendant.
"You still have it! That’s so cool."
"Oh the necklace? Yes! I’m not leaving it. You too, from what I see! You... you’re going somewhere?"
"At my place." Richie replied.
"I.. Can I come?"
"Yeah, of course! But your mother ? How is she since the last time I fucked her ?" Richie asked while mocking Eddie.
"Fuck my mother."
Yeah, fuck my mom. I found back the only boy I’ve ever loved in my entire life, looking like a fucking greek god and I still have to think about my mom ? Not today, Ma, not today.
The two took the road on Richie’s bike. Bowie’s Heroes passed on Eddie’s little JBL bluetooth speaker. Then, Richie suggested him to put Eddy de Preto's Fête de Trop. He was thrilled, clinging to Richie’s waist and resting his head on his back. He had strangely waited for this moment all week. It may not have happened the way he hoped, but Eddie was appeased.
Once they entered the Tozier house, they both went up to Richie’s room. Not much had changed compared to before, it was perhaps closer and more harmonious. Richie undressed and changed into pajamas, Eddie did his best not to look and Richie laughed at him. He gave her one of his sweaters that turned out to be too big for him, but anyway, he loved it and Richie loved seeing Eddie like that. He was just so...
"Cute. You’re so cute, Eds!"
"Stop it, won't you ?!"
Eddie rushed to clean Richie’s wound and apply a bandage with his first aid kit. Richie teased him by calling him Doctor K. and it was like Richie never left Derry. Richie had always been there somewhere and Eddie had seen him become a young man. Once the wound was cleaned and dressed. They took off their makeup and then the two men went face to face in Richie’s bed. They didn’t really need to talk to each other to say all the things they had on their hearts. They both laughed and Eddie snuggled in Richie’s arms. Nothing has changed. They still liked sleeping together. They still loved each other.
Mike, Bill and Georgie went home to the Denbroughs, Georgie fell asleep in the car, but Bill took him to his room quietly and then brought Mike in, then in his room where for the first time they spent the night talking when they were only the two of them.
Bev had gone home in the early morning and managed to miraculously avoid her father. She took off her makeup and changed her clothes at Stan’s after helping her clean everything up.
Ben had slept at Stan’s with Anna and had also cleaned everything with Betty, Patricia, Myra and others who had planned a sleepover at his house.
Bowers didn’t go home after cleaning up Stan’s kitchen, he went to Hockstetter’s to get drunk until the morning. Humiliated, uprooted, and completely high. He was severely taken back by his father and mother but especially by his father and went to his bedroom having already found his future victim for the year.
The next day, Richie and Eddie woke up early. Richie stopped by to brush his teeth and wash himself because Eddie forced him to do it and then Eddie did the same. Once back in Richie’s room, Eddie stared at him as he sat on his bed.
"I have an idea." he said softly.
"What?" Richie asked while stroking his hair softly.
"Wanna get high?"
#reddie#reddie fanfic#it (2017)#it (2019)#au: modern setting#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#bill denbrough#mike hanlon#stanley uris#ben hanscom#beverly marsh#euphoria hbo
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An Unusual Hero C8S2
Please remember, this is unedited and unfinished, but will hopefully fill in the holes that were left and answer some questions without leaving too many others. HOWEVER I will answer all and any questions if you want to leave me a comment.
Next update - Tuesday 18/05/2021
There were no power points.
Sarah’s mind whirled as she stood in the middle of the only bedroom the cabin provided, phone in one hand and its charger in the other.
How the hell were there no plug sockets?
She hadn’t found any in the living space and there weren’t any in the bedroom either. She’d pulled the chest of drawers away from the wall and the tiny bedside cabinets too, and there were none. Not a single one.
Although… She glanced back at each of the surfaces, there weren’t any lamps on any of them…
She wrenched her head skyward, staring up at the ceiling.
No lights.
The realisation sunk in as she continued to stare at the bare ceiling; no lights meant no electricity.
Well, shit.
She sighed, dropping her arms to her side. So much for finding out what the back up plan was. She perched on the edge of the bed and stared down at the useless phone. She’d have to find an internet cafe in town or a library—they usually had sockets for laptops to plug into. She pondered that thought for a moment, wondering if they could really afford to risk another trek back into Jackson. She was still unsure how the sales girl—Willow as Luc liked to keep reminding her—in the last store hadn’t noticed it was Luc right away. Didn’t teenagers watch TV anymore?
Okay, so the girl probably wasn’t a teenager and Sarah had to stop calling her a girl. She’d probably been about twenty—
Sarah shook her head. Why the hell was she still fixating on the silly bint? She had much bigger problems than some girl fluttering her lashes at her companion. Like, what the hell she was going to do with said TV star currently showering in the bathroom?
She groaned and flopped back on the large, soft bed. It had taken all her will power to not slide open that shower door and ask if he needed a hand. From what she’d seen of him that morning, she might need two!
No, no, she had to focus on the real problems right now and they had plenty of them to consider. She had no idea if David—the wanker—had compromised her WITSEC identities, and even if he hadn’t, her grabbing Luc and bringing him along for the ride had screwed everything up even more.
Even if all her aliases were still secure, all of her pseudonyms were single. No husbands, no kids. Not even a pet dog. And while it wouldn’t be a problem for she and Luc to pretend to be a couple—she stopped that train of thought right away—she had no paperwork for him and no clue how to get a false set created. As much as she’d been trained over the past year, forgery and meeting criminals with the intent to work with them had not been part of the programme.
She was also pretty certain that a star like Luc wouldn’t have the first clue either.
She held the uncharged phone up to look at it, recalling what Prime Minister Edwards had told her in their little emergency tête-à-tête…
The door closed behind the most powerful man in the United Kingdom, excluding even Jack from the conversation.
‘I know this has been hard, Sarah, and I know that the situation isn’t perfect,’ the Prime Minister said as he sat next to her on the itchy, wool blanket the army had provided as part of her bedding over the past year.
She couldn’t look up at him, couldn’t meet his eyes. She’d let them down and his false niceties weren’t helping.
‘I want you to have this,’ Edwards continued. Sarah glanced up out the corner of her eye as he held up a black velvet box. She snorted.
‘Really? You’re giving me jewellery as a send off present?’ Her tone of voice was far from respectful.
‘Just… take it.’ He used the same exasperated inflection she’d often used when dealing with an irritating child in class.
Really, she wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but she’d done that once before and there was no way she was going to do it again. Well, at least not at the moment. Perhaps, she’d send him a card with it written neatly inside when she got to the States. Maybe a postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge with it written in huge, black, capital letters as the message on the back. Instead, she took the box from his hands with a sigh.
She carefully opened it and saw the unusual, but pretty, necklace snuggled in its velvet bed. It was a block of silver on a long chain that looked far sturdier than any necklace she’d worn before, yet just as fine as her best piece had been back home.
She considered the design for a moment, her fingers brushing over the silver cuboid to feel its smooth, cold surface before she finally took it out. She threw the box on the bed as she examined the pendant. There were no fancy designs, engravings, or layers. No hinges or lines indicating openings that she could see. The weight wasn’t balanced; the top of the block heavy, the bottom end quite light.
‘Okay, I give up,’ she said holding it out to him in the palm of her hand. He chuckled and shook his head, before taking it from her and holding it out to fasten around her neck. She lifted her hair and turned her back to him to allow him access.
‘This is something very special,’ Edwards said as he fastened the clasp. He took her hair in his hands and arranged it over her shoulders again before she turned back to him, this time meeting his rich, brown eyes. ‘If you find yourself out in the wild, if things don’t go to plan and you have to make a dart for it, then you are to use this.’
The Prime Minister took the pendant from its place atop her t-shirt and held it up. He pressed the longest sides with his thumb and index finger, and Sarah watched, surprised, as a tiny port popped out the bottom.
‘Whoa, just like James bond. How the hell—’
‘Don’t ask. If people believe that the crap Bond gets is a far fetched fantasy, then we have the advantage.’ He threw her a wink and she chuckled. ‘Get a mobile phone that has a charging connection of this type and plug it in. It will do the rest to get you instructions for the back up plan.’
Sarah stared at the little port, wondering what it did. She glanced up at the Prime Minister who gave her a small smile. The guy was a hardarse, there was no doubt about it. His threats to her the day she’d arrived at the base still rang clear in her ears, but it had been for her own good. This wasn’t something to take lightly.
‘Good luck, Sarah,’ Edwards said as he stood. ‘But I hope you don’t need it.’
Well, she fucking needed it now!
She sighed as she dropped her arm back to the bed, it bounced slightly as it hit the soft mattress. What Sarah wouldn’t do to just be able to climb in the bed, snuggle under the thick duvet, and never come out. She rubbed her arms over the cover as if she were in snow and trying to make an angel. It was soft and fluffy and—
‘You okay?’ Luc asked. Sarah jumped at the unexpected interruption—how long had she been lying there?—and struggled to sit up.
Luc raised a brow at her as he rubbed a towel over his long, wet, bleached blond hair and Sarah felt her mouth drop open.
This was Luc Truman.
Ignoring the hair, this was the older version of the man she’d fell in lust with over a decade ago. There was no beard, no stubble, not even the hint of a five o’clock shadow. Sarah blinked as she tried to formulate words but the only ones that wanted to come out were, Anything you want… I’m yours.
Her hands itched to feel that smooth, fair skin, to hold his cheeks between her palms as she counted the freckles on his nose and the few scattered over his cheeks. At least he’d put on the jeans and dark grey t-shirt she’d left on the top of the toilet, she realised as her eyes took in the rest of him as she tried to regain her ability to speak.
So it is true, her mind teased as she saw his large feet, bare against the wooden floor. Sarah felt the flush in her cheeks as the image of Luc’s large, thick cock hanging out of his jeans earlier popped into her mind and—
‘Sarah?’
‘Yup,’ she said as she quickly stood up and headed back towards the living room. ‘There’s no power though,’ she told him. ‘Good job we got those torches. But it means that I can’t use the clippers so it’s going to have to be snip-snip the whole way.’ She made the scissor sign with her fingers as she disappeared back into the living area.
‘Beg your pardon?’ he asked, his voice rising slightly. ‘You’re cutting my hair?’
‘Well, of course. So don’t piss me off or I’ll give you back the curtains you had in Mercy.’
‘Don’t you dare!’
Sarah smirked as she heard his feet hurrying after her.
Any questions, please drop them in the comments. Next update on Tuesday!
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dasey + (requested)
"Oh, my God. You're in love with him."
a/n: line prompt request. I've had part of this written for awhile now for a bigger story. So the only thing I'd like to add is that after 'Vacation with Derek' is that Casey does decide to skip college and go dance in New York but she does visit, obviously.
•••
There's a party back at Queens and Derek actually invites Casey, begrudgingly, she thinks, but he offers and she accepts because she just honestly doesn't have anything else to do. He kept introducing all his friends to Casey. Granted he had to introduce her as Klutzilla and Space Case, at first. But after a quick hit in the shoulder with a 'Der-ek!' he had subsided with a laugh.
But then Casey sees them out of the corner of her eye while she's talking with Derek and some of his friends. And suddenly her blood is boiling and she feels like she's back in high school again.
Because right before her very eyes is Vicky. And Truman. And more importantly it's them together. But the thing is, is she already knew they were but it makes her sick all the same to have to witness it.
Derek glances over at Casey then over his shoulder where Casey's staring. He puts a protective arm around Casey because he knows she's hurting and angry. He pulls her against him until she looks at him and not them.
"You wanna go?" He asks quietly, not taking his eyes off her.
She glances back at them and sighs. "No. I'm fine." He smirks down at her and moves his hand from the small of her back to sling an arm around her shoulders.
Here's the thing about Vicky and Truman and Casey. He cheated on her but everyone knows that. And like an idiot she forgave him and took him back but everybody knows that. What most don't know is that he cheated again. With Vicky, again. And then he had the nerve to break up with her before she could break up with him. She wished she had punched him. Or her. Both would be ideal, she thinks.
But when she feels Derek's arm tighten slightly around her as he laughs loudly at something his friends had said, it calms her down. She relaxes and turns back to the conversation at hand. She can ignore them. As long as they leave her alone. She'll be fine. But they don't, of course, because they're idiots.
"Hey Case!" Vicky says going in for a hug. Casey doesn't hug back. Derek also doesn't remove his arm which makes it that much more awkward. "Oh my God, I haven't seen you in forever, back from New York?"
"Yeah. Vacation."
"That's fun! How you been? How's your boyfriend.. Andrew?"
"Fine and fine. It was nice seeing you." And she tries to turn away but-
"Did he come down with you? I'd love to meet him."
"Why? So you can kiss him while my backs turned, too?"
It's harsh and she hadn't actually meant to blurt that out but she's glad she said it by the look on Vicky's face. Like she's just been slapped. Derek's friends crow loudly and she can just sense Derek trying not to smile too widely. When she manages to look at him for a split second, she's sees she's right.
"Excuse me." She says taken aback.
"Okay, you're excused."
"Casey this is completely uncalled for." Truman appears then and that just really gets her going.
"Truman. Let me just explain something real quick. I don't like you. I don't like her. And I don't fucking have to."
"Look, Casey-" Truman begins.
"What part of that made you think I still wanted to converse with you?"
"I know-"
"No, you don't. There are over a hundred people here that you can talk to. But you chose to irritate me. I don't want apologies or small talk or anything you two have to offer except a good-bye. Go and be happy together but don't bring the person you cheated on apart of any further communication. Because I don't care."
"Casey, it was just a simple hello! You have no right to insult her for trying to be friendly!"
She snorts and steps out of Derek's arm. "It's not really an insult, it's more of an observation."
Truman stepped forward to speak and Derek slides in between them. "Truman, get lost."
"What are you? Her bodyguard?" Casey wants to slap that smug grin off his face. How had she ever seen that look as charming?
"Something like that."
"Hmm, well, being honest, yanno man to man. You look like a little whipped bitch."
"Babe, let's go." Vicky tries grabbing at his arm and not looking at anyone.
"No." He snaps pulling his arm out of her hands. "You tried to be cordial and I'm not about to let people talk to my girl that way."
"Well," Derek smiled coyly, "I don't let people talk to my girl that way either."
"Your girl? Casey's your girl? Yanno, I always knew there was something between you two. All that fighting. Just didn't realize it was sexual frustration. Wouldn't that make it incest? Just a little bit, ri-"
Casey decks him, right in the nose and he crumbles to the floor in a slur of curses and blood. Vicky drops down next to him frantic and screaming as the party starts to erupt in mass chaos of cheering on the fight at hand.
But the only thing Casey can hear is Truman's words ringing in her ears. And trying to ignore the way her heart had fluttered when Derek had called her his girl.
"Fucking shit, you psycho bitch!" Truman screams from the floor as blood pours out of his nose.
"Fuck, Case, c'mon. We gotta go."
She nods deftly, letting Derek lead her through the swarm of people. His hand is laced in hers as she's dragged behind him out into the street. The Prince is parked a block away but his hand never leaves hers and they're almost to the car when he stops them underneath a street lamp.
He turns to look at her and ultimately drops her hand only to pick up the other one. "Nice punch, by the way." The smile on his face is like looking into the sun.
"I can't believe I did that."
He snorts and that damn smirk is on his face as he glances up at her before turning his attention back to her hand. "Well, I can't believe you didn't do it sooner. Or that you even know how to throw a punch, Princess."
"I'm not completely helpless you know." She argues.
One eyebrow raises up as he says, "Clearly. This is going to be bruised like hell tomorrow. But, at least, you didn't break anything."
He's still kind of holding her hand in his and all she can think of is 'I always knew there was something between you two.' She wants to cry or scream or maybe both because suddenly there's one thought rushing in her head and it feels like a ticking time bomb. Casey rushes forward and buries her face in Derek's chest. She'll settle for just crying.
Derek's awkwardly stiff for half a second before his arms completely engulf her. Neither of them say anything but Casey's arms are up underneath his jacket and his hand is kinda stroking her hair and it feels like home she realizes.
His voice is soft and smirky as he says, "Don't cry on the leather jacket, Case."
And she sniffles out a laugh, hugging him tighter. "Shut up, Derek."
The ride home is a blur. Mostly because the high of actually punching Truman gives away to the actual pain in her hand. She might have known how to throw a punch enough to not break anything but it was already beginning to bruise and swell up.
She whines and he rolls his eyes. She complains that they should stop for ice and he argues they have ice at home. They bicker the whole way home and it only ends when they enter the house because if they wake up the baby, George and Nora will kill them.
Derek walks straight to the kitchen and throws some ice into a dishcloth. "Here, Princess."
"Thanks." Casey sighs. "For everything."
"Don't mention it. Literally."
She grins a bit, "We wouldn't want anyone to think that the great Derek Venturi has a heart now would we?"
He rolls his eyes and snorts then extends his hand toward her. "Lemme see." She begrudgingly puts her hand in his and he takes the opportunity to push down roughly on the bruise. "That hurt?"
She hits him hard on the shoulder with her good hand while cradling the bruised one against her chest. "Der-ek, you're such an asshole!"
He laughs out, "I think you'll survive."
"You're an idiot," she huffs.
They argue (somewhat quietly as to not wake anyone) as they make their way up the stairs until they're both standing in front of their respective rooms. Casey glances at her door for a second before her eyes are back to Derek with the ever present smirk on his face.
"Thanks for having my back tonight." She whispers.
His smirk softens in a way she somehow knows is just for her. It's always just for her. "Yeah, well, you'd do the same for me."
She smiles an answer because she would in a heartbeat. "Goodnight, Derek."
"Night, Case." They're still looking at each other as they enter their rooms and those soft smiles they reserve for each other are on both their faces.
Casey closes her door and leans back against it as she switches on her light. Immediately, she sees her face in the mirror directly across her room and sighs. "Oh my God," she whispers to her reflection, "You're in love with him."
a/n: I have one more line prompt request waiting in my inbox and I will begin working on that next, loves.
#dasey#Derek Venturi#Casey McDonald#Derek and casey#Casey and Derek#life with Derek#dasey fic#dasey fan fiction#Michael seater#Ashley leggat#life with Derek fan fiction#lwd#vacation with Derek
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The Denbrough Show - Chapter One
#IT fanfiction#IT fanfic#bill denbrough#stanley uris#richie tozier#eddie kaspbrak#mike hanlon#beverly marsh#ben hanscom#stenbrough#reddie#benverly#stan uris#bev marsh#IT fanfic AU#The Denbrough Show#PJWrites
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To: @cammieanime
From: @oolb
Hi there! This is for @cammieanime. I just LOVE Seven and Lotus and I’m glad you do too, so I wrote something about the two of them meeting up after the events of the first game. It was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy!
—
It wasn’t often that she went out, honestly. Raising two daughters by yourself wasn’t an easy feat, even though they were already past 18 and didn’t really need any more raising. Truth be told, the thought of being away from her daughters made her nervous, especially given the events that had transpired only 6 months ago… Hazuki – or Lotus, she’d taken a liking to that despite the bad memories the name was associated with – considered herself to be a strong-minded woman, but there wasn’t a soul in the world that wouldn’t be shaken by the Nonary Game.
Funny. Now that all had passed, the number nine kept on showing up in repeatedly in her life… often she caught herself thinking that maybe the game had never ended and this was just a sick version of the Truman Show.
“Or maybe you’re getting a bit paranoid, mom,” Ennea said as she put the car into park. “You have your cell phone, right? You’ll call if you need me?”
“Eh? Ennea, you’re acting like the mom here.” She laughed and gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “I love you. Tell Nona I love her too.” And then she grabbed her purse, her coat and jumped out of the car before she could change her mind and ask Ennea to drive her home.
‘Blue Ocean’ was a really fucking stupid name for a bar, Hazuki thought, yet it was her destination nonetheless. What would the ocean be other than blue? Well, maybe green, maybe muddy brown, but still. Something else about the name bothered her, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Still, for such a gaudy name, the Blue Ocean was rather… plain on the inside. Some lopsided fish stared down at her from the wall as she walked in, but that was pretty much all that the Blue Ocean had going for it. Pity. She’d seen fake ships with better décor. Hazuki set herself down by the bar and ordered a pint of beer. On the television screen behind the bar, some soccer match had just started its second half. Perfect. It would be just her, her beer, and two teams she’d never heard of playing for a sport she didn’t care for. If this was what it took to make her feel like a regular person again, Hazuki was all for it.
Yet halfway through her pint of beer… “Well, I didn’t think I’d be running into the demon again so soon.”
Oh, she knew that voice. Hazuki ran her thumb over her rings and gave a little laugh. She stared down at her beer. “I think it’s too early for a reunion, Seven.” Then she gestured loftily to the chair next to her. Not that she thought that Seven was a particularly interesting company, but she was in a good mood.
“Oh, you’re offering me a seat? That’s unexpected.” He shuffled into the seat a little clumsily, a man of his size looking out of place on the dainty bar stool. Seven turned to face her with a grin. Since the last time she’d seen him at the Nonary Game, he’d… changed, somehow. A little bit. It was as if the wrinkles near his eyes became just that much more apparent in the bar’s dim light.
“Good to see you’re wearing regular clothes this time around.” Seven chuckled and smoothed his hair down with a broad hand. He was no longer wearing the beanie and overalls, though his fashion sense still leaned towards “comfortably baggy”.
“I can wear whatever I damn well want,” Hazuki said, sipping her beer. “Plus, belly dancing is only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“I believe ya.” Seven gave her a look. He waved down the bartender and asked for the wine list.
Hazuki nearly spit out her drink. “You’re ordering wine? Really? And I’m the exhibitionist grandma.” For some reason, the thought of a guy like Seven sipping Pinot Noir (Chardonnay? Whatever, who fucking cared about wine anyway) seemed absurd to her. She thought him to be the beer guzzling type.
Clearly, he seemed to think the opposite about her. “Well, I was gonna ask you to join me, but seems you’re all set.” He shrugged. “Don’t diss my wine. Red wine is good for the noggin.” He tapped the side of his head. “If it wasn’t for this thinking machine up here, we would have never gotten out of that confinement room.”
At this, she scoffed. “Please. I was way better at those puzzles than you.”
Seven gave a noncommittal grunt as the bartender slid him the menu. He squinted down at it, lips pursed. He slid his finger down the list and something crossed his expression. “This is gonna sound crazy, but d’you feel like you’re being haunted… by a goddamn number?” He flipped the menu to her. “Nine different types of wine on the list… sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.”
“Ha! You’re not the only one.” She gestured in a conspirational fashion at the television. “Ten minutes ago, number 9 on the red team scored a goal.”
Seven turned to her, a little unnerved. “Really?”
“Tch! I can’t believe you fell for that one.” Seven frowned for a moment but, surprisingly, they shared a moment of laughter. She’d be damned. Laughing with enemy.
“Y’know…” Seven started after ordering a glass of his fancy wine, “I gotta say… I’m sorry I said you looked like a half-naked raisin. I mean, it was true, but I’m still sorry I said it.”
“Nice of you to admit that.”
“Hey, I’m feeling rather generous lately. I guess that’s the side-effect of surviving a Nonary Game. Glad to be alive.” He gave a shrug, which looked a little like a mountain yawning. The man glanced at her, as if trying to gauge something from her expression. “Say, how’s that… how’s that treating ya.”
“How’s what treating me?”
“Y’know… surviving that fucking mess.”
Hazuki lowered her eyes from the television screen. She ran a finger around the mouth of the pint glass, pondering the question. And also pondering how much she wanted to tell Seven. He was still a stranger, after all, despite what they’d been through.
“It’s fine if you don’t wanna talk about it. I get it.” Seven said suddenly. He turned away, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Your kids were in it. You were in it. It must’ve been like living the nightmare all over again. Hell, I don’t even know why you got wrapped up into it… I mean. Junpei, that’s obvious. Aoi too. Those weirdo siblings, they were part of the original mess. And Ace too.” He listed the people off on his fingers. “I mean, the only weird part of the equation is you.” He was practically muttering now, speaking to himself.
Hazuki raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve been thinking a lot about this.”
“I have, actually.” He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and leaned in. “Junpei and I are… Junpei and I have teamed up. Sort of. We just… we just want to get to the bottom of this.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “I can’t say much, but I feel like… this Nonary Game wasn’t the last of them.”
Hazuki’s stomach sank. “What?”
“I mean, I can’t say much, but… yeah. Just a hunch.”
God. Another Nonary Game. First her daughters, then her. Maybe she should call her mother soon just to make sure everything was okay.
She examined her glass. “I hope I have absolutely nothing to do with the next one.”
Seven laughed. “Hell, I hope so too.”
“Maybe they’ll write us out of the next two games and give only vague hints about our whereabouts and existence.”
Seven’s eyes widened and he scratched his chin. “Uh…”
She shrugged. “That was a joke. Don’t think about it too hard.” The smile faded from her lips and she paused. “You know, I do wanna talk about it. The Nonary Game, I mean. I think I’m ready.”
He waved his hand in a broad, inviting gesture. She took a deep breath:
“It was awful, and I would rather lick this bar’s floor than spend nine hours stuck with those idiots again, but… honestly, part of me… well, I felt closer to my daughters. I mean, I think it was important for me to go through what they had gone through. It sort of—sort of breaks my heart knowing just what they went through, but it killed a mystery that has been haunting me for years. To some degree, I guess.” She pursued her lips. “Closure. I guess that’s the word. Closure.”
Seven nodded slowly. “You know, I can respect that.”
Feeling a bit uncomfortable after that word vomit, Hazuki took a swig from her beer. “Well, respect it or not, that’s what I feel about that crazy bullshit. My two cents. How about you?”
His wine had arrived. Seven swirled it around in the glass before answering, watching the little rivulets of wine slide down the sides. “I just think we’re part of something bigger. Not me or you, specifically, but… What we’ve been through. I don’t think we fully understand it yet. Maybe we never will.”
“I suppose asking you to go more into detail isn’t allowed?”
He grinned. “Heh. Yeah. Sorry, Lotus, you’re pretty, but I ain’t riskin’ my job for you so soon.”
“It’s Hazuki.”
“Hazuki. I remember that.”
She paused. “Is… your real name classified information too?”
Seven laughed at that, a big, booming laugh that had always gotten on her nerves during the Nonary Game. “I s’pose you wouldn’t believe me if I actually said it was Seven, would ya?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Heheh. See?” He grinned. “Told ya.”
Somebody at the other side of the bar suddenly cried out—“Oh!” Both Hazuki and Seven jumped, until they realized the person was reacting to the television screen. Hazuki and Seven swung around to see a goal being scored. By the red team—player number 9.
“Huh.” Seven’s wine glass was raised and he kept it there for a moment, staring at the TV screen. “That’s… that’s… huh.”
“Blue Ocean,” Hazuki said suddenly, her eyes wide.
“What?”
“Blue Ocean. It has nine letters. That’s what was bugging me.”
“Oh.” Seven blinked. “I thought you’d be bothered by—well, I mean, Blue Ocean is a stupid name—“
“Yes! That’s what I said!” Hazuki raised her arms in exasperation. The gold bracelets on her wrist jangled noisily. “Thank you, Elephant Man.”
Seven chuckled at that. He raised his wine glass. “A toast to the Blue Ocean?”
“That’s lame.”
“Uh… to Zero?”
She raised her glass. “To the Funyarinpa?”
“What the hell is a Funyarinpa?”
“You don’t know about the Funyarinpa?” She scoffed. “Ask Junpei later. He knows.” She clinked their glasses together; both of them gave a hearty sip.
Seven leaned back in his seat. He cradled his wine glass, and then let out a huge sigh. “Let’s just hope we’ll never have to deal with any of this bullshit ever again.”
“You know… I can actually agree with you on that.” Hazuki said, nodding. A life without another Nonary Game—they’d paid their dues. They were done.
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