#also eddies part could end up being the longest and more difficult part

[strangersteddierthings]

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇FInal Part

A continuation of Bad News First, Eddie. I am absolutely floored by the responses I received, and I will try my best to tag everyone who asked. I know it's not Eddie's part, but chronologically, Wayne's part felt right.

-

Of all the things Wayne’s been called, unobservant isn’t one of them. He’s lived in Hawkins his entire life. He knows who is who, what is what, and to keep his head down and believe there’s a cougar in the woods when he’s told.

So, when Nancy Wheeler shows up, asking questions, Wayne has answers. Is willing to give those answers because he remembers when little Will Byers went missing, and how Nancy and her friends had done more to try and find him than the entire police force of Hawkins. Nancy and her friends always seemed to be in the orbit of whatever terrible thing was happening in Hawkins these last few years.

So, foolishly, terribly, he doesn’t intervene. He thought they were like that Scooby Doo cartoon Eddie used to love; kids solving mysteries. If he’d known the true extent of the horror, he wouldn’t have let those kids go it alone. But he didn’t know then.

-

Still didn’t know the day he pretends to not know who Dustin Henderson is while swapping out Eddie’s missing poster. It’s easier than having to face someone who knows Eddie, someone who had been looking for him but failed to find him.

Until Dustin calls after him. Until Dustin speaks to him. Hands him Eddie’s necklace. Wayne can’t stand anymore, this breaks him. Dustin says he was with him, in the end. Calls Eddie a hero, said people would have loved him had they known him. It’s nothing Wayne doesn’t already know.

Eddie is his hero. He loves Eddie. And if he’d stepped in sooner, chased down these kids and asked just what the fuck was happening, maybe he could have changed the ending of this story.

-

Hawkins explodes into a hellscape days later and Wayne sets out to find Nancy Wheeler. If Eddie gave his life to protect these kids, then Wayne must strive to do no less.

Nancy’s got a good head on her shoulders, willing to accept any help offered. He can see how she’s survived this long. She gets in in touch with Hopper, who introduces him to Doctor Sam Owens and Lt Colonel Jack Sullivan.

-

He doesn’t think it’s fair that the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl.

-

It’s Dustin who tells him the whole story, the night before the end. Either Eleven will win tomorrow, or she won’t, but the outcome gets decided then.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mr. M-Munson. We just… just left him there!” Dustin breaks down crying and Wayne reaches out to him, an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. If Wayne sheds a few tears, too, well. Who can blame him?

“Doctor Owens, a word,” Wayne pulls the man aside after the kids have gone to bed. “Dustin said… my boy is just yards away from our trailer. He didn’t even get out of the park. I understand it’s an all hands on deck situation, but can anyone be spared? Can anyone bring my boy back? I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Doctor Owens, a genuinely kind man, Wayne can tell, has tears filling his eyes just at the request. “Mr. Munson, we will do everything in our power to bring your boy home.”

-

Doctor Owens pays for the headstone. Said it was the least he could do since his team failed. Wayne tries not to be bitter about it.

The graffiti starts up almost immediately. Wayne doesn’t understand why.

-

He thinks he’s caught someone in the act, grabs roughly at the perpetrator and yanks. The Harrington boy stumbles up and back, a little bit of fear in his eyes but no paint in hand. He’s holding a rag and small container of paint thinner. A quick look between Harrington and the grave, he can see the half-cleaned headstone.

He’s never spoken much with Harrington, but Dustin has nothing bad to say.

“You know my boy?” because he can’t bring himself to say ‘knew’ just yet.

Harrington looks just about as haunted as Wayne feels when he says, so quietly, “Not as well as I would have liked, sir.”

-

Wayne is observant, but even he can admit it takes longer than he thought to figure out Steve Harrington. That boy had put himself between those kids and danger again, and again, and again, and lived. Eddie did it once and… well, Wayne reckons Steve thinks it should have been him. He won’t say so out loud, but Wayne sees a lot of his younger self in Steve, knows him in much the same way he knows himself.

Steve lives with a guilt he shouldn’t; this was Eddie’s choice. His reckless, dangerous, courageous choice. And they’ve got to learn to live with it. Steve’s parents are absent, and Wayne’s nephew is gone. Without any conscious decision about it, they’ve adopted each other.

Steve wants to know everything about Eddie. Every little story Wayne can come up with. And he, well, he loves that someone wants to know. Wants to remember Eddie with him.

“Bad news. I regret not knowing him sooner,” Steve confesses to him one day as they scrub the headstone clean again.

“Good news. You know him now,” Wayne replies.

“Do I?”

Wayne can’t answer that. Not honestly one way or another. How well can you know someone from secondhand information? Steve spent a total of five days in his nephew’s company but he helps keep his memory alive. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Eddie Munson won’t be forgotten when I die. And that matters.”

-

He gets in an accident at the plant. He doesn’t remember what happened, not fully, but he knows that Steve never left his side. Demanded his come stay in his big empty house. Easier to move around in, with all the open space.

Wayne wasn’t really attached to his apartment anyway. If he was going to live the rest of his life in a home that had never known Eddie’s presence, it could at least be with someone who had known Eddie’s presence, however briefly.

-

Wayne wonders if he’s done the right thing sometimes. Indulging Steve’s need to know Eddie. At first, he thought it was fine, because learning about Eddie seemed to alleviate Steve’s guilt. But now.

He’s watching the boy fall in love with a ghost.

Helping it happen, even.

Robin and Steve aren’t nearly as quiet or subtle as they think, and Wayne’s observant. They seem to forget that Wayne’s just old, and not deaf and blind.

Or maybe, they’re comfortable enough that they don’t truly hide from him.

And it hurts his heart to think this (because he’s thinking it about his Eddie, wonderful, loving Eddie) but Steve deserves to love more than a ghost.

-

And then the kids graduate. Start to go to college. Steve acts fine, but he’s not. Wayne knows. It’s like he’s losing his purpose, but Wayne’s just as broken. Not strong enough to push Steve away. To make Steve go, too.

Honestly, he’s a little afraid that if he tried, then Steve would follow right after Eddie.

So, he doesn't. He decides he needs Steve, and perhaps even more so, Steve needs him.

-

Then, five years after Eddie’s death, the call happens. It’s about his piece of shit little brother, Wyatt. He’s gotta go, though. Because this is one last strand of Eddie. Eddie’s mother has been gone longer than Eddie, and fuck, Wyatt deserves to know. Wayne doesn’t claim to be a saint; if his brother wasn’t being released, he’d probably never tell him. He’d let him die in that prison believing his son is alive.

He doesn’t even know if Wyatt will care that Eddie’s gone. But he’s got to find out.

Steve drives him to the airport and no matter how many times Wayne says he’s coming back, Steve doesn’t seem to believe him.

-

But it’s not his shitty little brother waiting to greet him in Tennessee. It’s Eleven.

“Sorry for the lie, Mr. Munson,” she says. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I learned but Doctor Owens said that, this one time, we needed to be right before we could be honest.”

It’s Eddie. It’s Eddie Wyatt Munson, who looks at him shyly, almost as if afraid, from the apartment doorway Eleven takes him to. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

It’s five fucking years too late but he pulls Eddie in a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

-

Wayne learns.

They had found him, barely alive. It was better, they said, to take him away. Let the town cool down while Eddie healed, but he was catatonic for the better part of these last five years.

“Eddie woke up empty,” Eleven says softly, apropos nothing sitting next to Wayne as they watch Eddie discuss next steps with Owens. “He could be told to do things. Drink this. Eat that. His eyes never focused on anything. Doctor Owens called him a shell. I asked what that means. He said that Eddie’s body worked, but his mind did not because Eddie was not in his own mind anymore. But I knew he was in there. I had to get him back.” She reaches a hand out, waving in the general direction of Eddie’s head.

This surprises Wayne. “You brought him back?”

“Memory by memory,” Eleven says, picking at her pants leg. “Even the painful ones. Doctor Owens says every memory shapes who we are, even tough ones.”

Wayne looks at Eleven, a young woman of nineteen now, but remembers how scared and brave she’d been at fourteen.  “Words cannot express how thankful I am for you.”

“I did it for you. And maybe a little bit for me.”

Wayne makes a humming noise. Not truly questioning, but an acknowledgment of what she said. If she wants to share her reasons, he won’t stop her. He’s just not going to pry.

“I chose my friend. I chose Max.”

He knows. “You made the right choice.”

“I know. I am not guilty about it,” she frowns as she thinks about her words. “But Dustin is my friend, too, and I knew Eddie was his friend. But I cared more about Max. I had to do all I could to make it right. For you. For Dustin. For me.”

Wayne doesn’t have words, so he just pulls Eleven into a hug. It must convey all he needs because when she pulls back, she beams at him.

-

Wayne fills Eddie in on what has happened as best he can. It’s such a jarring difference, speaking to Eddie about Steve than it had been speaking to Steve about Eddie. Eddie just looks confused for most of it and doesn’t really ask followup questions, but Wayne understands. Eddie had known Steve for five days and he’s got time to really get to know Steve now. Steve thought all he’d ever have of Eddie is someone else’s memories.

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie breaths out, all wonder and awe and- Well, maybe Wayne isn’t as observant as he had always thought. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie stutters over his words, eyes wide and wild. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles and lies, as if he hadn’t just watched all the pieces slot together in this moment.

“So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington?” Eddie is blushing but he blows past Wayne’s question. “Will he… be okay with me being there?”

Steve’s been loving a ghost, is what Wayne thinks. Steve’s been in love with a ghost and this. This is a ghost story that can have a better ending. But he’s not going to make those declarations for Steve, so what he says is, “yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all.”

Eddie smiles to himself, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind.

If he hadn’t just figured it out two minutes ago, that would have been a dead giveaway that his boy might be a little bit in love with Steve.

-

He calls Steve. Tells him he’s coming home and bringing a guest. Steve says that’s fine, he’ll fix up Robin’s old room into a guest room.

-

“This isn’t the way to the Harrington house,” Eddie observes from the passenger seat of the rental car Doctor Owens had paid for, to get them from Indianapolis back to Hawkins.

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed.”

“The cemetery?”

Wayne shrugs, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once. Ah. See, there he is.” Wayne points and Eddie’s eyes follow.

Something akin to wonder passes over Eddie’s face and he all but falls out of the car before it’s even stopped.

Wayne thinks he’ll give them five or so minutes before following.

#steddie #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #ok i promise next update will be eddie pov #i just wanted eddies part to move past this graveyard meetup #so waynes pov first #also eddies part could end up being the longest and more difficult part

[jesusonafrickinboat]

I posted 185 times in 2022

14 posts created (8%)

171 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@heartrenderharrington

@smokeyrutilequartz

@therealpancakeo

@runaway-horses

@lo-brokeit

I tagged 161 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#stranger things - 32 posts

#stranger things s4 - 21 posts

#eddie munson - 19 posts

#tua - 17 posts

#steve harrington - 17 posts

#the umbrella academy - 15 posts

#steddie - 14 posts

#the sandman - 13 posts

#klaus hargreeves - 12 posts

#st4 - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#but yes! he's always been a himbo that loves his family! he just needed to be deconditioned from reggie's bs & reconditioned for socializing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

ok but I wish Eddie would have zipped up his leather jacket cause leather is harder to chew through than like, a cotton t-shirt

16 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#4

Umbrella Academy incorrect quotes via this generator

See the full post

41 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#3

See the full post

44 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

#2

As someone who has post-viral disabilities/conditions, it absolutely INFURIATES me that, despite a mass rise in post-viral disabilities/conditions (aka long-covid), IT’S STILL NOT BEING RESEARCHED.

I had a virus in May 2016 (end of 8th grade), the symptoms of which (plus more as time went on) never went away. I was diagnosed with celiac disease in 2017, followed by POTS, fibromyalgia, CFS/ME, chronic pain, and more - none of which have a cure. (There are also several conditions that I’ve researched and am almost certain I have as a result of that virus over half a decade ago, but I’m still waiting to get appointments with those specialists.) Since being diagnosed, I have done various treatments/medications, had many appointments with specialists & physical therapists, and have done basically all I can to get better.

Now it’s 2022. It’s been 6 years since the virus and 5 years since the first diagnosis. Can I do more than I could in 2017? Absolutely! I don’t want to say that it will never get better, because it does - just slowly (and at a different pace for everyone). But I’m still NOWHERE near where I was before 2016, certainly not even close to what I might have been able to do now if the virus hadn’t happened. I had to switch to homeschool (away from my friends, though better for my physical and mental health) for 10th-12th grade. Last summer, I rode a bike for the first time since 2016, and I was still in pain afterwards. I’m finally at a place where I can start doing the things I used to be able to do or have missed out on (ex: making my own lunch, learning to drive, going to college), but it’s a very delicate balance. I’m at a place where some of these things are finally in sight (I won’t say in reach yet), and it’s frustrating to desperately want to do them and know I’m so close to being able to, but I still have to be really careful.

Because of my constellation of conditions, it has been incredibly difficult to improve my health. For example: one of the best ways to treat POTS is by exercising, but exercising also unfortunately triggers CFS/ME flare ups (due to post-exertional malaise), which in turn triggers chronic pain, etc. The worst part is that it’s nearly impossible to tell when you’ve overdone it in the moment, which means that after doing more rigorous exercise, I have to make sure I don’t schedule anything for the next 2-3 days in case of a flare up. I know I’m not the only one with complicated, contradictory, incredibly difficult co-morbidities, which is one reason why it takes so long to even start healing post-virus.

I’m upset that there are SO MANY people with long-covid that are receiving the same treatment myself and others have received in terms of our post-viral illnesses. I was hopeful that, even though the last thing I wanted was more people having to go through what I’ve been going through for 6 years, this rise in post-viral cases would have pushed more research into why it happens and how to cure (or at least better treat) the most common disabilities/conditions that it results in. 

Instead, like other post-viral illnesses, we’ve continued to see small, underfunded groups research the resulting individual conditions (CFS/ME, POTS, etc) without the funding to come together to research the co-morbidities as a whole, while the majority of the population (including medical professionals, news sources, the general population, etc) at best completely ignore and at worst utterly deny the existence of long-covid.

And I’m so tired.

300 notes - Posted June 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Can we talk about how the afterlife gets more and more colorful as Klaus becomes more and more in control of his powers? Cause that’s BRILLIANT filmmaking right there

11,878 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #good lord that's a lot of notes on the Klaus afterlife post #definitely the most notes I've ever gotten on a post #also the longest tag was about Luther Hargreeves if it wasn't clear #also only 185 posts? y'all I've been busy #it feels like more but that's probably because I reblog to genzforbettergenerations more often #although it is 20 more posts than last year

[justaswampdemon]

The Place You Need To Reach

Finally finished the first chapter of a Buck Begins fic I started...when the episode airs...Biggest of shoutouts to @marjansmarwani for the title help and also all the support and encouragement.  You’re the best!

Read it here on AO3

Bobby’s phone rings loud from the night table, waking him with a start. Looking at the clock he groans, 12:45am glaring at him. Whatever irritation he feels is quickly overridden by Captain Mode. He reaches for his phone, already concerned. It skyrockets to worry when he sees Buck’s name lighting up his screen. He’d been worried when they found out Buck’s parents were visiting. The few vague things he’s heard plus what he's been able to piece together did not paint a pretty picture. Then this morning Buck had been waling on the punching bags while Eddie watched with carefully hidden concern. Bobby had hoped that had gotten some of the overwhelming emotions out, helped the kid get back on solid ground, but a call any time after midnight is never a good sign.

“Buck?” He sits up, getting a grumble from where Athena had been tucked against his shoulder. There’s no answer, just shaky breaths barely audible. “Buck what’s wrong?”

Athena rubs her eyes and turns her laser focus on her husband as she wakes up fully.

Another stuttering breath, followed by a sniffle and all the parental warning bells in Bobby’s head are going haywire. “Buck, c’mon kiddo I need you to talk to me here.”

“Bobby…” Buck sounds wrecked, his voice trembling and small. He sounds young and scared and Bobby shares a nervous look with Athena.

“Where are you?” He starts simple, all his first responders training kicking in to get Buck somewhere safe.

“Um...I just kind of started driving…” The pause on the other end of the line is agonizing. “I’m by the pier.”

That sends all kinds of alarms off in his head again. Buck drove to the pier, completely without thinking, and Bobby changes tactics slightly. He doesn’t just need to get Buck somewhere safe, he needs to get Buck here. “Are you ok to get here or do you need me to pick you up?” He’d drive to the middle of nowhere to get Buck if that’s what the kid needed.

“I can drive.” There’s a hint of stubbornness back in his voice, but it does nothing to settle Bobby’s nerves.

“Ok.” Bobby slips into Captain mode, hoping it helps keep Buck focused and present. “I want you to stay on the phone with me, and come straight here. Can you do that?”

Buck takes a few breaths, gathering himself and when he answers he sounds at least a bit more like himself. Athena is already up, changing into lounge clothes and grabbing her phone. “Yeah Cap, I can do that.”

He nods, more to himself, “good job Buck. You stay with me alright? You don’t have to talk, just listen to my voice and focus on driving.” Grabbing a sweatshirt and his slippers, he tucks the phone against his ear. Buck is so quiet, it’s possibly the longest the kid has gone without talking, especially to Bobby. He always has an obscure fact to share, knowing his Captain was always interested. Sometimes they were ridiculous, or it was something Bobby already knew, but they had bonded over loving weird facts. The way Buck had lit up when he realized Bobby was actually interested had firmly placed him in Bobby’s heart.

Making his way into the kitchen he sees Athena putting the kettle on, kissing her cheek and getting a supportive one armed hug. “How we doin Buck?”

“Almost there.”

“Ok, you’re doing good.” There’s another shaky exhale, and something close to a sob breaking from Buck’s throat. “Hey did you know Einstein issued the patent for Toblerone chocolate?” He doesn’t wait for a response, knows the words don’t matter as much as just having Buck hear his voice. “He was working at the patent office as a way to occupy his brain while figuring out equations.” He keeps offering up facts as he opens the front door. As soon as a familiar jeep parks behind his truck he hangs up.

He meets Buck half way, taking in the hunch of his shoulders and the way he avoids meeting Bobby’s eyes. Wrapping an arm around him he guides the kid inside and gets him settled on the couch.

Athena presses a cup of tea into his hands, sitting next to him with a gentle hand on his arm. Buck deflates at the contact, still not meeting either of their eyes. “What happened Buckaroo?”

Buck’s quiet, mouth twisting and leg bouncing. They give him time, let him gather his thoughts. “I was doing so good...I was getting better and in two dinners they’ve just…undone it all.” He breaks off into a sob and Bobby is moving before he realizes it, sitting on Buck’s other side and pulling him into his arms as Athena takes his mug from shaking hands. Buck falls apart in front of their eyes, years of hurt finally breaking free. “They never...they never cared. When they’d look at me it was like they were staring right through me, they’d barely acknowledge I was there unless I was hurt or I fucked up…then they’d have to look at me…but I was never enough and I tried.” He sounds almost pleading as he chokes the words out through tears. “Bobby, I really tried to be good enough for them to love me and all they could say was how difficult I made it...how difficult we made it for them. I just wanted them to love me and instead they gave up on me.”

“Buck you listen to me right now. You do not have to earn your parents love.” Athena holds his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her. “Kids are difficult. That’s just called being a kid. Our job as parents is to love our kids no matter what. We love you, no matter what, and we are so so proud of the man you are.”

His eyes meet Athena’s for a moment and then go blank again. A harsh laugh grates out of his chest, “they never even wanted another son...they never wanted me.”

“Buck, what do you mean another son?” Bobby tries to think back on what he knows about Buck’s family, but as far as he’s heard it’s just him and Maddie.

Bobby lets him free of the hug as he tries to get the words out. “I had a brother…he was older and he got sick. They needed bone marrow and no one else in our family was a match.” The pieces fall into place and Bobby wants to vomit. Buck was a savior baby, and like he could hear Bobby’s thoughts he closes his eyes against fresh tears. “They had me for parts. But it didn’t work and Daniel died…and they were stuck with me when I’d already failed to do the only thing I was made for.”

Over where Buck has hunched back over, hiding his face in his hands, Athena and Bobby share a shocked and horrified look. Without hesitating Athena wraps him in a protective hug, eyes fierce even as her voice murmurs comforting nonsense. On the table Bobby’s phone rings, a quick glance showing Eddie’s calling. Bobby places a steady hand on his back, “I’m guessing Eddie’s looking for you? Do you want me to tell him where you are?”

Without moving from the safety of Athena’s arms Buck nods and lets out another choking sob. “I was supposed to come over for movie night…After I left Maddie’s I just sort of, I don’t know I guess I checked out. I don’t even know what time it is.” Suddenly he sits straight up, eyes wide. “Shit! I missed movie night! And it’s probably the middle of the night and I woke you up and—”

Before he can work himself into a full panic Bobby squeezes his shoulder. “It’s ok Buck, we’re here for you whenever you need us. Don’t worry about what time it is.” Internally he’s trying not to let the terror of Buck so out of it he completely lost himself cloud his mind. He needs to keep a clear head, needs to be the steady rock Buck is searching for. “Now do you want me to tell Eddie you’re here?”

“He’s worried I bet…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry him.”

Grabbing his phone Bobby stands and sees multiple missed calls from Eddie and Chimney, “he’ll understand just like we do. We’re all here for you Buck, you’re not alone.” Athena hands Buck his tea, coaxing him to take a few sips while he calls Eddie back. After one ring it picks up and Eddie’s frantic voice fills his ear. “Cap, we can’t find Buck. I don’t know what happened when he went over to Chim and Maddie’s but she’s almost inconsolable and Chimney is flipping out. He won’t answer the phone and he was supposed to come over. Albert said he never went back to the loft either…”

Quickly he steps outside, not wanting Buck to hear how scared Eddie sounds, it would only make him feel worse. “Eddie, take a breath, Buck is here.” He’s about to say that Buck’s alright but there’s no way Eddie would buy it. “He’s here and he’s safe. We’ve got him.”

There’s a sigh of relief and no small amount of swearing in Spanish. “Ok…ok good. I’ll text Chim and let him know.” A pause and then a little quieter, “do you know what happened?”

“His entire world just got turned upside down, it’s not my place to say any more than that…but he’s going to need us, need you, more than ever.” Glancing inside he sees his wife pulling Buck to lean against her again, a strong arm around his shoulders.

“Whatever he needs.” Eddie says simply, a little bit of calm working through his voice now that he knows Buck is safe. “Can Christopher and I come over tomorrow?”

“Of course, I’ll make breakfast.” Thank god they’re off shift tomorrow, Bobby has no idea how they’d manage to convince Buck to take the day off. The kid would almost immediately take it as a sign he’d done something wrong. So much of his behavior, his actions, are suddenly making sense and Bobby would very much like to have strong words with Buck’s parents. “Get some rest Eddie, I’ll call you if anything changes but we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right, thank you Bobby.”

“Of course Eddie, take care of yourself and get some sleep.” Bobby hangs up and walks back inside and immediately Buck’s eyes shoot to his. “He’s not mad Buck, he’s just worried about you. I told him to bring Christopher over for breakfast.”

Buck looks completely drained as he sags with relief. His eyes are red and puffy and exhaustion radiates from every line of his body. With a quick squeeze Athena stands, “I’ll get the guest room all set up for you.” Buck looks like he’s about to apologize and Bobby’s heart breaks. “Don’t you dare apologize,” Athena says firmly. “You’re not being any trouble and we want you here. I know I’ll feel better if I know you’re here safe and sound.”

“Thank you…” Buck smiles at her, still subdued but genuine. Athena pauses to kiss the top of his head before heading down the hallway. Bobby takes her place on the couch and can’t help wrapping an arm around Buck in another protective hug. “I think you and Athena have hugged me more tonight than my parents have in my whole life…” Buck admits and Bobby wants to smack some sense into these people.

Anyone who’s spent more than 15 minutes with Buck can tell he thrives on physical contact. He takes every opportunity to be close to the people he loves. It’s the most obvious with Eddie, who’s always accepted Buck into his personal space even before they started to slide from friends to more, but Buck is quick with his affection and gets this almost surprised glee when he gets some in return. He soaks up love like a sponge and now they know why.

Athena comes back a few minutes later, giving them a fond look. “What do you think kiddo? Wanna try and get some sleep?” Bobby asks, rubbing a hand over Buck’s back.

“Yeah…I’m pretty drained Pops.” Together they stand up from the couch and follow Athena through the hallway.

“I put a pair of Bobby’s sweat pants and a sweatshirt on the bed.” Athena hugs him again, managing to tuck him against her so Buck looks small in her arms. He sniffles a little and steps back with a twist to his mouth.

Giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder, Bobby smiles at him. “We’re at the end of the hall if you need us.” Buck surprises him by reaching out and wrapping his arms around Bobby, squeezing tight before stepping back with a nod. “Thanks again…Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Buckaroo.” Athena smiles and grabs Bobby’s hand as they head to their room. They hear the door shut just as they shut their own and Bobby’s shoulders sag. Athena on the other hand starts pacing, eyes stormed over. “No wonder he was like that when he first came here. It was probably the only way he thought he could get any attention…we see it all the time with neglected kids.” Suddenly she pauses, spinning to face Bobby. “And Maddie! They probably made her keep it a secret…that poor girl had to just ignore that her brother had died and become a parent to the other one.”

Bobby rubs his hands over his face. “Eddie said she’s beside herself…inconsolable is the word he used…”

“I’ll call her in the morning and check on her.” Athena decides, finally crawling back into bed. Joining her under the covers, Bobby pulls her into his arms and takes comfort in the way she grips him just as tight. It’s a long time before they manage to fall asleep.

~~

Buck leans against the door as it shuts. He feels…empty isn't the right word. More like he's been hollowed out and filled with cotton stuffing, nothing left in him but lumps and cheap fiber. Pulling his wallet and keys out of his pocket he tosses them on the night table, pausing as he pulls his phone out next. He turns it over in his hands as he sits on the bed, debating turning do not disturb off or ignoring the shitstorm that's probably growing in his notifications.

Taking a deep breath he sets it down and changes into his borrowed pjs. The sweatpants are a little big but actually long enough for once, and the sweatshirt is just loose enough it wraps him in comfort. Curling up under the blankets, Buck lets the feeling of safety wash over him. Snatching his phone from where he’d set it on the table he checks his battery life. It’s low but enough for him to pull up his recent calls and quickly select Eddie’s name.

It’s only two rings before the line picks up, “Buck?”

“Hey Eds…”

“Buck, baby are you ok?” Eddie goes from groggy to awake in a heartbeat and Buck closes his eyes against the worry staining his voice.

“Not really…no, but I’m better than I was.” He’s too tired to pretend right now, breath hitching, “I’m so sorry Eddie…I know Christopher is probably mad at me and I’m sure you are too 'cause I let him down and I didn’t mean to worry you…”

“Hey hey hey, it’s ok Buck.” Eddie cuts off the frantic apologies that seem to be forcing themselves from his throat. “Take a breath for me.”

There’s no way Buck can resist the softness in his words, following the gentle instructions until his breathing settles down. “I’m not mad Buck,” Eddie continues now that Buck’s not halfway to hyperventilating, “and neither is Christopher. We were worried about you, but you’re somewhere safe and that’s what matters.”

“Did you tell Maddie and Chim where I was?” Buck knows he probably did, he highly doubts they didn’t blow Eddie’s phone up when Buck went radio silent.

There’s a sigh on the other end of the phone, “yeah…They were terrified.” Buck feels a weird mix of guilt and anger flare up, and Eddie reads his mind as always. “I also told them to let you come to them, and to give you some space.” He hears the shifting of blankets before Eddie continues, “I know that whatever happened feels like your entire world just blew up…But remember that me and Christopher are here and we love you. Whatever it was, we'll be right here with you, ok?”

“Ok…I love you both too.” Buck wraps Eddie’s words around him, another layer of warmth under the borrowed sweatshirt. “Hey babe?” Eddie hums in questions. “Can you stay on the phone a little longer?”

“Yeah, I’m here Buck, for as long as you need me.”

It’s mostly quiet after that, a few murmured words of comfort and affection passed back and forth, but eventually Buck hears Eddie’s breathing even out and lets it soothe him enough to close his own eyes.

#swamp demon writes #my fic #buddie #firefam #I will always be weak for Bobby calling Buck kiddo

[blankdblank]

Brother Dearest Pt 40

Three days and the negatives were returned to you on a joint trip with the catering crew who were purchasing some more supplies in Alberta to have the best and some spares in case of emergency for the big day to go seamlessly. Already in long sheets of continued copies the images with the descriptions had been set aside to be cut later today while the bindings were being readied for when the images were cut. Lights and garlands were already being assembled through the cathedral and barn with stands for where the flowers would be secured. Tables were quadruple checked for spacing and locations through the barn you met James in the task to end with an amusing first tasting from the caterers for a lovely dinner for two finished off with a miniature sample cake that would be replicated larger for your wedding day.

Smiles and bashful stolen kisses led to a mock honeymoon evening once he got you home, bathed and rubbed down lovingly. Morning came and with it the beginning of another round of work in the larger manor, eventually you hoped to move in but until that big day it would be used to house the Brocks and Father Thomas while Professor Randolph would stay in your cabin along with Erik and Edie. Beds and supplies were loaded into the manor to have it guest ready for all the arrivals. Two weeks and in the middle of walking out of the house for another day arms looped around you with Dot and her cousin tugging you to the waiting car for an in town spa day to get your nails done, hair trimmed and a first try for the braided bun style helping to distract you from the hectic day following. Everyone was arriving and could only add to the growing momentum of the week would give way hopefully with ample loving people to add to the efforts to get everything done.

.

“Where’s our Marigold?!” The echoes through the main floor of the cabin opening your eyes a moment before sighing and settling back into James’ tightening arms keeping you against his chest with an irritated grumble. Louder the noise grew spoiling the late morning in you had hoped to have having timed their promised departure time clearly having been moved up to get here sooner. Thundering footsteps sounded up the steps and doors were opened until over the pair of you several bodies scrambled to dish out hugs and animated greetings to goad you both out of bed and to get dressed.

Alone and on your feet they left you to smooth your hands over your face in their race out as you said, “I’m up, I’ll find my pants.”

Their cheers faded and with a smirk your shirtless fiancé eased closer to you smoothing his hands around your middle lowering your hands. Warm and loving his lips found yours drawing you into his chest to guide you into the bathroom he locked the door for a long break before joining the collection of Brocks downstairs who pulled you into excited hugs. The smile you would hold split across your face hearing Mamma Brock saying, “Sorry Pop couldn’t make it, as we can’t risk the cameras.”

“Oh that’s fine.”

“But he will be watching,” Gina added with a nod.

Ambrose asked, “Where’s your cousin and aunt?”

“They’re coming a bit later with one of the band members, he had to make a trip to Alberta he’s gonna pick them up on the way back.” Mamma Brock’s focus turned to Norma to get her off her feet and comfortable while you claimed hold of Teddy to help Eddie join the gaggle of relatives to locate the manor that they would unpack their things into. They weren’t gone very long and returned with Father Thomas who was admiring the yard and garden around the cabin and came inside to travel to the church. Though to your shock you smirked seeing Elliot at his side sharing his own adoration of your property and home.

His smile crept wider in your accepting the Father’s greeting and he accepted your gentle handshake patting his hand on the back of yours saying, “This is such a lovely home.”

“Thank you, you flew in early?”

Father Thomas moved past you catching sight of Margaret to greet the infant and lowly Elliot said, “Used the BiFrost, hope you don’t mind. I am not trusting the planes available, hours trapped in their smoke filled tuna cans.”

“Oh no, no problem, is the big H good with, that?”

Softly he chuckled saying, “Heimdall is a giant caramel candy. Come on, even he won’t miss this day. This is historic, last time you were bound before physical essences were settled upon we get to watch the predestined crowning.”

“Please don’t make the wedding seem like some pre historic runes etched into a great ruin somewhere.”

“They’re on Asgard,” he said earning a chuckle inducing groan from you in a turn to show him to his room.

“I’ll show you your room.”

“I did mean it, this is a lovely home.”

“I wasn’t doubting that,” you chuckled replying in the turn down the side hall he was taking the first room on the right. “But you should see the manor the guys were hiding from us.”

“Heimdall gave me a visual tour. Seems perfect for when you have more children.” Onto the bed he settled his suitcase and turned post inspecting turn of the room to return with you to the group. Soothingly saying, “You are so very precious to us. We won’t allow anything to spoil your day. Now, let’s go and publicly welcome the newest Pear to the brood.”

“And here I thought finding out my dad was actually Jewish and let me be raised Catholic was the most difficult loose end for a wedding to be planned for me. Never would have guessed alien Queen might trump that.”

“Oh you are not an alien,” he said luring your eyes to him again, “Aliens have hooved tentacles, three heads and a form of communication involving the release of bodily gasses and interpretive dancing.”

“Wow,” you said in a flat sarcastic tone.

“Not even green, they turn every color but green which is quite the insult of a color for someone to turn in their realm.” He looked your face over saying, “They however would always take compliment on knowing you borrow the misused mortal term to label yourself in opposition to their race.”

“There you are Bunny, you can ride with us, along with your Professor Elliot.” Gina’s Husband said earning a nod from the man at your side who was pleased to see the town on the ride over and namely the church with telling stained glass murals recognized from the foretelling runes none could translate until now.

“How is the book coming?” rippled around next in the bed of the truck you had been squeezed into.

And you answered, “They’ve started binding them, this part is the longest.”

Elliot said, “Well I’ve planned on ordering a copy of my own when it comes out and have called in the news to the Barnard Professor phone tree for those on the Spring and Summer course duties who will no doubt pass on to the others in no time.”

“It’s just a copy of the same ones I took at school.”

Gina said, “You are gonna have a book! Not the same!”

Ambrose, “Not at all! Everyone in our block wants a Bunny book.”

“It’s eight bucks.”

Gina’s husband said, “Plenty of time to save for that. Two copies are going in the town library I can bet you that.”

Ambrose’s husband said, “And even in the Public Library you love if we have to sneak copies ourselves and stash them in the art shelves.”

“Oh I can just imagine those headlines when they are found. Not a thievery but cluttering the shelves of the Public Library with picture books.”

Gina, “You live in that library, the Librarian alone would find a spot for your book after signing her copy.”

Ambrose asked seeing the outside of the church, “That the church?”

You said, “Yes, you should see the inside.”

 As soon as the cars were parked the family all poured out of the vehicles and Victor led the way through the front doors with Father Thomas beside him sharing about the church room uses until you got to the cathedral that dropped jaws. For an added surprise also a bit eager to have arrived early Erik and Edie followed the town murmurs and were dropped off here after a stop at the cabin to leave their bags there. Pleased for his preparedness with a thermos and flask of holy water on his person, around the baptismal stand you all encircled. Against James’ side you leaned with view of your niece being blessed and named while Teddy watched on Victor’s hip more than a bit confused.

“I baptize thee, Marigold Dove Pear,” The Father managed to get to before Teddy cut in.

“Small tub, we need more tub.”

Victor chuckled with the others and Victor tried to hushedly simplify that this was a special tradition for babies in the family after they’re born. “Keeps you safe.”

Of course that led to a halfway logical conclusion from the boy that bedtime baths were some form of protection and then had him asking where the magical soap was for her protecting bubbles, as he had never had a bath he could remember without bubbles. Ambrose’s husband took him on a stroll through the church in search of some magic soap with the excited other kids who just wanted to look around now that the pictures and everything was done leaving you giggling in James’ hold to his agreeing chuckles.

Father Thomas however when your giggles ceased drew your eye saying with a smile, “What better time to have a quick run through. Have you got your wedding license yet?”

James glanced at the Judge who snuck in saying, “Got it right here, managed to get the both of them their request form last week and this came in last night.”

The Priest smiled saying, “Good, very good,” accepting the folded license he added to the front cover of his bible. “Ok, so now bridal party? Full run through just to dust things off.” Everyone lined up and nicely Victor sat Norma down by the Brocks to let her rest her feet again while the Father nodded his head knowing Victor and Dawn were your two chosen witnesses.

The rest of the family split to fill the seats you gestured to, “This side’s for family,” Your eyes fell on Edie and Erik saying, “If you’ll join us, guess we can do the whole walk up.”

Father Thomas chuckled guiding James to his spot near the steps of the alter and turned to go with the rest of you to the doors at the other end of the hall where he said, “I go in first. Chosen children to scuffle their way down,” spreading smirks through the group in your stolen glance to James at the other end of the hall trying to ignore his urge to force this along and sign the license and be at least legally married already. “Then Victor and Dawn as Witnesses, then?”

You said, “Dot and David,” the pair nodded and linked up with Dot’s cousin and Erik next at your naming them with Gina and Ambrose next beside their husbands, all already on the verge of crying. You murmured teasingly, “No blubbering or none of us will get through this or the actual ceremony.” Luring their grins out and the Father nodded as you said, “And Eddie and my aunt are both walking me down.” You confirmed with a glance at her she answered with an agreeing nod she still wanted to.

Right behind the Father the lot of you made your way on more of a casual stroll back to the alter where two of the women adjusting flowers moved the traditional kneeling stools into place for you both the Father nodded in thanks, “Ah, yes, thank you. Brother and Aunt lift veil and move to their seats in the front,” he said taking your hand to guide you up to James’ side as the others filled up the front row of the family side of the pews. “The both of you would go up to the stools and kneel,” his head turned to Gina and Ambrose saying, “Two lovely scriptures have been given to Gina and Ambrose, there is the first song between them, the pair of you stand and Hallelujah to follow. I read, you kneel again.” he said pausing with a smile he struggled not to show, “Let’s you rest your feet for my main speech. Which I do believe won’t be a bit too long winded for our special guests unfamiliar with our ceremonies.”

Victor said, “They’ll survive the evening,” earning a few chuckles in return.

Father Thomas says, “Now the both of you face the congregation, and Bridal Party comes out on your sides.” Bridesmaids on your side came into place with the Groomsmen down the steps and in a sort of circle open where the Father would stand as Eddie confirmed for Edie she could remain in her seat beside him. He turned to the empty spot watching James’ hand fold around your hand to calm your shared nerves.

“James and Jaqiearae you have come together in this church so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love. In the presence of the church’s minister and this community. God has abundantly blessed love. He’s consecrated both of you. He now enriches and strengthens you by the sacred sacrament. So that you can assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity. And so I ask both of you now to state your intentions.

James, Jaqiearae, have you come here freely and without reservation? To give yourselves to each other in the sacrament of marriage? Will you say I Do?”

His brows rose and you both chuckled repeating, “I do.”

“Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife for the rest of your lives? Will you say I Will?”

Both say, “I will”

“Will you accept children lovingly from God, bring them up according to the law of our God and of our community? Will you say I Will?”

Both say, “I will.”

“It is your intention then to enter into marriage. Turn to each other, with your still joined hands, and declare your intentions before God.”

“Now come the names, um, I forgot to ask, what is your middle name James?”

Victor smirked in James’ pausing anxious grin luring your curious grin out that split into an awkward smile at his answering, “Pluto,” clearing his throat after echoed by a loud laugh from Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said to the Father in James’ look at him in his second laugh.

James, “What’s so funny about my middle name?”

Eddie shook his head, “Oh there’s nothing funny, you just match is all.”

He looked at you and you turned your head back from a glance away and you flashed him a quick grin, “Mine’s Persephone.” Causing his smile to split wider along with those from the crowd who understood while Elliot his hid smile behind his curled fist over his mouth to keep from making any noise from excitement.

“I, James Pluto Howlett, take you Jaqiearae Persephone Pear to be my wife.

I promise to be truthful.

In good times, and in bad.

In sickness and in health.

I will love you and I will honor you.

All the days of my life.”

He smiled and repeated each line and listened to you take your turns with the same vows simply reversing the names.

“My sister and my brother you have just declared your consent. Before God and before the church, may our Lord in his goodness strengthen that consent and fill you now both with his blessings. What God joins together let no men ever sever. Amen. Amen is repeated by congregation and couple. Now, rings,”

He turned his head and you said to Erik, “We have a tray for you for that day.”

James nodded saying easing his grin out, “Yes, the rings are at home.”

Father Thomas nodded and turned miming accepting the rings from Erik and turning to the eldest of girls from the Brocks who held up her hands miming a second tray, “I take the rings to this angel’s tray, bless the rings, then turn, and offer them to the couple.” He turned around again. “James says, Jaqiearae take this ring. As a sign of my love and faithfulness. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. Eases ring on then she repeats the same and then I turn, we congratulate the couple then begin the Prayers of the Faithful. Loving couple turn again to kneel.”

He motioned his hand and Eddie helped Edie to her feet to say, “Brother and Aunt bring up the sacred wedding lasso that will be draped over your shoulders. Now I give the Euchratic Prayer, the rosary is removed, you return to your seats. Couple stands, facing the crowd for an Our Father. We embrace one another after this, James and Jaqi, you go down to embrace your family and then return for your own personal communion. After this I inform the congregation that those willing are welcome for congregations or blessings with the remainder unwilling to receive it are welcome to remain in their seats.”

His eyes focused on you, “I do believe that King George and President Truman would find than an acceptable out to remain seated.”

“Either way it’d be rude for them to just storm out.” You said making him chuckle.

“Yes, then everyone back in their seats, the both of you go to pray to the Virgin and leave the offering of flowers and then return here, I speak to you all again offering a prayer and then I introduce the both of you, and Jaqi you are taking the Howlett name?”

“Keeping both, actually.”

He smirked and nodded saying, “Good, we welcome you, then you lead the congregation out to the reception, which will be-.”

James, “In the barn.” He said and that began the trip to the reception hall.

.

Two days, just two days out and in a sea of pots of flowers inside a greenhouse you eyed your choice of flowers for your bouquets. Yours being blue roses and blue and white calla lilies paired with the white rose and blue orchids for your bridal party, each girl got bundles of forget me nots and daisies the following day would be cut and assembled to be fresh for the ceremony. Those would be first and the rest of the lilies and roses in bright colors were to be added to their white counterparts through the barn seating arrangements that James was keeping himself distracted to perfect how everything was lined up.

First off the filming crew took the long drive and came to set up the cameras in the sides of the cathedral well out of the way from where others would be. A group of attendants from both King George’s security and the security team for President Truman. Who both arrived and got the full rundown on the ceremony including a mention you were certain to give them both of the communion portion they were able to return and hand over the schedule to know when they could work their ways in and out of the city to return to their return flight back to Ottowa.

Off on your own under the night sky you sat alone on the roof staring off at the stars with your mind locked down from focus on the rough day ahead. A telling scent of cocoa turned your head and with a grin James was seen standing from his spot kneeling on the roof he strolled across to sit down beside you, mugs and wrapped grilled cheeses in hand. “Someone ate all the deli meat we had.”

“That’d be Timmy.” You said accepting your helping and the second mug.

“Ah,” he replied and eased his eyes over your face saying, “Big day’s going to be lovely.”

You turned your head and sighed, “You know what’s difficult about having a Catholic wedding?” His smile spread as you said, “Having it be a Catholic wedding. Up, down, up down, then there’s singing that most of the guys coming probably won’t know. Does anyone in the town actually remember what a full catholic wedding is? I’m surprised Father Thomas does with all the eloping going around Brooklyn. Now I’ve got you saddled to this.”

Lowly he chuckled and replied, “I love you and this ceremony is nowhere near as long as the weddings I grew up attending. I love you,” he repeated scooting a bit closer to you, “Your mother wanted you to have a good Catholic wedding and to be an upstanding woman in town. I want that for you, to honor her, and your family. I don’t care how many steps it takes, been six years since we met, I can go half an hour at take mass to marry you. One day, just one they can all tag in on then we get three days, you, me and that honeymoon cabin. Cuddled up in bed for mornings and we can fish and swim and laze about in the sun and warm grass.”

“Three days?”

He chuckled and said, “We can make it five, then for a time at least the whole world lets up, for a little bit.”

“We’re going to promise in front of the world to have babies, on tv, there will be people betting I’m feet up grunting nine months from tomorrow.”

That had him laugh at your shrug and lift of the mug and he said, “Well we’ll just have to bet against them then won’t we, drive them crazy and wait six years for it.”

You giggled in his stolen kiss to your temple in your lean into his side triggering his arm easing around your middle, “We are not waiting six years. Gina’s been married six years and she’s got-,”

“What she’s got, and we are not pushing babies,” he said locking his eyes on yours in your eyes locking on his face through a tilt of your head backwards, “No forced babies, no expectations. This is our marriage, not a check list. Babies arrive when they mean to Teddy is proof of that enough that one day they can just pop up like a thunder storm.”

“I still don’t want to wait six years, I’d be 27.”

He sighed and said, “Women don’t have to rush into this nowadays, women survive longer and are being nourished to survive childbirth, however, if you’re worried about being taken as a spinster,” that made you giggle and roll your eyes, “We won’t wait six years.”

“I suppose it’s a bit odd to be worried on getting pregnant when I can get shot in the chest and heal right off. Getting pregnant shouldn’t be hard. Though labor might be puzzling. I mean what happens if the baby is halfway out and my body starts healing itself already?”

That had him chuckle in your calming bite of your grilled cheese, “I highly doubt that would happen. Baby’s gonna grow inside of you, be half you, it’s not like a bullet, if anything your body would get the baby safely out and then you heal.”

“If it does get stuck, and the Doc has to do a cesarean,”

His head tilted to catch your eye, “You mean cut you?”

You nodded and said, “I mean, I should heal, if, the cut would, be safer, for the baby…”

He simply sighed and said, “Doc will make sure you both make it through safely. For now, we’re getting married tomorrow. We can talk about how we’re going to sleep tomorrow night, did you want to sleep apart?”

“Doubt I could sleep if they try to shove you in another bed somewhere, the kids have already taken up your old bed, they want to stay here because the windows show too much blue in their room.” That had him chuckle. “I think they just like the animal heads.” You said taking another bite of your grilled cheese.

“Either way the parents could use a night off, and I could always use a blindfold if you like.”

“How is that supposed to work?”

“Vic can come and pull me out in the morning.” He said and took a sip and bite while you chewed your mouthful.

Pt 41

#The Rehearsals #Brocks Arrive #Professor Elliot Randolph #James Howlett x Reader OC #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Eddie Brock x OC #Baptism #Tour of the Church and Barn #Nighttime talks and worries

[pennylanefics]

Insecurity - Taron Egerton

a/n: this was so easy to write! also, this gif is too damn adorable. if you have any requests for taron, i’d be happy to take some!! i’ll write for Eggsy as well, possibly Eddie :) one last thing, just want to say i love Taron the way he is. this is in no way pointing anything out of focusing on the negative, just a fluffy idea i had in mind ❤️ :)

summary: Taron has a few struggles with changes that are needed to portray his roles

•••

“Babe, I’ve got the part!” Taron yells out from the kitchen. You were sat on the couch in your shared apartment, watching some random movie that was on TV. Upon hearing Taron’s voice, you sat up and waited for him to enter. A small smile appeared on your face as he soon walked back in, his phone still in his hands.

“That was casting, I got the part! They apparently loved my ability to be as awkward as can be,” Taron explains. Your smile widens and you stand to jump into his arms.

“I’m so proud of you, T! You are a perfect actor for this role, I honestly can’t think of anyone else to portray him,” you say to your boyfriend. He pulls back and grins down at you.

“Thank you for supporting me through everything. I love you,” he whispers, although his excitement is still evident in his eyes.

“I love you too. Now go tell your family, they’ve been dying to hear!” He chuckles and removes his arms from your waist and focuses on his phone as he calls his mom’s number. You take your place back down on the couch and watch with happiness as he talks, his back facing you. You grin softly as he turns around and you finally see his huge smile as his mom congratulates him. He catches you staring and winks cheekily, which makes you blush.

Taron recently has been wanting to take on a much different role than Eggsy, so he decided to audition for Eddie Edwards, for a ‘biopic’ of the Olympic skier. It was a very drastic change from the outgoing and cocky character of Eggsy, which is why he wanted it desperately. As much as he loves being apart of the Kingsman franchise, he doesn’t want to be type-casted as just that.

“Alright, talk to you later mum. Thanks! Love you too, bye.” He hangs up his phone and joins you back on the couch, where you two were sat before he got the call.

“Wow, I can’t believe I got it,” he breathes out, still in a daze from what just happened. You giggle and cuddle up in his arms.

“You deserve it, T. You’re such an amazing actor, and as I said before, I can’t imagine anyone else playing this role. I know you’ll do great,” you reply. He glances down at you and leans in to press a kiss to your lips.

“And I’ll be right here with you, cheering you on,” you add, reaching up for another kiss.

—

After a few first meetings with the cast, crew, and production team for Eddie the Eagle, Taron was still high off happiness. That lasted until they told him he had to gain some weight for the role. He was of course up for it, but to say it was easy was an understatement. He was put on a diet, was instructed to stop working out. This put a huge strain on himself and your relationship.

You noticed he started wearing baggy shirts, he wore hoodies more often, and he wouldn’t cuddle with you much anymore. It started to worry you, but since it was winter, you didn’t pay attention to the clothing aspect of it; you paid attention to the fact that he had been getting less and less intimate with you as shooting went on.

Unbeknownst to you of his insecurity problem, you began to think it had something to do with you. Did he not feel the same way anymore? Did he think you were getting less attractive? Was he cheating? You didn’t believe the last one, but you couldn’t help as it trickled into your mind.

You push it aside though, knowing he’s most likely under a lot of stress and pressure with the film. So, you put up with it. That is until he starts sleeping farther away from you, declining any hug you go in for, and making sure you don’t touch his body, at least not his midsection. You finally have had enough when he refused to cuddle with you during your usual Saturday movie night.

You sit on the far end of the couch, as far away as you could get from Taron. A single tear falls down your cheek and you quickly reach up to wipe it away, making sure Taron doesn’t notice. Unfortunately, your movement catches his eye and makes him pause the movie.

“Love, what’s wrong?” He asks, moving closer to you. He reaches out to touch your arm, but you snatch it out of his grasp. He has a look of hurt on his face, but now he knows what it feels like.

“Taron, is there something wrong with me?” You ask quietly. His eyes widen a bit at your question.

“Of course not, what makes you think that?” He responds in disbelief. You sigh and stare down at your hands.

“You haven’t let me hug you or cuddle with you, you’ve been sleeping far away from me in bed at night, we haven’t been intimate in the longest time, and you won’t even let me touch you!” You try to stay calm, but you can’t help it. He takes a deep breath and tries to prepare how to explain his problem.

“Love it’s not you, I promise,” he says. You finally look up at him, tears now streaming down your cheeks. His expression softens as he realizes how much he hurt you because of his own insecurity.

“I promise, darling. It’s just, I-they,” he pauses, trying to find the right words. You sit and wait for him, knowing that he just needs time.

“They have me on this strict diet, they aren’t allowing me to work out, and I hate how I look. I have a chubby belly, my chest isn’t chiseled or defined, and I guess I was just worried that you would leave me because of how awful-”

“Stop right there!” You demand before he can finish his sentence. He gazes up at you, tears now pooling in his eyes as well.

“You are so fucking perfect, Taron. And I fell in love with your personality as well as your looks. You don’t need to have washboard abs and huge, broad, defined shoulders or pecs. I actually prefer you having a little weight on you, you look much more cuddly and soft,” you explain as he chuckles lightly at your last comment.

“If you think I would leave you because you put on weight for a role, then you’re batshit crazy,” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood. He smiles and looks down at your hands, entwining his with yours gently.

“I know you wouldn’t. But my insecurity got the best of me and I couldn’t get the thought of you being repulsed by me out of my head, because I sure am,” he says in a hushed voice. You sigh and bring Taron into your arms, running your fingers through his hair.

“Taron, you need to stop putting yourself down. Just think about the end result. You will be in another amazing movie. And I guarantee you that there are women, and men, out there who love your body like this. Hell, they might even prefer it over your toned body. You need to give yourself more credit because you are so handsome and attractive, okay?” He nods along to your words and smiles softly.

“Now, how about we cuddle and finish watching this movie, yeah?” You ask in a more chipper mood. He chuckles and nods, bringing you into his arms and finally letting you get a feel for his newly changed body.

“I love you, Taron. No matter what,” you whisper as he holds you closer to his body, much more happier with himself now.

—

You and Taron are still going strong, six years together and still counting. He has had so much success, with the release of Eddie the Eagle, Sing, the second Kingsman, Billionaire Boys Club, preparing for a press tour for Robin Hood, which he recently just got done filming, and now getting ready to take on the role of Elton John in Rocketman. You are so proud of how far he has come since you two got together, and you knew this upcoming role would be the role of a lifetime.

Filming started in August, and with that, came early meetings, early days on set, and late nights at which he would come home at close to three or four in the morning. You two managed to get through the first couple months with ease, which has always been difficult in the past. He is so excited for this part, he has told you everything that has happened on set since day one. And you are more than happy to listen to him every single time.

But, just like Eddie the Eagle, this role came with some changes to his looks as well. He did have to put on a little weight again, but that was something he was used to. This time, the changes included thinning his hair out for the first few scenes to be shot. He of course wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The day he came home after being given the news, he was clearly upset, but tried not to let it seem like it was bothering him; he was so grateful for this role, and would do anything to keep it.

As the filming continues, his hair grew thinner and thinner, and his hairline was shaved back as well. You made sure to remind him every day that you love him and he’s perfect, even with thin hair. You continued to run your fingers through it, running your nails against his scalp, something you know he likes. He seemed okay with the transition, until the scenes were finished, and that specific hair wasn’t needed anymore.

You were sat on the couch watching The Office when Taron storms into the apartment, tears clouding in his eyes. You turn around to greet him but your expression drops when you see how distraught he looks.

“What’s wrong, T?” You ask worriedly, beckoning him over to sit with you. He sighs and tugs at his hair, the tears finally falling down his face.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with this, (Y/N)! I look like a fluffy egg!” You take a deep breath and run one hand through the short, thin hair.

“It makes me so insecure. Richard and Jamie asked if they wanted to get drinks after shooting, and I declined because of this bullshit. I can’t fucking walk around looking like this!” He exclaims.

“Hey, calm down,” you whisper, stroking your thumb against his cheek. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of your skin against his.

“Why don’t you start wearing a hat until it grows back?” You offer, already having an idea of how to make it better.

“Because I look awful in hats. Maybe I’ll just shave it off,” he says, falling into your lap. One hand went straight to thread through his hair, which eventually put him to sleep, due to how exhausted he is.

As he slept, you messaged his usual barber and asked if he could stop by tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, Taron had the day off, so he wouldn’t have to stress about seeing anyone with the hair he currently has.

-

The next morning, as Taron slept in, you quickly ran to a store and bought him a fashionable hat, one that you thought he would look great in. When you returned, he was still sleeping, so you decided to make him some breakfast for when he wakes up.

“Hmm, smells amazing, darling,” a voice spoke from the doorway of the kitchen. Taron comes up behind you, resting his hands on your waist and his head on your shoulder. He presses a chaste kiss to your neck and removes himself from you, seating himself at the kitchen table.

“You have anything planned for today?” You ask him as he begins to scroll through his phone.

“No. I was just planning on hanging around. Don’t exactly want to go anywhere with this hair, and I left my hats on set, but it’s closed today.” You smile softly, knowing that his problem would soon be solved.

As the day carries on, you grow more and more anxious for the time that Sean, his barber, is supposed to be here. You could see how awful Taron felt about himself, and you really hope that shaving it all off with help with his confidence.

Finally, the time came, and Sean was knocking on the door.

“You expecting anyone, love?” Taron asks, standing up to let whoever it was in.

“No, not that I know of.” He opens it and immediately pulls the man into a hug, since they hadn’t seen each other in a while.

“What are you here for?” You hear your boyfriend ask. You stand up to greet the man and nod for him to follow you out to the back porch.

“Your girlfriend asked me to come,” Sean says, winking in your direction. You turn towards Taron, who has a confused look on his face.

“What’s going on, darling?”

“I asked him to come and shave your head. I noticed how insecure and self-conscious you’ve been because of your thinned out hair and receded hairline, so I thought it would be best for you to just get rid of it,” you explain as he smiles widely and pulls you into a hug.

“I love you so much, baby. I can’t think you enough,” he whispers against your neck.

“Go on!” You playfully push him towards the back. He chuckles and taps your bum before heading outside, where Sean just finished setting everything up.

You leave them to it and go back to typing on your laptop in the living room. After about ten minutes or so, you hear the sliding door open and their voices echo through the kitchen. Setting your laptop aside, you stand and quickly skip to the kitchen to see your boyfriend’s new hair-do. You gasp and run up to Taron, who was now completely bald.

“You like?” He asks as he runs his hands over his head. You laugh and nod your head, replacing his hand with yours. It felt like peach fuzz, and you absolutely loved the feeling.

“The important thing is that you like it,” you respond. He grins and leans down to kiss your cheek.

“I really do. Thank you so much for asking Sean to come here last minute,” he says.

“It’s no problem. I didn’t want you to deal with your hair any longer.”

“The only thing is now I just look like a damn egg, instead of a fluffy one,” he chuckles. You laugh and shake your head at him.

“Which is why I went and got you a present.” You run off to your bedroom before he can respond. Grabbing the bag that contains his new hat, you quickly run back downstairs and see Taron saying goodbye to Sean, who was walking out the door. He shuts the door and turns back to you, a confused look on his face when he sees you’re hiding something.

“Here,” you simply say, handing him the bag. He cocks his eyebrows but takes it and opens it. The bag drops to the ground as he examines the wide-brimmed hat.

“When did you buy this?” He asks, not taking his eyes off of the object.

“This morning, when you were still asleep.” His smile widens when he places it on his head and walks over to the mirror hanging above a table against the wall.

“Holy shit, babe. I love it!” You cheer to yourself and walk over to him, rubbing your hands up his chest from behind him.

“I knew you would. It looked like something you would like, and I thought it would look good on you; I was right,” you brag as you smile up at him. He glances down at you and gives you a genuine and loving smile.

“I really do appreciate you doing this for me, love. I cannot thank you enough,” he says in a hushed voice.

“No need to thank me, babe. I want you to be happy, just being a good girlfriend.” He leans down to capture your lips with his and places his hands on your hips, slowly moving them lower and lower until they rest on your bum.

“I can think of a way to thank you, love,” he says suggestively, pulling you upstairs and into your bedroom.

“Hope you’re gonna be okay with not being able to pull my hair anymore when I go down on you.”

•••

taglist: @loveharrington

#taron egerton #taron egerton imagines #taron egerton x reader #taron x reader #taron imagines #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

[liesyousoldme]

i wrote a Thing but idk how i feel about it so i’m going to put it here and just... see what happens. maybe one day it’ll move to ao3 as a oneshot but for now i’m super unsure about the characterization aksdfjldsfs anyway if you’re interested here’s a post-battle fix-it fic where eddie AND stan live but you only see stan for like five seconds

tw for some serious internalized homophobia including dealing w religious beliefs because religion is a big part of eddie’s fear of being gay and i never really put it in fics bc it can be such a tricky subject but. here we are.

also tw for thoughts/plans of suicide (it’s super brief)

this is...angsty.

“Meet back in half an hour?” Mike’s voice was cheery as he looked around at the six other Losers that stood in the hotel lobby.

Beverly and Eddie spoke at the same time – Beverly suggesting they do breakfast instead so everyone could get some rest, and Eddie loudly saying: “You expect me to get this nasty shit off of my body in less than thirty minutes?” He noticed Richie wince next to him. “What?”

“Dude, you’re screaming,” Richie told him, just as Mike agreed with Beverly.

“No I’m fucking not,” Eddie countered, frowning.

“As much as I hate to agree with Richie,” Stan said, “you are. Clean out your ears while you’re in the shower.”

Eddie gaped at his friend. “My… my ears?”

“Bet you got leper puke in there,” Richie added, grinning.

Eddie was horrified. He hadn’t realized everyone else had already headed upstairs to their respective rooms to shower – except Beverly and Ben, who seemed to have entered the same room. He wasn’t even sure where Mike had gone; he hadn’t heard the door of the inn open and shut but he also apparently had leper vomit in his fucking ears -

“While you guys argue, I’m going to take a shower and call my wife,” Stan said, an embarrassed expression crossing his face. Eddie wasn’t sure what to say; they all knew the story: Patty had caught Stan in the midst of writing seven letters, stopping him from following through on his plan and calling Mike to find out what had been so awful that her happy husband had decided to calmly sit down and write suicide notes for her and six people she’d never heard of. Mike and Stan had explained the situation to her as well as they could; in the end, it had been Patty who convinced Stan that he couldn’t turn his back on a promise.

“Well, I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Eds,” Richie said, when the door closed behind Stan. He started up the stairs when Eddie’s voice stopped him.

“There’s… I don’t have a shower curtain anymore,” Eddie told him, voice still too loud. “Or, it has a knife hole and blood on it… Also, there’s blood in my shower...”

“Eddie Spaghetti, are you trying to get naked with me?”

Eddie floundered, face turning red. “Wh – I – No! I just. Shut the fuck up, Richie!”

Richie laughed, gesturing at Eddie to follow him. “C’mon, dumbass, you can use my shower. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Wow, my knight in shining armor,” Eddie muttered, following Richie up the stairs. He’d already brought his luggage back up and left it outside his own room, so he grabbed it and entered Richie’s room. Richie was already digging through the one small suitcase he’d brought.

“You know…” Richie started, then paused. Eddie looked at him, dropping his toiletry bag on the bed next to Richie’s luggage. Richie looked back, biting his lip. He finally shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Just take your shower, Eds,” Richie sighed. 

Eddie felt his stomach drop and knew the disappointment on his face was obvious. He hated when people did that, started to say something and then pulled a never mind, and Richie knew that. Richie was looking down at his bag, still moving clothes around like he was looking for something, but Eddie was sure it was just a way to avoid eye contact. He waited for Richie to say something for a few moments, and when he didn’t, he rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom.

It was disgusting work, peeling off the clothes he’d been wearing for over 24 hours. He realized this outfit had been on an airplane, in a rental car, at a restaurant, in the basement of the pharmacy, covered in Leper puke, bled on from his own stab wound, through the Derry sewer system, into It’s lair and finally into the Quarry.

He already began making plans to burn all of it. He’d get the others in on it, too. A big fire pit for all their clothes, something symbolic for burning up all the shit they’d been through - he’d ask Bill, Bill was a writer, he’d know symbolism. And maybe if they burned the clothes the memories would burn too, and if they didn’t have the memories of what happened down in the sewers then maybe the fear would burn right up with them.

The shower in Richie’s bathroom was exactly the same as the one in his own, down to the ugly green color of the curtain, and the sight of it made him shiver. He stood under the water unable to close his eyes, constantly checking to make sure a crazy escaped inmate wasn’t waiting on the other side of the curtain with a knife. He’d seen Bowers’ dead body, but he couldn’t help but think the sharp end of a knife was going to tear through the curtain at any moment.

He started by cleaning out his ears, steadfastly avoiding looking at the gunk that he removed, then moved onto his hair, because he knew he’d have to keep his eyes closed the longest to rinse out shampoo and he wanted to get it over with. It took three washes before his hair felt sufficiently clean, and he’d only peeked around the shower curtain four times. After that, he used a washcloth from the hotel, lathered in his own antibacterial body wash, to scrub every inch of his skin until he was bright red but clean. He checked for an intruder only twice as he did so. He washed only the bottom half of his face with his face wash, carefully avoiding his new stab wound, choosing to scrub his forehead with the washcloth so as not to risk soap in the eyes. It wasn’t until he had opened the curtain and begun to dry off that he realized how hard his heart had pounded the entire time he’d been showering.

He was going to have to find a place with a walk-in shower, the kind with a glass door and glass walls - not even the foggy kind, just plain old see-through glass - once he decided where he was going to live after he left Derry. Not only did his house in New York have tubs with shower curtains, but it had Myra and years of unhappiness, and he had already decided he was not going back before he’d even left.

Once he was dry, he stepped out of the shower and frowned, wincing when it pulled at his injured cheek. He knew he should go to the emergency room, knew he needed stitches, but he was so fucking tired. Every muscle in his body ached from overuse and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for 12 hours.

He wrapped the towel around himself tightly and exited the bathroom, already planning to avoid Richie’s gaze and letting his eyes go directly toward his suitcase on the bed.

However, they landed on Richie in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers on the bed, instead. He was clean, dark hair wet against the pillow, and he grinned wolfishly at Eddie.

“Oh,” Richie said. “Do you have something you need to tell me, Eds? You sleep in the nude? I’m sorry, but I’m not your wife, so – “

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned, his face heating up. For a moment he worried that blushing would make his cheek gush blood, but Richie didn’t react and he didn’t feel any wetness, so he figured that was probably paranoia. He really needed fucking stitches. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me. How did you shower?”

“I used Ben’s, since he’s busy fucking Beverly in hers,” Richie answered casually.

“Christ, Rich,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t… You can’t say shit like that, they’re our friends.”

“Just because they’re our friends doesn’t mean we have to pretend like they’re not absolutely having sex right now.”

“I’d prefer not to think about it, actually,” Eddie said, kneeling down to the floor where Richie had placed his luggage and looking for something to use as pajamas.

“I’d prefer to think about it,” Richie grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Eddie, who had glanced up to give him a disgusted look.

“Stop thinking about Beverly naked, Richie.”

“Oh, it’s not Beverly I’m thinking about,” he said.

Eddie whipped his head around, clutching a t-shirt in his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Richie said, looking in the opposite direction. He’d tried to hide it but the change in tone was obvious to Eddie. Richie’s fingers fidgeted where they rested on his chest. “Ben’s super hot now, and Beverly’s like… my sister.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what to say. Was this a joke?

“Um,” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “What?”

“Don’t act all oblivious now, Eds,” Richie continued, though Eddie could still hear the discomfort in his voice. He always resorted to that fake laughter, to jokes that didn’t quite land, when he was nervous.

“Uh – Is this…” Eddie trailed off, staring at Richie’s poker face. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious about Ben. Like, are you actually attracted to him?”

Richie glanced to the side. “Attracted to him how?”

Eddie felt the urge to stomp his foot. Richie was being difficult on purpose and he wasn’t sure how, but somehow this was a ruse to make fun of him. “Attracted to him the normal way, Richie. Like, physically. Sexually. Whatever.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t say no if he offered,” Richie shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, “but is this you coming out to me right now?”

“I thought I did that at dinner when I talked about how hot Ben was.”

“Can you be serious for like, five seconds?”

“I am being serious!” Richie insisted, sitting up. Eddie pulled his t-shirt over his head without removing the towel from his waist. “I mean… if you’re okay with that?”

“If I’m okay… With you being attracted to Ben.”

“No, you fucking dumbass!” Richie rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about Ben!” He paused and shook his head. “Okay, no, I give a shit about Ben, just not like that. I just meant… if you’re okay with me being… not straight.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed. He was clutching his towel.

“I uh, probably should’ve done this at a better time, huh?” Richie said, cheeks red. He laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. “Like, when you’re not naked.”

“I’m not naked,” Eddie argued weakly.

“You’re naked enough,” Richie muttered.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“God, Eddie, please tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked angrily.

“Nothing,” Richie answered, shaking his head. “Just go back to your room, Eds. I’m sure your bed doesn’t have blood on it.”

“Dude, no,” he said.

“I’m not asking, Eddie. You need to leave.”

Eddie stared, eyes wide. He’d never heard Richie’s voice like that and it made his stomach twist into knots. He was glued to the floor, watching as Richie sat up and put his feet on the floor.

“Eddie,” Richie said, his voice still cold. “I can’t do this right now, okay?”

“Do what?” He knew he sounded whiny but he couldn’t help it, Richie wasn’t making any sense.

“I can’t talk about my fucking feelings with you, Eddie,” Richie yelled, standing up from the bed. “Not when I just came out to you and you had no fucking reaction, and you’re either stupid or purposely ignoring what I’m trying to tell you, and you’re fucking naked!”

Eddie exhaled heavily. “You said you were attracted to Ben.”

“Oh my God,” Richie laughed to himself, though there was no humor in it. “So you are actually just that fucking stupid, then.”

“I’m not stupid, Richie, I understand what you’re telling me!” He shouted, finding a pair of underwear and gripping them in his hand. “I just – I don’t know what to say! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Just say you don’t hate me,” Richie choked. He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. Eddie’s heart lurched. His eyes drifted down, taking in the way Richie’s t-shirt was tight on his broad shoulders, the way it was so thin he could see the pink of his nipples and the black of his chest hair, and even lower than that more black, leading down… “Eddie?”

His head snapped up, heat crawling down his chest. “I-“ He took a moment to regain his thoughts. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sound very believable,” Richie snarked, falling back down onto the bed. “Now that we’ve had this shitty conversation, can you please just leave?”

He was trying to sound unbothered, even verging on annoyed, but Eddie could hear the hurt underneath. He didn’t know how he felt, but he knew he hated to hear Richie sound like that. Gathering his resolve, he found a pair of pajama pants in his luggage and marched back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He made short work of dropping the towel and dressing, ignoring the way his hands were shaking.

He'd never thought of another man like that. The way Richie seemingly thought about him. He’d never –

But that was a lie, and he knew it.

He had thought, he’d just ignored it. Even though he’d told Myra he wasn’t coming home, she was still technically his wife. And for his entire life, he’d technically been a straight man.

(Straight men don’t want a better look at their male best friend’s happy trail, his brain told him, and he shut his eyes tightly to try and make the mental image go away.)

So he occasionally spent a little too long looking at other men. And he occasionally thought of strong thighs and broad shoulders and low groans when he got off. But it wasn’t…

He thought back to childhood. Had he felt like this about Richie then, too? He remembered how close they had been, physically. Had he been leading Richie on, all those times he climbed into the hammock with him? All the sleepovers where they shared a twin bed? The movie nights where he hid his head in Richie’s shoulder during the scary parts?

Was it leading someone on if you wanted it, too?

What if you didn’t even know you wanted it?

Did he want it?

He didn’t notice he had begun to wheeze loudly until there were two knocks on the bathroom door. He jumped, gasping for breath he didn’t have. He felt dizzy.

“Eds? Are you okay in there?”

There was concern in Richie’s voice, none of the hurt from before. Eddie yanked the door open to find Richie standing on the other side, his worried look exactly how Eddie had pictured it.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he mumbled, stepping back so Eddie had room to get through the doorway without getting too close. Eddie didn’t move. He tried to breathe in deeply, gripping onto the door handle. “I didn’t mean to freak you out-“

“Can you help me?” He asked, interrupting Richie’s apology. Before he could answer, Eddie went on. “When I – When I breathe, can you count? Slow; 4 in, hold for 4, out for 4?”

He wasn’t sure if Richie could even understand what he was saying, but Richie was nodding, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed. Once he was sitting he closed his eyes against the dizziness and gasped for air, ignoring the tears that leaked out the side of his closed eyelids.

Richie’s voice was quiet as he counted. It took a few minutes before Eddie was breathing on time with Richie’s count without his chest feeling deflated, and it was only then he realized they were holding hands. With his free hand, he wiped the stray tears from his face. Once he felt like he could speak again, he turned to Richie.

“Panic attack,” he whispered. “Not asthma. Myra always just made me use my inhaler but… I saw a therapist, for a little bit. Right before the wedding. She taught me how to… How to make it stop, without it.”

“Why would she still think you needed your inhaler if it’s not asthma?” Richie asked, keeping his voice at the same quiet level as Eddie’s.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Because it makes me weak. She likes me weak.”

“Eds, you’re not weak. You’re probably the bravest of all of us.”

He shook his head. Richie didn’t say anything else, just sat next to him while he focused on keeping his breathing even. He didn’t want to think about Myra, or about the kinds of things you need to be brave for. 

Richie was still holding his hand, and he let his eyes wander his direction, past where their hands lay in between them and to Richie’s legs, bare in just his boxers.

He’d never paid much attention to his own legs, or really the legs of other men. It wasn’t something that had crossed his mind-

(except maybe it had, when he was younger and laying in a hammock, but it wasn’t really about legs then, was it? It was about skin, the electricity he felt on days they both wore shorts)

-except in his dreams, the fantasies he pretended he didn’t have, the ones where thick, hairy thighs were wrapped around him, around his waist, around his head, on either side of his own – and he pretended not to think about what was in between, either, how lightheaded he felt when he got fucked up enough to really let himself think about it, to think about what was inside Richie’s boxers-

(but it wasn’t Richie’s cock he dreamed about (wasn’t it, though?) when he took enough of those anxiety meds that his filter turned off)

-and he could see it now, at least the outline, where thin material didn’t do enough to hide what was inside.

He was breathing too quickly again.

“Eddie-“

“You need to put pants on,” he choked out, taking in a deep breath.

Richie stood up immediately but Eddie couldn’t look at him as he spoke, embarrassment evident in his voice. “Fuck, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it – I – fuck, I swear I’m not – I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

“It’s just-“ He sucked in another deep breath, clenching his fists. His mouth started moving without his permission. “It’s – It’s hard to have a fucking gay crisis when your legs and your – your fucking dick are right there and I want-“ he closed his eyes when he heard Richie’s breath hitch. “I just… want. And I can’t have because the second I do I’m – I can’t – It’s wrong, Richie. It’s wrong, right?”

Richie had put on a pair of sweatpants while he was talking, and now he knelt next to Eddie, making sure to keep some distance between them. His face was red, and Eddie could tell his breaths were harsher than normal, could see his hands clenched into fists. But he didn’t say anything, just looked at Eddie, who choked out a sob. “Help me,” he begged, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking for. He just wanted, and he needed that to be okay.

“It’s not wrong, Eds,” Richie finally said. His voice cracked. One hand came up to rest on the mattress next to where Eddie sat. “I know it – it was fucking hard growing up when we did, right? Getting called names and listening to people talk about AIDS like it was punishment, and even now, hearing all the bullshit from people who swear it’s all a sin, like it’s something we chose. But we didn’t, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, and if you… If you choose to act on it, you’re still not doing anything wrong.”

“How do you know we won’t go to Hell?” Eddie whispered, grasping the comforter in his hands. He felt young, like a child asking for reassurance, but he was trapped in his own mind, trapped in the church he went to as a kid, where taking the bread was an act of courage every day, because God was going to know somehow, and He’d come right into the church and damn him straight to Hell.

“I don’t, really,” Richie answered. Eddie looked at him, helplessly. “But I think… You go to Hell for doing bad shit, right? For being a bad person. But there’s nothing – there’s nothing bad about love. I’m not doing anything bad by loving you.”

“What about sex? That’s – that’s the bad part, right? Love is great and whatever, but when it’s sex…”

“That’s not bad, either,” Richie promised. Eddie jolted when he grabbed one of his hands, uncurling his fingers from the blanket. “It’s natural and normal. But I don’t – I really don’t know what else to say, Eds. The whole religion thing was never a major issue for me. That’s probably more suited for like, intense therapy.”

Eddie nodded jerkily, laughing a little and squeezing Richie’s hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, “for talking me down. You were always the one that took care of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugged, voice still soft. “I love you, so I’m gonna take care of you no matter what.”

Eddie wanted to tell him, wanted to say he loved him, too, but the words stuck in his throat.

“I’ll always let you take care of me,” he said instead, and hoped Richie understood what he meant.

“What are you going to do next? With – As far as, you know, your marriage?”

Eddie sighed. “She already knows I’m not coming home, but… I still have a job in New York. I guess I’ll have to find an apartment. I don’t know. And you’re right, I should go back to therapy, because I clearly have some shit to work out.”

Richie nodded. “I don’t think there’s a single one of us that doesn’t need to go to therapy weekly for the rest of our lives.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t know how well a therapist would take it if you walked in and started talking about how you fought and killed an evil alien clown.”

Richie laughed. “Eh, I’ll write it into a stand-up routine instead. Comedy is basically therapy, anyway.”

“No,” Eddie said, vaguely alarmed, though still amused. Richie was grinning at him. “No, Richie. It’s important to me that you understand joking about your trauma onstage to a bunch of strangers is not the same as therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, waving him off. He crawled backward until he was leaning against the pillows again, the same way he’d been when Eddie had gotten out of the shower. The bed was big enough that if Eddie were to lay next to him, they wouldn’t be touching. He thought about it. “And if you want, I have an apartment in the city. I’m not there very often, I spend most of my time in LA or on tour, but. There’s two more bedrooms than I need and… I mean, we could split rent or whatever. Even if it’s just til you find a place for yourself.”

Eddie looked at him. He wasn’t avoiding eye contact, but he wasn’t making an effort to look at Eddie, either. His hands were folded on his chest again.

“Okay,” Eddie agreed, taking a leap and situating himself next to Richie on the bed. His head hit the pillow and he sighed. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how close Richie was. He fell asleep to the soothing sound of Richie’s even breaths, and when he woke he felt more rested than he had in years.

#my fic #this is actually kind of long my bad

[dweemeister]

The Happiest Millionaire (1967)

Younger readers do not know of a time when Walt Disney Studios was never considered a major Hollywood studio. That recognition, to stand alongside the likes of Columbia, Universal, or Warner Bros., did not officially arrive until after The Little Mermaid (1989) and the resulting 1989-2000 Disney Renaissance and Disney’s close ties to Pixar (which it would purchase outright in 2006). In its early years, Disney did not distribute its own films, instead going through United Artists and later RKO. Disputes with the eccentric Howard Hughes – who purchased RKO in 1948 – over the True-Life Adventures documentary series led Disney to (correctly) predict that RKO was a studio in a fatal tailspin, and the RKO-Disney partnership was soon abandoned. Walt and older brother Roy O. Disney co-founded Buena Vista Film Distribution Company (renamed Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures in 2007), but Disney – taking the animation and live-action studios together – lacked the distribution reach of the established Hollywood studios.

As Walt paid less attention to animated features for his anthology television series and the live-action features, an occasional live-action Disney film became part of the American cinematic zeitgeist: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954); Old Yeller (1957); The Absent-Minded Professor (1961). In a decade heralded (and ridiculed) for its sumptuous musicals, Mary Poppins (1964) was considered the defining film for the studio’s live-action efforts. Of course, an ailing Walt desired to replicate the artistic and financial success of Mary Poppins. Norman Tokar’s The Happiest Millionaire is that follow-up film, adapted from a play based on My Philadelphia Father by Cordelia Drexel Biddle, and doomed to unforgiving comparisons upon release and today. The Happiest Millionaire is an unfocused fever dream of a musical film, surviving – just – because of a handful of Sherman Brothers songs and its unironic charm.

The film begins with Irish immigrant John Lawless (Tommy Steele) arriving in Philadelphia, ready to become the butler of a household headed by millionaire, amateur boxing trainer, Bible School teacher, and alligator enthusiast. Anthony J. Drexel Biddle (Fred MacMurray). Lawless is the on-screen narrator for the film’s duration, noting how he enjoys the Biddles’ eccentricity. He observes or comments on Mr. Biddle’s antics and, more seriously, his eagerness to have the U.S. intervene in World War I. Mrs. Biddle (Greer Garson) and Aunt Mary (Gladys Cooper) pay little heed to Mr. Biddle’s unusual beliefs and behaviors – most likely out of love, not marital/familial capitulation. The Biddle children are older teenagers trained in boxing by their father, and we see little of sons Tony and Livingston (Paul Petersen and Eddie Hodges). Cordy Biddle (Lesley Ann Warren in her film debut) is the best boxer of the Biddle children and, while away to boarding school, falls for Angier “Angie” Buchanan Duke (John Davidson) – what a name!

If it seems difficult to ascertain the narrative focus of The Happiest Millionaire judging by the above paragraph, that is how it feels like to watch the film after the opening song. Though it is ostensibly about Mr. Biddle as the allegedly happiest millionaire, the story transitions between Mr. Biddle, his wife, John Lawless, Cordy and Angie, and Angie’s family without much signaling. These shifts are abrupt, resetting often, and disrupting the flow of the movie. Norman Tokar’s direction and Cotton Warburton’s (1949′s Neptune’s Daughter, Mary Poppins) editing appear scattered, lacking any semblance of cohesiveness, and making The Happiest Millionaire feel like its 172-minute runtime (this is the most complete version of the film; I will go into this more later, but beware of any versions that are shorter and are not presented in the 1.66:1 widescreen format). The adapted screenplay by A.J. Carothers (1963′s Miracle of the White Stallions, 1964′s Emil and the Detectives) just barely connects the competing plotlines to form a comprehensible whole.

Carothers’ screenplay is packed with references to the turn of the twentieth century that probably will be lost on younger viewers, who might be instead charmed by Biddle’s pet alligators and his Bible study masquerading for a boxing school. Too much of the broad humor falls flat, as The Happiest Millionaire is at its comedic best when it elects to be witty rather than relying on slapstick or its bizarre, absurd situational humor. The performances are uncomplicated, but does one ever really expect excellent performances from such a disorganized screenplay?

With 3,000 costumes tailored for the extras and principal actors of The Happiest Millionaire (250 were for the principal actors), Bill Thomas (1960′s Spartacus, 1971′s Bedknobs and Broomsticks) crafts gowns and suits for various occasions: casual, formal, sporting, professional. Thomas’ work helps the audience feel like they are embedded within this well-to-do family in the mid-1910s. The art direction by Carroll Clark (1933′s King Kong, Mary Poppins) and John B. Mansbridge (1965′s Those Calloways, 1982′s Tron) is as flamboyantly tacky as could be expected for showing the interior of an eccentric millionaire’s family residence – there is a lot of glass in this film.

Yet from a technical standpoint, this is the Sherman Brothers’ film. Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman combined to be the most prolific songwriting team in Hollywood – no other duo worked together for as many film musical scores as they did. The Happiest Millionaire is not the best entry from the Shermans in part because of the film’s lackluster screenplay. That is a high bar, however, for the songwriting brothers whose credits also include Mary Poppins, the Winnie the Pooh films from 1966-2000, numerous other Disney animated and live-action films, and extra-Disney productions including The Slipper and the Rose (1976). Immediately after the opening credits and overture, “Fortuosity” (a supposed neologism derived from “fortuitous” and is one of the songs played on rotation at Disney parks’ Main Street) describes John Lawless’ situation and personality in three minutes. The film never approaches that level of efficient musical characterization ever again – not even with the multiple musical quotations of “What’s Wrong With That?”, which is to Fred MacMurray as “The Life I Lead” was to David Tomlinson in Mary Poppins.

The more musically and narratively isolated songs serve their momentary purpose, with little function after they have completed. Some will elicit laughter, like “Watch Your Footwork” and “Bye-Yum Pum Pum”. Others are catchier or more musically interesting than others, such as “I’ll Always Be Irish” and especially John Davidson’s vocals in “Detroit”. Nevertheless, there are too many meandering clunkers (“Valentine Candy” and “It Won’t Be Long ‘Til Christmas”; the latter has hints of late nineteenth century American folk music in its woodwind section that would have been interesting to use in this film), with uninteresting musical phrases extended far past the point where they should resolve to the tonic.

Appearing at the roughly around the one-hour mark for The Happiest Millionaire’s, “Are We Dancing?” does not have the lyrical genius and the poetic personification of Mary Poppins’ “Feed the Birds”, nor has it imprinted itself into the public consciousness to the extent of the Winnie the Pooh theme. Its lyrical imperfections and lack of cultural impact aside, I don’t recall a Sherman Brothers for a Disney film being orchestrated as gorgeously as “Are We Dancing?” (if we want to open it up to their non-Disney careers, then it rivals “He/She Danced with Me” from The Slipper and the Rose). Every section of the orchestra – whether it is the string instruments doubling John Davidson and Lesley Ann Warren’s lyrics or the woodwinds and brass providing a heavenly lift in three-quarter time – is providing some of the lushest harmonies ever heard in a Disney song. Within the film, “Are We Dancing?” – you guessed it – is Cordy and Angie’s first dance, where love begins to a waltz’s pulse. Some, including Cordy before she begins dancing, might consider that old-fashioned. Like she and numerous characters in movie history who have waltzed on-screen, she changes her tune by music’s end.

When The Happiest Millionaire premiered at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood on an early summer day in 1967, the occasion became less of a movie premiere and more of a testimonial to Walt Disney, who passed away that last December and had seen a rough cut of the film that would be bitterly contested by his successors. The Happiest Millionaire was the final film Disney personally oversaw and, in its most complete form, remains the longest film to be released under the banner of Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures (excluding Hollywood, Lucasfilm, Marvel, Miramax, Pixar, and Touchstone). Following its Hollywood premiere, The Happiest Millionaire was released as a roadshow. The roadshow theatrical release, popular in the 1950s and ‘60s but largely having run its course by the ‘70s, was where a film would first open in a major city before going “on the road” – a film that debuted in Los Angeles or New York City would then premiere in another large city for limited showings (perhaps one or two performances a day for select days during the week). Only after the completion of this roadshow would the film be released across the United States, typically shorn of some scenes that only appeared in the “roadshow release”.  Roadshow films were typically longer, containing an overture, an intermission, an entr’acte, and occasionally closing music. It is the roadshow release version that viewers should seek – the roadshow version is available on DVD (VHS and all formats prior to DVD have shortened theatrical cuts) and, hopefully, will be on Disney’s streaming upcoming service.

By the time The Happiest Millionaire premiered, roadshow releases were on the wane. Studios executives (including Disney, which led him to produce The Happiest Millionaire after the triumph of Mary Poppins), inspired by the financial success of such musicals from the early- and mid-1960s, believed these movie musicals to be their answer to shifting winds in Hollywood. They would, as a post-Walt Walt Disney Studios learned, be mistaken. Any notions that Walt Disney Studios could ever challenge the Hollywood studio stalwarts seemed unlikely. The Happiest Millionaire, for those who temper their expectations and are interested in the final Disney film with any connection to Walt himself, is a flawed effort saved only by a selection of its musical performances and songs found within.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

#The Happiest Millionaire #Norman Tokar #Fred MacMurray #Tommy Steele #Greer Garson #Gladys Cooper #Geraldine Page #Hermione Baddeley #John Davidson #Lesley Ann Warren #Walt Disney #Sherman Brothers #Richard M. Sherman #Robert B. Sherman #Bill Thomas #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

[ride-run-sleep-repeat]

Well, we went back to GODZone like the gluttons we are.

  We had bright eyed and bushy tailed Jackson to complete our team this year and after our concerns that he was going to wreck himself by running 250km around New Zealand before we got there faded (how he does what he does and doesn’t drink coffee is beyond me). We settled in for a couple days of peace and action movie watching before the race (Die Hard 4 2007, All is Lost 2013, Hannibal 2001, Interstellar 2014, Black Hawk Down 2001, … ). We are equally intense with our movie watching as we are with our endurance sports. 

Sunday leg 1: multisport prologue ft. coasteering

The race was a little different this year, well, a LOT different, but day one was the Prologue race, which wasn’t really my cup of tea (not long and suffery enough) but still lots of fun. We set off coasteering around the Akaroa headland with a few swims, then a short sufferfest mountain biking up and over a big hill where Tom bribed me with lollies by literally dangling them in front of me to make me go up the hill faster (it worked).  Then there was a packraft across the lake to the final leg at the Christchurch Adventure Park where we ran into Craig, a fellow Canberran out for a Rogaine. Small world! We got to the end and had a 30 minute mandatory wait for our maps so we set up the tent, changed into warm things and went to suss food options.

Monday leg 2: packraft/trek/caving

After a less than ideal sleep because of excitement, our alarm went off at 1am to pack up and at 1:40am we hopped on the bus to take us 2 hours away to the start of Leg 2 – the 73 km Trek/Packraft and Caving. As with a lot of the teams around us, the first CP was pretty difficult to hit with 1:50,000 maps and a bit of complacency but after bush bashing for a little while and then reconnecting with the surrounding teams, we finally hit the CP and headed off to Binser Saddle, a roughly 700 metre vertical elevation gain and the first and only climb in this leg. It was at this point we got “stuck” behind a few slower teams (which I didn’t mind at all) as the trail was quite narrow. After some teams stopped for rests and poo’s we managed to get ahead of the slower guys and descend towards the river.

I was going to say that there wasn’t much to report after that but actually after paddling for an hour or so I noticed two safety guys on the other side of the river and saw we were approaching the first (and only) rapid. It was all looking fine until Paul and I hit a rock right at the top and I went flying out of the packraft –  headfirst. The current was pretty strong and after knocking my knees on a few rocks I was finally able to orientate myself so my feet were going down the river first (thank you swift water rescue training!). It was at this stage I realised I had dropped my paddle and saw it floating just ahead of me, so after grabbing it I swam into an eddy, gave the “I’m okay” signal to the safety guys. (Although I was a bit shaky I have to say!) It was at this point I realised that I had only grabbed half my paddle and it wasn’t until Paul pulled up with the packraft and the other half that I realised it had snapped. Shit. We pulled up on the other side of the river where Tom and Jackson were waiting and thought about our options. Of course we hadn’t packed a spare paddle either. We ended up making a mini paddle with the one good bit of shaft and wondered if maybe we could borrow a spare paddle from one of the other teams at transition. Paul ended up using the mini paddle which hilariously made him look like more of a giant.

After that it was smooth sailing until Tom and Jackson hit an eddy line in their bathtub (aka waterlogged packraft) and tipped out. They got back in and all was well until Tom realised that he’d dropped the map… and that we hadn’t brought the spare. Cue our saviours, the super lovely and wonderful all girls team #39 – On The Rag. They’d passed us when we were discussing the broken paddle and as we caught up to them told Paul and I that we could borrow their spare paddle. Legends! Capitalising on their generosity, I then pushed my luck and told them that the boys had actually just lost our only map and if they had a spare we would be eternally grateful. They said they would have to speak to their teammates (the two Holly’s) and confirm and when we caught up to Tom and Jackson, map in hand, they had said that they would like payment in beer, which the boys were totally on board with.

As it got dark we reached the caving section and having flashbacks to last year, we weren’t super stoked. Until we got in there. Wow. Paul is claiming it is the best cave he’s ever been in. Instead of the slippery walls we were expecting, they were perfectly grippy. So all of us had fun trying to avoid the water to practice our climbing moves. After that it was a longer walk than expected to the TA where we got on our bikes and started Leg 3, the 160km mountain bike called Cookie Time for definitely no other reason other than to be very misleading as no delicious cookie times ever appeared (whoops we already ate them on leg 1, also there was a tin shed called Cookie’s Hut).

Tuesday leg 3: Cookie Time massive MTB

This was a pretty cool leg I have to say. We hadn’t slept since night one (if you can call it a sleep) so we after making it through the night with a team NoDoz break we rode through the mountains to a great piece of technical single track near a hut. From there we rode over rocky river beds (much to Jackson’s displeasure) to what we are calling Poor Man’s Percy’s Pass. Between this race and last, I’d managed to forget how to carry my bike on my back and so I watched the boys power up the scrambly bit of the hike-a-bike as I dragged, pulled and panted my way sloooowly up the climb. I may have had a hissy fit half way up and tried to send telepathic signals to any of the boys to come rescue me, but ultimately I knew that they were going to let me experience (aka suffer) it by myself. I knew that although I was suffering, I’d be disappointed if I had help (something I’m grateful my teammates understand). Besides, getting to the top felt amazing and I was only a little jealous that they had had time to take their shoes off and bask in the sunlight.

There were a few major climbs to get out after that but the views were just so stunning, it didn’t matter that I couldn’t put enough oxygen into my lungs. And soon enough we were descending into the flatlands where we time trialed on the backstreets and road until we got to a cafe! What a delectable sight! We smashed both a giant thick shake and coffee which was good timing as after we got back onto our bikes, it was a longer ride than expected to the next TA.  5 Kilometres feels like forever when your feet are absolutely aching.

Tues/Weds/Thurs leg 4: 85 km Trek lakes + mountains.

In the words of the organisers –

“This stage is BIG! At 85 km it is the longest single stage trek ever at a GODZone Chapter.”

The second half sure felt like it but the first half was going to be a challenge too. Luckily we started off with a bit of daylight still on our side. Once again the tricksy 1:50,000 maps left the boys a bit confused as the contour lines were saying one thing, but the hills were saying another. We managed to bag CP 15 with limited problems as the sun set over the mountain range and made our way up to Mystic Lake to get a few hours sleep before the pre-dawn trail trudge over to the hut for CP16.

From here, there were a lot of route choices to get to CP 17 and none of them looked great. We decided the best route was to climb up a 2000 metre mountain. The climb up was definitely one of my highlights. Just as you thought you were at the top, another ridge would appear and eventually we got to the top of the ridgeline where we were weaving along pretty precarious rocks. We had to put our poles away at this stage to utilise all climbing limbs. We could and possibly should have continued on the ridgeline but decided to descend early as Paul thought it might be a bit dangerous, and if Paul thinks something is dangerous, it probably is. 

The views were incredible and the promise of scree running to get down made us all pretty excited (especially Jackson). The problem with scree covered mountains though is what looks like scree at lake level was actually bigger slightly loose rocks that we had to navigate without twisting an ankle. The descent started off pretty fun but soon felt longer and longer as my knees started to protest.

After following steep fence line put up by some insane farmer we eventually (after some butt sliding) got down to the CP17 and were relieved when we realised there was a track all the way from the CP to the road. A road which kept going for what seemed like forever. I’m going to be honest, this part sucked and I was in a pretty dark space knowing we weren’t even really half way. Tom had said at the beginning to think of the leg like 3 big challenges and we were only at the end of the first.

We finally got to the campground where we were told that we might have a course change due to the weather. Basically, the fastest teams were doing the second half of the trek in 17 hours which meant that even if we had gone the same speed as them (highly unlikely), we would miss the cut off for the packraft and that would suck. So we set up camp and waited for the race director to come back with some news. Meanwhile, a lovely lady (Fizz) came out of her campervan and offered us drinks, fresh pineapple and an assortment of snacks  (that were actually for the team she was waiting for) AND hot water for our back countries. It was luxurious.

News finally came that they were printing maps for us to do a lower traverse, missing CP 18 and 19, that would cut out the possibility of being stuck on top of a mountain in bad weather. There was a 2 hour wait, so we scoffed more food and had a nap. Team Tiger had also come in and were waiting. After handing our maps over Warren dangled a delicious butter chicken in front of us and placed it ever so carefully down between us and Tiger claiming that he was no longer in need of food. We looked at Tiger and down at the curry and back up at Tiger. They hadn’t moved. This was our moment. Tom, Jackson, Paul and I pulled out our spoons simultaneously and pounced on the free delicious (and still warm) curry. Spooning larger than needed portions into our mouths like the heathens we are, we stopped mid-mouthful to ask Tiger if they would like any. The look of disgust on the Frenchies faces said it all. We had claimed it. It was ours. All ours.

After that, we started our march around the lake towards the traverse. We ran into Team 1 coming back from getting CP18 and gave them the news of the new course change. They looked at the map in defeat and told us that it would take forever to finish. The full of food optimists we were at that point told him that it wasn’t going too bad.

How wrong we were.

It started out innocently enough until we found ourselves crawling on hands and knees through matagouri, the spikiest and shittiest plant known to man. (Also used by Maoris as tattooing needles). The worst part was finding a spot to semi stand up and then looking across and realising we were in a sea of it with no way out. The possibility of pulling out our bivvys and dying camping seemed more appealing than pushing through. It was at this point Paul thought if we died here they’d never find our bodies.

We somehow made it through the matagouri but found ourselves cliffed out when the map had no mention of cliffs at all. Our timing was blowing out fast and we decided to make one final push to hit the river and continue to the TA via the fire road which was out of bounds. Turns out Tiger had also gotten stuck and decided that this was the far better option too, so we walked into the dawn with them down the never-ending fire road and stupid cows to TA4.

It was here that our race nearly ended. After 42 hours on the trek leg we were all hurting and thought that because of our route choice we would be disqualified. We decided that although we did want to do the packraft, we would pull out after that and so put a couple of our backpacks in crates we wouldn’t see till after the bike leg (if we got there). I had most certainly checked out of racing and was starting to think of getting back home for a shower.

Thursday leg 5: Rakaia packrafting

We arrived at TA 4 around 11 am, which meant we had until the 2pm cut off to faff around and gather our thoughts. It was decided that we’d just do a few hours on the river, set up camp early, have a good rest and then continue on the next day and pull out of the race. Except that when we got on the Rakaia river it was only 6 hours to the kayak. And 6 hours compared to 42 is nothing. So naturally we did the whole packraft. At this point I was still pretty checked out of the race, was still okay to do the kayak (it was only another 6 hours so why not?) but not really keen on the bike ride after that, plus we had gotten rid of our packs, the race was basically over. But there was a mandatory dark zone before the kayak so we set up camp again, had a few back countries and went to sleep.

Friday leg 6+7: Rakaia kayak + MTB commute

It is amazing what some sleep and food can do. The next morning I woke up to a coffee a la Jetboil, news that we weren’t actually disqualified and an inkling that we were probably going to keep racing.  We carried our kayaks the what seemed like a hugely long way to the put in. I was pretty nervous for this bit because there were a few rapids and we were in double Kayaks, but Tom was great at stabilising the couple of near tips we had. We passed Team Tiger, who had managed to smash one of their Kayaks against the rocks and were waiting for a new one and once we got out of the gorge, everything calmed down and we got into a rhythm of picking left or right on the braids of the river. We only got stuck on rocks a couple of times and one of those times was probably karma for me calling Jackson and Paul the fat boat.

After salami sausages for lunch (the height of delicious race food) we were back in race mode, much less racey than we were before the trek, but we had the finish line in our sights.

To our surprise, Sandra and Gab were there to meet us at the TA. It was lovely to have our own spectators and was a great mood booster (along with the huge bag of biscuits).

So we set off at a relatively steady pace, until one of the Kiwi teams came charging past and we all hopped on for the ride. It was nice to work with another team while Paul and their strongest rider took turns at the front. Eventually, we picked up a third team and we hauled ass all the way to the bottom of the climb.

Through a look of bewilderment, one of the kiwi’s said he’d never ridden that fast before and that we were very good mountain bikers. I have to say, we may be good mountain bikers but the Kiwis are killer trekkers. My theory is that all Kiwi adventure racers had mothers who climbed to the top of mountains, gave birth and left them there to find their way home. That’s why they’re so good. We’ve all got our strengths though. Speaking of, I had asked if Paul could bring the leash for this bike leg and as we approached the climb, I grabbed it with glee and hung on for dear life as Paul went into beast mode and hauled us up the 750 metre elevation gain to the top of the mountain. Drenched in sweat, we waited for the boys at the top and put our Supersonic Jackets on to descend into the night and last TA for the race!

Saturday leg 8: harbour packraft home

We were welcomed with pies and sleep as there was another mandatory dark zone, and there were so many teams the atmosphere was buzzing. In the morning we were told our start wave and after a minute silence for the absolutely terrible tragedy in Christchurch we set off for the 17 km paddle to the finish.

It was all looking so promising until the wind picked up and our victory lap cruise turned into fighting a heinous headwind for the last 10kms. But we got there and crossed the line in about 20th, finishing the full course in 6 days with no foot infections, blister-free feet, still talking to each other with no talk of retirement. I think that’s a team win!

Thanks to Mont for Sponsoring us again this year and providing the perfect (and matchy matchy) green Supersonic Jackets and Long Sleeve Running tops for the race. They all looked brand new even after 6 days of racing! Some of our gear highlights:

Mont Moondog jacket – primaloft mid layer, perfect for sleeping and stays warm when damp

Mont Moondance EX 2-3 person tent – ideal for 4 smelly adventure racers

Mont Contour/Sentinel 35/45L packs – tough for bush bashing and expandable from small compulsory loads to larger packrafting loads

Mont Supersonic jackets – bombproof hardshell with adjustable zips for multiple storage/ventilation options

Mont Run Power Dry L/S Zip Tee – we may or may not have worn a single shirt each for the entire race – functional AND compulsory, ticks all the boxes

Mont Prolite sleeping bags – lightweight and optimised with one-sided down to maximise the warmth:weight ratio

Mont Adventure Light hiking pants – there was some debate about shorts vs pants before the race but in hindsight… always go pants when matagouri is around! Solid coverage even if you forget your gaiters.

La Sportiva Helios was the paddle shoe of choice for rock hopping and lightning fast drainage.

Jetboil – churning out the back countries and coffee sachets

Enormous bikepacking style saddle bags on the bike legs – various brands – this was a good race for hardtails and ditching backpacks where possible.

Antihistamine tablets – when you forget prevention for sandfly bites… treat the symptom not the cause!

Sharkskins – comfier and less restrictive than wetsuits (but still warm) for the paddling

Underwear underneath your bike knicks… TBC boys!!! (Only Paul does this.)

  GODZone Chapter 8 – Akaroa Well, we went back to GODZone like the gluttons we are. We had bright eyed and bushy tailed Jackson to complete our team this year and after our concerns that he was going to wreck himself by running 250km around New Zealand before we got there faded (how he does what he does and doesn't drink coffee is beyond me).

[yallreddieforthis]

I’ll Stop By Your Room

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Rating: T (for language, talking about sex, mentions of past sexual situations)

Words: 7.1k

Movie canon-compliant but not book. Aged-up (16-17) Also posted on AO3

The Greater Fool Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 (NSFW) | Part 5

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

As he steps onto the bus to head back to Derry High, Eddie is prepared for the first time in his entire school career, to declare this field trip A Success.

He’s made it almost halfway through tenth grade without ever having gone on a field trip where no disastrous shit went down—either for the class in general, or just specifically Eddie-related shit. There was one in sixth grade where the bus driver got lost and they didn’t get home until after five, and Eddie’s mom had already gotten the police involved by the time the bus pulled into the parking lot of Derry Elementary. Or the eighth grade one to the botanical gardens where Eddie got stung by a bee. Or when they went to the zoo in second grade and some asshole monkey managed to fling his shit far enough out of his enclosure that it splattered Bill right in the chest and like, okay, maybe that was more of a tragedy for Bill than it was for Eddie but Eddie was standing right next to him when it happened. It was scarring for everyone, okay?

Well, maybe not for Richie, who laughed so hard he almost peed his pants and still brings it up anytime anyone mentions monkeys, even in passing. Like someone will say this is so easy, a monkey could do it, and Richie will invariably butt in with haha, hey Bill, remember the time…

In fact, Eddie thinks that a large part of what has made this art museum field trip such an unmitigated success is that he has managed to stay as far away from Richie as possible. Not the actual art part; that was boring as fuck. Bill and Ben were the only ones who got anything at all out of that shit—Ben was all, did you know that this painting was commissioned for Colonel Assface during the War of Whateverthefuck in the year Long Enough Ago That No One Cares Anymore, and Bill was quiet the whole time but his eyes were all lit up and Eddie could practically hear him thinking about color and brushstrokes and shit. Which is fair, because Bill’s art is starting to get really good. He drew Richie during chem last week and Eddie liked the sketch so much he managed to muster up the courage to ask Bill if he could keep it. He’s positive that if he’d bothered to pay any attention at all in the gallery of Frou Frou di Fifi or whoever, he’d be able to see influences from the trip in Bill’s sketchbook.

But he didn’t. He spent the whole time glued to Stan, because Stan is terrified of paintings (which is understandable, Eddie thinks), and Eddie felt bad that he was forced to come on this field trip. Usually, Bill would be the one to partner up with Stan and like, be supportive or whatever, but Eddie and Stan both knew that the lure of a real art museum was going to be too tempting for him, and Stan’s best bet for company would wind up being Eddie. Stan was miserable the whole time anyway, and Eddie doesn’t blame him. It’d be like if Eddie had to go spend the day in a lab staring at Petri dishes full of diseases and then write a two-page essay about how much he loved it. Like, fuck that shit. He suppresses a shudder at the thought.

So he stuck with Stan, inching along the far wall away from the artwork, and avoided Richie, who mostly told jokes over Ben’s A History Of Everything In the Art Museum lecture and spoke at Bill, who uh-huhed him in the middle of sentences so many times that Eddie thinks even Richie might’ve eventually caught on that he wasn’t listening. Avoiding Richie, especially for Eddie, is usually very difficult for a multitude of reasons, the chief of which being that Eddie is in what essentially amounts to a relationship with Richie. Today, it was surprisingly and suspiciously easy.

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to be around Richie—he does, actually always, to an alarming and almost disgusting degree—it’s just that Richie is super inappropriate and keeps Eddie in a constant state of worry about what he’s going to do next. Sometimes, for example, he acts like he’s going to start macking on Eddie in public which...they haven’t really discussed it out loud before, but Eddie thinks they have a mutual understanding about not doing shit like that because Richie has never followed through on it. He’s not exactly embarrassed about the...relationship or whatever, at least not very—Eddie figures he has no more reason to be embarrassed of Richie than Richie does to be embarrassed of him—but he knows and he prays to God that Richie understands that obvious PDA would be just as bad as painting a target on his forehead. A big rainbow target.

Eddie files into a window seat on the bus so that he won’t get carsick and hopes Stan will fill in next to him so he doesn’t end up having to sit with someone mean.

Eddie gets picked on enough already, for plenty of reasons. People had been calling him gay for years before he realized he actually is, in fact, gay. Like, the gay was totally always there, tapping him on the shoulder occasionally like hey, uh, It’s Raining Men is a pretty great song, you should listen to it on a loop for six months... and Eddie was just ignoring it until the whole Richie situation sort of forced him to turn around and look it in the eye. And once he did it was like my guy, listen. Dudes. Dicks. Richie. Rodgers and Hammerstein. Eddie sometimes wonders if other people were actually able see it before he could. Were they just calling him gay because people do that, or because they knew? Like maybe he’s been walking around leaving a trail of glitter behind him without realizing it?

There’s no way of knowing for sure without asking someone, and since Eddie hasn’t technically ever said the word gay out loud yet… Presumably, Richie is aware that he is—even if that understanding is based on nothing but the fact that their lips are touching more often than not when they’re alone together—but Eddie hasn’t managed to work up the balls to even talk to him about the implications of being gay. Let alone the implications of being gay in Derry. Jesus, Eddie doesn’t even want to have that discussion mentally with himself, much less verbally with another person.

As soon as he spots Eddie, Richie weasels his way past Stan to cram in next to him. Stan rolls his eyes and gets pulled along into another row. Well, fuck.

Luckily, the museum is about a half hour drive from school, so Richie only has thirty minutes left to work his magic on upholding the streak of shitty field trips. The bus driver turns on the engine and Eddie realizes that he’s picked one of the wheel seats, which will ensure that his legs are numb from the wheel vibrations by the time they reach school. Awesome. Richie drops his backpack in between himself and Eddie, which is only notable because he uses its cover to grab Eddie’s hand where no one can see it. At the very, very least, Richie still remembers that subtlety is the name of the game here.

Not that Eddie really thinks the other Losers will care. That time in the sewers...everything they’ve been through together...Eddie doubts there’s anything he could be or do that would make them hate him. He could kill someone and they’d all just be like yeah I bet he deserved it and you need any help burying the body? He’s aware that he has the best friends on the face of the earth and that once he gets around to telling everyone about him and about them he’s probably going to feel a lot better. Hell, they might even already have guessed. He doesn’t know why he’s putting it off. He keeps telling himself next sleepover, next weekend, tomorrow at lunch and then backing out. It just feels so...daunting. Like—

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks Eddie, in a completely normal tone of voice. Which is to say loud. Richie’s normal tone of voice is very loud.

Jesus Christ.

“You wanna say that a little louder?” Eddie hisses at him.

“SO, WHAT DO YOU THI—”

Eddie clamps his hand over Richie’s mouth and gives him his most murderous glare. Richie just shakes his head and stares at Eddie with his best puppy eyes. Yeah, those eyes that Eddie used to be able to match with a dead-eyed stare and now they just make him feel all melty and gooey and shit because Richie really does have the longest, darkest, most beautiful eyelashes and his eyes are soft and—

Richie uses the momentary hesitation to lick Eddie’s palm. Eddie automatically draws his hand back in disgust.

“BLOWJOBS,” Richie shouts the second his voice is no longer muffled in Eddie’s hand. Eddie elbows him as hard as he can in the ribs and almost remembers to stop holding hands with him under the backpack. Almost.

No one even turns around. From the front of the bus, Mrs. Eisner calls back a vague “that’s enough, Richard,” but that’s the only response he gets.

“See?” Richie says, turning back to Eddie. Eddie wipes his wet hand viciously on the front of Richie’s shirt. “No one’s listening. Say whatever the fuck you want. I like you like you. You’re hot. I wanna suck your dick. See?”

“Oh God,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and whacking his head on the seat in front of him because he can’t believe he was so stupid as to think that maybe once in his entire life he could just have a goddamn normal, boring-ass field trip where nothing humiliating or life-changing happens because he just had to go and develop feelings for Richie, who never lets anything be boring or normal. Not even Eddie.

He spares a single thought for Richie saying you’re hot. Did...did he mean that? Was he just saying that shit because he was trying to demonstrate that no one was listening? Like, does Richie really think Eddie is hot?

“So, what do you think about blowjobs?” Richie asks again, in exactly the same tone of voice he used the first time, which makes Eddie feel like if he’d just given a real answer way back five minutes ago, in a simpler time before he knew Richie thought school buses were an appropriate setting for sex conversations, then it would’ve been easier.

Also, Richie doesn’t seem likely to drop this topic anytime soon, and when he gets like this Eddie has found that the best course of action is to just grit his teeth and plow through the conversation until Richie is satisfied with his answer, after which they are typically able to move on with their lives. The last time this happened was a Power Rangers versus Ninja Turtles debate that lasted for forty five minutes. Hopefully they can breeze through this one before they get back to school, because Eddie doesn’t relish the idea of Richie passing him terribly drawn notes with diagrams of dicks and tongues during math.

So that’s what makes him decide to take a second and actually consider the question. Blowjobs and sucking dick are things Richie talks about regularly—not with any real seriousness, of course—but Eddie’s never given the idea too much thought because honestly? Gross.

He’s gotten almost all the way past the ickiness of kissing on the mouth and like, in the face-area—mostly by just refusing to think about germ transfer rates and mononucleosis—because Richie has made that worth his while. It took a couple months for him to really get the hang of it, but now they’ve got that shit down; Richie knows how to kiss Eddie’s neck to make him go jelly-legged, and Eddie can get Richie all red-faced and panting just by sucking on his ears the right way, and once they get going, kissing on the mouth is the furthest thing from icky. Eddie sometimes feels like there are moments where he will internally combust if he can’t kiss Richie.

So it’s not that Eddie doesn’t think a blowjob would feel good. The opposite, actually. Just...it feels like asking for some kind of nasty disease.

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head and staring out the window as they pull onto the main road leading to the highway, “I don’t think I can like...do that. Dick in the mouth. Nuh-uh. Nope.”

“No I mean me give you one,” Richie presses. “I’m not afraid of your germs.”

Eddie bristles a little at that because it implies that Eddie is afraid of Richie’s germs which...okay, maybe he kind of is, but Richie didn’t have to say it. He knows that’s not really what Richie meant though—it’s not a jab at Eddie—he’s actually trying to be reassuring. Trust Richie to accidentally backhanded compliment his way into sex. What a fucking catch. And now he’s looking at Eddie with this earnest smugness, like he knows he’s going to convince him to let him do it and he’s stoked. But why does he even want to? Like, what’s in it for him?

Does he really think Eddie is that hot?

“Did you mean it?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself.

“Totally,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s hand a squeeze under the backpack. “I’d take a faceful of your jizz over splashing around in graywater any day.”

Ew, what the fuck?!

“No,” says Eddie. “What is wrong with you? I don’t mean—I meant when you said I was…” Eddie drops his voice to a whisper, “... hot. Do you really think I’m hot?”

“Of course I do, dumbass,” Richie says. “Don’t you think I am?”

Eddie’s first instinct is to say no, dipshit, because “hot” is a word reserved for like...like Ethan Hawke or River Phoenix. Not people like Richie, who has been at peak teenage awkwardness for what feels like a decade at this point and looks to be in real danger of staying that way forever. He has terrible taste in clothes and the glasses and the crazy hair and as a package he’s just...so overwhelming, and that’s not hot. Not even a little. It’s—

“I’m just messing with you,” Richie says cheerfully, knocking his knifepoint-sharp elbow into Eddie’s arm. “Everyone knows you’re the beauty and I’m the brains.”

“God, I hope not. We’re really fucked if you’re the brains,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

Richie snorts and squeezes Eddie’s hand in such a way that it makes a fart noise and Eddie yanks it out from under the backpack. He folds his arms across his chest and Richie spends the rest of the journey home trying to coax him back into holding hands. By the time they get back to school, Eddie is red with both embarrassment and suppressed laughter, and he thinks about how this kind of thing happens so often that he’ll probably never blush again without thinking of Richie.

As is customary on school nights, Eddie goes straight home after his last class. He’s not allowed to have friends over or go to the arcade unless it’s a weekend, which he used to think was because his mom wanted him to have plenty of time for his homework but now feels more like one of her arbitrary, controlling restrictions because she doesn’t seem to actually care all that much about his grades. It feels like it’s more about just...having him home while she watches The Young and The Restless by herself in the living room. Why exactly Eddie’s presence in the house improves this activity, he doesn’t entirely understand.

Richie took to sneaking in during the night years ago, which always makes being alone for the afternoon slightly more bearable. He’ll get on his bike after last period and turn to Eddie and say I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom, which is actually a polite offer for company in disguise. Eddie will either say if you really have to or I’ll make sure to put the lock on the door then and Richie has never not respected the answer.

Today he said it and Eddie told him to get lost because they’ve got an essay due tomorrow on the impact of our trip to the art museum and Eddie had had a feeling that writing it was going to require some premium-grade bullshitting. He’d been right, too; he didn’t get done with it until ten. But it’s not like that’s really what ate up his entire evening, because then he’d debated internally with himself for half an hour before caving and rewatching Footloose. By the time he’d brushed his teeth, put on pajamas (his warmest ones—reindeer-printed and made of fleece—because it’s chilly and it’s not like anyone is going to see them anyway), and gotten into bed, it was after midnight. So now he’s still wide awake and feeling kind of like he wishes he’d invited Richie over after all, despite the fact that he really should already be asleep.

It used to be that whenever Eddie said yes, Richie would come straight over after the sun went down. Eddie could always tell if they’d all gone swimming without him because Richie’s hair would be damp and he’d smell like quarry water and the grass at the top of the cliff, and he’d flop onto Eddie’s bed and get those smells all over his sheets. Those nights, Eddie would always go to sleep wondering if Richie was just wearing wet briefs under his shorts or going commando. He was never sure which idea he liked less.

Since this summer though, I’ll stop by your room after I’m done doing your mom has taken on a connotation that sets off a shivery, churning feeling in Eddie’s gut. Sometimes Richie will lean over and whisper it in his ear—sometimes he leaves off the last part too. I’ll stop by your room, he breathes out, warm air hitting Eddie’s neck, and Eddie bites his lips and goes all hot because it means that that night, sometime around eleven or midnight or so, he’ll hear a dun dun dun dadadundun tapping at his window. Eddie is still not sure if that’s a reference to Under Pressure or Ice Ice Baby and he honestly thinks he doesn’t want to know.

He’ll wedge a towel under his bedroom door to soundproof it as much as he can. Then he’ll lift the latch on the window and open it as far as it will go. Richie just barely fits now. A couple of years ago it was nothing for him to hop through, now he has to fold his long legs every which way and his skinny arms flail around and his big feet get caught on the other side of the sill and sometimes he whacks his giant head on the wall as he tumbles through. It’s never a quiet process, unfortunately; there’s always some swearing involved, and Eddie lives in fear of the day Richie looks at him from the other side of the wall, moonlight shining off his glasses, and says “well, fuckity fuck, I’m stuck.”

That’s a problem for Future Eddie to deal with though, because once Richie’s in, well. Once he’s in the room, those skinny arms are immediately wrapped around Eddie’s waist and the long legs bump into Eddie’s as Richie backs them toward the bed. And then they get there and...god.

Eddie turns over onto his side and fiddles with the sleeve of his pajama top, thinking about how if Richie were here, the shirt would be gone before the backs of his knees even hit the mattress. Richie is always the first to start taking clothes off—he does it like he’s starving for him—like touching Eddie is what he lives for and he can’t hold off another second. It’s...feeling like that, like someone wants him so bad...it’s kind of wonderful and powerful and scary.

Every time they do it ends basically the same—they take everything off and then they touch each other until they can’t anymore and their fingers are gooey and sticky and then Eddie has to shove Richie out of bed or he’ll fall asleep right there—naked and on top of Eddie for Eddie’s mom to find them the next morning. It hasn’t happened yet, thank God, but it’s a closer call every time because it’s getting harder and harder to kick Richie out after.

In fact, Eddie has taken to spending a worrying amount of time just sort of lying there and stroking Richie’s naked back or smoothing his hair over his head. After is always kind of awkward for Eddie, because he can’t think of anything to say that isn’t incredibly embarrassing, and silence feels weird too. So far he’s managed a that was good twice, which he was super proud of both times even though he also wanted to roll over and hide as soon as the words left his mouth.

Richie does not appear to suffer from the same affliction, because he always starts talking again pretty much as soon as he catches his breath, and Eddie is usually too tired to complain about whatever stupid shit he says. Richie’s pillow talk typically includes such topics as: an enthusiastic play-by-play of what they just did (during which Eddie always just mumbles please stop every few seconds), complete with commentary, which is as complimentary as it is mortifying; a detailed tactical gamplan of what they should do in the event of a zombie outbreak; who Richie would cast if they made a movie about the X-Men and for some reason wanted his opinion; and a ranking of his favorite types of candy based on the logistics of building an edible house. As long as he keeps blabbering, Eddie can privately enjoy that sick-happy feeling in his chest and put off kicking him out. If he’s being honest, Eddie just wants to hold him super tight and close and stay there until he can watch the sunrise illuminate the faded freckles on Richie’s nose.

Eddie snuggles deep down in the covers and thinks about his favorite parts—between when Richie squeezes into and out of his window—and lets himself relish in the fluttery, fidgety excitement that comes with the memory of Richie, shirtless and pale and glowing faintly red in the light from the numbers on Eddie’s alarm clock. The way his mouth looks after they’ve been kissing, soft and full and open, how his wild hair splays across Eddie’s neck when he bends down to breathe warm air onto Eddie’s nipples. His hands unzipping Eddie’s pants, rubbing him over the front of his underwear like he can’t even wait the two seconds it’ll take to pull them off. The way his back looks as he arches into Eddie’s fingers, the way his head falls forward when he gasps and the way he moans like Eddie’s mom isn’t literally two rooms over oh my god, Richie, shhh. The way he exhales sometimes, like he’s so turned on he doesn’t know how else to express it but with those shuddery breaths that almost sound like the ghost of laughter. Eddie’s whole body goes warm at the memory because it’s the hottest thing he—

And then it’s like Eddie’s brain douses him in ice water because it is. It’s hot. It’s hot as fuck and Eddie remembers that Richie asked him on the bus a few hours ago if he thought Richie was hot and he did not give him an unequivocal yes. And that’s obviously bullshit because Eddie was totally getting ready to start jerking off just now thinking about how fucking hot Richie is when he’s naked and they’re in bed together. Eddie had somehow been under the impression that hot is this kind of ethereal concept that only applies to celebrities or strangers, when hot has literally been sucking face with him for months. He is officially the biggest dumbass ever. Eddie wonders if there’s any other obvious shit staring him down that he hasn’t picked up on yet.

And suddenly Eddie cannot stand the idea that Richie might be sitting at home thinking Eddie doesn’t find him hot. It’s Thursday...well, technically it’s Friday but it still counts as Thursday night and there’s no way Richie isn’t planning on coming over for some sweet handjob action tomorrow night, but this can’t wait until tomorrow. And he can’t call, his mom will want to know why he’s using the phone at this hour and it’s possible that someone other than Richie might answer and then Eddie will have to come up with some reason besides I’m sorry to bother you at this hour Mrs. Tozier, but it’s an absolute emergency because I have to tell Richie right now that he’s hot and thinking about him naked gives me a boner.

Yeah, not likely. This situation calls for desperate measures, like an entirely unprecedented course of action. Eddie puts on his sneakers, throws on a sweater, and walks to his window.

If Richie can still get in, it’ll be nothing for Eddie to get out. He’ll just close the window most of the way from the outside, but not so much that he won’t be able to get back in. His mom might come in (unlikely, Eddie can hear her snoring) and find him gone and completely blow a gasket, but that’s a big might and the fact that he needs to see Richie right the fuck now is a definitely, so. Down he hops, quiet as can be.

It’s early December and fucking cold. Cold as fuck. Eddie hops back and forth from one foot to the other while he untangles his bike from where the garden hose fell on it and tries not to think too hard about how the frigid wind in his face is going to feel when he gets going.

The less that can be said about the seven minute bike ride to Richie’s house, the better. The word frostbite comes to mind more than once, as well as death by exposure. Eddie thinks it’ll be unfortunate but understandable if his dick decides never to make an appearance again; he’s pretty sure it has retreated up into his body for good. He can’t feel his hands but manages to peel his fingers off the handlebars nonetheless, leaning his bike up against the side of Richie’s house without bothering to hide it because, according to Richie, Richie’s parents are heavy sleepers. Eddie wouldn’t normally just take Richie at his word on something like that, but he figures they would’ve had to have caught their own son sneaking out at least once out of the hundreds of times he’s done it if it wasn’t true. Eddie walks around the back and looks through the curtains of Richie’s room.

Richie, wearing the same pajama bottoms and old tee shirt he usually shows up at Eddie’s in, is so deeply involved in Sonic that Eddie wonders if he won’t hear him rapping on the window, but he does it anyway. Dun dun dun dadadundun.

It’s Under Pressure, Eddie whispers to no one in particular. Richie doesn’t hear that or the knocking.

Dun dun dun dadadundun. Eddie knocks again, a little louder.

This time, Richie turns around. He does one better, actually: he does a double take and his jaw drops wide open, hair flopping into his face. He looks utterly stupid by any account and yet the first thought that pops into Eddie’s head is beautiful.

Richie drops the controller onto the floor to live amongst the general covering of junk that populates his bedroom before loping over to the window and opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, staring out at Eddie like he can’t believe he’s here, which is kind of annoying because like...Eddie has a bike too. Just because it’s always Richie who appears at Eddie’s house in the middle of the night doesn’t mean Eddie isn’t capable of reciprocating every once in awhile. It’s just that it’s obviously nicer to get it on in Eddie’s room than in the garbage heap Richie inhabits.

Richie reaches out a hand to help Eddie clamber inside. He must have the heat cranked up full blast because Eddie starts regaining feeling in his extremities right away when Richie shuts the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just needed to—” Eddie starts, then clamps his mouth shut.

In that moment he realizes that he’s just shown up at Richie’s house at one in the morning on a school night without warning, wearing fleece reindeer pajamas, sneakers without socks and a sweater, and he has literally no idea what he wants to say other than I just needed to tell you you were hot. Right now, apparently.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Richie demands, in what might sound like a normal tone of voice to an outsider, but Eddie instinctively recognizes it as being seconds away from abject panic.

Eddie looks up into his eyes and god damn, how has he never managed to see how insecure Richie really is? Of all the millions of things Eddie could be here for… He could’ve had a fight with his mom. Winston from the Sweet Valley High books that Eddie definitely doesn’t read could’ve been killed off. Eddie could just be horny. He could have a homework question—well, probably not that one because going to Richie for homework help would be worse than just not turning in the assignment and taking a zero—but a breakup? Like, that’s what he jumps to? A breakup? Really?

“God, no,” Eddie says, and then the next words come out of his mouth with absolutely no leave to do so from his brain. “Why the fuck would I do that? I love you.”

Richie sits down hard on his bed and just...stares. And Eddie a little bit wants to freak out because I love you sounds like a really big deal but like...is it? Is saying it that big of a deal? Feeling it is, maybe, but if Eddie’s being honest with himself, he’s been feeling it for like forever. He might not have always been willing to admit that, but if you take a dump in a toilet and call it a flower, it’s still shit. Saying it doesn’t change that.

“Actually I just wanted to tell you you’re hot,” he continues, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweater and still standing awkwardly by the window. That part comes out easier, probably because he just dropped a live one with I love you and nothing else he has to say could possibly be as enormous as that. “Cause on the bus, like I didn’t. But you totally are. Hot. You’re...hot. Like super hot, like…” Eddie gestures vaguely up and down with one hand, “all of you. Your hair and your back and shit—I mean, your...yeah. So I just wanted to tell you. Bye.”

And because every single word after you’re hot has increased his discomfort exponentially, Eddie feels like this is as good a time as any to make his exit. Actually, about fifteen seconds ago might’ve been better, but it’s certainly only going to get worse if he just stands there doing nothing, so he turns toward the window and prepares to bail. This apparently snaps Richie out of it because he gets up, still staring.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Richie asks.

“‘Why the fuck am I here, where the fuck am I going,’” Eddie repeats, one leg already out the window. It is so fucking cold outside and like, this whole thing was such a bad idea, Eddie wishes he could go back in time fifteen minutes just to smack himself in the face and tell himself to stay in bed. “Where the fuck do you think I’m going? I’m going home. It’s a school night.”

“Uh, no way,” Richie says, striding toward him. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s wrist. “You don’t get to say something like that and then just like fuck off. Nah, come back in here and let me blow you.”

Let him what now?! It takes a second for Eddie to make the connection—like why Richie is bringing that up—but then his mind presses rewind on the part from the bus when Richie said Eddie was hot and...right. The conversation was originally about blowjobs. Why do they always seem to have these important discussions about feelings in conjunction with sex stuff? At this rate, Eddie’s never going to have a cute story about their relationship that’s fit for mixed company. Like he’s gonna tell the others at a sleepover, so then I said “I love you, Richie,” and he was like, “that’s sick dude, lemme suck your dick.”

He’s about to say no because ew, but...it’s Richie. And Richie is looking at him with his big brown eyes and Eddie knows that Richie would be a hundred percent cool with it if Eddie truly didn’t want to, and if Eddie says not gonna happen, Richie will probably never bring it up again. But he can also hear the excitement in Richie’s voice, and it seems...crazy, like it’s crazy that Richie really wants to blow him that much.

“I didn’t say that shit because I wanted a blowjob,” Eddie tells him.

“I know,” Richie says.

“I don’t think I can really stay,” Eddie says, although he also pulls his leg back in the room and allows Richie to shut the window again. “It’s a school night.”

“Fuck yeah, it’s a school night,” says Richie, in what he clearly thinks is a California Surfer Dude voice, but it’s new to his repertoire and still sounds more like he’s having a mild stroke than anything else. He grins and gets straight to work pushing Eddie’s sweater off his shoulders. “Think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow. I’m gonna get hard just looking at those bags under your eyes.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie whispers back to him. He shrugs his cardigan back on. “You say the weirdest shit Richie, I swear to God. Is think about how tired we’re gonna be in first period tomorrow supposed to be like, dirty talk? Because uh, that’s not sexy. I—”

“But you love me,” Richie interrupts, “so everything I do is sexy.” He yanks his own shirt over his head and smiles down at Eddie.

“Yeah, that’s not how it works,” Eddie says, placing both hands on Richie’s bony chest and trying not to focus too much on how good his skin feels because he is not going to get distracted by the lure of impending nakedness.

“Yeah it is,” says Richie immediately, sliding a hand up under Eddie’s pajama top. “We’re in love, so everything is like automatically a million times more sexy.”

“Oh really? What so...so, my...like when I had to shove Tylenol down your throat when you had a 102 fever last month? You find that sexy?”

“Hell yes,” Richie replies immediately, “you can play doctor with me anytime, baby.”

“Don’t you dare start calling me ‘baby,’” Eddie warns him.

“Try and stop me,” Richie laughs, and he pulls Eddie in closer with his hand on the small of his back. Fuuuck, no way is Richie going to let that go. Eddie hates the nicknames, but he knows it’s a losing battle because Eddie Spaghetti eventually got replaced with Eds and he can already imagine baby gaining ground on Eds. In fact, Eddie would bet his whole allowance that baby is going to eventually turn into babe. He can see babe sticking long-term. He’s just gonna have to get used to the idea.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie sighs, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder.

“Dude, I’m trying,” Richie says, grinning his shit-eatingest.

Eddie starts to giggle and has to put the brakes on it because he’s not getting sucked in. He’s not. He came here with a mission and he accomplished it. Just because it’s kind of making him die a little inside to leave right now doesn’t mean he can’t suck it up and do it anyway.

“I have to go,” Eddie says again. He stands on his toes and kisses Richie a little harder than usual, and hopes that Richie understands he’d much rather stay here. Someday, Eddie wants to tell him...someday they’ll finish high school. It feels like a million years from now, but then he knows he’s going to blink and he’ll be holding a graduation cap and a college acceptance letter. And Richie will be there too, holding...well, Eddie’s hand, at the very least. He really would get good grades if he applied himself, like all his teachers say, but Eddie doesn’t love him any less for his 2.7 GPA.

“Tomorrow,” Richie says. Eddie’s not sure if it’s a promise or a question. But either way, the answer is yes. If Richie wants to do what they usually do or… whatever else. Eddie’s down for it. One great thing about Richie—one of many, Eddie thinks—is how he doesn’t really try to force Eddie to stay. It’s kind of like when he goes to high five Stan and Stan gives him that please die now look, and Richie just immediately cuts his losses and moves on. He’s like that a lot. Eddie sometimes wishes he could just let shit go the way Richie does.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Eddie tells him. “Definitely.” He can’t quite bring himself to say how much he’s looking forward to it—so much, so so much—but he thinks Richie can tell anyway. They lock eyes and there it goes, that melty feeling, like the first sip of hot chocolate after playing out in the snow. That’s what should’ve tipped Eddie off that he’s—that they’re—in love. It’s love or fever delirium. Either way, he’s such a goner.

Eddie steps away from Richie and turns toward the window. Once they finish school they’ll leave Derry and only be forced to come back for like, Christmas or whatever. They’ll get a dorm or maybe an apartment together—some cheap place in a horrible neighborhood, probably—and Eddie will eventually have to break it to his mom that Richie’s a lot more to him than a roommate, but it’ll all be so worth it because—

Eddie steps on the uneaten crust of a forgotten PB&J on his way to the window. This is it, the future he has chosen for himself. No one goes from being the kind of person who tosses sandwiches on the floor to a liveable human being in the span of a few years. Someday, it’ll be their room and Eddie will be getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stepping in peanut butter, and he’ll have no one to blame but himself. He picked this idiot—this somehow super hot idiot—he went and fell in love with all that hair and those dark eyes. He fell in love with Richie’s knobby knuckles and his bitten cuticles too. And his strange, infuriating, perplexing mind. Richie never lets anything be boring. Eddie can look forward to an entire lifetime of being, at the very least, kept on his toes. If not literally, to avoid stepping in discarded food.

“You know,” Eddie says, swinging his leg out of the window and back into the icy wind, “I hope you plan on getting a good job, because I’m going to be stuck cleaning up after you as a career.”

Eddie only realizes when he’s halfway home that he just essentially admitted out loud to Richie that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, which in hindsight makes Richie sound like a really smooth motherfucker for saying, “Nah, I was already planning on hiring us a housekeeper,” without missing a beat.

Eddie slams on his brakes and there, in the middle of the street in the freezing pitch-black night, he comes to his third Big Realization of today. This, Richie and him, it’s the real deal. The things he’s been thinking about—an apartment, a shared bed, a shared life—are not daydreams. They’re plans. Shared plans.

Eddie’s so rarely sure of anything—like how he used to think there was no such thing as supernatural, shape-shifting killer clowns—but he's always sure of Richie. He’s sure of how he feels about Richie, and of how Richie feels about him. Even the fact that he’s out alone so late and not panicking can be attributed to Richie. Eddie used to be afraid of being by himself and the dark, but Richie gives him courage just by existing within a ten-minute biking radius.

Someday isn’t soon enough, but living with Richie is going to have to wait. He can’t believe he’s excited about the idea of Spaghetti-O’s every night and yelling at Richie for leaving the heater on and brushing crumbs off his sheets before bed but, God help him, those things can’t come soon enough. Just a couple more years, Eddie tells himself.

Tomorrow isn’t soon enough, either. His teeth are chattering, mostly because he’s actively freezing to death but also from the almost tangible ache in his chest that started when he walked around to collect his bike from the side of Richie’s house and left Richie watching him from the window. It’s what Eddie usually does when Richie leaves his house and God, Eddie’s not sure how Richie manages to do it twice a week. It almost made Eddie want to cry. He still feels like he might cry. If he goes home and gets into his bed alone right now, he will undoubtedly cry.

It’s a fucking school night, but Eddie is rapidly losing his ability to care. He sits there on his bike in the middle of the road for a second before…

“Fuck it.” He shakes his head, smiles out into the darkness, and swings his handlebars back in the direction of Richie’s house.

#it (2017) #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my fics #the greater fool

[seosamhmooney]

My Top 10 Favorite Musical Movies

I love top 10 lists for no legitimate reason, and I really don’t understand why they’re a thing other than the fact that they’re somewhat pleasing in some inexplicable way. So here’s one of my “Top 10s” lists. Enjoy

10. Into the Woods

Honestly, this one just makes this list because I enjoy shitting on it. Although it was decently cast, I’m still not sure what Johnny Depp was doing as the wolf (or even why the wolf was present? Does he actually serve a purpose to the ultimate story? Didn’t think so). Anna Kendrick is always charming, and frankly, her “On the Steps of the Palace” song was just fabulous. And sure, intertwining fairytales sounds like a cool or innovative idea, but seriously, it’s been done so many times (re: abc’s Once Upon a Time, Cornelia Funke’s Reckless books, etcetera)--and perhaps Sondheim did do it before it became a “thing”--but the movie comes across as tacky, boring, and generally pointless. Next.

9. Sweeney Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Also known as, What Happens When Tim Burton Directs a Musical. It’s almost so gaudy it works, but not quite. Helena Bonham Carter does some good work in this one, but certainly not her best. It’s almost a shame to see someone who has done such beautiful movies as A Room with a View and The Wings of the Dove fall into this constant cycle of playing these borderline goofy characters (see Alice in Wonderland, Cinderella, Dark Shadows, etc.--none of which I did not enjoy, by the way; I absolutely loved all three of these mentioned films, but HBC plays such one-dimensional characters it’s f r u s t r a t i n g. Johnny Depp was actually nominated for a Golden Globe for this movie, which I don’t think was necessarily called for, but did he win? Nope. Wasn’t going to. When the kid and the mostly mute prison girl are the best parts of the cast, something isn’t working right. Plus, the movie was just so gray. I get it, London is no pretty city, but--oh, wait, yes it is. London’s beautiful, shut the fuck up.

8. La La Land

Oh, La La Land. So right, but so, so damn wrong! I adore this movie, although it took me three times to watch the full movie to get to this point of appreciation. When I first left the cinema, I was livid. I had gone with my aunt and uncle for my birthday, and we all left just frustrated. Damien Chazelle had given us such a visually stunning and cinematically innovative film, but he also gave us a shit excuse for a love story. Honestly, Mr. Chazelle, please don’t write another script. Leave that to actual writers. You stick with cinematic brilliance, hun. Thanks, x. Justin Horwitz, however, ABSOLUTELY KILLED IT. The music is astounding. Simply astounding. I had the privilege of seeing La La Land at the Hollywood Bowl with a live orchestra, and damn, it was good. It was so good. Ryan Gosling is nothing special (unfortunately!), and as much of a bitch as Emma Stone’s Mia is, she absolutely deserved that Oscar. Now about the singing: frankly, I didn’t mind it. I have friends who hated it (because they’re trained singers so they have a bit of a superiority complex about these kinds of things), but as someone who cannot particularly sing well myself, I enjoyed seeing two more realistic characters thrown into a musical world and pull it off more than adequately well. 

7. The Phantom of the Opera

I want to rank this higher. I really, really, really do. But for obvious reason, I cannot. The singing is mediocre, and the acting is even worse. I don’t know who cast Gerard Butler, but yikes. A lot of the editing is rather shoddy, and as much as I do love Minnie Driver as Carlotta, they should have chosen an actual opera singer instead of choosing a decently known Hollywood name. Also, the deformity is literal horse shit. Just horse shit. But now the good things: 1. Patrick Wilson; yes! I absolutely love his Raoul. He’s tragic and a little girly and a bit of a pussy but so in love that he steps up when he needs to. And his voice is arguably the best in comparison with his coworkers’. 2. The cinematography and set design are stunning, absolutely stunning. I get the chills every time the chandelier is raised during the “Overture”, and although the Phantom’s lair isn’t exactly a house on a lake, I thought it was very reminiscent of the stage production, which I appreciated greatly. 3. The costumes! Jesus! Although Christine’s “Think of Me” dress does not go with the time period of the opera she’s supposed to be performing and the Phantom’s last few costumes are waaaaay too hot, I thought the costume department did a fabulous job creating dazzling costumes that just worked with the whole “pretty” feel of the film. 4. They nail the story. I remember watching Phantom as a child and sobbing every time I finished it. The Phantom doesn’t deserve Christine, but he deserves to know what love is just like any other man, and in telling this, the story succeeds. 

6. Grease

I’m not one for teen movies, I’m just not. Clueless is nice, and Heathers has a special place in my heart, but I’ve never been into the whole high school drama film thing. Still, I must admit that I loved Grease. I refused to watch it for the longest time because I had a friend who literally based his entire look on Danny Zuko, and it was so obnoxious I refused to watch the film. Plus John Travolta has always sort of creeped me out. But I gave in, and I was so surprised. Olivia Newton-John is just darling as Sandra Dee, John Travolta isn’t unbearable as Danny Zuko, and Frenchy is such a charming character, but the one person I think gets so overlooked but could be such a show-stealer is Rizzo. Stockard Channing set the bar high for this character, as she does a fantastic job conveying the too-cool-for-school but has-a-heart-of-gold-kinda Rizzo. My favorite player on the Chicago Cubs is Anthony Rizzo because of this movie (Can you tell I’m not a huge sports fan?).

5. Chicago

Many people call this the best musical movie ever made, and really, it’s very, very well done. I mean, it is. A movie doesn’t get six Academy Awards just because. The dancing is actual fire, Richard Gere is one dazzling bastard, and Catherine Zeta-Jones absolutely steals the show as Velma Kelly. Sorry, Renée Zellweger. Zellweger's Roxie is charming, sure, but she comes off as so weak a character and a person that it’s difficult to even enjoy most of her scenes. The set designs are nothing spectacular, but what makes everything come together is the musical numbers (somewhat ironic, because almost every musical number physically departs from the story’s setting). “All That Jazz” is a killer opening, Queen Latifah’s “When You’re Good to Mama” is too much fun, “Cell Block Tango” practically changed the game for musical movie choreography, and where do I even begin with “Roxie”? Spoiler: it was Zellweger’s most convincing scene, but that’s almost completely due to the choreography and set design. Chicago will certainly be studied in film schools in years to come. As much as there is on the surface of the film, there is so much more than meets the eye, and for all these reasons, Chicago is a fabulous, fabulous film.

4. Les Misérables

I actually considered ranking this between Phantom and Chicago but ultimately decided to move it up. Victor Hugo’s novel is a challenge for a number of reasons, but chief among them being the massive span of time his novel covers. So a musical version obviously has to fit this all within three hours, and say what you will, I do believe Les Mis does a good job. The story is obviously cut down tremendously, but it really does not lose much (if any) of the message it has to offer. Now, the film is not perfect. For instance, I absolutely hated Hugh Jackman and Russell Crowe. I really did. A lot of people hated Amanda Seyfried, but I really loved her portrayal of Cosette (but maybe just the acting part, her singing is a bit shaky). Samantha Barks and Eddie Redmayne are class-acts, and HBC does a fine job as Mme. Thenardier. I almost have nothing to say about Anne Hathaway. Her performance speaks for itself. I sob every time Fantine dies. She is so, so, so, so good. And three cheers for Colm Wilkinson. He’s just a great guy and a great performer. The film’s direction is often debated, whether it is good or bad, but I really thought it was quite good and quite different from what others might have done. Tom Hooper took advantage of the screen in ways the stage cannot be taken advantage of, offering the audience a chance to look closely at the faces of the actors, to really appreciate the emotional tolls the characters endure.

3. Cabaret

Liza Minelli embodies Sally Bowles. I mean, never have I ever believed so strongly that an actor was born for a role, but Minelli was born for Sally, and as the soul of the show, she breathes life into the film and somehow manages to carry the story on her shoulders. Joel Grey is a fantastic Emcee, and the supporting characters are great as well. Although I don’t care for several of the subplots, I thought the primary storytelling was borderline flawless (except for the ghastly ending; Lord help me, I have so many qualms with the ending; the level of vague is off the charts and unnecessarily so). But the singing is splendid and the dancing is spectacular. The way the Kit Kat Club fits into the story almost as a character itself is subtle and brilliant, and just about every single set is exactly how I imagine it should be. Again, Liza Minelli was born for this, and she rightly won the Oscar for Best Actress. Go you, Liza. Lots of love, x. 

2. Moulin Rouge!

Usually, I would consider Moulin Rouge! my favorite movie of all time, but I’ll explain in the next entry why this is not the case for this list. Like I said, this is my favorite film of all time, and for a plethora of reasons. 1. It is unique and innovative; Moulin Rouge! made the 21st-century musical possible, and everything from Chicago to La La Land owes much to Baz Luhrmann. 2. Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman’s chemistry is everything. They work well together, they sound good together, and they carry Luhrmann’s admittingly wild storytelling techniques with grace and fun. 3. The sets and general production design. This entire movie was filmed in a single room (granted, a very, very large room), but Luhrmann creates a world so vivid and so alive that it hardly feels claustrophobic. 4. The music is different but familiar and well-orchestrated. Luhrmann did something most people wouldn’t even think twice about doing because it’s “tacky” or “unoriginal”, but he instead takes familiar and beloved songs, sets them all to a beautiful story about love and loss, and creates a new musical so vibrant, it changed the face of the musical genre. 

1. The Sound of Music

The Sound of Music. Arguably the greatest musical of all time, The Sound of Music is a timeless story of faith, love, war, family, and hope. The only musical on this list based on the actual events of Maria Kutschera and her life as the governess and step-mother of the von Trapp children, The Sound of Music embodies everything a musical (and a good story!) should be. Life is no fairytale--it is full of hard times and beautiful times and times when it seems the whole world will collapse upon itself. Life is no fairytale, and as beautiful as this film is, it relates to its audience real life morals and real life messages that should be taken to heart by anyone in search of a happy life. Julie Andrews is the only person to embody a character more than Liza Minelli embodies Sally Bowles, and her Maria is a sweet, powerful, kind woman, who, though unsure of the direction her life will go, stands for what she believes in and positively changes the lives of so many along the way. Christopher Plummer is the perfect Captain von Trapp, and the children are perfectly cast as well. Actually, fuck it, the whole cast is perfect. Governess Elsa Schräder, Max Detweiler, and the Mother Abbess are flawless secondary characters, who come and go throughout the film flawlessly. I would also like to note how it stayed in cinemas for FOUR YEARS after its release. Now that’s a bloody good film. The sets and cinematography are fabulous, the script is so well done it’s unreal, and the songs--the songs!!!--are as good as they are iconic (and damn, are they iconic).

So here is my first (second, actually) post on Tumblr. Cheers. x

#musicals #film #musical movie #top ten list #the sound of music #moulin rouge #cabaret #les miserables #chicago #grease #the phantom of the opera #la la land #sweeney todd #into the woods

[inbl0om]

2016 in review

Hey followers, it’s that time of year again! Aka, the year is about over and I write a diary-entry-like text post about how the past 36[6, in this case] days have been for me. Which none of you will probably read. Oh well. Here goes:

Part I: January - Late May I returned to Fordham in the middle of January for my final semester at Fordham. Things were...hard for me to verbalize. A month before, December 2015, I overcame a brief scuffle I had with a few of my friends due to how belligerently drunk I got the night after my first LSAT. Things evened out, but I left LA after the new year with a very troubled heart. I kept asking myself, what would I do if I didn’t get accepted to any of the law schools that I applied to? I had no back-up plan. Ok, that’s a lie; I did: work for a year or so, then go back to school to get my MBA. But I made no effort to apply to any jobs in either city that I called “home.” And that’s another thing: the word “home” began to have many different connotations. So many that I began to hate the English language (for more than the obvious reasons) for having no other word(s) to express exactly how I was feeling. Every party I went to, every living room I pregamed in, every nap I took on Fordham’s quad (”Eddie’s” for all my Fordham followers)--just made me want to cling to New York City even more. College seniors everywhere dread “the ‘G’ word,” but there is no way to explain the disdain “graduation” inflicts on one’s mind and body when the second semester finally rolls around. If anything, the second semester--and every inching second towards the occurrence of the “g word”--makes you really pause the commotion of your life and smell the roses that are the life you made for yourself the past four years.

I met a boy in January on the MetroNorth. He was sweet--almost too sweet. I became too desperate for his attention that I scared him away. Pretty Typical. In February, I retook the LSAT. Then, on the 17th, I turned 22. Once again, I had a birthday party, but I was sad to see that not as many people came as did for my 21st. I also went on my first-ever Tinder date. In March, I came home to Los Angeles for Spring Break. I went to San Diego with a few friends from high school and let myself feel healed by the ocean. In April, I got my first law school acceptance. My fate was sealed. I placed my enrollment deposit and began to come to terms with the certainty that I was, in fact, going to leave New York City for good and return to Los Angeles. I was so happy. And I was so sad. My closest friends were all so ecstatic for my future (and I could tell because that Facebook status was my most-liked EVER at an astounding 180+), yet we all knew what it meant: I was leaving. I was going to be gone.

May was both wonderful and terrible for that reason. My job and my internship both ended, and I focused mainly on my remaining days in New York City. My roommate and I decided to have a “Purple Party” to celebrate that we were both going to graduate schools that just so happened to have the same official color: purple. Mutual friends of ours who lived in a house with a huge backyard let us throw it. Over 200 of our friends came. And at one moment, I actually almost cried. I almost cried because all of these people--who I had either been friends with all four years, had met them along the way, or had just met them that semester--were there for me. Followers, it’s no secret that I suffer from depression and anxiety. I have always had self-esteem issues, as well as abandonment issues and fears that I am never enough. But that night, in that moment, I felt loved. Senior Week commenced later that May. I can’t remember most of the events, but I remember them being fun for many reasons. One night I lay on Eddie’s with my other roommate and we looked at the stars and were holding each other in tears because of how thankful we were that we met each other. Another night, one of my best friends and I finally got around to talking about the reality that was me leaving soon. My brother flew in early (and stayed with his best friend from high school who just happens to go to my Alma Mater) and went to Senior Ball. Senior Ball was amazingly fun...until the after party. Ugh. So much unnecessary drama. But anyway, graduation finally happened. Graduation was surreal. The weather was cloudy, it was somewhat humid, my sister didn’t make it because she missed her flight because she chose her (now ex-)boyfriend’s prom over me, our speaker basically told us that the world is a very terrible place, and seeing AJ get his diploma made me happy that I finally got to say goodbye to him. But honestly, I still can’t believe that it happened. And I don’t think I even know where my diploma is. Oops. Anyway, I’m bummed that I didn’t get to take as many pictures with as many people as I wanted. And I’m still a little bummed that I spent too much time with my family doing all these touristy things. But after my mom and my sisters left, I had two days left in New York City. My last day was really, really hard. May 24th. I won’t forget it. I woke up that morning seeing my bags packed and my bed bare. My walls, which I am notoriously known by my friends for as being the most filled, were blank. I went to lunch with my best friends and tried not to cry the entire time. Afterward, we went to my apartment. In the two hours before my scheduled Uber was to pick me up, my friends helped me take down all the photos that I had taped on the walls. We laughed as we reminisced all the crazy moments that I had captured of our countless shenanigans. Some of my friends asked if they could keep certain photos because they realized in that moment how sentimental it was to them. And then finally, the uber came. I hugged each and every person of my squad. And then when I hugged my main girls--Darby, Alex, and Emma--I lost it. I hugged Darby the longest. But honestly, it’s probably more correct to say that she held me. I finally got the strength to get in the car...and as I drove off, not only did my friends wave, a few of them actually ran after the car. My heart broke into a million pieces. But then it swelled in joy. Never had I ever felt love like this. This love is accepting, this love is patient, this love knows who I am and wants to grow with me. Even with so much distance that I had now created between us. And my brother and I proceeded to get super drunk on the plane back to Los Angeles afterward.

Part II: Late May - Late August The best way to sum up my summer in 2016 is this: I was super fucking depressed. I was mourning my old life. At this point a year prior, I was starting my job in the Admissions Office, I had just moved in to my off-campus apartment, and I was spending every afternoon and night with my best friends either in their living rooms, their backyards, or via drunken shenanigans in Manhattan and Brooklyn. But this year? I was locked in my room watching Netflix and Hulu. Sure, I was very happy to be with my family, and I was happy that I got to spend a lot more time with my friends from high school that decided to move back to LA like I did. But something was missing. I felt empty. I felt lonely. And I felt my heart break even more when I saw via Facebook and Snapchat that my friends from Fordham seemed to have moved on with their lives and had accepted that I was no longer a part of it. I had a depressive breakdown in early July, a little after the fourth. I ripped the pictures of my college friends off my walls and threw many framed pictures I had on the ground, where they shattered. I screamed, cried, and wrote FAT and WORTHLESS all over my body in sharpie. Then, about two weeks later, I went to the hospital because I was self-harming. I had not been suicidal to this degree since AJ broke up with me about a year and a half beforehand.

Then, in late July, two good things happened to me: (1) I started watching Haikyuu!! and (2) I began to take my Intro to Legal Writing class at my current law school. What I liked about my into to legal writing course is that, not only was it super preparatory for my starting career as a law student, I also met many people who I am still friends with--including Aileen, who has become my best friend at law school. Similarly, what I liked about (and still love about) Haikyuu!! is--put simply--it helped me fill a hole that I was feeling. Through the Karasuno Volleyball Club team, I was able to find a fictional psuedo-family while I was looking for ways to create a new one for myself in law school. I also briefly dated a guy I met on Bumble. That was okay, but ended pretty early on. It was nice to know that even LA boys wanted me. And on that note--I also finally came to terms with my sexuality and came out to my family. The summer ended a little early for me because of orientation, but I’m happy that it did. After having a few crying fits wondering whether law school was what I was actually meant to be doing with my life, I was finally ready to attack head-on.

Part III: Late August - December The only thing I really got from orientation was new friends. And honestly, close to 85% of the people I met that first week are still my friends now that the semester is over. These people (Aileen, Josh, Maddy, Michael, Alex, and Joanna) are the main persons who kept me sane. Followers, law school is like nothing I have ever--or will ever--experience. The reading is literally only case opinions, class time is spent trying to affirm what you taught yourself, and your grade in the class is (almost always) determined by the final and maybe a midterm. You have you teach yourself most of it. Your professor is only there to help clear up any questions you have on the rules, their elements, and/or their factors. The most difficult part is teaching yourself the application the rules, because some rules are very broad, and others are super narrow. But once you get the gist of determining which rule falls where, everything else begins to fall into place. Labor Day Weekend was spent in Lake Arrowhead with these new friends. Followers, I haven’t seen that many stars in years. I made a few wishes on three (!!!) of the four shooting stars I saw, and I actually had a panic attack. But!! these new friends were actually super supportive and patient. I guess those are just a few perks of having friends who are older than you.

I actually flew to New York City for Fordham’s homecoming at the end of September! And let me tell you, there were waterworks. The first day, I went to breakfast with my old roommate and another close friend in Brooklyn, and my old roommate and I just about cried when we were reunited after she ran down the stairs to greet me from the uber. My old roommate and I went into Manhattan and ran errands before meeting with my other old roommate, Darby, and our other friend Ben for dinner. And once again, Darby held me while I cried. I was just so happy. There are so many posts on my tumblr in which I attempt to describe how warm, welcome, and loved that these people make me feel. We had a wonderful midtown dinner at an Italian restaurant with live music before heading down to the Village to go out. I got to meet some of Alex’s new friends at her grad school (which was a nice touch because she had taken me on a tour of her portion of the NYU campus earlier that day). We had a pretty lovely rest of a rainy night before going back to our borroughs to sleep. The next morning, Katie arrived, I got to eat NYC-style bagels that I missed oh-so-much, and we went to Homecoming. Homecoming was great because I got to see so many friends that I didn’t even realized I missed. We got drunk under the tent, went to a backyard party, and got pizza at the local spot afterward. And then, at night, a smaller group of us went to the old house of mutual friends that had younger mutual friends living there now. That’s when it hit me: things have changed. No part of my old life is how it used to be. Sure, these friendships will be maintained, and New York City will always be a part of me/have a piece of me--but the illusion that life as it was had not budged since graduation was immediately busted. I left the next day. With tears. But I know I’ll be back.

Anyway, the rest of the semester went by pretty smoothly. I briefly dated a guy I met on Bumble, but it turns out he just wanted me for sex. Whatever--he and his incredibly small penis can go fuck themselves. And then, there was another guy who I actually and genuinely thought liked me at my law school. But like Bumble fuckboy, he only wanted me for sex. He started to spread a rumor that I had assaulted him, which I quickly was able to shut down due to how completely false his accusations were. The good news: I was given a newborn hatchling tortoise!! Little Takala fully hatched on October 4. The little ooo came home to me on October 18, and my life has been exponentially better ever since. I have never understood the hype surrounding pets until I started to care for Lil T. I love that tiny animal more than I love myself. Academically, I hit a bit of a rough patch. I received a very low score, despite a gracious curve, on my first ever midterm exam. This trend continued with other midterms I took. But when December 1 hit, I decided to buckle down and redeem myself. There was no way in hell that I am not going to be at the top. The semester ended on December 21. My friends and I all went out and had a pretty crazy afternoon and night. I came to many realizations about my law school friends, such as who lies about their grades, who cheats, who steals outlines, and even things like who is manipulative and who is most likely going to be at the top or bottom of the class.

If 2016 taught me anything, it’s this: change is constant, and change is difficult. I left many friends and memories--a life--back in New York City; and I created a new life for myself in Los Angeles--aka the city that I was born in and grew up in. 2016 also taught me how to be resilient, how to stay true to myself, and how to both open up about these emotions and to also be a better listener. 2016 was better than 2015 in that I was able to do so many cool things with my friends (both old and new), but it was also worse than 2015 in that all these changes all at once made me very depressed in such a way that was completely different from the depression I felt in 2015.

Hopes for 2017 But anyway, I have a pretty good feeling for 2017. Because my birthday is on the 17th day of February, I have always considered 17 to be “lucky” for me. So, I hope that this year will be good to me. I hope that I can reach my goal weight, to live a healthier lifestyle, to be more receptive to change, to keep getting what I deserve (as in, have the fruits of my labors be from my effort rather than luck)--and, ultimately, to let my anxiety calm the fuck down and actually let life and the universe allow things to fall into place for me without me trying to move too fast or without me trying to unfairly manipulate things into my favor. So, I hope that 2017 will be better than 2016. No--I know 2017 will be better than 2016. Watch out, universe. I’m gonna slay.

#personal #my 2016 #2016 in review #year in review #2016