* 𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙥𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙠 .

drunk,  they’re too drunk.  eddie’s arm is slung around newt’s shoulders,  lopsided and topsy-turvey as he leans into the shorter man,  his side and hip bone pushed lazily against newt and bumping awkwardly with each step.  they’re making their way into newt’s apartment with this haphazard dance,  all this stumbling and closeness that the liquor on their breath gives them excuse for.  laughter has echoed around them all evening and no one’s questioned a thing   (  least of all eddie  ).   this is just two guys out for a drink and coming back more sloshed and rambunctious than ever,  full of alcohol and idiocy and hours of fresh inside jokes.  and shit!  he’s never been this wasted before,  never really understood what people meant when they said it was possible to get blackout drunk.   ❝  i don’t ―  ❞   he pauses,  catching his breath as newt fumbles with his keys.   ❝  i don’t think i can make it home,  newton.  i think you’re stuck with me.  ❞

he’d awoken to the sound of bill’s typing.  even on a book tour,  the man was already working on what came next,  hammering out a new story as it unfurled from his brain like the creeping legs of a spider as it crept toward you with quiet, skittering precision.  or that was what eddie assumed,  anyway.  it was a surprise he could stomach any of bill’s stories what with the constant thrills and screams on every page!   (  the surest test of a scare was if eddie needed to yank out his aspirator and suck on it as he read.  )   but today was different,  even if the writer hadn’t noticed.  that was all right.  eddie had noticed,  he always did.  the trip to the bakery hadn’t taken long either nor had bill seemed to care when eddie had mumbled some excuse about errands and fresh air and did you know that if you didn’t walk around a bit every day you could get a blood clot and die?  he’d bought a cake,  a whole damn chocolate cake with fudgy icing nearly as thick as the layers of spongy confection within.  eddie had considered a cupcake,  something simple,  and then a memory brushed up against the back of his mind and a thought had almost blossomed there,  not a full idea or realization of a thing,  but an inkling.  and it’d been an inkling enough to know that bill denbrough hadn’t had many special birthdays in his life and that you didn’t walk around being called big bill for nothing and hell!  cupcakes couldn’t be called big no matter how hard you tried.  the girl at the register had been nice enough to add some lettering to the top in vibrant blues   (  blue like bill,  blue like his eyes,  blue like you could drown in  )  for only a few bucks more.  how he’d managed to carry the thing without dropping it was a wonder to eddie,  but he made it back to their hotel room to find bill exactly where he’d left him.   ❝  hey,  big bill.  take a break for a minute?  ❞   he half-expected him not to listen,  to wave him off as he stared at the words on the page,  cigarette hanging from his lips.   (  not that bill was smoking now.  eddie didn’t care for that sort of thing,  but he thought of the image often,  the full, red lips pressed lazily around the white roll and the briefest glimpse of his tongue within.  )   and then bill turned around and the smile on eddie’s face split into a grin.   ❝  happy birthday.  ❞

brenheir‌

more grishaverse thoughts because i want to develop this verse more:

a letter for @bestdamnrto​​

he looks at barry and there are no words,  no sounds that can form on his lips that will make sense of the storm inside his heart.  it is exhausting to not just be happy,  to want instead to collapse on the bed until he can find the strength to explain what has happened since,  since eddie thought barry had died,  since eddie took to corpses to learn how to bring ruin upon flesh and bone.   (  when you died,  i lost a part of myself too.  it hung around for weeks,  like some phantom limb i could not put a name to,  not until now,  until i got used to its absence and then you returned.  hope  ―  i had lost hope,  i had lost innocence.  that lingering baby fat grew thin and taut,  new muscles and hard lines growing in their place.  )   his eyes sting like he has been staring too long into the sun,  but eddie cannot bring himself to blink,  to look away from his love should he become a ghost again.   ❝  stay.  ❞   barry’s wounds have healed,  but there are those below the surface that linger,  that even a healer as accomplished as eddie cannot fix,  that require a different kind of touch.  his voice wavers,  almost pleading.   ❝  when you say goodnight,  i stay awake thinking i won’t see you again.  that you were never really here.  ❞

starter call.  i’m cleaning up my blog and might drop some older threads to keep things fresh and up to date with plotting we’ve since done,  but also i have tons of mutuals i’ve never interacted with here!  reply with a symbol for a verse specific starter.