❝and when i say i'm in love with you,❞ a long pause lays between his words, so much emotion lacing throughout his eyes, ❝i fucking mean it.❞
-⚘ in which i had a smut book with 400k reads and it got deleted. now, i'm writing new, original chapters (l...
11: TENDER WAS THE FLESH AT THIS NECK by: honeyvenom (ao3) r+e
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Afterwards, when everything was over and Derry was just a pinprick of blood in his periphery, Richie would think back to the book of fairytales.
It had belonged to Bill's mother first. She had grown up with it, after finding it in one of Derry's musty old antique stores as a little girl and begging her mom to buy it for her. One of her most treasured childhood relics, she had passed it on to Bill when he was a toddler, thinking its tales of brave knights and talking cats would delight him. But Bill, more interested in reenacting the adventures of Saturday morning cartoons, hadn't taken much interest in it. Instead it had been Eddie who became transfixed with the book: he looked at it every time they went over to Bill's house, running his fingers along its spine, eyes as wide as saucers as he drank in its pictures of dusky roses and bloodied daggers.
Bill, the smart boy his teachers would come to hail him as, eventually cottoned on, and gave the book to him.
Once the book was in Eddie's possession, he kept it close, like he once did with his teddy bear and blanket. Richie would often see him in the clubhouse with it spread out on his knees, turning the pages reverently as if he held a sacred text, its gold lettering and ornate illustrations keeping his eyes fixed. No matter how loud the others were being - hooting, hollering, screaming bloody murder - Eddie would sit there quietly and read instead. On lazy weekends like that, he'd been much more invested in the lives of princesses than the activities of his idiotic friends.
Would I be the prince, Eds? he asked one day as he peered over Eddie's shoulder, munching loudly on a pack of chips.
He'd been reading Sleeping Beauty again, and the page he was resting on had an illustration of Aurora in her bed chamber, sleeping soundly under the enchantment of eternal slumber. In the corner, a handsome head and broad torso were emerging through the window: Aurora's prince, come to bestow a kiss upon her soft, still, cupid's bow mouth and break the spell.
No, Eddie replied, turning his own pouty mouth up at him. You'd be the ogre. Stomping into the princess's garden and ruining all her flowers.
Oh yeah? Can I ruin your flower, princess? Richie said, as Eddie's cheeks blossomed pink.
You can do me a favour and leave me alone instead.
As you wish, princess.
But Richie doesn't think of the book. Not yet.
Because right now he's waking up in the Derry town square, with a thumping head and a dull buzzing under his skin. And it isn't 1989 anymore but 2016. Overhead the sky has darkened to a milky lavender. Had he passed out? He can't remember. All he remembers is the way Pennywise had laughed at him after he left the arcade, IT's mouth yawning open to reveal four broken layers of sharp teeth. Can only see the way IT had towered over him with his wreath of crimson balloons, eyes rolling silvery white in their sockets, as IT peered down at his frightened face and shrieked.
