I spent an entire YEAR writing an Eddsworld AU for Stephen King's IT. No, that seriously isn't an exaggeration.
The tism is terminal I fear. This fix is the spritual sequel to my Eddsworld Carrie fanfic and is a combination of the IT movies, miniseries, and book while also still kind of being it's own thing. It's jam packed full of references to Eddsworld cannon, Stephen King, and IT in general. Almost every character mentioned in this fic is an eddsworld character, even the most miniscule background character.
As you can tell I worked extremely hard on it, so I would appreciate it if you would check it out on either AO3 or Wattpad. There's also some shipping in the story, Laurel x Eduardo and Matt x Tord specifically.
Wattpad Link:
Something is really wrong in the town of Derry, England. Children go missing every day, adults ignore all bad happenings, and an eldritch mo
Ao3 link:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
god I love how your three bookmarks are: 2 dark tomtord fics 1 war fic 1 monster Tom fic 1 fluffy tomtord fic
HA! Yeah you can see what exactly my tastes were at the time and why I wanted to write Regimen. And yes I DO recommend you read those too, I found them quite enjoyable myself. User heather1815 made My Little Test Subject and they’re my mutual on here, I’m not quite sure about Cifear or Bunshin having accounts on tumblr but all three deserve as much love for creating their unique works of fiction. I appreciate all three and I wish them the best ^^
The captain should have died, and yet he didn’t. Instead, he’s trapped in pitch black, blind, hurt, alone. Just waiting for something to happen to maybe explain what the hell is going on. Or maybe he’s already there.
The long awaited alternative ending to my siren story (Blood Red Deck, Deep Blue Sea) that I’ve mentioned a few times- in which the sirens don’t just kill Tord, and instead come up with a more fitting punishment for his pride.
Just the first chapter for now, but hopefully the next won’t be as long of a wait! TW for imprisonment, isolation, captive situations, and graphic description of injuries. More warning tags will be added as the chapter progress.
Pat has a bit of a hard time relaxing when he supposed to be on break with Tord and Pau, but neither really mind even if it's like 4 in the morning.
Red Leader and his two most trusted soldiers finally get a quiet morning to cuddle and joke with one another. Tired cuddles and tired flirting, casual interaction, casual kisses, and slow early mornings, basically the seconds of the day before the sun rises are when these three like to snuggle.
Matt has always been the type of person to easily adapt to whatever situation he’s in. Even with something as life changing as becoming a vampire. And what do vampires do? Drink blood, and make covens full of other vampire friends. Good thing Matt has two lovely friends at home with blood in their veins and soft necks to bite. They probably wouldn’t mind anyway.
Vampire Matt trying to get his friends to be vampires with him. Non-consensual blood drinking because Matt is v rude as a vampire.
Tom used to love fall, but he was finding it much harder to like anything these days. Especially since fall had seemed to sunk it's claws in rougher than last year, like an anxious predator afraid it might miss it's chance.
The rain had been terrible all week, either filling the clouds fat and ominously until they choked out any light from the sun, or it would suddenly beat down hard enough that drums of war could be shy in comparison.
The entire bus trip had been surrounded by sheets of rain and distance booms of thunder. If the drone of storm wasn't enough, fog lingered thick as soup on the ground whenever there was a moment's pause between rain. The edge of cold was just a bit harsher than it should be, and the wind cut through Tom's coat as he walked from the bus stop.
The plastic bag in his hand knocked hard on his knee with each step, but he didn't bother to adjust it. His beaten black umbrella only defended parts of him from the water as wind blew rain sideways and pelted his jacket. The loose hems of his jeans were wet, the soles of his checkered sneakers worn. The scarf around his neck was a gray, much softer than the midnight shade of his coat and the dark of his eyes, even the shadows under his eyes, and it was thick enough to keep the chill from his neck but not big enough to protect his ears or jaw.
It was uncomfortable. It was enough.
The walk from the bus stop was dull and depressing, though the rain seemed to have sensed the mood and at least had enough sympathy to lessen the onslaught. Still that allowed fog to creep up from the sidewalk and yards like tendrils and Tom tripped from a few uneven steps he hadn't been able to see. But besides some bitten curses, Tom kept walking.
The neighborhood had changed, more than once, more than a bit. He could recognize a few houses but they were now just unused backdrops he hadn't seen in months. No one was out in this piss poor weather so that saved him the trouble of trying to recognize people too. Good thing, he wasn't really in the right state of mind for that sort of casualness. Not that Tom minded or even really thought it mattered- he wasn't there to reminisce, he was there to see something specific.
The plots of land remained beaten and unbuilt upon, a sort of scar in the middle of a once pretty standard neighborhood. Where two houses had stood, there was uneven patches of dirt and half planted bases made out of thick brick. A bulldozer sat far back among the fog along with tall pyramids of lumber, untouched. If this were anywhere else, the reconstruction would already be well underway, two houses half built up to blend with the rest of the buildings, but now the project was left unfinished, the supplies abandoned. It had been that way for almost a month now, all construction workers refusing, contractors desperate to stop the injury lawsuits, and the local community at a loss at what they could do. At least, that's what Tom had heard.
Stepping from the sidewalk and onto the debated land was almost like something out of a horror movie, Tom knew, but he also knew that nothing dangerous lurked in the halted construction and fog. Well, nothing dangerous to him. Glass crunched under his feet, a few lost nails making clinks as they were kicked by his shoes into rocks.
The plot to the right of him received only a mild glance, and he tilted back his umbrella to look towards the left. Just a square empty base on a dug up bit of dirt. Tom sighed and walked to the home's skeleton, tiredly lifting his leg over the wood outline and setting his shoe on cold dirtied ground. The scuff of his shoes and the sound of the wind was all that filled the plots, as if every other sound didn't dare breach the area. In the center of what used to be a house, Tom kicked a plank of wood a bit to the side. He sat down on the plank, knowing that this way he wouldn't have to explain any mud stains or cuts from glass or nails once he returned home later. And he waited.
With his umbrella resting on the crook of his neck, Tom pulled out a large dark colored bottle from the plastic bag still tangled at his fingers. It was even colder than the fog and trickles of rain around him, but he held to it casually and stuffed the bag into his pocket. He unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a harsh swig. The taste was awful but it was cheap and it did the trick. So it worked just fine for Tom. The plastic bag was then carelessly flattened by one of his dirty shoes.
Tom pulled his phone from his pocket, checked the time, then turned on the flashlight app. The light was good enough to shine a few feet. With a light sniff, Tom lightly tossed it screen down onto the plastic bag, making the light shine up towards the sky. Then Tom took another drink.
"Ew. Are you drunk?" The voice came from somewhere Tom couldn't find, because it was low and could easily be a whisper or a shout from very far away.
"I'm working on it," Tom replied, turning his eyes on the light shining on nothing but air just a foot or two from his face.
"Don't... do that here." Soft voice, tired, maybe a bit sad. It came from the shadows somewhere to the left, but Tom saw something move to the right of him.
Tom pointedly took a sip from his bottle, and made a face at the taste. Which would earn him a hard glare from some of his friends, and a string of insults from the others. But he didn't hear or see anything.
A gust of wind blew Tom's spikes, more waterdrops touched his knees.
"Tom, go home," a huff of a request from the tinder pile nearly behind Tom, "It's raining."
"I didn't notice." Tom lightly shrugged, making his umbrella bob above his head.
The bulldozer set near the other house lets out a distraught groan.
"Why are you here?"
Tom nods towards the spotlight in front of him. "Can't a guy just come to his burned down house to drink?"
The fog around the light swirls, guided but nothing is there.
"This is my house. Yours is over there."
"Well yeah, but there's no one to talk to over there anymore," Tom feels rainwater on his cheek and brushes it away with his shoulder.
There's a dry laugh, a very slight and small sound. It could just be a gasp or groan, but Tom is sure it's a laugh.
"You could just go talk to anyone else. Eduardo told me that you're fine when you're not being a dumbass, and he wouldn't mind hanging out with you more- don't tell him I told you that, though."
"I'd never sell you out unless Eduardo paid me."
"Comforting." The wall frame that was only two support beams creaked.
Tom paused a moment before he took a chug from his bottle. He swallowed the burn and looked down, watching suspended nearly invisible beads of rain patter down into the barren area.
"Jon," Tom sounded more tired than he had been, as if the cold and water had soaked into him and made him creaky and slow like a broken machine, "It's weirder for me to be talking to the air than you, no matter how you look now. I promise not to freak out- so could you please just show me already?"
Silence, heavy like a graveyard (Tom closed his eyes bitterly against the not so inaccurate comparison). A gust of wind knocked against Tom, making him shiver and his umbrella rattle. The light of his phone flickered a bit. And, when Tom pulled back from his flinch, opened sore eyes from water and wind, Jon was there.
Behind the small, dull spotlight of Tom's phone, Jon stood out just barely in the dark. Dressed in a button up and jeans, with his simple haircut and small dark eyes and his thin uneasy smile, Jon looked the way Tom expected. He seemed solid, at least in his face, but the further down his body Tom looked, the more faded and unstable Jon became. He seemed diluted of color, each hue of his body bleached out almost violently. Darkness stained his hands, slipped down his sleeves. There was a streak on his cheek, from which red headed down to his throat. And on Jon's chest, right where his heart had been, was a dark seeping wound- a gash through his shirt filled with vivid red and black, oozing long streaks of blood all down his chest and stomach.
If Tom hadn't seen it before, he would've be disturbed. Jon was a faded version of himself, stained in blood and burns that still bled. That was why he didn't blame Mark for freaking out like he did.
Tom wouldn't lie- it looked bad. It was bad. Absolutely awful. But Tom could handle it.
Sheriff Thompson (as well as Prince Mathew and Detective Gold) managed to get stuck in America a little longer than intended. While waiting for another chance to leave, Thompson's old friend asks for a favor, one that involves apprehending a pair of train bandits. It takes a bit of bargaining, but Thompson figures he can do this last job for his barkeep, especially since the detective from London seems all too happy to tag along so Thompson isn't on his own this time.
Some nice cowboy and bandit action. Guns, fighting, train hopping, train robbery, western slang, mild bashing on Americans and the English. Possible second half that is pure TomTord.
