#itfandomsecretadmirers

[jortsboy]

happy valentines from your exchange!! @boyscoutstanley @itfandomsecretadmirers

They’re waiting for Bev and Ben to get out of their after-school English club (they are preparing for a poetry competition, which Bev convinced her boyfriend to enter into). During the wait, Richie decided to listen to some 80s tunes, and when he started belting out the lyrics to Africa Eddie insisted that he listen too.

Ben’s name has an octopus emoji in Eddie’s phone due to an unfortunate accident that involved fragile glass, a competition and of course, an octopus.

(Also I headcanon that Eddie is part of the school’s track/athletics team, and he just finished a track meet (which Richie totally wasn’t watching from the stands).

Inspiration for Richie’s outfit from these two icons, @sagansrecord and @staunris 

[yourprayer]

“Quitting time at the plant. Time for supper now. Time for families. Time for a cool drink on a porch. Time for the quiet rustle of leaf-laden trees that screen out the moon. And underneath it all, behind the eyes of the men, hanging invisible over the summer night, is a horror without words. For this is the stillness before storm. This is the eve of the end.”

a twilight zone inspired one shot

based on the episode “third from the sun”

this is my it fandom secret admirer gift exchange (@itfandomsecretadmirers) present for @reddiesetrichie ! i hope you enjoy this piece, and i hope this is close enough to your interests i not so sneakily asked you about (x so sorry this is late! i hate being an adult with a job asdikkfdckj

pairings: reddie, stenbrough, benverly

word count: 12.5k

warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual activity, smoking/drinking, mild depictions of violence  + to avoid spoilers, i will say only that this piece centers around a fairly heavy political subject. please proceed with caution as you read as this may be upsetting to those easily upset by political turmoil. remember that this is fiction & for fun, don’t stress yourself out/upset yourself over it! i won’t be offended if you don’t read bc it is too heavy. this is in no way intended to be a proclamation of something to come (i mean only that im not trying to say i think this is going to happen; im not trying to scare you. this is just based on the episode, and that’s what it happens to be about. this was written in the 60s for the sole purpose of being an interesting and compelling piece of sci fi. im using it for the same thing) this is getting long winded but basically, if you have any questions about content before you read, shoot me an ask and i’ll tell you privately bc i don’t want to spoil the twist for anyone. i just thought it would be really fun to do a twilight zone au, but this show can be very thought provoking, sometimes in a scary way. 

the twilight zone is available on hulu, netflix and cbs all access! i recommend watching the ep before (or after, if you don’t want spoilers!) reading this piece but its not necessary! heres a link to the ep free online if you have none of those services, but the picture is off center so i recommend the services over this! + the opening theme to get you in the mood!

Richie Tozier sighed, shifting his identification card from one hand to the other in impatience. The sun had just began its descent from its highest point in the sky, and the heat of the afternoon started to seep into his skin through the heavy work suit he was wearing. Why his supervisors insisted they come to the factory is full dress attire was beyond him, but it was his own fault for leaving the suit jacket on. It was quittin’ time after all; he could just take it off. Perhaps it was the nervousness and distractions of the day that made him disregard the possibility altogether.

To say his mind was not on the task at hand would be quite the understatement. He could barely count with both hands the number of pieces he’d fudged the fabrication of; his average was usually two or three, but on this day, he knew he’d reached double digits. He almost laughed to himself, catching his mind thinking of the next weekly review; his boss, red-faced and shaking, telling him off for wasting materials. It would be quite a sight, quite a sight for a laugh, if it ever came to be.

Yes, he almost laughed to himself.

Almost.

“Mills, Germ Warfare Research.” The bored voice of the gate guard cut off his wandering thoughts as he stepped forward in line. The man in front of him had his card read and his person pursued for any out of place items or (as he knew was the real protocol) smuggled machinery by the two uniformed men minding the exit from the factory grounds. No matter the department, the employees at the facility were all funneled in a single file line through the one break in the fence, each required to show their employment I.D. upon entering and exiting the property. Richie flicked his own identification card between his fingers in impatience as he waited for the man in front of him to be cleared and begin his trek to the parking lot.

The man cleared the way, and Richie stepped forward, handing his card to the guard on his left.

“Tozier, Hydrogen Armament.” He read aloud, as the guard across from him checked Richie’s name off of a numbered list on his clipboard. “You fellas are getting pretty busy up there, aren’t ya?” The guard questioned conversationally as Richie returned his card to his breast pocket.

“Very.” Richie replied curtly, not wanting to continue the conversation. He stepped out of the line, off to the side of the path of the cars. He knew he should be rushing to get to his vehicle, he knew he shouldn’t be lingering on the premises; but he also knew his supervisor, Mr. Bowers, was just a few feet away, eyeing him suspiciously. I must maintain some image of normalcy, he thought to himself. Deciding it would be best to stick with his usual habits, he reached into the same pocket his card resided in to extract a cigarette and match from their respective packets. His nervous fingers brushed his departmentally issued employee identification button, the numbers that dictated his employee profile printed largely on the face. He sighed heavily, exhaling the smoke from his first drag, attempting to quell any physical signs of his fear that could possibly be showing.

“Hold that light, will you, Tozier?” A voice from over his shoulder jarred him as he went to shake out the match. Suddenly a hand was gripped around his wrist, raising the match towards the tip of another cigarette. The mouth behind the butt and the statement belonged to none other than Bowers himself.

“Long day, wasn’t it?” Bowers said calmly, exhaling his drag as he let Richie extinguish the match. “They’ve got us going full blast, on our end.”

Richie barely dared to give him a nod, averting his gaze as he pinched the end of his cigarette and raised it to his mouth.

“It’s coming, boy.” Richie gritted his teeth at the petty nickname, one Bowers had been using to demean him ever since he’d been hired at the plant. “It’s really coming. A big one, too.” Bowers glanced around conspiratorially. “Even now, as we’re speaking, I’ll bet you anything they’re gearing up.”

Richie swallowed nervously, taking a deep pull with slightly shaking fingers.

Bowers finally looked over at Richie, making eye contact, a frightening edge to his gaze.

“Talk is forty eight hours.”

Richie felt his blood run cold.

“Wait and see if I’m wrong.” Bowers continued, an almost goading tone to his voice as Richie took another neurotic drag. “Forty eight hours, and then…” Bowers’ expression was nearing a sneer, as he raised a hand and mimicked a projectile flying. “Whoosh..” He added the sound effect, opening his closed fist like the opening flower of bomb bay doors on the bottom of a plane. Richie watched his gesture with a clenched jaw, his trepidation and anger growing as Bowers’ fingers continued to stretch open, accentuating his boss’s apathy over the situation. “Then, there goes the enemy.”

“And what are they doing in the meantime?” Richie’s temper got the better of himself, pulling the interjection from his closed teeth, even as his mind screamed at him not to speak, not to reveal his truth.

“What do you mean what are they doing?” Bowers gave him a cross look. “Retaliating, of course, though not nearly in the same fashion as us.” He gave a small, crass laugh. “Big fucking waste of time, you ask me.” Bowers took another drag of his still-lit cigarette. Richie finished his off and crushed it under his heel, trying to push all of his anger out of the bottom of his feet so as to prevent himself from putting in his two cents again. “We get ours in first, then they can’t do much.”

“The can respond, with their own ‘whoosh…’” Richie found himself speaking again, barely able to disguise the frustration and disgust in his voice, the only thing keeping him from repeating Bowers’ gesture was his tightly clenched fist, which he refused to release.

“Oh, they can.” Bowers nearly shrugged, taking another pull. “But not so accurately. Not so powerfully.”

“Then instead of losing a million people, we lose a hundred thousand.” Richie said hardly, his voice rising in anger.

“Dangerous words there Tozier.” Bowers made eye contact again, his gaze piercing. “Not a defeatist, are you?” Richie made no move to respond, only returning the look. “You better watch what you say.”

“And what I think, too.” Richie bit back with a raise of his eyebrows, challenging almost.

“And what you think.” Bowers rejoined.

Richie huffed. “Goodnight, Bowers.” He leaned in, just enough to be in Bowers’ space. “See you tomorrow?” He said pointedly.

Bowers didn’t reply as he watched Richie retreat to his vehicle.

He just... observed.

________________________________________________________________

A light, airy tune floated upstairs as Eddie Tozier (nee Kaspbrak) busied himself with his workload. He could visualize easily in his head his husband downstairs, drink in hand and hips swaying casually to the beat as he began to unwind from a long day at work. Richie would have just arrived home, car parked safely in the garage, tie possibly still yet to be undone, hands still slightly greasy from the machines as he poured his favorite scotch. Eddie smiled at the thought as the music grew a bit louder, and decided that he should make the vision become his reality.

Taking the stairs nearly two at a time, the undone top buttons of his shirt causing the collar to open a bit in the breeze his momentum caused, Eddie rushed down to greet his husband as he did every day.

He was greeted by the sight of Richie, drink in hand, record turning lazily in their player, his back to the stairs.

Two things instantly alerted Eddie that something was off. The first: Richie’s glass contained a considerably greater amount of the amber liquid than his usual. Richie had been a heavy drinker in their youth, and after a particularly nasty bout of alcohol-centered arguments Richie had given in and placed himself on a strict regimen of limitation. The second: he was not, as he always, always did, swaying to his music.

Eddie’s smile fell as he adjusted the spectacles that had been jostled on his way downstairs, pushing the center further up his nose with his middle finger. He pushed his rolled sleeves up just a bit more, a strange way of preparing himself to comfort his husband. He then approached Richie from behind, preparing his winning smile that Richie always maintained could cut through every stressor in his life.

Eddie only prayed that now, it could do its job.

“Hey there, handsome.” Eddie said kindly, sliding a hand around Richie’s waist as he tucked himself into Richie’s side.

“Hey, baby.” Richie turned to him, a pleasant but obviously forced smile plastered on his face. He pulled Eddie into a distracted kiss, setting his drink down and snaking his arms around Eddie’s middle to pull him close. “Where’s Mike?” He asked, pulling away all too soon.

“Outside, begging the new peonies to sprout.” Eddie joked. Mike was their best friend from college, housemate, and avid gardener, who had insisted on landscaping their entire yard. Richie looked towards their sliding glass door that lead to the side garden, and made a move to exit, dropping his hands from Eddie’s back.

“Oh, no you don’t. Not before our dance.” Eddie pouted, placing Richie’s hands back on his own hips and linking his around the taller man’s neck. Richie gave him a ragged smile, for a moment considering joining him in their well practiced sway, but after a moment removed Eddie’s hands and held them in his own, between their chests.

“Some other time, honey. Promise.” Richie said quietly, before releasing Eddie’s hands, picking up his glass, and crossing to the player, turning the music off.

Eddie watched in quiet awe as Richie looked again to the door, then appeared to have thought better of it before crossing the room and sitting heavily on the couch. Richie had never been able to say no to a dance.

“Rich.” Eddie said, concern written plainly on his face and in his speech, as he moved quickly to sit on the coffee table across from his worn out husband.

“Yes, dear?” Richie joked half-heartedly, placing a hand absentmindedly on Eddie’s knee as he took a sip of his drink.

“What’s going on with you?” He placed his hand on top of Richie’s, giving him a pleading look. It was unlike Richie to behave this way, but even more unlike him to admit why. Eddie steeled himself, determined to get an answer out of the man. Richie had been a bit more tense as of late, but had often been fine after a nice massage or a particularly satisfying night spent in bed. But this nervousness and distance he placed Eddie in was downright out of character, and he needed to know exactly what the cause was, so he could destroy it.

“Nothing serious, Eds.” Richie offered that same thin smile, and it set Eddie’s jaw in frustration. Just as he was about to lay into the man, Mike came in through the sliding glass door, wiping the sweat off his brow with a rag.

“Afternoon Rich, how was work?” He called over his shoulder after he spotted Richie, crossing into their kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Work.” Richie said in a strange tone, taking another drink. “Hey, Mike?” He said after a pause, as the other man appeared in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna invite everyone over for cards tonight. You’ll be here, right? Bill will want to see you.”

Eddie furrowed his brow, looking from Mike to Richie in confusion. They usually played cards on Fridays…

“Actually, guys, I uh…” Mike paused, taking a nervous sip of his water. “I have a date.” He said with a sheepish smile. “Maybe I could get home a little early, but..” His smile grew, obviously lost in thought of how his date might go.

“Call it off?” Richie said suddenly, worry briefly painting his features, and Eddie’s jaw all but dropped at the sight. On any other day in their normal universe where Richie was his Richie, smiling, joking, often highly inappropriate Richie, there would be congratulations and jokes about ‘making it’ and conspiratorial high-fives between him and his good friend. But here in this strange, hell universe where Richie was changing before Eddie’s very eyes into Richard Wentworth Tozier, a serious man, an alien on his couch where his husband should be, he was asking Mike to cancel a date.

“Rich, I- we’ve been planning this for awhile now, I’m very fond of her-” Mike said, rightfully flabbergasted.

“Please, Mike. I’ve had a terrible day. I’d like a night for us. Everyone, together again.” Richie pressed, giving Mike a solemn look. When he seemed hesitant, Richie extended his plea in a small voice. “Please, Mike? Just us losers.” A small smile at the end.

Eddie and Mike shared a look of concern.

“Sure, I guess.” Mike caved.

“Wunderbar.” Richie smiled, feigning his usual playfulness with his terrible German accent. Eddie noticed straight away there was no soul behind it. “Will you call everyone for me, Michael?” He asked before knocking back the rest of his drink. “I’ve got to have a private conversation with my husband upstairs, if you catch my drift.” He added a wink, some of his old energy creeping back into the conversation. Eddie watched the display in abject horror; this wasn’t Richie, this was a ghost trying on his clothing. No matter how much he tried to act like his rambunctious old self, with each attempt at humor Eddie’s worry grew.

Mike raised an eyebrow, finishing his water. “Sure I will. What time should I tell them?”

“Oh, around seven. Maybe earlier. Not before five, though.” Richie said as he stood and stretched, brushing off Eddie’s hand. Mike raised his eyebrows in confused concern and turned to use the phone. He almost reached it before he paused. “Wait, wasn’t Bill still out of town?”

“He got back this morning.” Richie replied, crossing to the fireplace and pulling another cigarette from his pack, before lighting it quickly.

“Really? I thought they were testing their aircraft all week-”

“They finished.” Richie said simply, his tone indicating the finality of the conversation. He had his back turned to both men as he took a long drag. Eddie stood, turning to look at Mike. Mike raised his eyebrow quizzically, to which Eddie responded with a shake of his head.

I’ll find out. Eddie mouthed to Mike. The other man nodded, and left to make the calls.

Richie finished about half of his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray atop their fireplace. He then turned to exit the room, but was stopped by Eddie’s hand on his arm.

“Rich-”

“I just would like a game of cards, is all.” Richie asserted, not looking at Eddie. “Take my mind off of things.”

He pulled his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, and trudged up the stairs to their room.

“Richard.” Eddie said angrily, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with his hands on his hips. The use of the full name was usually a good way for Eddie to snap his husband back into seriousness; here it was only met with a retreating back. Richie did not stop, just continued until he hit the landing and turned to enter their bedroom, finishing his drink in the process.

Eddie huffed angrily, taking a minute to steal himself before storming up the stairs after him.

Richie stood before their bureau, idly examining a few trinkets spread across its surface. He placed his glass next to a watch their good friend Stanley had given him years ago, at the bachelors party before their wedding. Eddie watched as Richie trailed his long fingers slowly over the face, as if in attempts to memorize its texture.

“Richard.” He repeated. Richie did not turn around. “What is going on?” He demanded as he closed their door.

“Just feeling my years.” Richie said quietly, his shoulders falling.

“You’re thirty seven.” Eddie folded his arms across his chest.

“Touche.” Richie laughed to himself, catching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror above the bureau. Suddenly and without warning he turned, crossing the room easily in a couple of strides, and cupping Eddie’s surprised face in his hands. “But looking at you, dear,” He paused to kiss Eddie quickly. “Your beautiful face,” Eddie rolled his eyes, face reddening, more so as Richie peppered it with kisses. “It’s just reminding me of how old I feel…” He trailed off, gazing into Eddie’s eyes, but not looking, as though his husbands face was not truly there, not looking back at him. He looked instead as though he was glancing back through a pinhole, nostalgia and want written on his features, as his eyes saw not the man in front of him, but the boy he fell in love with. He saw Eddie now as he always did then; young, freckled, glowing. Memories swirled around him abstractly, no specific events coming to mind but rather an amalgamation of the years he’d passed. He thought briefly this was what it must be to have your life flash before your eyes.

After all, he was a dying man.

Eddie watched the display in a cocktail of wonder and horror.

“Richard, I need you to tell me what’s happening.” He said in a near whisper. “I- I don’t know if it’s work, but-”

“No, no, not work.” Richie shook his head, his fondness suddenly dropping off into exasperation as he released his grip on Eddie’s face. “It’s just work, it’s fine.”

“It doesn’t fucking seem like that.” Eddie’s voice raised as Richie turned around again, a hand sliding nervously through his hair.

“It’s just work! I’m just a cog in a machine baby, just a fucking part of the whole damned thing-”

“Richard-”

“Do you know how many men it takes to build a bomb, Edward?” Richie turned back suddenly, a dangerous expression in his eye as he stared down Eddie, still not seeing him. Eddie stared back in shock, bewildered by the strange question and terrified by the expression and the use of his name. Richie never called him Edward, not even in their worst fights, just when he was joking.

“What?” He sputtered, when it seemed the question was apparently un-rhetorical.

“Hundreds. Thousands maybe. I make lugnuts all day, babe, one fucking piece. Someone else cools them down. I operate the press, that’s all I do. All the other tiny pieces and functions, all of them need another person. Construction, assembly, execution… when it’s all said and done there’s so many of us. I’m just one piece. I just pull one lever….” By the end he’d worked himself into a frenzy, hands shaking as they pulled at errant strands of his barely-controlled hair, the curls Eddie had come to love so dearly over all these years protesting angrily against the gel applied that morning. Eddie wanted to jump back to that moment, Richie sitting in his trousers on the end of their bed, shirtless and smiling as Eddie worked the stuff through his hair, jokingly trying to distract him by snapping the waistband of Eddie’s boxers as he tried in vain to control the unruly locks. He wanted to go back so badly, and hold close the man he loved before he could turn into the one he saw now, frightened and frenzied as he rambled nonsense, pacing the self same room. He could not find an answer in his mind as to why his husband had come so undone; but then, he supposed he should have seen it coming, noticed it sooner. Even in that memory of the morning, even in Richie’s light smirk as he snapped the elastic for the twelfth time and looked up at Eddie, he should have seen that heaviness in his eyes. In retrospect he could see it; for weeks now, it had been there.   

“If you think of it that way,” Richie continued, more so to himself. “I’m- not solely responsible…”

“Responsible for what?” Eddie pleaded, shocked by the urgency in his own tone. “Rich, please, what is this about?”

Richie stood, one hand still on his forehead, looking off to the corner of the room.

“Please. Please speak to me.” Eddie begged, stepping closer and taking Richie’s hand in his own, using the other to make Richie look at him. “Tell me what has you so afraid. I- I can see it’s been plaguing you. For some time now.” Eddie swallowed, thoughts racing. “I’ve been- I’ve been frightened too. For awhile now. I couldn’t explain it if you asked but- there’s something in the atmosphere. Like this weight, this… wordless terror. I’ve seen it in others; especially in you. Please. Please tell me. Give it a name, Richard.” He stressed the latter, almost shaking Richie’s face as he held it in his hand, eyes searching the others for some give.

“Fear.” Richie muttered to himself as he placed his hands on Eddie’s arms, still staring at the spot on the carpet.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rich. What is everyone so afraid of?” Eddie pleaded quietly, his hand trailing from Richie’s cheek to his chest, where his fingers brushed the button that proclaimed the numbers that dictated his husband. His Richie, complex, creative, beautiful Richie, reduced to a code. A cog in a machine.

“People are afraid because they make themselves afraid.” Richie said darkly, his tone shifting as he finally made eye contact with Eddie. His grip on the smaller mans arms tightened, and as he spoke he jostled Eddie a bit, his anger and frustration growing with each thought. “Because they do it to themselves, Edward, because they can’t just leave good enough alone. Because they have to take every inch they can possibly have, because there’s no compromise-”

“Chee, you’re frightening me-” Eddie breathed, attempting to pull Richie out of his trance with the pet name.

“Because no one makes any attempts at diplomacy anymore, because they’d rather play dice with our lives than pull their heads out of the sand-” Richie barreled on, Eddie’s feeble words falling on deaf ears as the taller man kept gripping, kept shaking him. “They’re afraid because now- now when it’s too late, far too late to change, to turn back, now they’re asking why-”

“RICHARD!” Eddie found himself shouting, shocking both of them, Richie’s anger lifting and being replaced with surprise, as he looked down at Eddie’s hands fisted in his lapels and gulped, realizing how tightly he held Eddie’s upper arms and letting go immediately, rubbing his hands over the muscles apologetically.

“Baby- I’m sorry-”

“What is this about?!” Eddie returned the jostle, desperately hoping he could shake an answer out of the man.

“I guess it’s too late for vagueness…” Richie nearly whispered, eyes roaming Eddie’s face.

Eddie huffed in frustration. “It sure fucking is.”

“It’s coming.” Richie said suddenly.

Eddie’s blood ran cold.

“No..” He breathed, feeling his knees go weak.

“It’s coming baby, sooner than anyone predicted.”

Eddie shook his head in denial, Richie’s arms around his back now the only thing holding him up.

“We have forty-eight hours.” Richie said solemnly, his eyes as grey as graves.

Eddie’s knees hit the floor.

“It- it can’t be-”

“It is.” Richie repeated, kneeling to pull Eddie back up into a standing position, his limp body refusing to cooperate.

“How- how bad?” Eddie caught his eyes, not moving, not allowing himself to be moved. Richie gathered his strength, both to haul Eddie up to the foot of the bed at least, and to say the heavier truth.

“Bad.” He said simply as he man-handled his husband to their bed. He sat down gingerly next to him, letting the smaller man rest his weight on him. “It’ll be the end… of everything. All of it. Our life as we know it… Gone. It’ll be a holocaust.”

Eddie could feel the world underneath him tipping and swirling as he tried to rationalize what Richie was saying. He knew that the situation was tense, that the enemy had their finger over the trigger-

The enemy, he scolded himself. No one is the enemy. There are no sides in a war that destroys us all.

He used what little strength he could muster to look up at Richie.

“What do we do?” He whispered, his voice shaking. He almost thought he might cry, but he was too shocked to form tears.

Richie raised a hand to cradle Eddie’s face, keeping it there so they could lock their gazes on each other, to help ground him.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said quietly, Eddie’s eyes widening. “Bill and I, we’ve devised a plan. The two of us, Mike, Bill and Stanley, Ben and Beverly and the kids too. We’re all getting out of here.”

“Where?” Eddie insisted, flabbergasted. If it was as bad as they’d been threatened, as bad as Richie had claimed, as bad as he had imagined, there’d be nowhere to go.

“I can’t tell you.” Richie said cryptically, instantly earning an expression of anger. “Baby, Eddie, I can’t tell you but you have to trust me. We’re leaving, tonight.” He squeezed the hand cupped around Eddie’s cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone. “Between midnight and one, we have to be gone. Then we’re getting out of here.” Eddie just looked at him, fear freezing him down to his bones. “You can’t say anything, to anyone. Not even Mike, or the others. Bill and Ben are the only ones who know so far, and we’ve only just told Ben. But you can’t say anything.” Richie looked deep into his eyes, and Eddie nodded robotically. “What we’re doing… it’ll be dangerous. Anyone could be- could be on to us. They could be listening-”

“Richie, hey!” Mike’s voice suddenly filled the house, causing Eddie to nearly jump out of his skin. “Bill’s here to see you!” He continued as Richie wrapped his arms protectively around his frightened lover.

“I’m coming, tell him it’ll be a minute.” Richie called back, his loud voice strange against the heavy quietness that had been with them in the room.

“Chee…” Eddie sobbed dryly into Richie’s shoulders.

“Shhh… hey, I’ve got you.” Richie mumbled, rubbing a hand up and down Eddie’s back to soothe him. “Eds, it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” Eddie shook his head, shivers wracking his body as the weight of his fate set in. “Baby, I have to go talk to Bill, but I’ll be back, I’ll be right back.” He gently pulled Eddie upright, wiping away the one tear that had managed to fall. “I need you to be strong for me. For yourself.” He stressed, a hand on Eddie’s knee. “I know you can, dear, you’ve always been. We can do this.”

“I’m so- I’m so frightened, Rich.”

“I am too. But you have to trust me; Bill and I have a plan. We’re going to make it. All of us; we’ll make it.”

Eddie watched, as though underwater, as Richie leaned over and kissed his forehead, before standing and leaving the room. He watched; drowning.

________________________________________________________________

“Well, buddy, you better have some fuckin’ fantastic work stories for tonight, I had to cancel a date for this.” Mike was saying with a laugh as Richie came down the stairs. He locked eyes with Bill over Mike’s shoulder, catching the same look of thinly-veiled worry that had been staring back at him in the mirror the past few days. They nodded to each other as Mike excused himself and left the room.

“Bill.” Richie said curtly, glancing out of a window near his front door.

“Rich.” Bill rejoined, shaking his head slightly to indicate they weren’t in the clear.

“You and Stan are still coming over tonight, right? Mike got ahold of you?”

“Sure did.” Bill said nervously, almost reverting back to the boyish stutter of his youth. “Wouldn’t miss it. Stan says he’s on a winning streak.”

Richie gave a curt laugh, before raising an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it, then.” He kept his tone conversational, plain, and unconcerned.

“He’ll be taking all your chips tonight, either way.” Bill said with a fake laugh as he tugged on his earlobe. Richie got the hint, glancing toward the window again. The slight rustle of a low hanging tree branch was enough to confirm his suspicion. Glancing around for inspiration, his eyes landed on the watch on Bill’s left arm.

“Say, Bill, S’at the watch Stanley got you for your anniversary?” Richie cocked his head towards the garage door.

“Sure is, made by his father, same as yours.” Bill nodded.

“Looks like it’s speeding up again, want me to take a look?”

“Sure, sure.”

The two kept their eyes locked on any open window they passed as they made their way into the garage, where Mike had set up his gardening bench, and Eddie had built his workstation. Eddie worked at a local chinaware store making ceramic figurines, each a tiny, intricate masterpiece. Richie took a moment to admire the small delicate pieces, the wonderful figures each holding the magic that he knew exuded from Eddie’s fingertips. These figurines were one of the things Richie found himself repeatedly falling in love with over and over again. Eddie never failed to amaze him with the things he could create. Every time he set about his work he would come out the other side with a magnum opus. Of course the man was always ridiculously humble about the affair, always blushing and brushing off Richie’s praises, but when he was at the bench, back hunched, glasses on the tip of his nose and his face scrunched up in concentration, he was a God in his element, and no amount of protest would ever convince Richie to think otherwise.

The reverie was ripped from his mind at the sound of Bill closing the door, the click of the latch as it slotted into place disrupting him.

“Rich, we’ve gotta change our plans.” Bill blurted urgently.

“Not yet.” Richie mumbled, eyes still on the line of figurines scattered across the work surface, a hand raised to silence Bill. He ignored Bill’s look of urgency and crossed to the bench, a hand trailing over it’s surface, before his eyes found the answer he was searching for.

Flipping the switch for Eddie’s fine sander, he turned to face Bill with a nod. The sound of the machine filled the room, as Bill crossed over to the bench to stand with him. Richie picked up one of the tools left out on the bench and gestured for the watch, fiddling with it and pretending to fix it.

“Okay, Bill. What’s happened.” He muttered under his breath, just so that he was barely audible to Bill underneath the hum of the sander.

“The guard we paid off- he’s had his shift shortened. He contacted me just a bit ago; he’s gonna be off at eleven instead of one.” Bill basically whispered, nervously watching Richie’s hands as they fidgeted.

“So we move it up a couple hours, big deal.” Richie feigned a shrug, his skittish swallow betraying him.

“Yeah right it’s a big deal, it’s gonna be a lot harder to pull off, you know there’ll be more guards on the field-”

“And if any of those guards stop us to ask, we’ll tell them we’re your family come to see the ships you work on.” He fixed Bill with a serious, placating look, steeling himself. Bill gulped.

“You think it’ll work?”

“It’s got to.”

“Does Eddie know?”

“I’ve just told him. Stan?”

“I have a.. A plan, to tell him… roundaboutly.”

“Mike doesn’t know.”

“Beverly got it out of Ben, but they didn’t speak of it in front of the kids. As long as they were careful…”

“Let’s just keep it that way, yeah? I wasn’t gonna tell Eds, but he looked like he would have about killed me if I kept talking cryptic… Maybe Stan and Mike should just…” Richie trailed off with a sigh. “God, does it even matter now? We just need to get through the evening, and if we’re only seeing each other…”

“Your point is sound Rich, but…” Bill’s fingers flew up to his earlobe again. “We both know there’s still some risk.”

Richie nodded, looking down at the watch and tool in his hands. He set both down on the bench and instead picked up one of the figures perched there. Eddie kept a small framed photo of the two of them at their wedding, surrounded by the rest of their group of friends, on the bench near his workstation. Bill, to Eddie’s right, a proud best man, and Stanley, on Richie’s left, Bill’s counterpart at the ceremony. Next to Bill was Beverly, red hair cascading and held tight in the grip of her then eight month old daughter Amelia, her proud father Ben on Bev’s other side, drink in hand and face frozen in a beaming smile. Beside Stanley stood Mike, a flower from his garden in his lapel, the arrangements on all the tables, and the boutineers of all the attending men in the wedding party. Each of them had a look of elation shining out of their faces, from Beverly’s crooked but blindingly white teeth to Eddie’s squinted eyes behind his spectacles. The wedding had taken place during the brief period in their timeline where they’d both had glasses; just before Richie’s laser surgery and just after Eddie had jokingly tried on Richie’s specs to find he desperately needed them. Richie’s eyes behind the thick frames were magnified, and in them he saw only love. His face was turned down towards Eddie’s, watching the smaller man laugh. He remembered the jab he’d just given Eddie’s side, trying to elicit a tickle-induced giggle for the camera. Richie studied his own face more. Written plainly alongside the endless stream of affection for the boy next to him was also another fountain; one of hope, of power, of bright longing for a future. The man that had gotten married that day had done so with determination to make that lovelight last. He had sworn that day he would love Eddie until he was a dying man, but had failed to consider just how soon that could come upon him.

Next to the photo was a small collection of figures Eddie had saved at Richie’s behest, one’s Richie had insisted were his best works and should be kept at home, instead of wasted in the outside world. Richie knew Eddie had only really kept them to get Richie to stop harassing him about it, but at this moment he was damn thankful to have won that fight. The one clutched in his hand was a small, vanilla painted bear, one Eddie had made clear back in the beginning of his career. It was misshapen in some places, and the paint was faded and uneven, but it was by far Richie’s favorite piece of Eddie’s. He loved it so much mostly because of the way Eddie had beamed when he had finished it, the way he had shyly handed it over to Richie and said Chee look I finished one, the way he had literally glowed with happiness as Richie lifted him in a swirling hug, laughing and kissing his face with praise. He remembered that moment every time he glimpsed the bear that sat on the bench, or sometimes their nightstand, or on the kitchen table. It was sometimes moved around, picked up on a whim and set down absentmindedly. Over the years Richie had developed quite the habit of moving knickknacks when he was unfocused.

Richie looked down at the bear in his palm, and closed his fist around it in determination. He suddenly stuffed it in is pocket, reaching out to grab the other six that sat near it. A bird, a bouquet, a bible, a key, a bicycle, and a slim silvery-black painted miniature vinyl record Eddie had given Richie for a gift one anniversary. In the shuffle it had made its way down here, along with the others, and was now joining them in the lining of Richie’s pockets. He then picked up the frame and began detaching the back, fingers trying to prize it open as Bill watched in slight confusion.

“The plan stays the same.” Richie said, still quiet under the buzzing machine, as he freed the photo from the frame. “We do everything the same, but we leave at ten.”

Bill watched him tensely as he folded the picture and placed it in the breast pocket of the suit jacket he still wore. “Okay. I’ll tell Ben when I get home.”

“Don’t. I’ll tell him when he gets here for cards. Just make sure they’re all packed.” He tapped a finger on the outside of the pocket. “You and Stan too.”

Bill nodded, fingers slowly moving to pick up the watch.

“I’ll see you at seven.” Bill said quietly as Richie turned off the saw.

“Well, Bill, I think you should be okay, but you should have the old father in law check that out when you and Stan go up and see him next month.” Richie said loudly, his raised tone casual enough to be convincing but a bit jarring after the noise. “I’m no horologist, so it’s not gonna be a perfect fix, but it should hold up till then.”

Bill nodded as he strapped the watch back on his wrist. “Thanks Rich. We’ll be over around seven for cards. Hope you’re feeling lucky.” He fixed Richie with a pointed look before turning to exit. Richie took one last look at the bench, eyes scanning over the figures scattered across its top, before deciding not to grab more and following Bill out of the room.

He did not turn to look when he turned out the light, thankfully so. Because if he had, he would have seen the not so slyly hidden face of Henry Bowers as he turned slowly to watch the two men through the window.

________________________________________________________________

“I’ll take three.” Mike mumbled, sliding his discarded choices across the glass table to Ben, who reached into the deck to grab three new cards for him. Mike took a small sip of his scotch as he accepted them, sighing a bit to himself as though he was displeased with what he received. He then dropped a single green chip into their pile in the center. He nodded to Eddie, who was absentmindedly twirling his hand through his fingers.

“Oh, uh, just two.” He took a moment to rifle through his cards before tossing two to Ben. “How much did you put in?” He asked Mike quietly as he accepted his new cards.

“Five.”

Eddie grabbed one of his dwindling stash of green chips and added it to the pile before taking a long drink out of his own glass. They had collectively decided with a silent agreement to crack open the bottle of high dollar alcohol Eddie and Richie had kept since their wedding, citing they were saving it for a special occasion. It had been forgotten when Bill and Stanley’s marriage had rolled around, and decided against each time one of the girls was born, and had remained gathering dust in their curio cabinet since.

Richie had thought tonight was as good as any to polish it off.

“Four.” He said after a swallow of his own, sliding the cards past the pile of chips between he and Ben.

“That bad, huh?” Ben joked, grabbing the new cards for Richie with a small, nervous smile. Benjamin, bless his soul, the only one of them who was still trying to find some kind of lightness in all their intensity. Richie only responded with a non committal noise as he viewed his new hand.

“I fold.” He sighed, laying his cards down and draining his glass.

“Damn shame.” Bill tried a smirk, reaching to deposit his green chip in the pile without trading in any cards. “You were just starting to turn a profit.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll just have to settle it with me next week.” Richie chided, causing silence to fall over the table. Bill gave him a small, quizzical look, as Richie raised his eyes to look at him. They shared that look for a brief moment, before Richie’s words dawned on them and they proceeded to dissolve into laughter. Ben laughed a bit timidly, like he was unsure of whether or not he was allowed in on the joke. Beverly and Mike shared a look of utter confusion as Eddie turned white. Stanley gave Bill an incredulous look, but was unable to decipher exactly what it was that had set his husband off. Bev and Ben’s daughters, Amelia and Lillian, sat undisturbed by the commotion on the carpet, playing with dolls they had brought along boredly.

Eddie cleared his throat as Richie and Bill’s laughter turned from mirth to neurotic bursts. “Maybe we should put up the bottle.” He tried, reaching to the center of the table to replace the stopper. “Um, tea, anyone? I’ve got a pitcher of iced…”

“That sounds wonderful, Eddie.” Beverly caught his eye, attuned acutely to his skittish behavior. “I’ll come with you and get some water for the girls.” Eddie nodded his agreement and the two stood, Beverly gesturing to the girls to come with them as they entered the kitchen. The sound of clinking glasses and pouring liquid pierced the silence that remained around the men in the living room before being broken completely by Mike.

“Bathroom break.” He muttered as he stretched, before standing and leaving the room. Richie waited until he heard the click of the latch before reaching for the bottle in the center of the table, unstopping it, and pouring himself another full glass.

“We finished the calculations.” Bill said after a moment of watching Richie drink. He gestured to Stan, who pulled a small folded square of paper from his shirt pocket. Stan unfolded it and spread it out on the table where Richie could see. Ben hopped the empty seat between him and Stanley that Bev had vacated, and joined the others in looking down at the diagram.

“By we he means I did.” Stan griped. “And I’d still very much like to know what this is about.” Stan gave Richie a hard look.

“You haven’t told him?” Ben asked Bill, brow furrowed.

“Coming from the guy who let it slip to Beverly-”

“She is my wife, you can’t expect me to just-”

“And I am your husband, so please, enlighten me.” Stan cut off Ben, joining him in staring down Bill, who was too busy looking at Richie for defense.

“Go ahead.” Richie shrugged, taking another swig.

“Stan-”

“Here we are, tea for everyone.” Beverly’s voice interrupted Bill, who flipped the paper over quickly in front of him. “Benny, you’re in my seat.” She joked as she handed Ben his glass, handing the other in her hand to Stanley, who was still eyeing Bill for an explanation.

“Sorry dear, just conferring with my financial adviser here.” He joked, elbowing Stan good-naturedly. “He says I shouldn’t bet so high next round.”

“And you really shouldn’t need Stan to tell you that.” She laughed as she sat down in Ben’s old seat. “Common sense should have that covered.”

There was a small smattering of snorted laughter at that, as Eddie came into the room with more glasses in his hands, doling them out to the remaining guests. Richie declined his.

“We ready to get back to it?” Stan said pointedly, practically daring Bill to respond as the the girls resettled themselves on the couch, snuggling up with the arm rests as though they were going to nap. Bill only glanced at his husband apprehensively, appearing like a fish groping for air as he searched for his words. Thankfully he was saved by Richie, who was rifling through his cards impatiently before calling out.

“Mike! Hurry up! We’re gonna get started!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Mike sighed as he turned the corner to re-enter the room, bumping into Eddie as he tried to return to his seat. “Oh, thanks.” He muttered as he accepted the drink in Eddie’s outstretched hand. He took a seat and began conversing with Richie, while Bill and Stan carried on a mumbled but heated conversation to their left, with Bev and Ben still joking around across from them.

Leaving Eddie the only one to hear the doorbell.

He froze as the small ding echoed near him. Placing his full glass on a small table in the entryway, he walked as if in a daze to their front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before flicking the lock.

“Hello-?” He said as he swung the door open, his intended end to the sentence bottoming out along with his stomach.

“Why, hello there Mr. Kaspbrak. Lovely evening isn’t it?”

The sneering face of Henry Bowers greeted him from his darkened doorway, the streetlight of their cul de sac illuminating him from behind and casting an eerie glow around his silhouette.

“Mr. Bowers…” Eddie barely managed, voice wavering as he tried to pull in a breath.

“Say, is your boy home? I have some business to discuss with him.” Henry said casually as he removed his hat.

Eddie turned to look at his friends, all distracted around the table.

“Richard?” He said in a small voice.

Richie turned to look at him over his shoulder, as well as a few of the others, whose faces all dropped as soon as they took in the sight before them.

“Mr. Bowers is here to see you.” Eddie continued, gripping the knob of the still open door as though it were a lifeline.

Richie’s curious expression was instantly replaced by one of white faced anger. He’d become no stranger to seeing Bowers at work, hell, the man was one of his superiors, he had to interact with him regularly. But it was another thing entirely for him to enter his home, as he was doing now.

They could all feel it, the memories of their youth coagulating like sludge as Bowers casually trudged across the carpet, stopping between Bill and Richie, who sat with the diagram face down between them and identical expressions of distaste as they looked up at the man. Eddie remained frozen at the door, unable to make himself move enough to swing it closed.  

“Well, what have we here? A little game of cards, huh Tozier?” Henry said with a smile as he set his hat on the table, over top of the paper.

“Just a few rounds.” Richie forced himself to say, keeping his gaze on the man in front of him, no matter how much he wanted to check on his husband, still frozen at the door. He felt his blood boiling and singing under his skin, his rage over Bowers having the audacity to enter his home just barely being overridden by his terror of their plot being discovered. If Henry somehow caught them in the act, or reported them…

They’d watch the world burn from a prison cell.

He settled for clearing his throat. “Would you care for a drink?” He tried to sound as hospitable as he could.

“That would be excellent.” Henry smiled down at Richie, before turning to look at Eddie. “Does your Eddie here still make that wonderful tea?”

Eddie’s color went yellow as Richie’s jaw clenched, seething at the use of the name.

“He does. I’ll get you a glass.” Richie made to stand.

“Nonsense, he’s got it covered. Isn’t that right, Eddie?” Henry said sharply, eyes locked with Richie’s, who still sat because Henry was now far too much in his space to allow him room to stand.

Eddie stood frozen at the door, his mind fighting a million battles (first and foremost, stopping him from running out the open door altogether) before clicking back on again.

“I’ll be right back with a glass.” He closed the door, composing himself. He caught eye contact with Mike, who had been monitoring him with care. They shared their look, one perfected over many years of friendship and caring for each other, Mike’s raised eyebrow an unspoken question.

Eddie shook his head no, before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Nice night.” Henry mused as the group watched he and Richie with trepidation. The girls were settled on the couch, grateful they had gone unnoticed and hoping it would continue. Every once in awhile Ben would steal a glance at them, praying (as much as it hurt him to do so) that Henry’s attentions would stay focused on Eddie. He subconsciously reached a hand down to touch the faint scar that remained on his stomach, and remembered.

“It is indeed.” Richie responded mechanically.

“It’s a night for a tall drink on a porch. And sleep. Nothing else.” Henry gave Richie a pointed look.

“Right you are.” Bill said suddenly, trying to deflect the conversation as he watched Richie’s nostrils flare, sensing his friend’s anger was on a precipice. “Stanley and I are just about ready to head home and do just that.” Bill patted Stan’s leg, but left his hand there, hoping it would help comfort his partner, whose worry was plain. “I’ve been up north all week testing an aircraft, so I’d like to call it an early night. Haven’t gotten much sleep recently.”

“Is that aircraft the one we’ve been hearing about over in operations? The one they’ve said’s capable of even possibly leaving the atmosphere?” Henry questioned him with a raise of his brows.

“That’s uh, that’s the goal. Eventually.” Bill swallowed. “But we’re really not even close to that part yet. It’s mostly been about keeping her in the air.” He said with a timid laugh.

Eddie entered the room again, glass in hand, which was trembling as he crossed the space to give it to Henry. He reached out, slowly, doing his best to quell his quaking nerves as he extended the cup.

“Here you are.” He said, barely making eye contact with the man.

Despite his best effort, Henry took notice of his shaking hand.

“Say, Eddie, you’re a little nervous there.” Henry joked, reaching to accept the cup with one hand, the other coming up to wrap around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie’s hand shook violently, his frayed nerves betraying him. Henry removed the cup from his hold completely, the other hand turning Eddie’s arm just so, so that the jagged scar on his forearm was staring up at them. “You’re very nervous.”

Richie watched the exchange as though through a tunnel, his vision red. His mind filled to the brim with violent memories, each pulling more and more seedlings of anger out of his subconscious.

Thankfully Stanley, ever the observant friend, intervened before Richie could do something brash.

“He’s only upset over how much of their vacation money Richie’s lost to us tonight.” Stan joked. “Bill and I have been making a clean sweep.”

“I can attest to that.” Ben joined in, giving Richie a placating look. Richie missed it, his eyes locked on the hand still closed around his husband’s wrist.

“But we won’t settle it out tonight.” Bill said, looking up at Henry’s back. Bill had never been afraid to look the man in the eye, no matter how much he had tortured their ragtag gang. He only wished now he had the opportunity to. Bowers was still facing away from him, attention fully turned to the small man trapped in his grip, who was gazing at his face like it was a theatre screen displaying a particularly sickening sequence.

All his life Bill had sworn to keep any need for that expression from ever touching his friends.

“Next week. I want to give Richie here another shot.” He continued, urging the man with all his mind power to turn around.

“Next week?” Bowers turned just slightly to look at Bill over his shoulder, not releasing Eddie’s hand. “You certainly plan ahead.”

Bill swallowed, refusing to address the menacing intent in the statement. “A week? Nonsense. We play cards on a regular basis.”

“Shame you aren’t settling it tonight.” Henry shrugged. “A lot can happen in a week.”

Henry made eye contact with Richie.

“A lot can happen in forty eight hours.”

Bill’s stomach dropped.

“Not much that can sway me from collecting.” Bill managed a skittish laugh. “Though I’m sure Richie would take the gamble on that.”

“Oh I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d think Mr. Tozier here would gamble on most anything.”

Bower’s kept his eyes locked on Richie’s, his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around Eddie’s wrist.

Almost.

“Well.” The hand finally released, falling to Henry’s side. “I’d better head on home. Nice evening for a bit of a walk.” He raised the glass he had been holding and downed it quickly. He replaced it on the table, lifting his hat, his eyes on the paper underneath it. He made as if to scoop it up, but it was quickly snatched by Stanley.

“Better not lose this. I’d rather get my payment from Rich in full. He’ll swindle me, I have no doubt.” He tried to joke, but the power of it died out.

“Keep an eye on him then, lads.” Henry smiled, placing his hat back on as he turned, stopping to step even closer into Eddie’s space. “Have a good evening, Eddie.” He said lowly, eyes boring into the smaller man, who was nearly quaking. Bowers then turned fully to exit, finally stepping away from the table.

“I’ll walk you out.” Richie muttered, more so to the table than Bowers, as he stood quickly and followed the man to the door.

Henry stopped once the front door had been opened and he was stood on the porch.

“I’ll see you at the factory tomorrow?” He said pointedly, glancing down the street.

“Of course.” Richie said mechanically, imagining himself slamming the door repeatedly on the parts of Bowers that still remained in its path.

“Clear night.” Henry said as he looked up at the sky, a smattering of stars visible beyond the haze of the streetlights. He paused for a beat, clearly taking his time and enjoying letting Richie stew. He knew what his superior was doing; he got the message he was sending loud and clear. What Bower’s didn’t understand, however, was just how stubborn Richie could be. “Good night for stargazing.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Richie said quietly.

“Ever think about what it would be like? To be out in the beyond, among those stars? If there’s a life out there?” Bowers took out a cigarette and lit it.

“It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

“Yeah.” He took a drag. “I don’t doubt it.”

With one last glance up at the sky, he walked away, a trail of smoke following him down the street.

Richie waited until the man had turned a corner before ducking back inside, slamming and locking the door. His friends had remained frozen in their places, listening intently to see if they could hear the hushed conversation.

Eddie still stood, frozen in the same place, his wrist held close to his chest and his face vacant. Richie turned, his back against the door, sighing as the tension dropped away in waves. After a moment the two made eye contact, Eddie’s awareness returning to him, before appearing as though he would burst into tears in that moment. Richie rushed forward, pulling his lover into his arms. He wound an arm around Eddie’s middle, the other coming up to cradle the back of his head and card lightly through his hair. Beverly watched the exchange for a moment before turning to Ben, and in one swift movement they had both arisen and crossed the room to check on the girls, who looked frightened and bewildered. Stan and Bill were holding each others hands in a death grip, while Mike looked at them imploringly for an explanation. When it seemed none would come, he spoke.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Mike stood, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he stayed wrapped in Richie’s arms. Eddie simply shook his head, face still buried in Richie’s chest. Richie stroked a hand through his hair, whispering encouragements occasionally as Eddie trembled. Mike rubbed a small circle with his thumb, sighing in frustration. “Anyone want to tell me why Henry Bowers was just in your house?” He looked at Richie, Bill, and even Ben behind him who all looked guilty. The three of them shared another look with each other before Richie spoke.

“The time is now.”

“The time for what, exactly?” Mike pressed, taking caution not to tighten his hold on Eddie’s shoulder in frustration, concentrating on keeping the touch comforting.

“Mike, I’m sorry, we should have told you sooner about this. We were trying to keep it as quiet as possible, so we figured the least of us that knew the better, but we’re leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?”

“Far from here. Look, we don’t really have time to get into the details, but Ben and Bill and I have been planning this for a few months now. We’ve bribed a lot of people over at the factory, we’ve got a ship filled with supplies waiting for us, and we’re getting in it, tonight.” Richie rubbed his hands over Eddie’s back, hoping to help the man compose himself. “We have to go soon, because if there’s one thing I know for sure, that was no coincidence. I think Bowers is on to us.”

“Rich, this is a lot-”

“I’ll say.” Stan cut in, looking angry. “You didn’t think to let us all in on this?”

“It was to keep you safe-”  Bill tried defending himself, still gripping Stanley’s hand.

“What I don’t understand,” Mike said loudly, commanding the conversation again. “Is why it’s got to be tonight.”

“I think you know why.” Eddie said quietly, voice muffled by Richie’s suit jacket.

Beverly went white, Lillian clutched in her arms.

“It’s coming.” She looked at Ben, who nodded.

Mike’s anger dropped, fear replacing it instantly.

“How long?”

“Bowers didn’t pick an arbitrary number.” Eddie said bitterly, standing up straight, wiping quickly at tear tracks down his cheeks.

The room remained silent for a moment as the severity of the situation sunk into the adults. Richie silently fussed over Eddie, wiping his face and fixing his hair, occasionally dropping a kiss on his forehead as Eddie gathered himself.

Bill eventually broke the silence.

“We should head out now. I’m not sure how much time we’ll have before-”

He was cut off by the tone of the house phone.

It rang loudly from the corner, its shrill tone cutting to the core of the frightened adults, sending shock waves back into Eddie as he looked at Richie, fear plain on his face. He shook his head quickly.

“Don’t.”

“Eds, I’ve gotta answer it.”

“Don’t, let’s just go.” He pleaded. Richie shook his head before letting go of his husband and crossing the room to answer the phone.

“Tozier residence.” Richie said dryly. The rest of the group waited with bated breath, unable to hear the other end of the conversation. “Tonight? I’ve already gone to bed.” Richie’s eyes darted back and forth, his hand coming up to scratch his left ear, as it always did when he was trying to think of a lie. He made as if to speak again, before the dial tone sounded, signaling the end of the call. He replaced the phone slowly, heart rate increasing. “That was my work.” He addressed the room. “They’re sending a car for me. Production services wants us all in tonight.”

“We need to leave now.” Bill said, standing. “Stan, go get our bags from the car. Ben, I suggest you get the girls ready to go, you’ll follow us in yours. Mike, can you pack quickly?” Mike nodded numbly, his mind racing to struggle to accept what was happening. “Rich, go get the car started. I’ll help you pack it.” Everyone began a mad scramble through the house, collecting various items and packing them into cars. Eddie stood frozen through the chaos, eventually slowly moving to clean up the abandoned glasses left on the table. Richie found him and stopped him, gently placing a hand on his arm.

“This is foolish, isn’t it.” Eddie said dejectedly. He looked at Richie, sadness filling his eyes. “We’ll never be back here again.”

________________________________________________________________

“Here. Gate 6A.” Bill said quietly as he pointed at a diverging path in the road they had been following. Richie made a sharp right, glancing in in the rear view to make sure Ben had followed. The headlights behind him curved, hugging tight to their path without wavering. They continued along the road for a couple of tense minutes until they came upon a section of fence. Richie pulled up to it slowly, killing the engine and the lights as they approached. He looked into the rear view again as Ben swung up behind him, the headlamps illuminating the silhouettes of Stan, Mike, and Eddie in the backseat. Richie caught Eddie’s worried gaze, hoping to infuse as much courage as possible into his husband.

But as Ben’s lights clicked off, Eddie’s fearful gaze becoming shrouded in darkness, he thought perhaps he didn’t have much in the first place.

He undid his seat belt, swallowing thickly. He shared a nod with Bill, who climbed out of the passenger side. They closed their doors softly behind them as Ben emerged from the drivers side of his own car, Beverly staying inside with the nervous girls.

Ben approached the fence, fingers trailing over the thick piece of locked chain that held the opening closed. He continued to look beyond the barrier, eyes alighting on a large, circular aircraft a few hundred yards away from them on the field.

“So there it is.” He said quietly as Bill came to stand next to him.

“There it is.” He agreed, Richie joining them.

A small pinprick of light suddenly appeared from the shrouded area of black night beyond the fence, west of the aircraft.

“Is that out contact?” Richie whispered, recognizing the light as the short flash of a handheld light.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Bill nodded, turning to the car. “Stan, flash the lights, just once hun?” He whisper-yelled. Stan nodded nervously, climbing over the front seat to reach up and flash the headlights. When he sat back down, he placed a hand on Eddie’s quacking knee.

“It’s gonna be alright, Eddie.” He said calmly.

Eddie so badly wanted to believe him.

The light returned, illuminating a razor thin beam as it cut through the darkness from the same source. Instead of being a staccato beam, it remained lit, as the holder began walking towards their small group gathered on the other side of the fence. Mike could tell from the tense set of Bill’s shoulders that something was amiss in the situation, and was about to throw open the door and emerge from the car when the hand- and face- the light belonged to was thrown into relief by the new proximity.

“Evening, Mr. Tozier.”

Next to him, Eddie gave a small, terrified sob.

“You know, when I said it was a nice night for a walk, I didn’t think you would have walked this far.”

Stanley’s blood ran cold at the sound of the dry, short laugh that accompanied the statement.

Mike’s mind stopped altogether when he noticed the gun.

Eddie made another noise of fear, this one much louder, as he presumably saw it too. Bowers took notice, raising the flashlight he had in his right hand to illuminate his face, a small smile of victory playing on his lips. He slowly cocked the pistol clenched in his left. Mike had to physically restrain Eddie from leaping over him and out of the side of the car. The last thing they needed in the situation was Eddie’s brash behavior, the way he always got when his emotions were pushed.

“So here’s how this is going to go.” Henry lowered the light, sounding almost bored as he continued. “You three-” He gestured broadly at Ben, Bill, and Richie, earning a sharp intake of breath from the group as they each collectively braced themselves for the worst. “Are going to stay where you are, very quietly. You two gentlemen-” This time, he swung the light, shining it on Mike and Stanley’s faces. “Are going to get out of the car and join them.” He reached into his pocket for a small key, used it to unlock the chain, and opened the fence to step through.

Richie was fuming, every muscle in his body screaming to rush forward and tackle the man to the ground, to pulverize every possible piece of the other man until there was nothing left.

Bowers clearly noticed.

“Then, after I join our little Eddie here, you will all get in your other vehicle and follow us to the authorities.” He finished, his smile growing as he turned to Richie, his satisfaction being fed by Richie’s look of sheer rage.

“Why him, alone?” Ben said, voice unwavering.

“Because I have a strong feeling our testy Richard will try any manners of funny business. Though I’m sure those thoughts are flying right out of your head now, aren’t they?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Most of them.” Richie said, his words poison through gritted teeth.

Bowers stepped closer, gun trained on Richie’s chest.

“I thought I made myself clear to you enough times today Tozier, but apparently I’ll need to remind you, bluntly.” He moved forward again, a small yell erupting from Eddie in the backseat as he attempted to scramble his way out of the seat. In a flash, Henry turned, eyes locking with Eddie’s, his hand flying up to aim, Richie rushing with a shout to throw himself in between them-

But the gun did not go off.

Richie lowered the arms thrown up to shield himself to see Bowers, pivoted from where he stood, gun raised and aimed directly at Eddie’s head, which was just visible over Richie’s shoulder. Eddie had fallen back into his seat, his arms held tightly by Mike and Stan to keep him from jumping up again (and to haul him down for cover if necessary).

“Still don’t understand, boy?” Bowers said venomously. “You’ve lost. Now if you don’t cooperate with me you’ll get your man pack in more than one piece.” He stepped closer again, the butt of the gun practically resting on Richie’s shoulder as it stayed trained on Eddie. “Is that what you want?” Henry whispered. “Would you like me to break him again?” He sneered. Instantly the memories came flooding back to Richie’s, and for that matter, all of their minds. He shivered in fear, his head pounding, and he was fourteen again, watching his best friend scream in pain as his arm was snapped, four boys much bigger than any of them pinning him down and pulling him apart. He was fifteen, staring at the strange misshapen scar as Eddie cried and languished over it, knowing he was doomed to live with it the rest of his life. He was thirteen, watching Ben stumble into the river with a gaping wound in his stomach. He was twelve, watching Beverly’s hands shake from across the cafeteria as she endured another string of insults unfairly thrown her way, her bruises stark and fresh against her skin. He was sixteen, hauling Mike away from a fight, the two of them running like their lives depended on it as Henry screamed profanities after them. He was eighteen, driving Stan at sixty miles per hour through their residential zone to the emergency room on the third night of Hanukkah. He was thirty seven, watching a gun be trained on the face of Bill, his Bill, one of his closest and most trusted allies in all his life. He was overwhelmed, completely terrified, as he felt the weight of the weapon over his shoulder. Henry would always have that power over him, he languished. All their years as children spent attempting to get out from under Henry’s hellish reign of the school yard, only for him to become Richie’s supervisor, to continue to torment him in small, destructive ways years into their adulthood. His constant jeers and jabs at Eddie, who used to come pick him up or bring him lunch, his constant need to drop into the dress shop Beverly ran just to tell her horrible, vile things, his insistence on driving slowly down the street next to Mike just to make him uncomfortable, just to put him on edge. He was overwhelmed, by all of it. The constant torment had worked.

In that moment, Richie felt like they had truly lost.

Thankfully for him, for all of them, Stanley hadn’t.

“Because if you keep pushing me-” Bowers had continued, unheard by Richie through his haze. “I will.”

Stanley curled his fingers around the door handle, silently thanking God that Richie was far enough to the side.

“If you’d like him to last the little time you have left,”

Stan pulled, ever so slightly, the latch releasing.

“I suggest you and your friends listen to my instructions, and-”

Stanley slammed the door into Henry’s side, taking extra effort to knock his knees out of place. Richie lept into action, hands immediately reaching for the gun to wrench it out of Henry’s hands. They flipped, Henry’s back hitting the car as Richie fought him in his daze. Bill and Ben erupted, Bill literally diving over the top of the car to grab Henry’s neck in a choking headlock. Ben jumped into the fray, helping Richie as he wrestled the gun from Henry’s hands, which were immediately restrained by Ben. Richie did not hesitate, disarming the gun before grasping the butt in his hand and clocking Bowers in the side of the head, knocking the man out cold. The three men panted as they let go of Henry’s limp body, pausing only for a moment to watch it slide to the ground. Richie then dropped the gun immediately, the cold metal suddenly searing his hands. Bill collected himself quickly.

“We have to go.”

Richie found himself nodding, his brain kicking into overdrive as Bill turned to pull the gate open all the way. Ben dashed back to his car, hopping in and turning it on. Richie followed suit, immediately, feeling Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, a silent need for affirmation that Richie was okay. He placed a hand over his husbands as Bill climbed back into the car, revving the engine and driving as fast as he could take it, his eyes locked on the aircraft swiftly approaching.

As soon as they hit the field, searchlights locked on them, a guards voice raising a call over the speakers as the security scrambled to meet them.

“UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES ON FIELD. APPREHEND IMMEDIATELY.”

Ben and Richie pulled up to the ship haphazardly, skidding to a stop and not bothering to kill the engines. Everyone scrambled to jump out of the cars, trunks thrown open. Beverly and Stanley grabbed the girls, immediately boarding the ship with them. Ben and Bill followed them, as many bags as they could carry in their hands as they ran up the small ramp of stairs leading to an opening in the craft. None of them had time to stop and process what exactly they were getting themselves into, in the most literal sense. None other than Bill had been anywhere near the machine, which looked so unlike anything they had ever seen that they couldn’t even come up with something it was akin to. Mike and Eddie grabbed what they could from their trunk as Richie checked Ben’s car for any left behind items, double checking the backseat in case the girls had left some treasured toy. Bill came back out of the craft, running to its base to detach a strange array of pipes and pumps running into the side. Eddie and Mike ran up with their bags, throwing them inside carelessly as they turned to grab more. Richie was behind them with the last from their car, handing it up. Before they could all ascend, guards came rushing from the dark, batons drawn and poised to fight. Mike pushed Eddie, who was at the top of the ramp, back up into the aircraft, as he, Richie, and Bill remained to fight off the guards. It devolved into a good old fashioned fist fight, their blows earning them more ground as the three men moved higher up the ramp. Bill hit a switch on its side that caused the steps to start ascending into the machine. He then landed a kick to the chest of the last guard, who fell off the end of the platform. He caught one last glimpse of the ground as metal came up to meet metal, and knew, heavily in his heart, it was the last time he’d see the soil of his home.

________________________________________________________________

“How are we looking?” Mike asked, looking up from the small guidebook he was holding.

“So far, so good. It’s holding steady, just like the tests.” Bill replied, eyes on a screen of data.

“Think we’ll be able to maintain that?” Stan asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“I couldn’t say for sure.” Bill answered honestly, looking up at him. “But I’m hopeful.”

Stan took a moment to process his thoughts.

“If you’re convinced, that’s enough for me.” He finally said, crossing the small space of the hull to sit on the low bench where Eddie and Richie were huddled together. On the other side Ben and Bev were sat on the floor, each with a dozing child in their laps, Ben’s slack face nodding every so often, signaling how close he was to joining them. Beverly had remained silent with her face trained on the small viewing screen the entire time they’d been flying.

“Where are we headed, anyways?” Eddie asked timidly. “It’s stars. Stars so far away…” he trailed off as he too gazed at the screen.

“See the bright one? To the right, in the corner?” Richie said, his head chin tucked over Eddie’s shoulder. The two hadn’t let go of each other since boarding. Stan and Mike shifted so that they too could look at the screen. “That’s our destination.”

“We’ve been researching it in our division.” Bill said, joining them as they all looked at the star. “It’s got life on it, like us. It’s so damn similar to our planet, it’s frightening.” He folded his arms over his chest. “We’ll get there soon enough.”

“What is it?” Bev piped up from her corner. “What’s it called?”

“It’s the third planet from the sun. It’s called… Earth.”

“That’s where we’re going.” Eddie breathed.

Richie nodded. “To a place called Earth.”

________________________________________________________________

authors notes: okay so this is OBNOXIOUSLY late to the party but im so glad this is finally done! this very much got away from me and i wrote waaaaaayyyyyy too much so here’s this whole damn ass thing lmao. anyways i rlly hope u love it and that it suits u! i got the idea and ran too too far with it. thank u so much for bein patient, i was on a long work trip this past week and a half, so getting the last couple of scenes written didn’t happen until today //: i may need to go back thru and edit but ANYWAYS !! thank u for reading and i hope yall enjoy <3 i may end up doing an anthology series of one shots based on twilight zone episodes, so if you guys are interested in that message me and beg me to do it!!! i live to please <3 

tags list: @stennbrough @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @ttrxshmouth @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @jessicarayheyman @r-u-reddiee @wyttolff @gayzier @hanscombeverly @kaspbrak-is-our-king @babybyelers @28shoes @nicoperryy

[eddebrock]

Third Year’s A Charm

Happy Valentine’s Day @that4amkick !! I was your giftee for the @itfandomsecretadmirers so I wrote you a little stenbrough drabble. Hope you enjoy and had a great day !!

Word Count: 2293

Pairing: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris

Summary: For three years, Bill Denbrough has been struggling to contain his growing affections toward his coworker and fellow student Stanley Uris. As Valentine’s Day grows closer, an idea sparks in his mind.

Credits: Big thanks to Maxy ( @50szoomer ) for the initial prompt, I went a little off rail but it certainly helped me get started !! 💛

For three years, Bill Denbrough has worked tirelessly at the local bookstore not far from campus. It’s enjoyable to say the least, he has always been a sucker for literature and often stays after hours (when he isn’t too busy with homework and studying) and sits at one of the lounge chairs, picking up on a novel.

A lot of his coworkers are also students at his college, he guesses that it’s because of the conviennent location and decent pay. Bill has managed to become pretty close friends with a lot of them since the majority share similar interests. There is one though that he has yet to manage to make of acquaintance much to Bill’s disappointment.

Stanley Uris, or ‘Stan’ as he more commonly went by, had always been a bit rough around the edges. Bill knew this since the minute the boy walked into a lecture they shared, already criticizing the professor on the assignment from the week before. Even so, Bill found himself with growing affections for him, feelings that he was desperately trying to pursue, but no response was coming from the other end. It was as if Bill hit a dead end and was scramming to find a way forward, but alas, was having no such luck.

Letting a sigh escape his lips, Bill glanced around to make sure there weren’t any customers nearby, when his analysis came with no results, he was free to lay his head on the counter of the cash register- sighing once more as Bill brought his arms up in front of his resting face. He found these feelings for his peer to be quite tiresome and Bill just hadn’t mastered controlling them on any level.

The other day, Stan was preparing to bring his shift to an end, restlessly checking the overhead clock every so often from where he was organizing a new shipment of paperbacks on a shelf in the young adult fantasy section. At the time, there had been no line at the cash register, seeing as the shop was relatively empty due to the late hour, so Bill took a deep breath, searching for courage, and sauntered over to his employee.

The idea had been to casually ask Stan out to dinner, maybe not specify that it was a date, but at the very least bring it up as a casual meeting to get to know each other.

Long story short, that shipment of paperbacks previously mentioned? The majority didn’t reach the shelf, instead they took a detour to the floor as well as Bill’s torso that laid on the ground after taking a disastrous fall. He had been leaning on of the the boxes, ‘playing it cool’ as he remembered his roommate Mike suggest- not showing the large about of nerves pilling up inside. He took ‘playing it cool’ probably a little too far to the point that Bill was pretty much using the unsturdy box as a support beam to hold himself up as his legs went weak at the attempt of talking to Stan. Said ‘unsturdy box’ tipped over and took a fall, spilling its contents over the floor and taking Bill with it.

No, Bill did not take Stan out for dinner that night, far from it actually, but he counts it as progress- Stan talked to him. Sure, it may have been in the form of unfriendly scolding ending with him storming away, leaving Bill to clean up the mess, but hey, words are words and that was enough for those butterflies to begin fluttering up Bill’s lungs- taking his breath away as the annoyed brunette exited the store with a final huff.

Bill Denbrough has dug himself in a hole and it’s with no doubt that he is utterly fucked.

Returning from his memory of the other day, Bill lifts his head back up, noticing the small display of Valentine’s Day gifts they had on display in the front of the store. He thought for a moment, studying the display as an idea popped to mind.

Would he really be tempted to buy on in hopes of giving it to Stan?

The answer is yes. Of course he would because he is Bill Denbrough and corny gifts is his middle name! Maybe if he’s smart enough, he could manage to pull off one of those ‘secret admirer’ stunts and leave the revelation to the big day, February 14th. It wasn’t a horrible plan, no it was actually quite appealing. It would give Bill time to gather himself to come off as more composed when confronting Stan.

Luckily, Stan did not have a shift today so when Bill left his position to grab a nicely decorated heart-shaped greeting card, he didn’t have to worry about the misfortune of being spotted. The card was simple, blank on the inside to provide more room for Bill to write something down- maybe a poem?

As the sunlight began to fade as seen from the windows, Bill prepared to close up shop, not forgetting to ring himself up to pay for the card. Gathering his hoodie that had been placed under the counter, he began to walk out the door, muttering ideas for what to write in the card (he already decided to ask Stan’s roommate, Richie, to set the card on the latter’s desk).

‘Always admiring you from afar, never knowing if erasure of space is possible,’ is what Bill settled for later that night, signing off with ‘-Secret Admirer’. It was simple and a decent start, that was certain, but he smiled as his eyes traced back on the words.

This carried on for the next four days with Richie feeding Bill information on Stan’s reaction to each little gift. Following the card on Friday were two roses on Saturday, one being lavender and the other was pink- colors that Bill chose after studying up on each different color (Richie had stated that Stan especially liked this gift and that he said it was endearing that ‘the secret admirer’ added a little note with the meanings of each color-

‘Lavender roses often represent the concept of love at first sight, they also can be taken as a daily reminder of love and eagerness to form or grow a relationship.

Pink roses express admiration as well as sweetness & joy.

-Secret Admirer’).

However, it was Wednesday morning now and as Bill slowly drank his coffee, eyeing the words forming on the page of a book he had just started the night before, he was filled with anxiousness. Yes, this whole secret admirer thing had been fun, but now this was real. It was February 14th- Valentine’s Day. The day he was supposed to confess to Stan with no persona to cover himself.

Bill was bound to be rejected, sure Stan appreciated his gifts but did he actually like Bill? There was no chance! If anything he probably hates the latter. All of this was most likely a mistake to begin with, Bill worked himself up all for heartbreak.

His coffee was growing cold by now. His book long forgotten. Bill stood from the stool he had claimed in the lounge area of the dorms, throwing his cup away then walking out- book in hand. Either way, he still had to go to work, but he couldn’t shake off his previous thoughts no matter how hard he tried. Bill didn’t have a gift this time, just himself. Would that be enough?

Arriving at the bookstore, which had already been open three hours earlier than his shift, Bill takes a deep breath. He quickly spots Stan working at the counter and greeting customers.

They have the whole day ahead of them, Bill checked the schedule last night and saw they both ended their shifts at seven, and it was 12:30 now.

Seven o’clock came faster than Bill hoped. In a blink of an eye 6:30 came and passed. He finds them in much of a similar situation as they had been the day he tipped over the box. With Stan stacking books, and Bill at the cash register.

Minutes pass and Stan looks to be heading out, Bill checks the clock and sure enough it’s 7 on the dot. Before anyone can go anywhere, Bill speaks up.

“H-h-hey! S-Stan wait uh-up!” Bill shouts mildly, hurrying towards the front door to meet the brunette who quickly meets his gaze, “H-hap-happy Valentine’s D-Day!”

Bill can’t decipher whether it’s confusion or annoyance that forms on his coworker’s face as he responds with the same ‘happy Valentine’s Day’. Bill doesn’t know what he expected, it’s not like Stan could figure it out on his own that he was his secret admirer, so he finds himself at a loss for words, this moment hasn’t been planned out like the gifts- no, it was on the spot with no prompt.

“I, uh, w-well i-it’s not easy t-t-to explain t-this but, w-well I just thought, y-you know since it’s V-Valentine’s Day, that, uh, m-maybe,” this time, Bill definitely recognizes that it’s confusion on Stan’s face, and he doesn’t blame him, “Well w-what I’m trying to s-say is that I-I’m,” the words just aren’t forming. Bill isn’t registering his train of thought. He closes his eyes, sighs, and clears his throat, “I’m t-the one who’s been leaving you t-the gifts. I’m y-your secret admirer,” silence, “Surprise,” he adds, almost as a sarcastic afterthought.

Out of all the scenarios that Bill played out in his mind of Stan’s reaction, he never once thought his line-lipped coworker would laugh. It leaves Bill standing awkwardly, not knowing if this is a good or bad sign.

After a minute or so, Stan manages to calm himself down, wiping his eyes that had picked up some moisture during his amusement, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me- it’s just,” a chuckle, “Richie is absolutely terrible at keeping a secret- which is probably for the best or else I would’ve thought it was him who left the gifts!” Stan grins, meeting Bill’s (now confused) gaze once more, “I probably should’ve mentioned this sooner, I mean, I’ve known it was you since Saturday, thank you by the way, you didn’t have to, but all of those gifts were really sweet.”

Three years. Three years of working tirelessly. Three years of admiring from afar. Three years of unreturned glances. Three years and Bill Denbrough has never had a civil conversation with Stanley Uris that didn’t seem passive aggressive if you read between the lines. Three years- and it only took less than two days for Richie Tozier to break and spill the details of Bill’s hopeless crush.

“I’m going to f-f-fucking kill him,” Bill decided aloud, eyes drifting to nothing in particular. Stan laughs, again, it’s a wonderful sound. Bill also decides that he’d trade music any day for a soundtrack of Stan’s laughter. Not the bitter kind, but the genuine one that he thinks he’s hearing right now.

“Join the line, some of us have been waiting since elementary school.”

Bill could have continued the light-hearted conversation. He could have stuck with that and would be content. But this was sidetracked, and Bill had a question- no, a thought to spill. “We can forget t-this happened. W-we could just b-be friends, I’d b-be okay with t-that. I k-know you probably d-don’t feel the same way- f-feel a-about me the w-way I f-feel about you.”

“And what if I did feel the same?”

It’s a simple question. A bit vague, and it could have a underlying meaning, but simple nonetheless. Either way, it makes Bill stop in his tracks, stumbling his breathing pattern for a second.

“B-but you don’t.”

“But what if I did.”

It’s reaching, but Bill is hoping he is understanding the context that this conversation has swerved to. He thinks about his words, and what they are suggesting. “T-t-then I’d t-take you out for dinner.”

“Sounds like you just got yourself a date, Denbrough.”

A minute. A minute passes and Bill is speechless, he mutters out a series of confused exclamations until he can finally muster, “I d-don’t think I understand.”

Stan smiles, and for a few seconds he doesn’t say anything. It’s like a staring contest has begun between the two of them until he finds his voice, “Well you said if I had feelings for you, as you do for me, then you’d take me out for dinner. So, therefore, I believe Bill Denbrough, if I’m not mistaken, you owe me a dinner date.”

Of course, in reply, Bill ends up shouting, “B-b-but you h-hate me!” Anyone else would say he looks outraged, but Stan would level it more as highly confused. “Before now the only time we ever talked is when you yelled at me for tipping over the box of books!”

“You really think I hate you?” Some could say Stan was stricken, others could say he’s sad, maybe the real answer would be a fine line in between, or maybe a hybrid of both. Bill doesn’t answer besides a stiff little nod so Stan continues on, “I, I mean Richie has said before I can come off as a little prickly, but I didn’t think you would believe I hate you,” he furrowed his eyebrows, registering everything to take in, “I really like you Bill, we don’t talk often but I’ve been working with you for three years, you’re always so kind to people even when you look really tired- I just, I don’t think I could ever really hate you.”

Three years. Three years Bill Denbrough spent thinking Stanley Uris hated him, and all it took was one roommate who acted like an open book and one Valentine’s day to prove that the circumstances were much different.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed! Happy Valentine’s Day !!

(I edited this, but if anyone noticed a mistake, feel free to let me know!)

[nervyghost]

Rager

Happy Valentine's day to @im-reddie ! Surprise! Okay, this gift is going to be a little different, as it’s going to be a multichap fic. It’ll (hopefully) be done before the end of the month! I hope you fave an, as Richie would put it, “Fan-fucking-tastic” Valentine’s day!

The music thudded through his bones, heart pounding to the beat as it shot through him, shaking him to his very core. With one hand clasped tightly around his microphone and the other holding up his thick glasses, he turned to face the crowd ahead, the smell of smoke and stale beer flooding his nostrils. Adrenaline coursed through his system, pooling low in his belly with that kind of pre-show excitement that was impossible to replicate. He lived for the feeling. His freckled face sported a wide grin as he strode forward, ratty black vans toeing the edge of the makeshift stage, nearly going over the edge.

"HELLO, DERRY!" He hollered, letting his voice ring into the mic before taking another breath. "ARE WE READY TO ROCK!?" The crowd roared in approval, hoisting red cups and joints in respect. Richie shoved one hand through his heavy curls, letting it fall to tap on his thigh. "I SAID," He began again, thriving in the madness of his element. "ARE. WE. READY. TO. ROCK!?" The crowd screamed in response, a few people lurching forward and pumping their fists. Richie laughed, holding up a hand to silence the screamers. "BEFORE WE BEGIN," He shot his bandmates a wink over his shoulder. "I'D LIKE TO INTRODUCE THE REST OF THESE HERE LOSERS!" Smoke pooled on the ceiling of the basement, party in full swing.

Richie almost felt bad for the poor fool holding the rager.

Almost.

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he pointed one long finger at the girl with fiery red hair standing just to his left, guitar a bright cherry to match. "THIS BADASS," He took a heaving breath, quivering with excitement, the bracelets he wore swinging loosely around his wrist at his every motion. "IS BEVERLY FUCKING MARSH!" She shot him a tongue-between-teeth grin, green eyes shining as she hammered out a riff, fingers flying on the frets with ease to the crowd's delight. He clicked his tongue and fired off some finger-guns, unable to resist a small quip. "SINGLE, AS ALWAYS!"

Her strings rang out as she lifted her hand, middle finger extended and eyes blazing. Richie shrugged innocently, turning back to the crowd. "Hey, whatever, I'm still an eligible bachelor!" That earned him a few hooting laughs. He turned on a heel and looked in the direction of his drummer, said drummer beating on the cymbals with a passion that Richie had always admired. "HERE WE HAVE BIG BILL!"

Bill shot him a dazzling smile, throwing in a drumroll for effect, hair ruffled and head banging in time to his rapid beat. "RUMOR HAS IT, HE ONLY COMMUNICATES WITH GRUNTS!" Bill rolled his eyes, but crashed the cymbals in appreciation, barking out a small laugh before returning to a normal steady beat. "AND LASTLY,"

He turned to face the well-dressed bass player behind him, able to feel the impressive glare he was sporting before he made eye-contact. "WE'VE GOT STAN THE MAN, WHO WILL INCINERATE ME ON THE SPOT IF I SAY ANOTHER WORD!" Stan's composure crumpled and he giggled, causing a small flicker of pride to erupt in Richie's chest. He prided himself on making Stan laugh while he was performing, knowing that sometimes, the pressure seemed to be too much for him. Tonight didn't seem to be one of those nights. "WE ARE,"

Richie paused for dramatic effect, raising one hand in a fist above his head for emphasis. "THE LOSER'S CLUB!" The screams of approval were more than enough to let him know that tonight, things were going to be out of control.

Just the way he liked it.

He turned to Bill and nodded. "Hit it!"

The pounding of the kick drum made his heart soar, his blood pounding through him in time to the steady beat. Cymbals crashed, and then, Stan began to work his magic, the speakers mounted beneath the stage causing the floor to rattle from the noise. Once Bev began to strum, Richie knew that it was now or never.

His lips hugged the microphone as he leaned in, wild curls bouncing in time with the song. "You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul. I wouldn't change ya, oh. Wouldn't ever try to make you leave, no." The lyrics came easily to him, soaring from his throat with certainty, every note hanging perfectly suspended in the air, floating in the room. It was easily one of his best performances.

He lifted his hand and closed his eyes, keeping his one scarred palm high in the air, bracelets catching the blue party lights that streamed through the smoke, beacons in the night. His fingers snapped in time and he shimmied across the stage, stepping in Stan's direction as Bev hammered out an impromptu guitar solo. He'd learned to trust her judgment. She'd never disappointed with her handiwork before, and tonight was no exception.

Her hips swayed, blue and orange spotted sundress coupled with her leather jacket making her stand out in all the best ways. "Great show, eh Stanthony?" Richie heard him huff out an agitated breath, followed quickly by a small laugh.

"It's just the first song, don't go getting a big head about it." Richie turned his head and watched Stan's fingers for a moment, secretly admiring the way they twined with the strings. It was only when Bill smashed the cymbals again that he looked up to realize that Stan's gaze was firmly fixed on the far corner of the room, and if Richie didn't know better, he'd say Stan looked absolutely whipped. The bassist's cheeks were colored an intriguing shade of pink, his lips curled into a lovestruck smile as he hammered out the solid line.

"He's here?" Richie asked excitedly, making sure to lower the mic. Stan's lips formed a thin line, but his ears turned a rather delightful shade of red. "Oh my God, he is!" He crowed, sliding closer to Stanley and trying to figure out who he'd been making mooneyes at.

It had been like that for, allegedly, every gig the band wound up at, the mystery guy making his appearance every. Single. Damn. Time. And to Richie's utmost annoyance, he had eluded his gaze every time he showed. To make matters worse, Stan always clammed up whenever he was mentioned, which just made Richie more determined to figure out who Stan's secret crush was.

And so, there he stood, fruitlessly scanning the crowd of drunks and partygoers, searching for anyone who matched Stan's type as Bev's kickass playing rocked the floor. What Stan didn't know, was that Richie knew more than a little bit about his type. Stan, as far as he knew, always went for guys with brown hair, sometimes auburn, with eyes that drew attention to themselves. He liked them to be mellow, but still adventurous enough to hit up a party, and they always got points with him if they were well dressed.

With that in mind, he continued to look through the smoke, stealing over to Bev's side. "He's here!" Beverly instantly bolted to attention, her once loose limbs stiffening, a smile of disbelief sparking into existence on her face.

"Actually?!" Richie nodded enthusiastically.

"Yep!" He agreed, popping the 'P'. "Wrap up the solo, I'm going to go see if I can steal a few glances." She clicked her tongue and nodded. Richie pulled the microphone to his lips again and adjusting the loose Hawaiian shirt that clung to his shoulders. "LADIES AND GENTS, GIVE IT UP FOR BEVERLY MARSH!"

Bill's drumming kicked up a notch, which Richie took as his cue to start belting out the lyrics once more. "The black magic of Mulholland Drive! Swimming pools under desert skies-" It was when he stopped for breath that his eyes connected with another pair in the crowd, doe-eyed, brown, and altogether a marvel. He jerked his head back almost reflexively, but kept his eyes locked with those of the stranger as he continued on. "Drinking white wine in the blushing light, just another LA Devotee!" He could see through the smoke that the stranger was bouncing in time with the thudding beat, tongue poking out from between his lip as his eyes slid closed.

A noticeable blush suddenly crept onto the smaller boy's face as he caught the singer's gaze and Richie grinned widely, finally tearing his gaze away and creeping over to Stan, spinning his mic as he did so, earning a loud cheer from the partygoers. He pointed with his free hand between words, raising one eyebrow questioningly, secretly hoping that that wasn't his mystery man. The flush that flooded Stan's face was enough to let him know.

"Fuck off, Richie." He hissed through his teeth. Richie's triumphant grin didn't feel nearly as good as he imagined it would. He always imagined Stan would like somebody boring and normal, not somebody that-

He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he launched into the key change, his voice carrying brilliantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, putting his soul into the song, holding up his glasses and jerking his head back to finish the song, shooting the mystery man a cocky grin. "Just another LA devotee!"

He couldn't help the small surge of joy that fluttered in his stomach when the mystery boy put his hands together, the soft smile on his lips louder than the cheering crowd could ever hope to be. "THANK YOU, DERRY!" Richie hooted as Bill's cymbals crashed, signaling the end of the song. He held out his hand, palm-up to silence the roaring crowd. "Alright, we always open up with a cover song, so now..." Bill started up a drumroll, the room falling silent with anticipation. "We're doing an original!" He then turned to Bill and nodded sharply, launching them into another song.

He tried desperately not to think about the boy in the pink collared shirt. Trying not to think of his big doe-eyes, and his stupid half-smile, and the way he was beginning to look slightly confused. A hot flush flooded Richie's cheeks, and for the second time that night, Richie jerked his eyes away from those of the equally red spectator.

"I said I see the ghosts as they run around, hear the distant screams as the walls come down in my heart." The throbbing of the drums echoed through him and he skimmed the crowd, mentally doing an inventory of every person, hating that he could just feel a certain pair of brown eyes on him. "I'm up in my room and I'm all alone, got a mixtape on while I'm gettin' stoned, oh-woah-oh."

You had your casual drunks, your stoners, your frat girls... He waggled his eyebrows seductively at an especially skanky specimen as he continued. "Wishin' you were here, wishin' I was there, wishin' I'd stay strong, that I didn't care, but oh-" It was as though a magnet kept pulling him back to the shorter boy, and in each gap in the lyrics, he noticed something new about him.

He's smiling.

"I just want you back, like it was before-"

He's getting closer.

"I want you in my arms, and against my door-"

He's right at the edge of the stage.

"Wanna taste your lips, see what you've got in store-"

He's got freckles.

That last thought caused his heart to skip a beat, and he found himself prancing ahead, twirling the mic loosely in his fingers. "Oh, you know me inside out, my ups and downs, make me scream and shout out loud. And I know your skin like the back of my hand, wanna chase the stars, wanna make a plan, oh-" He'd locked eyes again, but this time, he couldn't look away. "But most of all..." A wide grin overtook his features as the boy blushed heavily, reaching down to his waist. "I wanna hold your hand." Beverly's guitar began to ring, and he watched the boy press a powder-blue inhaler to his lips and return it to his-

Oh, my God.

He's wearing a fanny-pack.

Richie didn't have time to dwell on the new discovery, his lips taking off without him as he launched into the next verse, and then to the bridge, stealing over to the far right of the stage to distract himself from the weak fluttering in his chest. "And oh, I wanna know if this real, cause if I don't, I'm never gonna heal!" Hands were thrust toward him as he teetered on the edge of the stage, and he leaned over to give a few high-fives, words still tearing from his throat. "And I'm never gonna understand just why I couldn't be your man, just why I couldn't let you know that I would never let you go, and I'm sorry if I broke your heart, and I wish that I could restart, I know that this did not go like we planned." He paced back to the middle as the music crested around him, rising, until finally- "I know that I can never hold your-" He looked over at the spot where the mystery boy had once stood and tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

"Hand." He finished, staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. He tried to force away the small swell of disappointment in his chest. Stan had first dibs anyway, he shouldn't be obsessing over Stan's weird crush. But... he really wanted to.

It took extreme amounts of self-control for him to power through the set, his eyes drifting through the crowd in search of a pink shirt and a fanny pack to no avail. He could have sworn he saw him in the lights, standing off in the far corner next to the spiked punch. But then, he'd blink, or the lights would flash against his glasses and blind him. But even through that, he looked back toward the long table, secretly hoping that Fanny-Pack would make a reappearance.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when Stan tapped him on the shoulder, the noise of Bev tuning her guitar echoing quietly in the background.

"So, you saw him?.." Richie grinned and wrapped one lanky arm around Stan's shoulders, feigning nonchalance easily.

"Course I did, Stanny!" He chirped, releasing the bassist as he ducked out of the one-armed embrace. "Quite the catch!" Stan looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but even he with his heart of stone couldn't hold back the contented sigh that breezed past his lips.

"He is, isn't he?" He mumbled. Richie nodded, biting down hard on his cheek to keep all of the sexual comments trapped behind his lips at bay, swallowing them and letting them join the rolling mass of emotions in his gut.

"Got that right!" Stan shuffled his feet uncertainty, not meeting Richie's eyes.

"You won't..." He bit his lip and looked up at his taller bandmate, mistrust evident on his pointed features. "You won't tell anyone, will you?" Richie smirked.

"About your fanny-pack boy? Nah." A flicker of confusion sparked across the well-groomed one's face, but it was quickly replaced by one that Richie would categorize as amusement.

"Right." Stan echoed, an almost smug smile falling onto his lips. "Fanny-pack boy." Richie nodded, leaning just a little closer to Stan.

"He got a name?" Stan shrugged, but the flush on his cheeks was more than enough to tip him off.

"I'm not giving you the satisfaction." Was all he said in response to the question. Richie stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout, causing Stan to snort. "If you're that curious, find out yourself." The singer pushed up his glasses, making a point of using his middle finger, which caused Stan to chuckle under his breath.

"Fine by me, Stanthony." And with that, Richie strode casually to the edge of the stage, stowing his microphone on the stand before hopping off. His worn shoes connected with sticky concrete, slick with sweat and spilled beer. The party seemed to be a writhing mass of motion around him as he ducked under arms and around couples, oblivious to the steely brown eyes watching his every move.

Stan kept his gaze firmly trained on the mess of a human being as he ducked through the crowd, his mind racing. He pretended to tune his bass and forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose, letting it out through his grit teeth.

It was one small lie.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. The taste of smoke filled his mouth and he exhaled sharply, left hand closing into a fist that quivered on the neck of his bass.

It should have been one small lie.

He mentally corrected himself, delivering a fair sized mental slap across the face for good measure. What had he been thinking? He had known, oh, he had just known that Richie would never leave him alone, constantly badgering him to find someone, or, as the trashmouth had put it, 'Put himself out there'. It had started small, but then again, with Tozier, everything started small. It was the small comments that tipped him off, such as: 'Oh, she's cute!' or 'Wonder if he's single?' or (one that made his skin crawl) 'I'm always here, Stanny'. That particular comment was meant to be a joke, that he knew. But to him, it held a double meaning. Richie, as far as he was concerned, would always be single, as nobody sane would consider him as more than a friend. But it also meant that he would always be there to try and get him to hook up with someone, anyone. Never stopping, never ceasing...

Stan fiddled with his strap, tightening it a smidgeon. It wasn't like he didn't know who he liked. That thought made his cheeks turn an alarming shade of red, fingers slipping from the bass and causing it to ring out, earning him a worried glance from Bill. He smiled weakly and his heart skipped a beat when Bill returned it, brilliant blue eyes turning to fix on the drumsticks he was twirling expertly between his fingers, tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, practically begging for Stan to go over and-

No, no, no, no, NO.

That, was exactly why he had invented the mystery guy. To keep attention away from himself and- certain bandmates. It was never meant to be more than that, really. He'd just claim that the guy was there, point vaguely with his chin, and that would be it. But no. Stan pulled his lower lip past his teeth and bit down, a few stray curls falling over his eyes as he returned his attention to his bass.

Of freaking course, he would find a way to screw up what was- quite possibly- the world's easiest lie to maintain. It wasn't his fault that Bill had managed to pull off a particularly hard drum fill, or that Bill had twirled his drumsticks right after, chest heaving, smile wide enough to light up the whole of Derry. And it certainly wasn't his fault that Bill had chosen to smile at him after this impressive feat, causing Stan's normally sure fingers to fumble.

And there was no way it was because of him that Bill's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a small, surprised laugh escaping the drummer's lips. That was just ridiculous. And it was just the lights that caused Bill's cheeks to tint.

That was all.

But he could only blame himself for what he did next. He tore his gaze away from the drumset and willed himself to stare at anything else, think about the song, focus on the rhythm, on the lyrics, on something else. Which, of course, was when Richie had spotted him. He would admit to looking a little lovestruck, hell, he would even admit to panicking in the heat of the moment.

He had even allowed himself to breathe once Richie had sauntered off, hips swaying in time, one hand clutching the mic in a deathgrip as the other drummed on his thigh in time to the beat, scruffy curls falling low on his neck. He had allowed himself to slip into a false sense of security and had managed to make it through the set without embarrassing himself further, which was something he was rather proud of, considering how many times he had looked over his shoulder at Bill and met his eyes, quickly jerking his head in the opposite direction.

Right to meet the condescending gaze of the one and only Trashmouth Tozier, and oh boy, did he ever look smug. Stan thought he had been figured out, and he couldn't stop himself from trying desperately to think up a decent explanation, until Richie said something that left him confused. As far as he knew, Bill didn't wear a fanny-pack, nor was he in the crowd. But somebody else Stan knew sure did.

He grimaced at the thought of what he had done to Eddie, one of his best friends, but really, what else could he have done?

Confessed the truth?

Shame washed over him in a hot wave and he took a shuddering breath of cloudy air, wincing as the taste of weed and cheap cigarettes flooded his throat. Why did it have to be so bloody complicated? To make matters worse, Richie was now stalking around the party in search of poor Eddie Kaspbrak, who didn't even know what was going on. He knew Eddie well enough to know that Richie's methods of torture (which he had affectionately dubbed flirting) wouldn't work well on his small, spitfire friend.

But hey, at least Richie would leave him alone now.

He shoved his guilt to the far corner of his mind, hoping against all hopes that maybe, just maybe, Richie wouldn't do anything stupid.

Something told him that he'd be lucky if that were true.

Eddie Kaspbrak, for lack of a better term, was fucking tired. He was tired of the smoke and the lights. He was tired of the stupid thudding music blaring through the speakers, of the way everyone looked at him like he didn't belong, like he was an animal in a zoo rather than a partygoer. He huffed angrily and pulled out his inhaler, taking a lungful of the placebo contained in the powder blue box.

He didn't even want to be there, not really. He leaned up against the kitchen counter and sighed heavily, his small frame falling awkwardly between a nasty looking spill and a crumpled bag of salted chips. He shuffled his feet and hung his head, fingers clutching the fanny-pack on his hip.

Stan had wanted him there.

It made sense, really, that Eddie managed to catch at least one performance made by his best friend's band, but he had hardly made it through the first song before the whole room seemed to close in on him. It was like they knew. It was like they knew how insecure he was about the whole event, how the walls seemed to be getting closer, how every time someone bumped into him he withered just a little bit inside. His heart rate had been frenzied, and he couldn't help but realize just how stupid his fears had been.

It was just a party.

His best friend was playing, and damn it, he was going to support him.

He just wished Stan had warned him about their loudmouthed front-man. Sure, Eddie had heard of the infamous Richie Tozier, but not once had he actually seen him. He raked one hand down his freckled face and groaned, trying to banish all thoughts of Richie from his head because oh fuck, he was cute. His curls had bounced enticingly around his too-thick glasses, murky brown eyes shining in the low light. He hated to admit that he had been staring. And of course, Stan had warned him that their lead singer had a weird way of telling when people were staring, but Eddie hadn't believed him until Richie had looked at him, wide grin in place on his face.

And then, their eyes had locked, and as stupid as it had seemed, Eddie had felt like the song was for him. It was as though Richie was magnetic, the way he pranced around the stage drawing Eddie closer and closer, and before he knew what was really happening, he was standing right at the edge of the stage, gazing up at the tall singer in the Hawaiian print. And he was so close now, so fucking close and Eddie had to take a heaving shot from his inhaler to try and draw his attention elsewhere.

There was no way in hell Richie Tozier knew.

He hated that he had to fight to convince himself that that was true.

He let his eyes slide closed and let out a shaky breath through his teeth, hands clenched into tight fists that quivered at his sides.

He didn't know. Richie Tozier had no way of knowing, and besides, he had shot a wink at a few frat girls, not at him. Not at the lonely, closeted, worthless, wrong-

"Hey, you okay?" Eddie's head whipped up so fast he thought he would give himself whiplash, eyes flying open to reveal-

"Oh, hey, Ben." He managed to mumble, heart hammering against his ribs. "Yeah, I'm fine." He cursed himself when his voice cracked. Ben's eyebrows raised skeptically and Eddie watched his larger friend heave a sigh.

"Are you sure?" Eddie bit his lip, shuffling his feet and averting his gaze, focusing on the mess of cups strewn about on every spare surface.  

"Yeah." The lie fell easily from his lips, but he knew even as he spoke that Ben saw right through him.

"Right." He agreed, mistrust shining in his eyes. It looked like he wanted to say more, but Eddie knew he wouldn't. Ben, Eddie had figured out, was the kind of person who didn't like to push himself into uncomfortable or personal situations, which was part of the reason why they got along so well. Ben didn't ask questions that went too far. Sure, he gave the best advice when prompted, but he didn't like to pry, and that was more than fine by Eddie.

"Right." He echoed, and that was that. Eddie Kaspbrak was at a party, surrounded by drunks, germs, and other unimaginable things, and he was absolutely, one hundred percent fine.

What a big fucking lie.

[stansrichie]

Valentine’s Disaster

prompt: “nobody’s ever sent me a valentine before…” by @littlerose13writes and “this would never have happened if you had just read the instructions.” by @daily-prompts 

ship: reddie 

warnings: none, just fluff & some cursing

a/n: not my gif, lowercase intended 

valentine’s message: this is dedicated to @africareddie for the secret admirer gift exchange! i hope you enjoy this little story and had an amazing valentine’s day <3 // @itfandomsecretadmirers

richie wasn’t the best chef. this was blatantly obvious to everyone in the loser’s club, as well as himself, but when the loser’s club decided to throw a valentine’s day party, richie insisted on baking the cake. nobody trusted richie enough to let him bake it on his own, but they also didn’t want to tell him he couldn’t so they decided volunteering eddie as his personal babysitter for the evening would suffice, much to eddie’s protest. eddie may have had a fat crush on richie, but that doesn’t mean he wanted to witness the greatest catastrophe of the year alone with the trashmouth himself. 

“hey richie, i don’t think you’re doing it right,” eddie said, peering into the large bowl that contained a multitude of ingredients that probably hadn’t been measured properly. it looked quite a mess, honestly. 

“hey eddie, i think i know what the fuck i’m doing. i don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but i was chosen to make the cake this year. not you!” he said, whisking the mixture intensely. eddie rolled his eyes and hopped down from the counter he was sitting on. “you weren’t chosen to bake the cake this year, you complained for a week until every had enough of your whining.” 

ignoring eddie, richie continued to mix the ingredients and pour the batter into the cake pan. “alright, hand me the lighter, eds,” richie said, motioning to eddie and looking at the boy with pride. eddie looked hesitantly at the lighter and then at richie before handing it off to the taller boy. “shouldn’t you read the directions? i don’t think you’re supposed to light the cake before you bake it, richie.” richie whipped around to face eddie, the lighter twirling around in his hand as he squinted his eyes. “eddie, eddie, eddie... someone with such grace and elegance and i have doesn’t need stupid ass instructions from a fuckin $5 box we bought at walmart. i know what the hell im doing, okay, i promise. this is gonna be the best valentine’s day cake you’ve ever had,” he said, flashing the brightest smile eddie had ever seen before. 

eddie thought it was not only too late, but also pretty wild to ask richie to be his valentine. he thought richie liked him, hell, the entire loser’s club had TOLD him richie liked him... so why hadn’t richie asked HIM yet? he got richie a small gift, a little more special than what he got the others, but not big enough to be seen as anything more than best friends in case richie didn’t share the same feelings. 

“hey richie... have you ever made someone a valentine present before? or bought someone a valentine?” eddie asked, watching richie try to light the cake. it was some kind of fire chocolate lava cake, and eddie was 100% positive he wasn’t supposed to light the cake AFTER it was fucking baked.

“no, not before i met you guys. i’ve never had anyone special enough to give one to,” richie said, shrugging his shoulders and attempting once again to light the cake. “this fucking lighter won’t work, what the hell,” he groaned in frustration, shaking the lighter up and down.

 “what about when someone has sent you a valentine. you’ve never given them anything in return?” eddie questioned. eddie himself had never had many friends before the loser’s club, but he always gave his mother something for valentine’s day. 

richie turned to look at eddie, giving him a look that was mixed with confusion and almost sadness. “nobody’s ever sent me a valentine before.” eddie didn’t know how to respond except by whispering a quiet oh. “don’t worry about it eds, valentine’s day is kinda dumb anyways,” richie said, a goofy grin playing on his lips. eddies eyebrows furrowed. “you really think it’s dumb? i think it’s nice to celebrate love with someone you... love.” richie blinked and looked around the kitchen of the tozier home. “well, i mean, if you don’t think it’s dumb then it’s not dumb,” he said, a red tint taking over his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck.

 richie turned his attention back to the cake, missing the matching redness that played on eddie’s cheeks and neck. not even a moment passed before eddie heard a loud swoosh and a scream. “EDDIE FUCK OH MY GOD EDDIE HELP HELP HELP THE FUCKING COUNTER IS ON FIRE EDDIE,” richie yelled, running around in circles while searching for something to put the fire out. 

“THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HAD JUST READ THE INSTRUCTIONS YOU FUCKING DUMBASS WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING RICHIE OH MY FUCKING GOD,” eddie yelled, grabbing the hose from the sink and spraying water in all directions as richie screamed. 

“MY FUCKING CAKE EDDIE STOP YOURE GONNA RUIN MY CA-“

 “SHUT THE FUCK UP, THE CAKE WAS RUINED THE MINUTE YOU STARTED MAKING IT AND NOW THE FUCKING COUNTER IS ON FIRE,” eddie screamed, cutting richie off. 

eddie finally got the fire to go down, the aftermath being a crusted over and soggy cake and a burnt countertop that none of the tozier family would probably notice. “now that you’re finally done playing aquaman, look what happened! my cake! it’s RUINED,” richie said, throwing his hands up and falling to his knees dramatically. “all i wanted to do was make one cake... just one cake,” he whispered mostly to himself and turning up to look at eddie with puppy-dog eyes. he hoped his dramatic attitude would distract the frantic boy from the fire he had just caused.

 “richie, now is not the fucking time or place, you just DESTROYED your countertop. IMAGINE IF YOU HAD LIT YOURSELF ON FIRE ONE VALENTINE’S DAY, THEN WHO WOULD I GIVE THIS FUCKING VALENTINE’S CARD TO?” eddie yelled, flailing his arms around. once eddie had realized what he said, he immediately stopped in his tracks and laughed awkwardly. “i mean, uhh, who would i- richie stop looking at me like that,” eddie cut himself off mid sentence and deadpanned once he realized richie was standing in front of him with the biggest smirk on his face. 

“i’m sorry, what was that, eddie? i don’t think i heard you correctly. what would happen if i lit myself on fire?” richie said, putting a hand behind his ear as if he were trying to hear something and leaning into eddie. 

“if you were to light yourself on fire you’d burst into flames and fucking die,” eddie said, pushing richie out of the way. richie laughed and grabbed eddie by the hand to keep him from walking away. “eddie wait, come on, what would happen?” eddie sighed and looked down at his feet. instead of repeating himself, he grabbed a small package that he had been keeping in his jacket pocket since that morning and handed it to richie. he had wanted to give it to richie at school first thing this morning but chickened out. richie slowly opened up the package and looked at the contents of the box: a cheesy valentine card and a gift card to the arcade. richie smiled to himself and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crumbled envelope and handing it to the embarrassed boy in front of him. eddie cautiously took the envelope, kind of thinking it was a prank. inside was a handwritten note richie and a drawing of the two boys with a heart in the middle of them. eddie looked up to tell richie thank you, but was cut off my the curly headed boy’s lips touching his. 

“considering i just started a forest fire in my kitchen and the party starts in 15 minutes, i think we should probably go buy a cake because that baking shit isn’t happening,” richie said, happily tucking the present eddie had given him into his pocket. 

“uh, yeah... we should do that,” eddie said, coughing awkwardly and putting his gift in his pocket as well. richie grabbed eddie’s hand and pulled him towards the door. “i’m gonna tell the whole school you confessed your love to me after i made you a bomb ass cake for valentine’s day.” 

“yeah, you sure made a “bomb ass” cake alright. i’m gonna tell everyone the cake fucking exploded because you can’t cook,” eddie responded, following richie down the street. 

“fuck you, eddie. i did it out of love.”

[jinx-the-hunter]

It Fandom Secret Admirer Gift

I did it!! I am very proud of this thing I wrote and I hope you ( @kaspziers ) enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!! ( @itfandomsecretadmirers I have done my gift just so ya know)

Richie had been six years old when he had first learned he had a soulmate. The memory was a bit fuzzy around the edges, having happened twelve years ago. Still, he remembered it all the same. He had gotten a song stuck in his tiny head on a warm summer's day, only his tiny little head knew that he did not know the song stuck in it. Being only six years old and not having the resources to figure this out on his own, he asked his mother. Her response is what makes  Richie so fond of this memory. With a voice as soft as silk in a lullaby tone, Maggie Tozier told her son about his soulmate.

“You are hearing this song because your soulmate is listening to it.”

“Mommy, what’s a soulmate?”

“A soulmate is the person you are going to meet one who you will love and who will love you. Your soulmate and you are like puzzle pieces, you have your little picture but once you find them, you two will create an even bigger, more wonderful picture.”

“What if I don’t like my soulmate, Mommy?” Richie did not understand why that made his mother laugh.

“You will like your soulmate, I promise you that. Now, what do you want for lunch?” Richie was still worried a bit about the idea that his soulmate and he would not get along but the rumble of his stomach quickly overtook his thoughts.

The next time Richie thought about his soulmate, he was fourteen. He was a freshman in high school when he meets a firecracker of a girl named Beverly Marsh.  Once he had gotten to know her he had kind of hoped that she was his soulmate. They got along great they had finished each other's sentences on more than one occasion. This thought train did not last long though.

Richie being the curious little bugger he goes on to ask Beverly, “What type of music does your soulmate listen to?” Bev smiled as she told him.

“New Kids on the Block.” Richie doesn't think he has ever laughed so hard.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin with me Marsh, its the twentieth-first century and you want me to believe that your soulmate listens to New Kids on the Block?”

“Richie sometimes I wish it was all a joke but they do.”

“How do you stand that? You have gotta dislike them for that!” Beverly looked at Richie as if he had just grown two more heads and three more arms.

“Richie… they are my soulmate. I’m going to meet them one day and fall in love with them. You do know the definition of soulmate right?”

“Your soulmate listens to New Kids on the Block, how in love with them can you fall?” Beverly just laughed.

“What kind of music does your all high and mighty soulmate listen to than you dick?”

“They listen to all that top 40’s bullshit. It’s the worst,” Richie let out a loud gasp that made Beverly jump, “What if I make history as the first person to hate their soulmate!”

“Fuck off Tozier,” Bev said between laughs, “I was joking early when I asked if you knew what a soulmate was but now I am actually concerned. Besides, I would be more worried about how your soulmate feels about you.” Richie let out a loud laugh that was genuine but this little voice still ebbed away at the back of his mind about all these what if’s. The subject of soulmates was dropped as Bev said she was itching for a smoke but Richie could not help but think about this supposedly wonderful person he was supposed to fall in love with.

Richie decided later that very night that there was no way he could fall in love with his soulmate. This had been decided because just as Richie was trying to go to sleep his soulmate had decided to listen to some music. Richie did not really know the song but he had heard it before. It was sung by some shitty boy band name something Direction, all Richie knew was that it was going to be a long long long night.

   Richie Tozier was now in his first year of college. He had been accepted into NYU on a major scholarship where he was studying theater. New York is not exactly where Richie wanted to go but he has decided that it is okay for right now. Richie had been waiting to live in any sort of dorm for school ever since he saw an episode of Zoey 101. Beverly had helped him realize that college would not be like an episode of Zoey 101, but he was excited all the same. By the time he had gotten to his dorm building he was even more excited. This was the beginning of his college experience and for most of the rise to NYU from Derry, his soulmate had been listening to Africa by Toto. With a deep breath Richie opening the door and walked right into someone. The collision sent the person to the floor which upon contact they made an “umph!” sound that Richie swears is the cutest sound he has ever heard.

   “Wow! I just got here and someone's already fallen for me!” Richie stuck out his hand in an offer to help the stranger up. The stranger looked at Richie's hand to his face. “I promise I don’t bite, I mean not unless you want me to,” Richie winked. The stranger’s face was starting to turn red, whether it was from anger or Richie’s flirting was yet to be determined. After what felt like ages the boy upon the ground accepted his hand.

   “Are you always like this?” The stranger asked with a clear quizzical expression written all his face.

   “Nah, only with you and your mom” Richie smiled, he had just gotten to college and he had already met a cute boy.

   “That is fucking gross and I’ve got to go, so bye?” Richie could have giggled at the cute in front of him. This stranger was trying not to be awkward and failing miserably. Richie didn’t want to but he let the cute stranger by him. Riche didn't even know this man's name but he hoped he would get to see him again. He got a weird but good feeling from being around him.

   By the time Richie got to his dorm room his roommate had already come and gone. The small room had nearly identical sides, there were two small desks placed at the end of the two small beds. The only difference in what was provided was one side had the door and the other had a window. From how his roommate's side was set up Richie was not sure if he and his roommate would get along. His dorm mate seemed clean and organized while Richie would consider it lucky if he had brought a single pair of matching socks. Without a second thought, he tossed his bags to the side of his new bed and plopped down upon it, having decided earlier that day that he would probably not unpack at all that day. With nothing else to-do he stuck his earbuds in putting on some random playlist he made only god knows when on his phone. With the first few chords of Wonderwall playing in his ears Richie closed his eyes letting an exhaustion he was unaware of taking over him.

   Richie was awoken with a slam of a door. He could not see who the person was due to the fact his glasses fell off his face during his nap, but he could tell they were angry. In a blind reach for his glasses, Richie let out a yawn. If Richie was not awake before he certainly was now, his roommate had not been aware of his presence until he had let out that yawn and in that surprise his roommate let out a scream. Once Richie found his glasses he saw that his roommate was, in fact, the cute stranger from earlier.

   “Holy fuck cutie, there are better ways to let me know you’re a screamer.” Richie was wearing he signature shit-eating grin as he said all this.

   “You,” The stranger yelled as if he had just seen Richie kick his dog, “I do not want to hear anything from you! At least not after the hour and a half that I’ve just had!”

   “Did our meeting leave your panties wet sweet cheeks?”

   “No! And don’t call me that! My name is Eddie!”

   “Well Ed’s, if it's not me then what’s got your panties in a twist?” Richie felt a weird tug in his chest at the fact it wasn’t their meeting that had the boy so worked up. In an effort to distract himself he looked at his phone. It was still playing Wonderwall which means Richie must have accidentally put it on repeat, Richie felt a little bad for his soulmate but he doubts they’ll remember this by the time they meet.

   “That’s not my name you,” Eddie took a few moments of careful consideration on what to call Richie, “you trashmouth!” Richie let out at a laugh, this guy was cute and funny. “I was trying to get a look around the campus but my asshole of a soulmate decided that he was going to listen to the same song for the last hour and a half!” Richie grimace at that, he had been stuck in similar situations thanks to his soulmate before.

   “Aw poor Eddie Spaghetti, what did your ever so cruel love of your life force into your head?” Richie was a curious person, asking about a soulmate though could be heavy stuff though, especially with someone he had just met. Yet something pulled his mind towards this question.

   “That stupid ass Wonderwall song!” Richie felt his smile drop. For the first time in his life Richie Tozier was speechless. All he seemed able to do was stare at the boy in front of him. It was Richie's first day of college and he had already met a cute, funny boy who seemed to be his soulmate. Eddie jumped a little as Richie clapped his hands as he stood up.

   “Well my dearest Ed’s, I’ve got good news and bad news!” Eddies looked at him confused as to what he was implying. “I happen to like that ‘stupid ass Wonderwall song,” Eddie's eyes widened in realization. “Also my name is Richie Tozier and I think I’m your soulmate.”

   “Richie!” Richie liked the way his name sounded with Eddie’s voice saying it. “How can you seem so sure.”

   “Because the moment I met you I knew you were going to be an important puzzle piece of my life. Also for the past hour and a half, I might have accidentally had Wonderwall on repeat, but consider that as payback to your One Direction phase.”

   “I was fourteen!”

   “That is no excuse Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie had never known what to expect when it came down to him meeting his soulmate, but after careful consideration of how he felt about his cute college roommate, he figured maybe his soulmate and he would be fine after all.

[kapsbrakclapsback]

For @sunflowereddie, here’s your @itfandomsecretadmirers gift! You said that you loved all of the It kids, so I made a playlist for each! Hope you enjoy these sick tunes!

Bill

mississippi - the griswolds, shiny happy people - r.e.m, junk of the heart (happy) - the kooks, little lion man - mumford and sons, the dog days are over - florence + the machine, boys don't cry - the cure, best of friends - palma violets, tongue tied - grouplove, dreamin' wild - surf curse, believe me natalie - the killers, easy way (acapella) - for the foxes, all alone - acid ghost, baby blue - twin peaks, mantra - daisybones - kaleidopope - the buttertones

Ben

ooh la la - faces , from the morning - nick drake, bloom - the paper kites , skinned knees - soccer mommy, new slang - the shins, landslide - the dixie chicks , another life - bridges of madison county (obc), fool - frankie cosmos, like real people do - hozier, driving to hawaii - summer salt, strawberry blond - mitski, fade into you - mazzy star, dearest - buddy holly, the rainbow connection - carpenters , drawn to the blood - sufjan stevens

Mike

run - san cisco, old fashioned - the buttertones, ask - the smiths, cemetery gaits - los campesinos!, i'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you - black kids, nothing to it - the new basement tapes, what you know - two door cinema club, everybody wants to rule the world - tears for fears, if this is it - huey lewis & the news, working for the weekend - loverboy, come a little bit closer - jay and the americans, sit next to me - foster the people, even in my dreams, i can’t win - bad suns, moscow - autoheart, it's a new day - will.i.am

Stan

vienna - billy joel, la descente - baden baden, anyone else but you - the moldy peaches, how are you true - cage the elephant, you’re a wolf - sea wolf, miasma sky - baths, sick of losing soulmates - dodie, be your own 3am - adult mom, is it like today? - world party, stranger feelings - dreamgirl, full length dress - varsity, should have known better - sufjan stevens, ones who love you - alvvays, i was all over her - salvia palth, at seventeen - janis ian,

Bev

blue hotel - chris isaak, comment lui dire - france gall, constant craving - k.d. lang, deadwater - wet, cry me a river - julie london, the tide is high - blondie, boyfriend - tegan and sara, dreams - fleetwood mac, so long - marika hackman, road trip - diet cig, each and every one - everything but the girl, the man that got away - judy garland, happiness - chastity belt, i'm fine - hazel english, archie, marry me - alvvays

Richie

handsome devil - the smiths, lips like sugar - echo and the bunnymen, milk - the 1975, somebody told me - the killers, man overboard - blink-182, playgrounds - snowhaus, freaks - surf curse, tv party - black flag, fast eddie - twin peaks, let's dance to joy division - the wombats, i believe in a thing called love - the darkness, i don’t feel a thing - pity party (girls club), wolf like me - tv on the radio, i wanna get better - bleachers, just like heaven - dinosaur jr.

Eddie

stop! in the name of love - the supremes, you're the one that i want - john travolta and olivia newton-john, the history of wrong guys - kinky boots (american cast), got to get you into my life - the beatles, not the boy next door - peter allen, i can’t go for that (no can do) - daryl hall and john oates, one fine day - bette midler, more and more - thelma houston, the sweet escape - gwen stefani, take me - aly & aj, go west - the pet shop boys, borderline - madonna, can't help falling in love - a*teens, don't go breaking my heart - elton john and kiki dee, puttin' on the ritz - judy garland

[losver-tozier]

•stozier - modern ice skating date au•

“Oh my god.”

Stanley covered his mouth with his hands because at the moment he was shocked. Ahead of him was an indoor ice skating rink with a sign over the entrance saying ‘It’s couples night! Happy Valentine’s Day!’.

He loves to ice skate and he knows that Richie knows this. He turned around to face his boyfriend and saw how he had a smile on his face, looking at Stanley.

Not knowing what to say, he just walked up to him and sweetly kissed Richie. The other boy softly laughed and kissed him back while placing his hands on Stan’s hands.

“We should go before the rink closes.” Richie says as he slowly pulled away from Stanley’s lips. He didn’t say anything because he was still grateful. He knew that Richie is an amazing boyfriend but this is the last thing he thought that Richie would’ve thought of.

Stan was going to start walking to the rink when Richie opened his trashmouth. “Still haven’t said anything? Is it because I took your breath away? Like I do every-”

“Yea, no. Let’s just go and ice skate.” He interrupted him and pulled him with him to the rink. He heard Richie laughing from behind him, as if he could sense Stan rolling his eyes.

Once they got to the door, Richie got hold of a better grip of Stan’s hands and he smiled when he felt him squeeze their hands. They walked side by side to the area where they can rent skates.

When the two boys finally got their skates in their respected sizes, they began to lace them up and head to the opening of the ice rink.

Stanley smiled and was about to step on to the ice when he noticed that Richie was still by the benches.

He raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking him a question while Richie began to play with his jacket until he looked up at Stanley.

“Um babe, in case you forgot, I actually don’t know how to ice skate.”

When he heard him say that, Stan put his hand over his hip as if he was giving him another silent answer. “Rich, I can always teach you.”

“The last time you tried to teach me, I fell so many times that my pants even ripped.”

“Yes, but that was months ago!”

Richie got up with an exaggerated sigh but gave a small smile. “Okay, okay. As long as I don’t fall more than twenty times, I’ll be fine.”

Stan rolled his eyes again and smiled back. “Yea, okay, sure. Just c'mon!” He exclaimed excitedly. He was ready to have fun today, especially since he was with Richie.

And they did have fun. Stanley somewhat managed to show Richie the basics of skating. (“Oh my god, Stanley I’m doing it! Wait, what the fuck! That other guy was in my way.” “Rich, don’t be blaming other people.”) He was either smiling or laughing with or at Richie. (“Yea, laugh at the guy who doesn’t know how to skate!” “Alright if you say so.”) Overall, the night was probably one of the best nights with Richie and he was so happy.

Stanley stood in the middle of the rink with his arms crossed on his chest, smiling and waiting for Richie to skate towards him. He finally did, with some struggles along the way, and stood directly in front of him.

Richie placed his hands on Stan’s hips while Stan uncrossed his arms to fold them around Richie’s neck. They looked at each other with a loving gaze and comfortable silence until Richie broke it.

“So, Stan My Man, are you having fun tonight?” He grinned and flirtatiously raised his eyebrows.

Stan laughed and nodded. “Yes, I think this is the best Valentine’s date, or gift whatever, ever.”

He noticed that Richie’s grin grew at that but didn’t put too much thought into it.

“I’m happy about that. But you know what else will make this night better?”

“And what is that?”

“A kiss from a very handsome, Jewish boy.”

He laughed for what seemed like the millionth time that night and nodded. “I’ll kiss you as long as you don’t slip again.”

“Yowza, what a deal I have to keep. But of course.” He leaned in for the kiss, but not before adding something.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Stanley. I love you.”

Stan leaned in with him with pink cheeks and a soft smile.

“I love you too, Rich. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And about the gift? Little did Stan know that there’s various boxes of chocolate, a bouquet of roses, and a charm necklace with a matching bracelet of a bird waiting for him in the back of Richie’s truck.

—

happy (late) valentine’s day @fluidstan ! i am so sorry for getting this so late to you. but im your secret admirer from @itfandomsecretadmirers and i hope you like the moodboard and this small drabble. i would’ve wrote more about the ice skating but i have never gone ice skating so i didn’t want to butcher the experience for your gift ajsjkdkds. but yea, once again im very sorry for being late but i hope you enjoy this. :)

[halle-is-hella-gr8-blog]

Flowers

This is my secret admirer gift for @softboystanley Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you enjoy this Stanlon fluff! @itfandomsecretadmirers. This was inspired by this post by @richietoxier

The first flower Stan ever gave Mike was completely on a whim. He was off on a bird watching excursion and was walking in the woods. It was early in the afternoon and the foliage was lit up by the sunlight filtering through the trees. For a moment Stan let his binoculars hang around his neck and just admired his surroundings. As he wandered through the beautiful day he spotted a small flower sticking out amongst the greenery. He bent down to get a closer look and saw the flower more clearly.

It was a short flower with delicate yellow petals sticking out in the surroundings of thick bushes and lush green trees. When he saw the small bright flower Stan immediately thought about Mike. A bright burst of color within a generally overbearing world. Stan smiled to himself as he thought about the other boy and then decided to pick the flower and give it to Mike. Mike always kept plants in his room, and this seemed like a flower he would enjoy having in a vase. So Stan gently pulled the flower from the ground and held it in his hand admiring it for another few moments before turning and leaving the woods. He hadn’t seen many interesting birds anyways.

About 40 minutes later he was standing at the front door of the Hanlon residence. He knocked three times on the door and then waited patiently for someone to answer the door. He held the flower in his hand making sure not to hurt it in any way. The door opened and there stood Mike. When he saw Stan his face lit up and he smiled brightly.

“Hey Stan what are you doing here?” He questioned the smile still on his lips. Stan felt himself smile back.

“I- uh I found this flower when I was birdwatching and I thought you might like it.” Stan sort of spit out. He held the flower out to Mike and felt himself blushing slightly. He didn’t understand exactly why he felt so flustered all of the sudden, but he was barely able to say what he wanted to.

“I love it! Thanks, Stan I’ll make sure to put it in some water right away.” Mike’s eyes lit up as he took the flower from Stan’s hand and observed it. He gave Stan a bright smile and Stan felt himself heat up even more. He suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion.

“Well, I’ll see you later” Stan spit out already starting to move to leave. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“Bye! Thank you again!” Mike yelled after him as Stan walked down the path away from the house. His head was a jumbled mess, but he felt a warm feeling rising in his chest and a small smile growing on his face as he walked back toward his home.

Mike did, in fact, keep that flower in a vase. As soon as Stan was gone he rushed to put it in water and placed it on his windowsill. The small yellow flower reminded him of the small curly haired boy who had given it to him. When he thought about Stan standing there in his doorway handing him the flower he felt some heat rise into his cheeks.

Every morning when sunlight filtered in through the windows in his room Mike turned his head and saw the small flower sitting in its vase. It’s bright yellow petals filled him with a happy sort of glow and made all of his mornings much better. So when he noticed the flower was beginning to die he felt a small pain in his chest. He couldn’t just get rid of it so he decided to dry it out and press it. He removed the flower from its vase and let it dry out for a day or two before pressing it flat. He then slid the delicate dried flower into a plastic cover. This way he could keep the flower around without fear of destroying it. He propped the plastic cover up on his bedside table so that he could still wake up to it every morning.

Two weeks after giving Mike the first flower Stan was back in the woods. He was birdwatching again, but he couldn’t seem to focus on that. The day was slightly overcast and the entire forest just seemed to be much duller. He once again let his binoculars hang around his neck as he walked aimlessly through between the trees. He found himself searching the ground for another small pop of color to give Mike. Finally out of the corner of his eyes he spotted a small purple flower.

This one was slightly taller than the last one, and its petals were much shorter and there were many more of them. He stared at the soft purple petals for a few more moments and then once again plucked it from the ground. He felt himself light up a little bit as he held the flower in his fingers and turned to leave the woods. He knew he had planned on birdwatching for a bit longer, but suddenly that was at the back of his mind as he made his way toward Mike’s house.

This time when he sat in front of the door to the Hanlon house Stan had to take a deep breath. There was a sort of nervous energy that hadn’t been there the first time he had given Mike a flower. Finally, he knocked on the door and waited anxiously for someone to open it. He was careful to not crush the flower in any way despite his urge to clench his hands into fists. Finally after what felt like an eternity the door opened and there stood Mike’s grandfather. Stan felt his breath catch in his throat for a moment before he spoke.

“Good afternoon Mr.Hanlon. I was wondering if Mike was around?” He asked his voice surprisingly calm. Stan was always good at speaking to adults. Manners were easy for him so long as you smiled and said please and thank you, adults were happy. It was easier than dealing with kids his age.

“Of course just a second” Mike’s grandfather responded before disappearing behind the door. Stan heard him yell for Mike and then some footsteps coming down the stairs and finally, the door opened again and there stood Mike. He smiled when he saw Stan and Stan felt lost in Mike’s gaze. He suddenly couldn’t speak thankfully Mike filled the silence.

“What’s up?” He asked Stan. Stan was barely able to speak, but he suddenly remembered the small flower resting in his hand and found his words again.

“I was bird watching again and since you enjoyed the last one I gave you I decided to pick you another flower.” He stated. His voice was slightly shaky, but he didn’t speak as quickly as he had last time. He held out the flower to Mike and Mike gently grabbed it from Stan’s grasp. As he picked it out of Stan’s hand their fingers brushed and Stan felt himself go completely red at the slight touch. Mike twirled the flower slowly in his fingers admiring it.

“It’s beautiful Stan. Thanks” He finally said his expression warm and genuine. Stan was at a complete loss for words and settled for just waving and walking away. Mike yelled a goodbye after him as his feet carried him quickly from the house. That warm feeling was even stronger now.

Mike kept the purple flower in that same spot on the window sill as the yellow flower. Once again he pressed it when it began to die and put it next to the yellow flower on his bedside table. Every morning he was reminded once again of that cute curly haired boy standing at his door who gave him flowers.

For the next few weeks, every time Stan went bird watching he picked Mike a flower. Each time he gave him the flower the warm feeling got stronger until just seeing Mike made him get all flustered and blushy. Richie was the first one to notice and he instantly started to make jokes about it. Finally, when Stan couldn’t stand it anymore he told Richie about his feelings for Mike.

“Awwwwww Stanny Poo is in loveeeee!” He said while batting his eyelashes at Stan. Stan just pushed him and scowled.

“Shut it Rich. I’m serious I don’t know what to do” He muttered. Thankfully Richie decided to quiet down for once and listen. He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder which Stan didn’t appreciate, but the sincere look on Richie’s face kept him from pushing the taller boy back.

“Listen Stan I’m gonna tell you what I think you should do. Just tell the boy how you feel! Mike obviously feels the same way. I mean if you look at him you can see how lovesick he is it’s ridiculous.” Richie said. Stan considered it for a moment before speaking.

“You actually think he likes me back?” He asked. His voice was quiet and he stared at his shoes.

“For sure Stan the Man! I mean why else would he like your flower gifts or whatever?” Richie exclaimed and Stan then pushed him back. He gave him another glare and Richie just laughed in response. “I’m kidding I’m kidding, but seriously just tell him how you feel. I don’t think Mike has the ability to be mean so you don’t even have to worry about rejection. Plus I’m pretty sure he’s madly in love with you.” Richie added with a smirk and Stan just let out a sigh. He had to really think this through.

“Thanks, Rich” He finally said and Richie smiled it return

“Any time Staniel” Richie replied and Stan gave him another small shove for the nickname before they fell back into normal conversation.

That night Stan was kept up with ideas of what to say to Mike floating through his head. He was supposed to go birdwatching tomorrow, but he had slightly different plans of what he was going to spend his time doing in the forest. He just hoped he had the courage.

The next afternoon Stan spent about three hours walking in the forest. This time he had left his binoculars at home although his bird book still resided in his back pocket. Instead of searching for birds he scoured the woods for the brightest and most beautiful flowers he could find. After so many hours of searching, he finally had found himself a bouquet of wildflowers. They were an array of colors ranging from yellows to reds to pinks. He gripped them all together in his hand and decided he finally needed to go to Mike’s house.

He was there again in front of that familiar front door as he had been in the past three months. At this point, his visits on Saturday afternoons had become expected and Mike was almost always the one to open the door. He knocked on the door three times as always and waited as he heard Mike coming down the stairs behind the door. He could almost hear his heart beating in his ears.

The door opened and there stood Mike as beautiful as ever. Stan held the bouquet behind his back trying to calm himself down. “Hey, Stan! How was bird watching?” Mike asked his brown eyes bright with joy. Stan loved how genuinely interested he was in his interests, he loved how happy he was to see him every few Saturday’s, he loved his laugh, he loved his smile, he loved his eyes, he loved him. Finally, he found the courage to speak.

“Actually Mike I have something to give you. It’s not just a flower this time.” He said moving the flowers from behind his back and handing them to Mike. Mike’s face lit up and his mouth opened slightly as he searched for the words to say. Stan knew he couldn’t stop talking for too long or else he would back out. “I picked you that first flower because it reminded me of you. It reminded me of how bright and cheerful and beautiful you are. As the weeks went on and I picked more and more flowers I began to realize as pretty as the flowers are you were always more beautiful.” He took a deep breath continuing on the speech he had rehearsed in his head last night over and over. “What I’m trying to say is that I like you, Mike. I like you a lot and I wanted to give you this bouquet as a representation of how you make me feel whenever I’m around you. Bright and cheery and beautiful” He finished his speech and let out a breath staring at Mike searching for any kind of reaction.

Mike looked up at Stan and smiled. Stan felt himself melting under the other boy's expression. “Stan it’s beautiful…” He almost whispered as he once again looked down at the flowers. A moment or two passed before Mike spoke again. “I like you too Stan. I like you a lot.” He simply stated before looking back up at Stan. He smiled brightly and both stood there for a moment not sure what to do. Finally, Stan couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Can I kiss you?” He nearly spat out. Mike didn’t seem surprised by the request instead he just smiled and quickly responded with a “yes”. Stan lightly grabbed Mike’s face and Mike wrapped his arms around Stan’s neck the bouquet still clasped in his left hand. The kiss was gentle and sweet and more than Stan could have ever imagined. That warm feeling filled his entire body as they continued to kiss simply wrapped up in each others presence. Stan was the first to pull away, but he kept Mike’s face in his hands and simply took in the other boys features for a moment.

“Wow” Mike simply stated his eyes full of light. He let his arms fall back to his sides and Stan let go of his face. Mike let out a small laugh before bringing the flowers back up to his chest.

“Do you want to help me put these in a vase?” He asked Stan with a small smile. Stan felt a large smile grow on his lips as he responded.

“I would love to” He responded and the two boys walked into the house full of bright and beautiful love.

[grahamcraclcer]

Based off the 50 notes AU by @trashmcuthtczier for @rtozierwho (all made possible by @itfandomsecretadmirers )

‘i want you to know that you are important. endlessly important. more important than you ever let yourself believe -S.A.’ 

Stan had never found anything interesting about love until he received a simple note with a rose attached to it, stating a compliment that would change his perspective and maybe find something more....

[stellarbisexual]

Big Dog, Little Dog

Reddie / IT fandom

For @vanaos (who I can’t tag for some reason?): Surprise!  You are my @itfandomsecretadmirers​ giftee!  Hope you enjoy this. <3

Synopsis: Just a fun, fluffy meet-cute AU--with dogs.

Warning for profanity, if that’s a concern. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, could you just pee already?  Please.”

Dogwalking isn’t the worst job Richie’s had.  But right now, standing in the middle of the dirty snow in twenty-degree weather waiting for Enzo, the very particular border terrier to which he’s been entrusted, to do what Richie’s being paid to get him to do: he’d almost rather be cleaning middle school toilets again.  

He knows that relatively speaking, it’s a plum gig and he should be grateful.  Getting paid thirty bucks an hour to take care of some well-to-do couple’s tiny dog is a blessing for a comedian who has yet to book a single paid set.  

But right now, fuck Enzo.  The little asshole’s been tiptoeing around in his little cable knit sweater for fifteen fucking minutes, and he has to be cold.  Richie certainly fucking is.  

“Come on, buddy,” he whines.  “I gave you so much water today, I know you have to.”

Just when it looks like he might have success--Enzo starts getting into his usual peeing stance--a sharp shriek cuts through the grey winter air.  

“Roscoe, no!  NO!  We’ve talked about this.”  Then a yelp, followed by the muted sound of furious footsteps in the snow, getting closer and closer.

Richie looks up, perplexed, seeking the source of the sound and finding, to his delight, a short, adorable brunette man being pulled by a beast of a mastiff, headed straight in their direction and fast, despite the snow on the ground.

“He’s friendly, I swear!” the man yells, just in time for Roscoe to reach his destination: Enzo, who, to his credit, looks up at the big dog with far more curiosity than fear.

Richie holds tightly to Enzo’s leash, wary (“he’s friendly”--yeah, he’s heard that before) as Roscoe recovers from the run by nosing at Enzo’s butt.  

“That’s what was so urgent you nearly yanked my arm out of its fucking socket?  You goddamn weirdo,” the man chides, panting, industrial strength leash extending taut from one of his small hands.  

A shock of a laugh works its way out of Richie’s winter-dry throat, and he takes the moment to finally take the man in up close.  He has a sweet, well-put-together face under his baby blue knit hat, big chocolatey brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and a collection of freckles across his nose.  

“I mean, to be fair, we can’t relate; to him, my dog’s butthole is gourmet.”  Richie watches the guy’s face screw up, nose wrinkling, snowflakes catching in his long eyelashes.  “Well,” Richie backtracks, about to say something horribly inappropriate (always), then immediately aborts.  It is only two minutes into their first conversation, after all.  “This is Enzo.  He’s not really my dog; I just walk him.”  He gestures to the mastiff.  “Roscoe, right?”

The guy smiles, squatting down to pet Enzo.  “Yeah.”

Roscoe’s already trotted over to Richie for pets after hearing his name.  “Hi, buddy.  May I say, you’re freaking huge!  Almost as big as me.”  Roscoe looks tempted to jump on Richie and show him just how big he can get, but his owner sucks his teeth sharply twice, clearly a training tactic.  Roscoe immediately retreats.  Richie purses his lips, impressed.  “Wow.  You’re gonna have to teach me some of your tricks.”

“For this guy?”  The man scritches Enzo’s head, getting so close they’re nearly rubbing noses.  “He’s a little angel.  I bet he gives you no trouble at all.”  

“You’d lose that bet, my dude.  I’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes waiting for him to pee.”

The guy laughs, standing.  “Let me see if I can help you out.”  He does that teeth-sucking thing again.  “Roscoe,” he calls his dog sharply, snaps at a clean stretch of snow by the dog park’s gate, then rustles the promise of a treat in his coat pocket.  Roscoe immediately trots over, lifts his leg, and pees.  “Good boy,” the guy says, petting him and giving him the treat.  He hands a fresh treat to Richie.  “Now you try.”

Richie’s mouth hangs open.  Never has watching a fucking dog pee been so much of a turn-on.  “I… I can’t do that thing you do with your mouth.”

“Maybe with some practice,” the guy says, smirking, and sweet Jesus is Richie in love.

“Okay,” Richie breathes, his palms suddenly clammy despite the cold.  Lo and behold, the guy’s trick works on Enzo, too.  He turns to him, eyes filled with gratitude.  “Thank you so much…”

“Eddie,” the guy steps forward, extending his free hand, encased in a baby blue glove.

Richie accepts it, and it’s way more of a hold than a handshake.  “Richie.”  There is a long, charged silence.  Richie wants to say something, anything.  Can I have your number?  Marry me?  What’s appropriate in a scenario like this?  He wonders.  

“Well, it was nice meeting you both,” the guy--Eddie--says, finally.  

Fuck.  Don’t go.  “You, too,” Richie says, feeling a little helpless.  “Hope to see you around sometime.”

“Yeah, same,” Eddie smiles before turning on his heel and guiding Roscoe back in the direction from which they came.  “Come on, sweetheart.”

Once he’s out of earshot, Richie whispers a pathetic, “I love you,” to the air.  He pulls his phone out, noting the time.  If he’s sure of one thing, it’s that Eddie is regimented as hell.  He probably comes to this exact same park every day at the exact same time.  

He hopes.

-

The temperature the next day is slightly more forgiving, but Richie bundles himself up all the same, in anticipation of getting to Eddie and Roscoe’s dog park early and, well, basically being a giant fucking stalker.  

After Enzo pees, he seems eager to go the fuck home, but Richie takes him for a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the park, letting him interact with the one or two other dogs braving the cold with their owners.  

Richie and Enzo are tied up with a local teacher and her pitbull when he hears a clear, high-pitched whistle.  He turns, and right there, way across the field of snow is Roscoe, tennis ball in his mouth, trotting back in the direction of Eddie, who’s holding one of those fancy ball-flingers.  Eddie’s flushed and wearing scrubs--interesting--as he crouches down to pat Roscoe’s sides enthusiastically before launching the ball across the field again.  

Richie gives the teacher what is very likely a somewhat rude, half-hearted Well, see ya as he turns to make his way toward Eddie.  Once Enzo spots Roscoe, he quickly leads the way.  

“Roscoe!” Richie calls, and the mastiff turns, ears raised, ball in his teeth, bounding over as soon as he spots them.  Richie notes Eddie’s soft smile as he walks over from yards and yards away, Roscoe’s leash in one hand and the ball-flinger in the other.  Richie lets Roscoe and Enzo mess around with the ball and each other for a brief moment before squatting to pet the big guy.  “C’mere, you giant gorilla-dog-thing.”

“What did you call my dog?”  There’s fond amusement in Eddie’s voice.

“Oh,” Richie glances up, still rubbing Roscoe’s belly.  “Sorry.  It’s from The Sandlot.  He looks just like--”

“The Beast.”  Eddie smiles.  “Yeah, people call him Hercules all the time.”  His eyes turn to Enzo, who’s approaching him curiously.  “Hi, honey.”

Something soft and warm unfurls in Richie’s stomach at the sound of the endearment from Eddie’s mouth.  “I don’t know who Enzo is, but you’re totally Smalls, and I’m Benny ‘cause I’m super tall.”  To prove it, Richie stands again, watching Eddie re-leash Roscoe.  

“Uh… no.”  Eddie scrunches his nose up.  “You’re Squints, if anything.”

Richie’s jaw drops playfully.  “Squints?  Aw, come on.”  Eddie’s totally right, though.

“And I see myself as more of a Yeah-Yeah, to be honest.”  

Yeah-Yeah: small but mouthy, lots of attitude, Squints’ other half.  “I can buy that.”

“Enzo can be Smalls,” Eddie offers.  

It’s a nonsense conversation, but there’s a fiery little undercurrent to it, one Richie wants to keep poking at with a stick.  

“Are you coming from work?”  Richie gestures to Eddie’s scrubs.

“About to go,” he says ruefully.  “Twelve-hour shift.  I’m a nurse.”

“Well, here’s hoping I break a limb really soon.”

Eddie actually blushes, shaking his head.  “You’d also have to age backwards about ten years.  I work in pediatrics.”

Richie clutches his heart.  “That is unbearably cute.”

“Most of the time, it is the opposite,” Eddie argues, eyes wide.  “Basically just piss and--”  Eddie’s watch beeps.  “Shit.  I have to go.”

Richie can feel his face fall.  He’s so fucking obvious.  He doesn’t care.

Eddie sucks his teeth at Roscoe, already walking backwards, and Roscoe follows obediently.  “I guess I know where and when to find you now, though, huh?”

Richie nods dumbly, watching as Eddie bites his lip and finally turns on his heel, a skip in his step as he and Roscoe jog across the field to the park entrance.  Enzo’s little bark finally breaks him out of his trance.  He hits his forehead with the heel of his hand.  “Shit!”  He forgot to get Eddie’s number.  Again.  Though considering Eddie’s parting words, he might not need it.  He smiles and giddily shows Enzo the way back home.

-

The following week is not a great one for Richie.  On Monday morning, the Espositos (Enzo’s owners) decide to bring back their old dogwalker, thus kicking Richie to the curb.  They’re nice about it, reassuring Richie that he’s been great and that they’re “only bringing Trixie back because she’s a family friend and blah blah blah.”

To say Richie’s upset would be a gross understatement; it was a great gig, but more importantly, now he not only doesn’t have Eddie’s number--he doesn’t have anything bringing him back to his neighborhood anytime soon (besides all the stalking).

On Thursday night, commuting back from his new dogwalking assignment (a boisterous black lab named Sugar), Richie slips and falls on a patch of ice and wakes up in a hospital bed.  He’s surrounded by curtains and disembodied murmuring voices on three sides, and he feels woozy as fuck.  He tries to sit up.

“Wow, nope.”  He lays back against the pillows with a whine.  His mind starts to race.  Who brought him here?  Is Sugar okay?

Someone slips in through an opening in the curtains.  “You’ve gotta stop following me,” the guy says, sounding thoroughly amused.

“Eddie,” Richie says, smiling, then winces.  

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Eddie smirks, eyeballing his chart, then expertly pulling his stethoscope from around his neck to listen to Richie’s heartbeat.  

Richie’s voice sounds weak but pleased to his own ears.  “Holy shit, you’re here.  Wait.  Where is here?  What happened?”

“Easy, Dorothy.  You slipped on some ice and you have a concussion, but you’re going to be fine.  Sugar the dog is also fine.  She’s with her owners in the waiting room.”

Richie’s eyes rake over Eddie’s features, his scrubs, his neat little hands (bare!) as they work with the stethoscope.  He wonders if his heartbeat’s betraying just how much he’s enjoying the view up close.  “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?  This looks suspiciously like a dream I’ve had.  Recently, in fact.  You used the stethoscope on me in a highly unorthodox manner.”

“I’m flattered,” Eddie laughs, scribbling something onto Richie’s chart and moving on to take his blood pressure.  “But no, this is very real.”  He leans in, his mouth just inches away from Richie’s ear.  “And I am really at work, so shh.”

“Yes, Nurse Eddie.  No funny business.  Scout’s honor.”  

Eddie gives him a look as if to say, There’s no way you’re a fucking boy scout, not now, not ever.

“I thought you worked with kids.”

“They were short-staffed up here,” Eddie explains.  “Big bus accident.”

“Lucky me.”  Richie gives Eddie a toothy grin--then winces again.  “I’ll recover that much quicker whilst having the privilege of looking upon your gorgeous face.”

Eddie hands him a plastic cup of water.  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”  He leans on the metal bar at the side of Richie’s hospital bed, watching as he drains the cup.  “I never got to ask you what you do.  Besides walk dogs.”

“I’m a comedian.”

Eddie makes a skeptical face.

Richie gasps dramatically--or as dramatically as he can, given the circumstances.  “What?  You don’t think I’m funny?”

“Ehhhh,” Eddie considers, tilting his head, his expression deepening.  Richie pouts.  “I have to go.”  Richie pouts hard.  Eddie tosses his cup in the trash and squeezes his shoulder.  “Just sit tight.  Rest.  The doctor will be with you in a minute.”

“Wait,” Richie says before Eddie can slip through the curtains again.  “I need a kiss.  In order to properly convalesce.”

“Wow.  Seriously?”  Eddie blushes and stuffs his hands into his pockets.  

Richie nods insistently.  “Dead serious.  Plant one on me.  Now.  In the name of my health.  And science.”

Eddie glances quickly behind him, making sure the curtains are completely drawn, and saunters over.  “I could have you arrested, you know.”

“You wouldn’t,” Richie says hopefully.  “You love me.”

Eddie leans on the bar of the bed again, this time lowering his face so it’s just inches from Richie’s.  “My dog loves you.  I only like you.”

“It’s a start.”

Eddie’s smirk melts into something softer, his eyes big and warm and beautiful under the fluorescent lights.  “Yes, it is.”  He touches three fingertips to Richie’s chin and turns his head just as precisely as he does everything else, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Aw man,” Richie says, though he’s secretly thrilled to have gotten this far.  “The cheek?  That’s basically a rejection.”

Without missing a beat, Eddie leans down again, lips slotting against Richie’s in a way that makes his stomach flip and his toes curl, making a sweet, wet sound when he pulls away.  “Satisfied, maniac?”

“Very,” Richie breathes.

Eddie pulls back.  Richie lifts his head off the pillow, trying to follow, but Eddie pushes him gently back down.  “Rest.  My shift just started,” he whispers.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richie bites his lip.  “Better not.”

Eddie winks at him before finally slipping back through the curtains and drawing them shut.

-

Their first official date starts with drinks and ends with Richie at Eddie’s place, Roscoe’s big head resting heavily and happily in his lap, the rest of him taking up the rest of the couch.  Eddie gives a put-upon sigh, hauling Roscoe’s hind legs so he can slip underneath them.

They’re starting to actually get to know each other, beyond the dogs and the tricks and the banter.  Richie makes Eddie laugh twice, really laugh, and the second time it’s so fucking adorable, Richie has to lean over, cradle his head, and give him a long kiss.  Eddie’s smile doesn’t fade as their mouths open against each other, his fingers gently playing with the frayed collar of Richie’s shirt.  Before he can toss Roscoe off the couch, the big guy’s already gotten up--not to give them privacy but to jump into the nonexistent space between them, effectively headbutting Richie and knocking them apart.  

“Roscoe--” Eddie chides, dragging him to the bedroom, turning back to Richie to explain, “This is why I’m still single.”

Eddie swiftly returns and plants a knee on either side of Richie’s hips, pulling him up for another deep kiss.  

When they part, Richie hooks his index fingers in Eddie’s belt loops and murmurs, “I’d like to believe it’s because you were waiting for me to come crashing into your life.”

“Yes, you’re just the guy I always dreamt of meeting when I was a budding little homo,” Eddie says, but his soft expression belies the sarcasm.  He pushes a couple of Richie’s more stubborn curls back from his face.  “Getting ahead of yourself, are we?”  

There’s so much promise in the sound of his voice that it makes Richie grin and say, “I hope so.”

[misterghostface]

ЭVО⅃ ЯОЯЯIМ

Happy late valentines day @toziuh !! Sorry this took so long but here’s a secret admirer AU for my @itfandomsecretadmirers contribution. (With backwards letters it looks creepy but its not I promise, I just like the way it looks and my Russian keyboard was feeling neglected.) The next part should be out in a week or so! Read on AO3

Ships: Reddie, Stanlon  Words: 1090

Part 1/?

Stan and Eddie lay on their backs on top of Eddie’s bed, socked feet high and propped up on the opposite wall. Stan held his bird book aloft over his head in a position that meant if he dropped it, it would fall straight onto his face. As he was reading it, his brows were tightened in concentration and he was silently mouthing along with the words. Eddie’s own book, a biology textbook, was resting on his stomach as he stared off into space. After a few seconds, Stan stopped reading and looked over at him.

“Don’t you have a test tomorrow?”

“Yeah, first thing.”

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“Not about the test.” Eddie sat up so that he could see Stan properly. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

Stan gave him a confused look and sat up too, pushing the book aside and giving his friend his full attention. “Why, Eds, what’s going on?”

“…I’m not quite sure yet. I’m just trying to work a few things out. …How did you know that Mike liked you?”

Instantly, Stan’s face flushed red. “Eddie!”

“Stan!”

Stan stuck out his tongue at Eddie’s mocking tone and then paused to consider his answer. “Don’t you remember? You were there man. It started out with those notes he left in my locker, then he started asking to hang out more, with just the two of us. I probably wouldn’t have worked it out though, because of how nice Mike is to all of us, if I hadn’t made the first move and kissed him.”

Stan smiled at the memory, and Eddie smiled too. Stan and Mike had been insufferable when they’d first got together. They’d always be holding hands, whispering in each others ears and giggling over private jokes. If only Eddie had someone like Mike – someone that would wait outside his locker on the morning with a bunch of daffodils. Or not daffodils, because of his hay fever, and not in the morning because Eddie was always there early at the nurses office. So not like Mike at all.

Eddie sighed. “You’re so lucky Stan.”

“Wait, what?” He said, voice climbing in pitch. “Where is all this coming from? Is there someone you like?”

“J-just drop it, Stan.” Eddie fumbled for his inhaler. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?! This is amazing! Tell me about it! What’s he like?”

Stan was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him and expression rapt, as though he was stuck in the belief that he could absorb the information if only he concentrated hard enough. Eddie looked away, choosing to watch his fingers fiddle with his fanny-pack zip instead.

“Honestly Stan, its stupid. I don’t even know who this guy is. He just keeps leaving me messages.”

“Messages? Like a secret admirer?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But I bet this guy is just making fun of me. Pretending to like me so he can laugh about it with his friends. Maybe its Henry!”

“Hm…” Stan didn’t seem at all convinced. “It could be, but it sounds too clever to be Bowers or his lot. What kinds of things has he been saying?”

Eddie pretended to think for a while, as though he didn’t have each message permanently at the forefront of his mind. “The last one I got was ‘every time I see you smile, I hate that I can’t tell you I love you’. Or something like that.”

“Holy shit! Okay – wow, Eddie. That’s definitely not from Bowers then.”

“Nope.”

“Its Valentines day soon though Eds. Maybe they’ll ask you out!”

“Ask me? Are you out of your fucking mind Stanley? In what world would someone actually, seriously ask me out?”

“We’ll see.” The corner of Stan’s lip quirked up, and a mischievous glint entered his eye. “Just wait until then.”

Eddie clutched his book to his chest and began to recite aloud; “the kidneys filter out salt, toxins and water from the blood into urine. The liver breaks down proteins with enzymes such as Analine Transapolase. No, Transaminine. No, that’s not right. Its – shit, what was I even saying!”

Eddie closed his eyes and tipped his head back with a groan. He knew that coming to school so early was a bad idea. He was overthinking it. He should have had an extra half hour in bed.

He stopped his futile pacing outside the biology room door and instead made his way to other end of the hall, where he pushed through a door labelled ‘MENS’. He put his bag down on the counter and unzipped the main compartment, shoving the offending biology textbook inside and out of sight. He didn’t allow himself to look up at the mirror.

He turned on the hot tap at the nearest basin and plunged his hands under the stream, spending about 5 minutes on each hand and feeling his shoulders relax with every second. Then, after squeezing half a tubful of sanitizer onto his hands, he lifted his head to see what todays note would be.

For the past week, there had been a message written on the mirror in blue lipstick every morning before school started. Each one, sweet and corny strings of words, addressed to him. They complimented his skin, his eyes, his laugh, his voice, and made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was as loveable as his mother seemed to think.

Todays message, scrawled in electric blue, read; “Eddie Kaspbrak, what I wouldn’t do to be able to hold your perfect hands and kiss your fears away…”

Getting out his flannel, he painstakingly removed the message letter by letter before the school day could begin, knowing that if anyone saw it there would be hell to pay. Sometimes though, when he saw what had been written for him, he forgot about what everyone else would think.

His cheeks reddened and tightened in a smile, his heartbeat accelerating as he imagined actually being kissed by a boy. It would be romantic, hidden away from prying eyes and homophobia, late at night and as soft as a butterfly’s wing. Eddie would slowly remove the boy’s glasses, dig his fingers into his thick curly hair and even though the boy tasted of cigarettes and pizza he wouldn’t mind, not one bit because he’d been waiting for it for so long-

No. That wasn’t going to happen. Because there was no chance in hell that the boy writing on the mirror was the boy he wanted to kiss. There was no chance in hell that that boy was Richie Tozier.

Special thanks to my beta and muse @hardbackwonders

[billhaders]

done! @itfandomsecretadmirers

[nervyghost]

Reblogging from myself because I’m an idiot and forgot to tag @itfandomsecretadmirers... whoops 😬

Rager

Happy Valentine’s day to @im-reddie ! Surprise! Okay, this gift is going to be a little different, as it’s going to be a multichap fic. It’ll (hopefully) be done before the end of the month! I hope you fave an, as Richie would put it, “Fan-fucking-tastic” Valentine’s day!

The music thudded through his bones, heart pounding to the beat as it shot through him, shaking him to his very core. With one hand clasped tightly around his microphone and the other holding up his thick glasses, he turned to face the crowd ahead, the smell of smoke and stale beer flooding his nostrils. Adrenaline coursed through his system, pooling low in his belly with that kind of pre-show excitement that was impossible to replicate. He lived for the feeling. His freckled face sported a wide grin as he strode forward, ratty black vans toeing the edge of the makeshift stage, nearly going over the edge.

Keep reading