#blame orange bev

[specific-dreamer]

HAILEY MARCIA IS BLONDE

TWO-BIT AND HIS BLONDES

[kafka-ish]

how to be a heartbreaker | b.d.

y/n wants to get her crush to notice her but she has no idea how. luckily, beverly comes to her with some valuable advice.

word count: 2,845

warnings: fem!reader

request: (from anonymous) “hiii! could i request a fic for bill denbrough where the reader is very flirty with everyone in the losers club and bill is flustered whenever she flirts with him? i was thinking that w/n could be like the female richie just more tame haha. ty!”

a/n: i was so excited to receive this request as it was my first one !! i hope i did it justice. 

-

y/n didn’t always wear tight tops and make cheeky comments. 

That’s why Bill was so surprised when she arrived at the quarry in a skirt so short, he could the lace peeking from her underwear when she bent down, and a smart mouth almost identical to Richie’s. But Bev smirked to herself as she watched the scene unfold, remembering how y/n had come to her last weekend, asking for help. 

“Who do you like?” Beverly’s question was innocent, yet somehow it managed to make y/n’s skin crawl and her throat turn to cotton. 

“What makes you think I like anyone?” y/n’s fingers absentmindedly began to pick at the purple comforter neatly draped across the twin sized bed she was perched on. 

“Can I guess?” Beverly ignored y/n’s previous statement and eagerly began listing names. “Is it Matt from gym? Or Cameron from chemistry? If you like Cameron I can see why... That blond hair and smirk can really do things to a girl.” 

“No.” y/n laughed at her friend’s guesses; more so at how far off she was. “It’s neither of them.”

“Then who is it?” Beverly turned around in the vanity chair she was sitting in, in order to get a better read on y/n’s features. That’s when y/n knew her friend was persistent on learning her crush. 

“It’s Bill.” The words left y/n’s mouth in a whisper, but Beverly didn’t need her friend to repeat herself to pick up on what she was saying. 

“Bill Denbrough?” Bev’s voice raised an octave. “Why haven’t you made a move yet? You see him practically everyday!”

“Well, I...” y/n took a moment to readjust herself. She stretched out on Beverly’s bed; each limb reaching each corner of the mattress. She stared at the ceiling which was covered in glow in the dark sticky stars. They’d been there since Beverly was five. She had intentions of removing them, but the adhesive stuck horribly. Beverly also didn’t want to risk ruining part of the building’s architecture since her family was renting it out. And if she did, her dad would do more things than just yell at her. 

“You what?” 

“How am I supposed to make a move?” y/n groaned. Beverly could tell this was something that upset her. “I freak out whenever I’m left alone with him. Hell, even when I’m just sitting next to him. I can’t find the right words to say... Or any words for that matter.”

“You and Bill have that in common,” Beverly said. It was a cheap shot at Bill’s stutter. But she should’ve known y/n was above laughing at something her crush couldn’t control. “Why don’t you just feign confidence?” Beverly’s helpful for once suggestion became of interest to y/n. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Richie does it all the time.” y/n heard a snort coming from the other side of the room. “Just... You know, pretend.” 

“How am I supposed to conjure up some alter ego if I can’t even conjure up some simple hello.” Of course y/n was a skeptic to the idea. But it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

“That’s exactly why you need to do this!” Beverly countered. She couldn’t seem to contain her excitement at the thought of playing matchmaker with her friends. “We can start with a new wardrobe.” Beverly jumped into bed with y/n and her eyes trailed down to the girl’s figure. She was silently judging her friend’s outfit and y/n didn’t know if she should feel offended or uncomfortable. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” 

Their shopping haul consisted of mainly crop tops, skinny jeans, and some of the shortest skirts y/n’s ever seen. Beverly picked out a blue ruffled skirt that barely covered her butt when she leaned over and a plain white crop top to match. 

“You have to wear that when we all go to the quarry!” Beverly said over the phone (it was more of an order than a friendly opinion). 

Nonetheless, she did.

y/n was the last to show up at the quarry; wanting to make a big entrance. It was big alright. She greeted every one of the boys with a kiss on the cheek and a grin wide enough to stick an orange slice in.

“It’s been so long, you guys!” Only enthusiasm could be detected from her voice. y/n sat down on a rock next to Eddie and ruffled his hair which he quickly patted down afterwards. 

“It’s only been a day,” Stan deadpanned. But who was he to burst the bubble of newfound elation coming from his usually reserved friend? 

“A day that’s been far too long!” Her eyes playfully rolled to the back of her head and she leaned forward to boop Stan on the nose. “So, are we getting in the water or what?” She stood up, allowing for a showcase of her long legs and started to strip. 

“You got that right, doll.” Richie whistled as y/n’s shirt hit the ground. Off came his shirt, too; the rest of the Losers following suit. 

y/n was the first to make a splash. She cannon-balled into the water, giving the boys a full view. A second whistle was about to reach Richie’s lips, but Bill stopped him. 

“Yo-you know, in uh-other places th-that’d be illegal.” His tongue stuck on the “L” sound in illegal for a while. 

“Good zing we arrren’t in other places.” Richie had been trying out his new “comrade” accent for the past week but no one else in the group except him was impressed. Bill, especially, was not impressed and shoved Richie into the water. “I’ll get you for this!” He yelled immediately after being able to come up for air. Though Bill couldn’t hear him. He was already already making his debut into the water. 

“Hey cutie,” y/n said, swimming up from behind him as he landed. He was taken aback at the words that had left her mouth and frankly so was she. 

“H-hi, y/n.” Goosebumps materialized on his arms, legs, and chest, and Bill didn’t know if it was because of how cold the water felt, or the recent effect y/n had on him. 

y/n giggled at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. “Be my chicken partner? You’re the only one strong enough I can think of.” She purposely avoided his gaze. In fact, she looked everywhere but at him. 

“I-if yo-you wuh-want.” Bill’s stutter had gotten notably worse and he wanted to curse himself for it. Would he seriously let almost four years of speech therapy go to waste just because of a pretty girl?

“Oh, I definitely want.” y/n’s eyes thoughtfully roamed Bill’s bare chest which he suddenly grew conscious of. Her fingers traced his collarbone and traveled down to his bicep. “I just remembered.” Her hand pulled away and she met his eyes. His blue eyes that she could get lost in for all eternity if she weren’t careful. “I need to go.” y/n didn’t honestly have to go—rather, the advice Bev had given her earlier parroted itself in her head:

Don’t be afraid to go all in. But always leave him wanting more. 

Leave him wanting more. 

y/n gave him a half smile before making her way towards the rocks. 

Bill watched as she did. The sun’s light reflected against her slicked hair in the most alluring manner. She somehow managed to make walking through water graceful. Bill’s eyes stuck to her figure until it disappeared. His trance soon broken by the sound of Eddie’s cries and the feeling of cold water dousing his back. 

“You were great today!” y/n smiled at Beverly’s voice from over the phone. She was sitting on her bed. One hand was holding the phone to her ear while the other was twirling a finger around the cord connecting the receiver piece to the landline. 

“You really think so?” A new feeling had begun to rise in her chest. Cockiness? Pride? Accomplishment? Whatever it was, it felt good. 

“Well, Bill couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off you, could he?” And y/n didn’t have to see Beverly’s face to know she was raising her eyebrows because the tone of her voice already gave it away. 

“I guess not..” 

“Why don’t we all meet for dinner tomorrow?” Bev suggested. It wasn’t really a suggestion, though. It was more like an ‘I’m-telling-you-this-now-and-I’ll-tell-the-losers-after-we’re-done-talking’ sort of thing. 

“Sure,” y/n agreed, because she knew it was useless to try and stop Beverly—she was too far ahead of herself.

“Great!” The busy tone then rung in y/n’s ear, indicating that Bev had hung up. 

Thus, allowing her to be the blame when y/n showed up to Derry’s local diner in a strappy plaid dress and enough attitude for the whole table. 

“Oh, baby!” Richie grinned at the sight of their friend finally coming out of her shell. “You didn’t get all purty for me, did ya?” 

“You wish, trashmouth,” y/n said, taking a seat next to a now shuddering Bill. “Hey, Billy!” Unexpectedly, the girl threw her arms around the boy, wrapping him in an embrace tighter than she was willing to admit. 

Bill opened his mouth, about to say something, only to close it again. The words were caught in the back of his throat and it didn’t help when the sweet scent of her floral perfume reached his nose, leaving him lost in any contagious thoughts of her that he’d unconsciously dreamed of before. 

She withdrew from him, prompting a harsh swallow from Bill. 

“Cat got your tongue?” No matter how much she wanted to, she didn’t let herself  wait long enough for an answer. Abruptly, she broke eye contact and settled on Ben for the time being. 

In a voice higher than normal, y/n had told him he was the best writer in their grade—something Bill found himself strangely jealous hearing. “My parents said I need an English tutor...” In one hand, she swirled her root beer with a straw. Her other hand was holding up her head that rested on it. “I was wondering if you’d be mine?” 

“Wow. Yeah, y/n, I’d love to help!” Ben said with a little too much pep in his step. 

“That’s awesome!” They'd settled on the library to meet up at the next day, but oddly enough Ben wasn’t there. 

Bill was. 

“What-what are you doing here?” It was hard for y/n to try and keep her cool. Especially when the boy whom she was harboring a crush for was standing right in front of her in place of her supposed-to-be English tutor. 

“I’m tuh-tutoring yo-you in En-engl-hish. Of cour-course.” He seriously needed to get a grip on that stutter of his. It was no use, as he could even feel his thoughts stammering against each other. 

“No, Ben’s my tutor,” y/n corrected as she sat her book bag down on the library desk. She riffled through the mess of folders stacked in her bag; an ‘aha’ noise inadvertently leaving her mouth once she found the red one marked ‘English’. “Where is Ben?” It became increasingly harder to keep up the act Beverly had helped her come up with. It grew much more apparent to y/n that it was easier to flirt with friends—not someone she had a full blown crush on. 

“He, uh, he cou-couldn’t mm-muh-make it.” So what if Bill had lied? So what if Bill had told Ben that he didn’t need to go to the library anymore as he took his place instead? 

“Hey Bill!” Ben had just gotten done trading out his History book for his Pre-Calculus one.

Bill was standing right next to his friend’s locker—how Ben hadn’t seen him walking up remained a mystery. 

“What’s up?” 

“y/n tuh-told me that she-she didn’t need an English tutor an-any...anymore.” 

“Huh.” Ben chewed the dead skin on his lip before he continued. “y/n told you this?” 

“Ye-yeah.” Bill nodded his head in order to seem convincing. “Since sh-she doesn’t have any class-classes with you, she wuh-wanted mm-me to tell you.” 

It was a dirty trick and even Bill didn’t know what came over him when he decided to play the lying game. 

y/n didn’t say anything. She only sat down and begun to organize her pencils. 

“Is-s th-that okay?” A surge of nervousness pumped through his veins while he posed the question. He looked down at y/n who was still quiet. 

“Oh, so you think you’re good at English?” y/n raised her eyebrow. She’d finally plucked up enough courage to put on her alter ego and face Bill. 

“I nuh-know I’m guh-good at English. A-according to mm-my tuh-teachers. Str-straight A’s.” He eventually took a seat next to her. It gave y/n a case of the jitters she’d force herself to get over. 

“Well, if that’s the case...” y/n leaned closer into Bill’s side. Her shoulder brushed against his in a feather light touch. “Teach me everything you know.” 

Bill felt himself beginning to choke on his spit. Ever since that day at the quarry, y/n had started acting different.  For one, she actually talked to him. She also traded her regular mom jeans for skirts and graphic tees for tank tops; clothes that showed the most skin. It took him a solid minute before he could clear his throat and begin to explain the differences between a run-on sentence and a comma splice. 

“I have to ask you something.” y/n stopped him in the middle of his explanation of different clauses. 

Bill looked up from the paper he was using to demonstrate. His eyes dwelled into hers. He knew where this conversation was leading to, and for the record, he didn’t necessarily want to go there. “Wuh-what is i-it?” 

“Did Ben really call this off?” He knew at least some variation of those words were going to come out of her mouth. “It just seems unlike him. And we see each other at lunch—”

“Act-actually...” Bill heaved a sigh, unwilling to reveal what had really happened. But it would be for the best, right?

Bill missed how the perpetual softness of her features had developed into a sort of smug look that y/n wouldn’t usually sport. “Bill...” Her hand reached up to cup his face. “If you had something to do with it, I wouldn’t be mad.” He didn’t realize her delicate fingers were carding through his auburn hair up until she pulled away. 

At this point, so many sensations swept through his insides. If a butterfly had flown out rather than actual words, Bill would only try to find out what species it was. 

“What.” He stopped to exhale. “Wha-what muh-makes you thi-think I had... had something to-to do with—” 

“Just a girl’s intuition.” y/n seemed serious for a second and Bill couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m kidding, duh. I got a text halfway through our study sesh.” She took out her Nokia to show him. 

Bill told me about cancelling our sessiom. Good luck in engkish. 

A chuckle tumbled from his lips, noting the obvious typos. “Fo-for a guh-guy wh-who was goin-gonna tu-tutor you.. he ca-can’t spell for sh-sh-shit.” 

y/n’s head fell back and she lost control of her body momentarily as laughter consumed her. Bill could tell she gained control again when she turned to him once more. Silently, she waited for an answer. 

“So... so wuh-what i-if I de-did.” 

“If you did, then, I’d think you conned Haystack out of an opportunity to teach me,” she said, her voice all sing-songy. She instantly noticed Bill’s frown—how he looked down in a sort of shameful way. “I’d also say you were pretty good company.” 

“Really?” Bill’s incredulous mood had egged y/n on even further. 

“Obviously. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with a total dreamboat like you?” She jabbed at his stomach. Bill would normally flinch at this, but his mind was too busy analyzing what she just said. 

“Dr-dreamboat?” His thick eyebrows drew together. Suspect crossed his face. 

“You heard me, Denbrough.” y/n cocked her head to the side. She shifted closer to him- that is, if she could be any closer. 

He tried to speak but all that came out were a bunch of incoherent stutters.

“Shut up.” She thought of pressing her finger to his mouth, but an idea even better sparked in her mind. 

y/n forced a quick kiss onto his lips. She didn’t stay that long; not giving him the chance to kiss back. She was met with his eyes closed and his lips left in a gathered state after parting. 

“Wowo-woah.” Bill sighed, opening his eyes. His already pink lips were stained a slight red from the lipstick that colored y/n’s own. 

“Was I good?” y/n’s alter ego had completely left her body at this point. Her previously shy and hesitant self was now fleshed out perfectly for Bill to see. 

Bill shrugged before pulling her in for another kiss. This time it was long and slow. This time Bill had the chance to kiss back. 

“Ye-yeah.” His expression was kind. “Amazing.” 

[mukettyl]

Train Rides and Late Nights // Chapter Two

click for Chapter One

(tumblr won’t let me minamize this, i’m so very sorry)

Two weeks have gone by and Eddie couldn’t get the train boy out of his mind. He rolled over onto his side to look out the ajar window at the grey morning mist covering the sky. Breathing in the fresh and foggy air, he began imagining different, intricate, ways that the scenario could have played out. He could have said absolutely anything besides, “Why are you staring at me?” But no, he just had to choose those particular six words.

He pulled the blankets around himself tighter, and let the warmth engulf him for a few moments longer, before getting out of bed.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and shuddered. God, it’s cold.

He looked around for a second before deciding to put on a pair of sweatpants and oversized, worn, navy sweatshirt, over the t-shirt and boxers he had slept in. On his way to the kitchen, he regretted having not put on socks as he felt the cold linoleum tiles underneath his feet.

“Well good morning to you too, sleepyhead.”

Eddie looked up from the coffee pot he was now standing behind to pay attention to the voice coming from the living room in front of him.

“Good morning, Stan.” he replied groggily, dragging out the word “morning” until it had six extra sylobols. “One or two sugars?”

“Two, thank you.” Stan said, putting down his book, “I have to go visit Bill at some point today at the shop if you want to come with me. My engine light is on but I can’t figure out why, and I’ve stopped trying to guess.”

“Bill’s a mechanic?” Eddie asked, walking into the living room. He handed Stan his coffee and sat across from him on their lazy boy so that he could face him.

“No, not quite. But his dad and best friend are.”

“Oh, interesting.” Eddie took a long sip of his coffee before continuing with, “Yeah sure, I’ll tag along. I don't have any classes today anyways, so there’s nothing else I have going on.”

“Okay, that’ll work. I just need to get dressed and then we can head out now, if you’re ready.”

-

The two boys stepped out of the car in front of the shop. Stan had decided to completely step-up Eddie’s sweater and sweatpants by wearing a real outfit.

He was wearing a light blue polo with a blue jay embroidered onto his breast pocket, a pair of khakis, and an oversized grey cardigan. Eddie’s Betty Boop socks were no match.

Above the front doors read, “Denbrough’s Auto Repair,” in big, bold, blue letters. Eddie had never realized that Bill’s dad owned this place. He passed it all the time on the bus on his way to school, but it had never occurred to him that they could be the same “Denbroughs.”

After what seemed like ages, Bill walked out to greet Stan and help him figure out the issue with his engine light. Eddie stood there sort of awkwardly as they said their hellos and talked about the past few days in which they hadn’t had a chance to see each other.

“Hey Eddie! If you want, there are some doughnuts and coffee inside from earlier this morning. Help yourself!” Bill said to Eddie with a smile. Thank God, Eddie thought to himself, a reason to escape.

Eddie walked up the stairs and through the front doors. There was an empty front desk in front of him to the left, and a hallway that seemed to lead to a smaller room to his right. Assuming the doughnuts were in said room, Eddie took a right. He found a pot of coffee and a half empty box of a baker’s dozen on the table. Bingo.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and added creamer and two sugars. He grabbed a powdered doughnut, as well, and went to take a seat in the lobby area.

Napkins, I need napkins.

Attempting to hold his coffee upright and not drop his doughnut all while grabbing napkins was not working for him. He decided to hold the doughnut in his mouth and grab napkins with his newly freed hand, instead.

Walking into the lobby with his doughnut in his mouth, still trying not to spill his coffee, he almost didn't see the person about to walk directly into him. Correction, he did not see the person who ended up walking directly into him.

“God, my bad. Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

No way. Not now. Not today.

Eddie took a better look at the boy, who was now on his hands and knees searching for his glasses. Train boy. He recognized the tattered blue jumpsuit and the mass of dark, curly hair. The boy stood up and Eddie was able to half make out “Richie” on the jumpsuit’s nametag.

Eddie stood there dumbfounded as he watched the curly haired boy attempting to get his grounds and clean off his lenses,“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

-

Two weeks. It’s been fourteen days since he last saw him, and he couldn’t get the damn boy off his mind. Richie had purposefully taken the night shift everyday he could, just in case they’d end up on the same train again. But it was to no avail.

After these two weeks of desperately attempting to run into him, Richie gave up. He decided to believe in destiny, fate, and all that, and that if they were meant to meet again, they would.

Richie got off work early on Thursday, so he decided to take his time on his walk to the train. He put in his earbuds and he was off. He naturally walked fast, so he knew that he’d have plenty of time to get to the station before the train reached his stop. He had about 45 minutes, so he decided to wander around the city. It was getting colder as the days passed, so Richie decided to start wearing his dad’s old bomber jacket.

After the death of his father, Richie’s mom decided that she couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. Richie and his dad never really got along. He knew he loved him, but the amount of fighting his parents did had been unbearable for him. He really didn't mind leaving it all behind. So at ten years old, Richie and his mom got on a plane and never looked back. They have now lived in Chicago for the past nine years, but since the move, things have never been quite the same.

Richie knows that his mom blames him for his father’s death. Remarks such as “Well if we never had you…” or: “God! I understand why he couldn’t put up with you anymore!”, helped his claim. He tries to not let it get to him, but it's on nights like this when it all builds up. The moon was almost full and the amount of stars visible was mesmerizing, for the city, that is.

Richie could hear the roar of the train’s engine as he approached the platform. He had continued to board the same car and sit in the same seat as he had two weeks ago. Not as if this would have changed, but the idea of maybe seeing him again was just adding to his reasoning.

-

He woke up the next morning in the dark and dying of heat. His sheets were sticking to him as if his skin were adhesive, and his mouth was as dry as the air filling his room. His blinds weren’t completely shut, but the lack of sun led him to believe that it must be before 6:00 a.m.

Fuck, it’s hot.

He knew that the furnace in his apartment would turn itself on at full blast if it got below 67 degrees fahrenheit. He knew this because he hated it with a burning passion.

He discarded the sweaty sheets off of himself by kicking at them until they fell off of his bed, and rolled over until he could reach his glasses off of his nightstand.

He sleepily propped the frames onto his nose while simultaneously trying to keep his curls from blocking his vision so that he could read the time.

5:49 a.m. Yuck.

Richie didn't have to be anywhere until 10:00 a.m. today, so he landed on a shower being his best option at the moment. Well, technically he didn't have to be anywhere today at all. But he told Bill that instead of coming in at night like usual, that he could come in today early and just stay late. Bill has been his best friend since he moved to Chicago. After hearing about the death of Richie’s father, Mr. Denbrough immediately took Richie under his wing. When he turned sixteen, Mr. D. offered him a job at his auto shop, and Richie has been working there ever since.

After lazily walking to his bathroom, Richie turned on the water in his shower. He proceeded to get undressed, which just consisted of taking off the mis-matched socks and boxers that he had fallen asleep in. The ice cold water felt soothing against his skin. He lathered his hair in shampoo that smells heavily of green apples, and just used the remnants of it to clean his body. Bill had stayed over one night and gave him trouble for not owning body wash, but couldn’t argue with the fact that Richie did always smell very good.

After drying off and wrapping a towel around his head, he walked back into his room and to his closet to get half dressed. He still had three hours before he had to leave, so there was no rush. He put on his favorite t-shirt that said, “The Revolution Is My Boyfriend” that his friend Bev had gotten him at a small thrift shop on her trip to Minneapolis with her boyfriend, and a pair of neon orange briefs.

He walked into the kitchen to make some half-assed breakfast. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and made some toast. While waiting for his bread to turn to toast, he switched on the tv. The only thing on at this hour besides infomercials and news was Seinfeld.

It’ll do.

*ding!*

“Gahh!” Richie yelped as he spilled orange juice all over himself. “Da fuck was dat foh bruhv?” To which his toaster didn’t respond.

As a child, Richie used to talk to himself extensively while his parents argued, and to keep himself entertained, he’d use accents. Now, whenever he got startled or caught off guard, he would automatically start talking in a British or Australian accent.

He picked up some paper towels and cleaned up the spilled juice as best he could. He then grabbed his toast and smeared grape jelly all over it before putting the pieces together and wrapping it in a paper towel, rather than dirtying another plate. He took his toast and the remainder of his OJ into his living room and sat down to watch Seinfeld until he had to get fully dressed.

-

As Richie walked up to the shop, he heard, “Morning, bud!” from in the doorway atop the front stairs.

Without looking up, knowing who it was, he responded with “Guten morgen, Big Bill!”

Instead of waiting for a response, he walked directly past Bill and towards the donuts he saw on the table in front of him. He grabbed one covered in strawberry icing and rainbow sprinkles. Without even bothering to ask if they were up for grabs, he ate basically half of it in one bite.

“Help yourself, I’m gonna go greet Stan, he just got here.”

With a mouth full of donut all Richie could mutter was, “O-ay. Hank youh!”

After scarfing down as many donuts as he thought he could muster before getting sick (three), he poured himself some coffee and decided to get to work. He went around back and put up the garage doors, took out the trash from the past week, and listened to the voicemails that had been left since yesterday. Because it was so early, he really didn't have much to do, so he went to go pour himself another cup of coffee when he walked smack dab into someone turning the corner as well. His glasses fell off of his face so he immediately dropped to the ground to start searching for them.

“God, my bad.” Richie managed, “Do you see my glasses anywhere?”

Richie was sure that whoever this kid that he had just ran into could see him frantically looking for his glasses, but just stood there as if everything was just peachy keen. After what felt like an hour, Richie’s hand finally felt the frames. While happy he found his glasses, he wanted to make sure whoever this schmuck was knew that he was no help.

“Hey bud, thanks so much for the tremendous amount of help, totally not like you just stood there and let me suffer for the last minute and a- hey, it’s you!”

It was him! It was the boy that had sat in his seat on the train exactly two weeks ago. The cute one who told Richie to stop staring at him. The one who was now standing in front of him and staring at Richie like a deer in headlights.

“Why on Earth are you at an auto shop at 10:00a.m.?”

The boy looked extremely flustered, and while holding a donut in his mouth, just responded with “I gotta go,” as best as he could.

“Wait, what’s your name?” Richie called after him, but he was already out the front door and down the steps.

A few moments later, Bill walked in, questioning, “Why’d Eddie just run outta here like that?”

Eddie.

(Richie’s shirt)

[askpolylosersclub]

Hey Eddie go off about Bev 👌

Okay I mean I guess I can do this again since you guys just like hearing me yell about stuff for some reason even though I totally get carried away and I have literally no filter but BUCKLE UP MOTHERFUCKERS BECAUSE IM HERE, IM QUEER IN A PRETTY GOOD MOOD AND IM GONNA TALK ABOUT MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE OKAY??? YA DINGUS

- Listen, I knooooooow it's totally cliche and been said a bajillion times but you can't make a list of the best things about Bev without talking about her fucking hair, okay?!?? SO STOP FUCKING JUDGING ME. Her hair is winter fire NO, WE'RE NOT...I'm not about to plagiarize Ben, okay? I'm gonna say this in my own words...so here goes, um...your hair is...fucking beautiful, the end. I'm not a fucking poet, okay?!? Seriously, I mean for real her hair is the most amazing color it's not even red, it's not even copper, it's not even ginger, no word has been invented to describe the color of Bev's hair it's like if you crushed up one of those orange gemstones and mixed it with melted gold and that's the color that it is. And it's so fucking shiny like if you look at her hair as the sun hits it you instantly go blind

- Um, she's fucking beautiful. Like when I say that I'm not just saying it and just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm blind, I CAN see what other women look like...yeah she's an exception but that doesn't make how beautiful she is ANY LESS FUCKING VALID OKAY?? HER EYES ARE BEAUTIFUL, HER NOSE IS BEAUTIFUL, HER LIPS ARE BEAUTIFUL, HER JAWLINE IS BEAUTIFUL, HER SKIN IS BEAUTIFUL. BEVERLY MARSH IS A FUCKING GODDESS NONE OF US ARE EVEN FUCKING WORTHY OF SPEAKING TO HER YET HERE WE ARE

- You guys have no idea the shit ahe has been through...like...just no idea...the fact that she is not only a strong person, and a good person, but so caring about other people, so selfless and generous and loving...it really takes a special kind of person to come through all that and still be a decent human being, but Bev came out the other side a fucking INCREDIBLE person and I have literally never known anyone that strong

- HER. LAUGH. IS. SO. AMAZING. IT'S. LIKE. LISTENING. TO. ANGELS. SINGING. I mean...I assume...in fact the Angels probably sound a lot fucking worse

- LISTEN, I like dick men...like exclusively...but you CAN NOT LOOK AT BEV'S BODY, naked or otherwise, WITHOUT BEING INSTANTLY FUCKING ANNIHILATED. Like, did you guys know women were so soft??? IS THIS A THING? I fucking mean it all of her skin is like fucking silk, man, and when you press down it's not just like solid muscle or anything it's like...marshmallow? You know what, that's a crappy fucking description but you guys know what I'm talking about, right? Like...men are hard (in a non gross way mostly) even if they have a little bit of fat or they're not toned like there's just something more solid...we have different muscle composition...anyway the point is women's bodies are just so much softer and I don't blame God for making women inherently better in basically every way, but, c'mon man leave us with SOMETHING??? Actually ya know what I don't care just as long as I can still keep Beverly Marsh in my life thanks

- i mean...boobs, man...

- She literally ALWAYS fucking looks amazing, like...she always has her fingernails and toenails painted, hair done, nice clothes...I swear even when she's like in her pajamas or in sweats or whatever she's got matching nails, her hair looks nice, she has like an ankle bracelet or something...HOW DO YOU LOOK SO GOOD ALL THE TIME??? HOW?? EFFORT?? YOURE TELLING ME THAT FOR CENTURIES THE PATRIARCHY HAS BRAINWASHED WOMEN INTO CONSTANTLY MAINTAINING A CERTAIN STANDARD IN THEIR APPEARANCE THAT MAKES THEM FEEL INADEQUATE IF THEY ARENT PUTTING 1000 PERCENT EFFORT IN AT ALL TIMES??? YEAH THAT IS WHAT IM TELLIN YA AND ITS FUCKING GROSS BUT DAMN IF BEVERLY MARSH DOESNT LOOK AMAZING ALL THE GODDAMN TIME

FUCK

- Eddie

[rozemieke]

Here's another short story I'm sorry if there are any mistakes but these are just short stories I write for fun!!

Here we go:

Richie was sitting in the clubhouse by the Barrens. He felt like shit. His mom had just gotten angry at him because he tried to do something right again.

Even when he tried to do something nice, it always turned out as bad or not good enough so he got blamed.

So now he was sitting in the hammock, music blasting trough the little radio that he had taken down there.

He tried to sing along but tears were blinding his vision and he tried not to cry so his troat hurted.

Fuck.

Suddenly the hatch of the clubhouse openend. Someone carefully climbed down the ladder.

"Richie?" Richie knew it was Eddie. He would recognise his voice out of a thousand.

"Yes?" He answered, quickly wiping his tears away and trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

"Hey. I didn't know that anyone would be here but yeah uhm,..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Richie grinned at him. "You alright Eds?" Richie asked, trying to hide his own hurt in jokes. Like he ways did.

Eddie didn't answer. He looked very tired, bags under his eyes. His normally neatly combed hair was now ruffled and standing in different directions.

"Can I uh,.."

Richie raised an eyebrow. "Tell me what you want Eds."

He didn't answer.

He walked towards the hammock. "Can I lay down with you?"

The smaller boy was on the verge of breaking down. Richie knew that. He had known Eddie for so long that he knew when he wasn't alright.

"Alright. C'm here."

Eddie sighed and climbed in the hammock. It was not that big so he needed to lay his head on Richie chest. Their legs tangled and the rising of Richies chest calmed the smaller boy down a little.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Richie asked, trying not to freak out because Eddie was so close.

He shook is head. "You know, mum stuff."

Richie nodded.

"What about you? Eddie asked.

"Mm? What about me?"

Eddie sighed. "I know you Richie. You cried before I came in. I can see it in your eyes and your body language."

Richie gulped.

"I feel like shit. Home and all that, you know."

Eddie nodded. Yes, he did know.

"Can you put of the radio?" Eddie asked, his voice sounding tired. Richie nodded and reach out his arm from the hammock to set it off.

"Thanks. Do you mind if I try to take a nap?"

Eddie asked. Richie didn't answer. If Eddie taking a nap meant him laying on his chest for a long time so Richie could comb his fingers trough his curls and humm a song Eddie loved then yes. Richie blushed thinking of it.

"I I don't mind." Richie stuttered a little. Eddie smiled. "Thanks you Richie." He said before closing his eyes.

"No problem Eds." Richie whispered, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Eddie smiled against Richies warm chest, slowly drifting of to sleep.

Richie didn't know what to do. He would like to sleep too but he just couldn't. His thoughts kept wandering of.

Richie was playing with Eddie's loose curls, his thin fingers tangled in the smaller boy hair.

He was humming a song from the Beatles and he didn't knew how much time had passed but when Eddie woke up his arms and back were sore from laying in the same position for to long.

Eddie didn't say anything when he woke up. He just enjoyed the other boys company. "Are you hunry Eds?" Richie suddenly asked. Eddie hadn't noticed but when Richie mentioned it he was indeed hungry.

"Yes. Do you know what time it is?" He asked. Richie shook his head and wiggled his arm under his butt to take a Snickers bar out of his back pocket that he bought on his way here.

"It's kind of ruined and melted because it has been in my pocket for so long but I don't have anything else."

Eddie shrugged. "I don't care." Richie opened the Snickers bar and bit it in a half before Eddie coud start complaining about germs and shit.

Not that he seemed to care. He just took the half of it and ate it without giving his usual rant about germs.

"Do you think I should go back home and apologise to my mum?" Eddie asked sofly. Richie shrugged. "I don't know. If you want to spend the night in here it's fine be me ' caus I'm not gonna go home soon."

Eddie got up from the hammock, giving Richie space to finaly strechts his back and get up too. They were standing next to each other on the ground, both tired and hungry.

"We should probably go out and get some real food." Eddie suggested.

Richie nodded. They both climbed up the ladder and went outside.

"I don't have any money though." Eddie said while they made their way out of the barrens.

"We can steal some?" Richie suggested. He had stolen cigarettes before sometimes. He had never been cought though. But most of time Bev was there with him to distract the cashier.

"We dan try. We also stole some bandages a while back, do you remember that?"

Richie laughed at the memory.

He and Eddie laughed and talked all the way to the store.

When they arrived Eddies job was to distract the cashier so Richie could steal some candy bars and sandwiches.

Eddie had just enough money with him to buy a singular lolly pop, so he did that when Richie came to stand next to him.

"You ready to go? I'm tired of waiting." Richie said. The cashier didn't suspect anything. Eddie took his lolly pop and they walked out of the store.

"Nice one Eds!" Richie yelled as soon as they walked behind the corner, revealing the stuff from underneath is hoodie. Eddie laughed and took a sandwich.

"You wanna go the quarry? 'Caus I would like to take a swim right now. It's fucking hot." Eddie said.

"That's because of me Eddie Spaghetti. A swim ain't gonna help."

Eddie rolled his eyes and took a bite from his sandwich.

"Shut up asshole."

Richie grinned and slung his arm over the smaller boys shoulder. "Let's go."

****

"You wanna go first Eds?" Richie asked, his arms crossed in front of his naked chest.

"We can jump together." He said, looking questionable at Richie. Richie nodded.

"Alright. On three?"

Eddie nodded. Something about jumping of the cliff into the water was thrilling but amazing. It made him feel like he could rule the words. So when Richie counted he grinned.

"Three!" Richie yelled. Eddie grabbed Richie hand as they ran towards the edge, ready to feel the smack from the water and the thrill of the fall.

When Eddie broke trough the water to be able to breath again he was greated by a smiling Richie.

"Eds that was amazing!" He yelled, swimming towards Eddie. Eddie grinned. "Yeah it was."

They played for a while in the water until they got tired. When they were climbing to the top of the quarry to put on their clothes again the sun started to set. The sky was slowly turning pink, orange, dark and light blue and purple. It was beautiful.

"We should probably go back to the clubhouse befrie it gets dark. I don't want to walk to the barrens when I can't see anything." Richie said after they putted on their clothes. Eddie nodded but didn't move. He was sitting on a rock and was watching the sunset.

" Hey spaghetti man? You listening?" Richie said, sitting down next to Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes." Let me just enjoy this moment Richie."

Richie gulped. Eddie looked so happy, his hair still wet, his cheeks a little red, his face so beautiful.

"Fucking hell Eds." He whispered. Eddie looked up. "Why? I didn't do anything!"

Richie sighed. Trying to ignore the pain in his chest and the aching of his heart.

"It's nothing."

Eddie stared at the taller boy. "Tell me. You're hiding something. And don't say you're not because you can't lie to me."

Richie gulped. This was not the plan. He wasn't gonna tell Eddie that he liked him. He would never do that.

Eddie looked at him, one eyebrow raised, his head turned a little sideways.

Fuck.

"Gonna tell me or what?" Eddie asked. He smiled. Richie looked so soft with the sun on his face and the surprised look in his eyes. Eddie tried to shake away the thoughts. You weren't supposed to like your best friend. It was dirty and wrong. Boys couldn't like boys. Period.

But then why did he feel like this? Why did, everytime Richie touched him or laughed at him, he felt like he was about to explode? Why did he lay awake at night thinking about him? Why did he wanted to know how Richiez lips tasted? Would they taste like cigarettes? Why did he think about holding his hand and touching his hair and,...

Eddie sighed.

Fuck man. This was so incredibly wrong, but then why did he wanted to feel Richie close? Cuddle up next to him? Let the other boy touch him? What was wrong with him?

And now when Richie was standing there with the beautiful sunset behind him Eddie couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Fuck Richie if you're not gonna say anything I will. I get it that it's maybe weird and that if after this you will hate me but I don't want to hide it any longer because I can't and if you don't want to be my friend anymore I totally get that. I just hope that you understand what I'm going to say and that you won't,... "

Eddie was rambling. He know he was but the words kept flowing out of his mouth. He couldn't stop. Until Richie said something.

"I'm in love with you Eddie."

Eddie looked at the taller boy with big eyes.

"I mean please don't hate me for this but I liked you since I was 12 and I never told you and I don't want this to be weird but,..."

Eddie smiled. He couldn't believe that his was happening.

"Shut up Richie."

They taller boy didn't shut up. He kept rambling on.

Eddie got up from his rock and stood in front of Richie.

"I like you to." He whispered, grabbing the collar of Richies shirt, standing on his tipy toes and kissing the taller boy.

Richie kissed back immediately. A happy shigh leaving his mouth.

When they broke the kiss Richie smiled. "You have no idea for how long I've wanted to kiss you Eds."

Eddie blushed.

"Then let's do it again."

Two boys standing on a cliff, the sunset behind them, tasting each others lips and finally feeling like everything was going to be okay.

#shortstory #IT #Reddie #Richie #Eddie #It(2017) #Idontknowhowtodothiswhat

[unpack-my-heart]

The Ghost of You

A new Reddie AU featuring property developer Richie and ghost Eddie. I know I have other unfinished stories but I’ve been working on this today as a distraction from various things and thought I’d post it. 

Read it on AO3 HERE

or I’ve also posted it under the cut:

Preview:

The first time Richie sees him, he falls out of a window.

It’s about ten at night, and Richie is painting the grilles on his open bedroom window with the night breeze caressing his face. He’s got the radio on, but every so often the music is suddenly replaced by harsh static that screams into the room for five or six seconds, before the music starts up again like nothing had happened. Richie doesn’t pay attention to it, assuming it’s to do with the terrible reception, until the radio howls like a banshee. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a man dressed in an old-fashioned looking khaki uniform who is squatting next to the radio on the floor, and staring at it intently.

Richie promptly jumps, before stumbling backwards, and falling out of the window.

@constantreaderfool @xandertheundead

Richie’s first love is stand-up comedy. He spends most of his adolescent years with his eyes glued to the flickering TV screen, watching late night comedies protected by a blanket of darkness, ready to charge straight up the stairs should he hear the familiar pounding of his father’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

Richie always assumed he’d become a stand-up comedian, or something similar. His mother was forever smiling at him with this dopy, indulgent grin.

‘You should be on the stage, child’, she always told him.

He believes her.

Standing on stage, in front of a sea of squawking, laughing faces. The I did that in your stomach, the I made these people happy.

It doesn’t work out, though. Richie gets horrendous stage-fright, and runs straight off the stage clutching his stomach the first time he attends an open-mic at his local late night coffee shop. It doesn’t make sense. His mom says he’s funny, Bev says he’s funny, the waitress at the diner that does those paprika fries he loves says he's funny (but maybe she’s just being kind and trying to get him to leave a decent tip. He always does.)

He isn’t too cut up about it though. Shit happens. So he leaves stand-up comedy to the professionals, and proceeds to have a minor existential crisis about the direction his life is going in.

His father starts getting a bit impatient, not because he’s frustrated that Richie didn’t go to college, or because Richie is leeching off them or anything remotely similar, but because it cuts him up inside to see his nearly-20-year old son so morose and directionless. So he takes him to work with him.

Wentworth Tozier works as an architect in a small firm in Maine. It’s mainly small domestic projects, the occasional corporate one. Nothing too major. Small houses, buildings to put a new Subway in. Richie is entranced. He loves going with his dad to the sites, he can practically see the cogs in his father’s brain spin and whir as he envisages how he’ll turn this small patch of wasteland into someone’s private sanctuary. Richie decides immediately that he wants a part of this.

Richie apprentices with his father. His dad agrees easily, ecstatic that his son is so enamoured with the field that claimed his own heart when he was pre-college and panicking about where his own life would lead. Richie doesn’t want to go to college, so he can’t become an accredited architect, but that doesn’t matter. Richie isn’t interested in modelling power sockets and skirting boards on the computer. Richie dreams of moulding timber, brick and concrete with his own bare hands, sculpting and crafting and carving out a small piece of perfection.

Property development, is what his father tells him it’s called. He’d be a renovator, and Richie decides that that word sits very nicely indeed on the end of his tongue.

He starts off small. An tired-looking apartment with creaking bones and a dusty sigh. Richie tears out the connecting wall between the lounge and the kitchen, allowing the small space to inhale a much-needed breath of fresh air. He extends the bathroom into the needlessly large master (and only) bedroom, and removes the garish pink ceramic bath, replacing it with a walk in shower. A lick of paint here, a sprinkling of tile here, a dash of wallpaper and some new faux-marble countertops. His father claps him on the back when he sees the finished product. ‘you’ve done good, kid’. Richie knew this was what he was made for.

He’s 28 when he starts feeling the first pinches of boredom at the soles of his feet, 30 when his stomach aches slightly when he wakes up in the morning before work, and 34 when he decides that it isn’t enough for him anymore.

His father, now retired and living off a very comfortable pension, offers to lend him some money while he figures out what he wants to do next. Richie grumbles for a few weeks, feeling uncomfortable about taking his dads money. He uhms and ahhs about it, waxing poetic to Bev in the bar after work about how property development wasn’t sparking the pilot light in his soul quite like it used to. Bev nodded sympathetically, and made comforting hums at all the right intervals. Richie left the bar five times drunker and fifty times more appreciative for her friendship.

He’s 36 when he decides to move to Scotland.

He’s been considering it for a while. Find a derelict church, or a run-down old manor house, buy it for an eye-wateringly cheap price, live in it, renovate it, and flip it. A two year project, max. Something to get his teeth into and stave off the anxious dreams that have him shooting up in bed at night, face sticky with sweat and heart beating with ‘this can’t be it, please say this isn’t it’.

His relationship with Jasmine had broken down. She couldn’t understand why Richie was so restless, why he’d toss and turn at night instead of hunkering down into the cosy nest of safe, steady, predictable. He didn’t blame her. He knew it was frustrating. Hell, he was frustrated. They ended it pretty amicably. A few tears on both sides, a half-hearted promise to remain friends. Richie knew they wouldn’t. He didn’t really mind.

He’d been half-cut and half-asleep when he’d stumbled on it. A beautiful 19th century building on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It had originally been an orphanage, before changing hands and purpose multiple times over the years. School, a brief stint as a police station, before it was abandoned in 1947, just after the war. The building is on the lip of a lake, and sits nestled comfortably into a small hillock. The brickwork is run down, patches of orange lichen growing excitedly across the otherwise grey surface. There are two working chimneys emerging from the slate roof that connected to two working fire-places. There’s a small porch connected to the front door, and a back door in the kitchen that leads out into an unfenced back garden. It’s ugly, and sits tired and unassuming against the harsh bracken moors of Scotland, not a neighbour in sight. Richie is immediately besotted with it.

He phones Bev, not caring that it’s nearly 3am and he’s definitely still drunk and is probably definitely somewhat delusional. She picks up on the fifth ring.

“what the fuck, Rich, it’s arse o’clock in the morning. Are you dying? If you’re not dying you’re gonna wish you were”

“I found it”

“Huh? Found what? If you found your lost sock and decided to ring me to tell me, I swear to god, Trashmouth, I’m gonna gut you, you –“

“No, Jesus Red, no. I found it. I found the one”

“the one? You mean that dude you were grinding on yesterday? I mean, he was kinda weird looking, wasn’t he? Looked a bit like a trout. But if you think he’s the one I guess –“

“Can it, Marsh. One, I wasn’t talking about him but oh my god he totally looks like a trout and two, I mean, the house”

“Shit. The house?”

“Yup”

“The house, the house? You mean – THE house?”

“Yes!”

“Holy shit. Where is it?”

“…”

“Rich…”

“Scotland”

“Holy shit”

“I know”

Getting a visa is about as much of a nightmare as Richie expects. It takes forever, and every day he checks the real estate website, sweaty palms and palpitating heart, expecting the little house on the moor to have disappeared from the internet. It never does.

After about four months, and tearful goodbyes to Beverly at the airport, Richie’s on a plane to Scotland. His parents were initially hugely sceptical, lecturing him on the dangers of buying a property without viewing it, and lamenting about how much they’ll miss him when he’s thousands of miles away. They don’t try to stop him though.

Richie spends most of plane ride jittering in his seat. He ends up sat next to a Scottish woman, who balances her tiny daughter on her knee. Richie smiles at the tiny redheaded girl and she smiles back at him, all gums and no teeth. He falls asleep half an hour before they land.

He hires a car at Edinburgh airport. The drive takes him around six hours, a combination of busy main roads and winding country tracks that split the Scottish landscape like veins. He sails over the Skye bridge, and he’s only an hour or two away from paradise.

When he’s about twenty minutes away, he starts getting panicky. He’d spoken to the letting agent at length over Skype, and they’d emailed him a list of all the things that would need fixing, or replacing. It was a very long list. When Richie had received the list he’d not been able to see it as anything other than a challenge, something to get his teeth into. Something to occupy his restless brain. Now though, the list sat like lead in his pocket.

The house sits at the end of an unkempt muddy track, standing alone amongst the foliage. Richie pulls himself out of the car, stretching his aching arms behind his head.

He stares at the house.

The house looks back at him.

He rings his dad.

“y’ello?”

“Hey, Dad”

“Rich! Did you make it okay, laddy?”

“Och, aye!”

“Your Scottish accent is as awful as mine”

“I know”

“How is she?”

“She’s beautiful”

“Need a lot of TLC?”

“More than I think I’m capable of giving her”

“Hey, now. Where’s that trade-mark Richie confidence? Or, should I say, trade-mark Richie arrogance?”

“You’re supposed to be giving me a pep-talk, old man”

“I know, I know. You’ve got it, kid. You know you do. I’ll come out and visit you in a few months, maybe stay for a few weeks. Scotland is supposed to be real nice in the summer. Save some of the really tricky parts until then, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself”

“Your concern is touching”

“Richie, I’m serious”

“I know”

“Your mother misses you already”

“I bet she does, now she’s only got you for company”

“I miss you”

“I know”

“I’m here for you. Even half way across the world. You’re my boy”

“love you, dad”

“Knock ‘em dead, son”

Beep beep beep beep

The house stands in front of him, silently waiting. The wild, windy moors stretch far away.

Richie doesn’t do anything to the house for a few days. He drives nearly two hours to the nearest town, and stocks up on all the tools and equipment he thinks he’ll need, before quickly realising that he’ll need to take a trip to one of the larger cities to buy the more expensive materials. He imagines the postal services out in the middle of nowhere leave much to be desired.

The house is much louder than he expected it to be. The moors are noisy, rustling leaves and bleating sheep and wind that whips through your skin and freezes your bones. The house is nearly as loud. Everything creaks, and moans and sighs, loud protests against whatever Richie happens to be doing, whether walking up the stairs or throwing logs into the burner.

He starts working on it four days after he moves in.

The first time Richie sees him, he falls out of a window.

It’s about ten at night, and Richie is painting the grilles on his open bedroom window with the night breeze caressing his face. He’s got the radio on, but every so often the music is suddenly replaced by harsh static that screams into the room for five or six seconds, before the music starts up again like nothing had happened. Richie doesn’t pay attention to it, assuming it’s to do with the terrible reception, until the radio howls like a banshee. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a man dressed in an old-fashioned looking khaki uniform who is squatting next to the radio on the floor, and staring at it intently.

Richie promptly jumps, before stumbling backwards, and falling out of the window.

When Richie comes to, he’s lying on the ground directly below the window he fell out of.

There’s a pillow under his head.

The second time Richie sees him, he pours boiling water all over his foot.

It’s been a few weeks since Richie fell out of the window. He’s forgotten about the man in the khaki uniform that he thought he saw looking at his radio, having convinced himself that it must have been a figment of his overtired imagination.

The house is still, for all intents and purposes, unliveable. There is no hot water, there is no gas, and Richie has to go to the toilet in trenches he digs in the middle of the woodland a few minutes’ walk from the back door. He has never been happier.

He’s knocked a few walls through, the downstairs is now an open plan space, and he’s ordered a new bathroom suite that is supposed to arrive today, along with a plumber that he found online. His name is Mike Hanlon, and he’s lived in the Isle of Skye his whole life.

When Mike arrives, he’s joined with a collie who Mike affectionately calls Mr Chips. Richie scratches the dog behind the ears, and receives a few licks to the inside of his wrist for his trouble.

Mike helps Richie haul the constituent parts of the bathroom suite up the rickety stair case, and Richie is overjoyed to discover that Mike doesn’t complain once. Richie leaves Mike in the bathroom, tinkering with the pipes connected to the old, broken ceramic toilet, and begins to make them both cups of tea using a camping stove connected to a gas cannister he’d bought when he’d been in town.

He’s pouring water from the small camping kettle into Mike’s mug (breakfast tea, no milk, no sugar, thanks, Rich!) when Richie catches sight of the man in the khaki uniform, turning the ring  on the gas cannister with a hesitant finger.

Richie startles, the force of which sends his arm flailing through the air, and sends the contents of the kettle sailing through the air in a graceful arc before landing on his foot.

Richie curses, grabbing the bottle of cold water sat on the worktop, and quickly proceeds to pour the contents over his poor, red raw foot.

When he looks up again, the man has gone.

One of the other bottles of water has upended itself on a cloth, however. Richie doesn’t think anything of it when he grabs the soaking wet cloth and wraps it around his foot.

The third time Richie sees him, he learns his name.

A month later, Mike has finished the bathroom. The plaster on the walls is still white and unpainted, and the floor hasn’t been properly tiled yet, but the bath, sink and toilet has been replaced, and Richie was half way through wiring the extractor fan. Mike had kindly agreed to stay on and help Richie replace the kitchen sink, and install the washing machine and tumble dryer. Richie was elated. He’d grown close with Mike quickly, and he loved listening to Mike’s stories about Scottish folklore. Richie listened to Mike talk for hours about kelpies and the loch ness monster and never found himself drifting off.

Soon enough, they broached the topic of ghosts.

“Do you believe in ghosties then, Mikey?” Richie asks, the man in the khaki uniform a vivid picture in his mind.

“Well, they say that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, right? That’s an important element of the physics of life, so, I can’t accept that when we die we just … disappear, and all that energy just leaks into the air? Where would it go?”

“I dunno, back into the ground?”

“Nah, I don’t reckon so. I reckon it’s gotta go somewhere else. I reckon our consciousness, like, the thing that makes us truly us, escapes our physical bodies when they run out of energy and become something else. Maybe we become light. Maybe we become oxygen, I don’t know.”

“So you don’t believe in ghosts in the sense that you don’t believe we can walk around as physical manifestations of how our physical bodies looked, then?”

“I just dunno, Rich. We probably will never know. Here – hand me that spanner, this bolt is being a feckin’ nightmare”

Richie thought about what Mike had said for a long time.

The third time Richie sees him, he learns his name.

When Mike had left for the evening, Richie waded into the shallow lake, water lapping around the tops of his rubber boots. He threw small pebbles into the water. Plip Plip Plip. The moor was uncharacteristically silent. He stared down into the water.

The reflection of the man dressed in the khaki uniform stared back at him.

Richie turned around.

The man in the khaki uniform was stood next to him, wringing his hands, his brow furrowed.

Richie swallowed.

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Eddie”

“Why d’ya keep letting yourself into my house, Eddie?”

Richie fought against his quivering voice to keep his tone stern and challenging.

“I – I don’t. It’s hard to explain. What year is it?”

“Uh… what?"

“What year is it?”

“Are you on drugs or something, dude? Lost on your way back from a costume party?”

“Please, just tell me, what year is it?"

“2019”

“Ah”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘ah’?”

“I mean, I haven’t seen anyone in this house since 1947”

“… Dude you cannot be over 70 fucking years old. Stop bullshitting me, just tell me the truth and I promise I won’t get Mike to impale you on one of those rubber poles he keeps in his van”

“I’m not over 70. I'm 38 – I was 38.”

“Well, how do you know no one’s been in this house since 1947? And what do you mean, you 'were' 38?”

“Because I’ve been here on my own since 1947”

“You’re still not making any sense, my man”

Eddie rubbed his hand over his face, and sighed.

“You won’t believe me, so there isn’t much point”

“Try me”

“I worked here. This place was used as an evacuation safe house for children from across Scotland, but mainly Edinburgh and Glasgow. They were moved here to escape the bombing. I worked here as a doctor, I cared for the children. I – I died here.”

“What do you mean, you died here?”

“I was stabbed”

“hang on – bombing? To escape bombing?”

Richie could barely breathe.

“Yes, bombing.”

“… And you said you haven’t seen anyone here since 1947”

“That is correct”

“So, what you’re telling me is that –"

“Yes”

“You’re …”

“I am”

Richie doesn’t reply. He turns around, and walks back into the house.

When he shuts the door, the lake glitters like a pool of liquid mercury. Eddie has gone.

[trxshmth]

smoking with beverly and talking about crushes

They were cuddled up behind the bleachers. Richie had his head on Beverly’s lap while she curled her slim fingers on his messy strands. It was near 9 a.m and they should be in class, every kid on their 15 should be in class. However, Richie had Math and Bev just hated her creepy Biology teacher with a burning passion. They always miss those classes and yet somehow seem able to pass with more than satisfying grades, which is enough for the teachers to let them be. 

Richie was agitated, at least more than usual. They usually smoke less than a pack in those escapades, but today Richie alone was almost taking the whole thing. Beverly knew what it meant. Somehow she always did. No words were needed between them, she just wove her fingers through Rich’s messy curls and in a second the trashmouth was down on her lap, more relaxed than he had been in hours.

The silence was comfortable. It meant they were thinking, unwinding whatever had ticked them off. At least Bev was. Richie had a scowl on his face, even after what seemed to be his tenth cigarette that morning.

“You’re worse than a chimney today”, Beverly pointed out, not a single trace of judgement in her voice.

“I just wish we had weed, that’s all”, Richie grumbled before taking a long drag. 

“That’s bullshit, Tozier.”, she snorted. “Spill the beans”

“I just wish someone told me, okay?”, he snapped, the frown on his face deepening. “Bill should’ve told me. It’s what they always do, right? Eddie tells Bill first and then comes to me. Bill should have told me.”

“You’re talking about Eddie’s date?”, Beverly smirked, unknown to Tozier, who had slung an arm over his eyes. “Ben told me you seemed off this morning.”

“I’m not off, okay? Ben should mind his own business.”

Beverly snorted hard this time. “Not off at all.”

“I just wish I knew sooner.”, his voice was small, like a wounded animal.

“Would it have made a difference?”, her orange hair brushed her shoulder as Bev tilted her head. 

“Of course it would!”, Rich whined, uncovering his eyes and staring right at his friend. “I wouldn’t have looked like such an ass.”

“Honey, you know Eddie’s just confused, he doesn’t think you’re an ass.”, she paused. “Well, he does, but that’s nothing new to us.”

“I slammed my locker and walked away, Bevvie.”, Tozier deadpanned.

“Which wasn’t the smartest move you’ve ever done, but, hey, who am I to keep score?”, Bev shrugged as Richie sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, careful not to smudge his glasses any further than usual. Beverly threw an arm around his shoulder, taking a drag from her cigarette. She held it in, waiting for the trashmouth to look at her. When he finally did, Bev blew her smoke all over his face. Richie chuckled, licking the tip of her nose just to spite her.

“Gross, Richie!”, she laughed, pushing him away. It took less than a second for Richie to come back, arms wide open, and push his face on the crook of her neck, knowing fully well his hair was going to tickle her face. Bev screeched in laughter, fists thumping against her friend’s back. 

“You’re gonna get us caught, Ms. Marsh.”, Richie whispered in what they had come to know as his ‘runaway bad guy voice’. 

“You killed my cig, you bitch.”, she complained, pouting at the remains on the sand. 

“Awn, babe. You wanted to taste my lips all you had to do was ask”, Rich mirrored her pout, moving away from their embrace but remaining close enough. 

“Beep beep, Richie”, Beverly grinned while taking the half-smoked cigarette from Richie’s fingers. She took a long drag, one arm still over Rich. The latter rested his head on her shoulder, lighting another cigarette for himself.

“Remember when this girl from Bill’s Chem class asked him out?”, Richie’s voice was quiet, a sudden change from the light mood. “And at the end of the day he said no?”

“I was fucking pissed”, the redhead admitted.

“You were. I thought you’d strangle her in the girl’s bathroom. God knows what you guys do in there.”, Richie took a small drag. “Anyway. I think I was just as pissed as you were that day.”

“No shit, Sherlock”, Bev snorted. “You looked like Santa filled your socks with coal and pissed all over your cookies”

“Can Santa even do that?”, Richie seemed amazed by the idea. Beverly chuckled.

“Honey, I know what you mean. I was pissed and Bill said no. Eddie didn’t.”, her fingers found their way back to the hair on his nape. Rich would purr if he could.

“I don’t think I’d be that pissed had it been Ben or Mike. I’d give Stan hell, but I wouldn’t be angry.”, he wondered. Richie couldn’t see, but Bev had a simpathetic look on her face.

“Eddie’s different then?”, the redhead spurred him on. This was a conclusion Richie had to come to alone.

“I guess.”, he shrugged. “I think…”, Tozier took a drag to calm himself. “I might feel the same way about him as you do with Bill”

“That’s wonderful, Richie.”, her voice was soft, truly happy for her friend. “Prepare for the absolute turmoil in your guts”

“Fuck if I don’t know it.”, he groaned. “Last week he laughed at some joke I said and my lungs were like ‘well fuck, we can’t remember how to breathe, no sir!’.” Beverly laughed, amused.

“Yesterday Bill rode me double on Silver ‘cause my bike’s tire was busted. I thought I might throw up”, the redhead confessed. Richie looked over the moon, thanking every saint he could think of for finding someone who actually understood him.

“Can’t blame you. Bill’s been riding me double on Silver since he got that thing and I don’t think anyone who’s ever done that was able to keep their heartbeat still.”, Richie shrugged. Big Bill was a catch and Bev was lucky as hell. They just needed to sort out their shit. 

It wasn’t until the bell rang they stopped talking about their friends. Bill, with his broad shoulders and kind words. Eddie, with his short shorts (”shorter than my sanity, Bevvie!”) and cute rambling. Richie and Beverly were fucked.

“See you at lunch?”, Bev smiled softly. Richie looked ten times better than when they had arrived.

“Be there or be square, pal”, he gave her a sloppy salute, winking before heading his way. Sure, being in love with Eddie was weird and made his feelings go all over the place. However, maybe, just maybe, hanging out with Bev might make things easier.

[stellarbisexual]

A Memory of Love (2/?)

Summary: Richie and Eddie, who haven’t seen each other since they were kids, get cast as the lead couple in an indie film.

Canon-divergent, Reddie are in their 30s.

Previously: Chapter 1

READ ON AO3

Chapter 2: TABLE READ

When Richie arrives at Greg’s house a few short weeks later, his co-star is already sitting by the pool, just a tuft of fluffy, chestnut hair peeking out over the back of a lounge chair, one bare foot skimming the surface of the water in a hypnotic left-to-right motion.  

“Ah, there’s the love of my life!”  Richie’s booming voice disrupts the quiet, prompting Eddie to peer around the side of the chair, his mouth agape, squinting in the bright sun.

Richie’s heart lurches violently in his chest, nearly taking his breath away, to the point where he makes a mental note to pick up some Prevacid on the way home—but as Eddie unravels himself to approach, one nervous hand righting his hair and the other clutching a curled up copy of an already heavily marked-up script, Richie exes out that note.

He and Eddie didn’t connect before today.  He’d thought about it, but something held him back, maybe a desire to have this moment.

Eddie’s eyes flicker amber in the sunlight as he takes Richie in with a sweet smile.  “Hi, Richie.”

“Long time no see, Eddie Spaghetti.”  The nickname is out of his mouth before he even knows what the hell it is (like most everything else Richie ever says—and he wishes he could blame the improv background), and Eddie giggles, a high, musical thing that inspires Richie to pull him in for a tight hug.  Eddie’s still pretty tiny, his hair tickling Richie’s clavicle.

“You two know each other?”  Greg looks both perplexed and pleased.

Richie tries conjuring an image, anything, from when they were kids, but there’s that black hole again.  He holds Eddie at arm’s length, watching an elaborate cycle of emotions flit across his expressive face, feeling helpless without a key to decipher them.  “We’re both products of Shittown, USA, AKA Derry, Maine.”

“Where dreams go to die,” Eddie says without missing a beat, squinting up at Richie.

*

Richie begins the table read a little nervous and a little on his guard; despite having taken proper acting classes and doing theatre in college, this is still totally new to him, and he fully expects Eddie to make him feel out of his league, not just because Richie’s a lowly fucking comedian but because he’s never had a serious relationship with a man in his life.  He doesn’t expect Eddie to be a dick about it, but he expects him to want to take control and subtly steer him right if he goes off course, maybe even get frustrated with him from time to time.

But there’s no sign of that, at least not today.  Eddie is open and kind, complimentary, even, reassuring Richie You’re so perfect for this role when he makes his first of many self-deprecating remarks before they actually start to read.  Plus, it’s clear three pages into the script that they’re both still just seeing how the words taste in their mouths, taking the pressure off considerably.  

It never occurs to Richie that Eddie might be nervous as hell, too, but he admits just that as they drive away from Greg’s house, the sky beginning to go orange and pink.  Richie’s offered to take him back to his hotel, as Eddie’s only in town for a few days and isn’t getting a rental.

Eddie pushes a big breath out of his mouth.  “I was so fucking nervous about today.”

“You were nervous?”  Richie’s eyebrows shoot up.  “I actually puked this morning.”

“No you didn’t!”  Eddie smacks his shoulder playfully.  

“Scout’s honor,” Richie says, flashing two fingers, his smile threatening to break his face.  “Strap yourself in; the daily embarrassments of Richie Tozier have only just begun.”

Eddie stares at his profile, face naked in a way that nearly tears Richie’s eyes away from the six lanes of freeway traffic.  “I’m really excited we’re working together.” His voice is soft.

For all that Greg has expressed the director’s concern about creating enough intimacy between her two lead actors, it sure feels fucking intimate in Richie’s car right about now.

Richie resists the urge to make a joke, taking a deep breath.  “Me too.” He licks his lips, swallows. “Hey: you wanna get a drink?  I’m not ready to go home yet. Still feel buzzy, like the night after a show.”

Eddie smiles, relaxing into the passenger seat, his body still slightly angled toward Richie’s.  “Sure.”

*

Once they’re settled in at the bar, Richie takes the opportunity to look at Eddie the way he couldn’t in the car, deciding he hadn’t given his face enough credit.  Eddie’s pretty fucking gorgeous, truth be told, all big, sparkling hazel eyes and dark, elegant eyebrows. He watches Eddie’s mouth purse as he examines the drink menu, wet and pouty, and wonders hopefully if they’ll end up hooking up during filming.  

Richie has to mentally smack himself for even thinking it.   You’re here to work, you fucking idiot, so get serious for once in your life.

“I hope this is okay,” he says, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings.  He chose one of his go-to dive bars in Culver City (seems like an oxymoron with how expensive the area’s gotten) since he wanted to be able to hide.  “I know you don’t spend that much time here, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted to go to one of those chichi twenty-dollar cocktail places on Sunset just for the experience.”

“No, thanks, this is way more my speed.”

Richie orders himself a pickleback, which inspires a full-body shiver of disgust from Eddie, and Eddie orders a gimlet.  

“So,” Richie says, after shooting the whiskey, then shoots the pickle juice.  “Teach me all about method acting.”

Eddie giggles that sweet, melodic giggle again, then surprises Richie with his retort: “I thought you were going to teach me how to get on TFS.  That’s the only reason I agreed to even do this movie.”

“I still couldn’t tell you how I got on that show, so you’re out of luck there, my friend.”  Richie starts playing with the empty shot glasses, flipping them over and sliding them around on the bartop like a street performer doing a trick.  “Seriously, though. I want to know more about how you work and what you need from me, how I can help you do whatever you need to do.”

“I mean, I want this to work for the both of us, first and foremost.  And I’m not Daniel Day-Lewis; I don’t need the full enchilada. I’m not going to make you or the entire crew call me Thomas between takes or anything,” Eddie says, referring to his character in the film.  “Did Greg tell you I was this big method actor? I’m really not that crazy with it; I just take bits and pieces, whatever works for me—and I like being experimental. But I’ve worked with a lot of actors who don’t subscribe to it at all, and it’s fine.”  Eddie’s nose crinkles as he smiles at Richie’s expression. “You look disappointed. Were you hoping to try it? Because if you’re open to some of it…”

“I’m definitely open,” Richie says decisively.  “I just want to do well.” Eddie seems to perk up considerably at that, which gives Richie an odd feeling of pride.  “Let’s not talk about work anymore. How long have you been in New York?”

Eddie’s response is quick and sounds rehearsed.  “Since I was eighteen. Left my mom’s house and never looked back.”

“Shit.  Your mom.  Big lady?” Richie opens his arms wide, eyes narrowed, trying to recall her face and failing.  Eddie nods quietly. “I met her at least once, right?”

“A few times.”

Richie watches him sip generously on his gimlet.  “How much do you remember from when we were kids?  I’m getting the impression it’s way more than I do.”

Eddie studiously stares at his half-empty drink.  “Not much more than you, probably. You did tease me relentlessly; I do remember that.”

“Ugh,” Richie grimaces.  “I was such a pain in the ass then.”

“No, you meant well, I think.”  Eddie shakes his head, lifting his eyes at him in a way that threatens to give him heartburn again.  “It was cute.”

Richie inhales sharply, clearing his throat.  “You haven’t been back to Derry at all?”

“...Well.  For my mom’s funeral, back in 2010.”

“I’m so sorry.  You should’ve—.”

Eddie shrugs.  “It never changes.  Derry. It’s kind of freaky that way.  New York is changing all the time. People coming and going.”  Eddie stirs the tiny straw around his drink, though it’s down to almost just ice.  “I saw you once—in New York. You came to do stand-up.”

Richie lights up.  “What? When?”

“Uhhh.”  Eddie’s eyes drift up to the ceiling, trying in vain to read the date there.  “2008? 2009? You were at Gotham.”

Richie shudders.  “That sounds right.  The dark ages.”

“You were great,” Eddie says encouragingly, and either he’s a really good actor or he really means it.

“...Why didn’t you say hello?”

Eddie cuts his eyes at him, teasing, “Would you have remembered me, asshole?”

Richie cackles.  “Bev and I reconnected, you know, a few years back.  We hang out all the time.”

“Beverly Marsh?  Wow.”

“Yeah.  She’s in fashion and she does production design sometimes—when they pay her enough.”

“That’s really cool.”  

Eddie looks terribly fond.  Richie understands; Bev’s got a way about her.

“She remembers even less about Derry than I do.  Or so she says. But she remembers you. Was very eager to pore over your IMDb page when I told her the news.”

“My whopping five or six credits.”

“Five or six dramatic credits, at least.  My page is just TFS, a stoner movie, and a bunch of Funny or Die videos.”

“Okay, we’ve already established that we’re both feeling really insecure about this.  So here’s to being on even footing, at least.” He raises his empty glass to Richie, and Richie lifts one of his empty shot glasses from the table, not bothering to flip it upright before clinking it against Eddie’s.  Eddie motions to the bartender, then quietly asks Richie, “Do you want another?”

Richie opts for something lighter, a beer, since he’s driving, though he anticipates they’ll be here long enough that they’ll both come right back around to sober by the time they finally leave.  The conversation just has that feeling about it. He and Eddie just have that feeling about them, between them. It’s thrilling and a little scary.

Once they’re all set for drinks again, Richie leans on one of his fists.  “I’m not sure I ever had you pegged to become an actor.”

“I didn’t either; it just sort of happened.  My therapist pushed me into drama therapy when I was in college, and it was more effective than any session we’d ever had.”  Eddie rolls his shoulders, clearly trying to relax them. “I had a lot of anger to work through. Still do,” he smiles ruefully.

“So you were being method before you even knew what it was.”

Eddie’s smile turns into a sweet, generous thing.  “Yeah, you can say that. It was the best place for me to start because it wasn’t about being good; it was just about being honest.”

Richie can’t remember a time, even as a kid, when he wasn’t dead set on being good, on being funny, on being liked.

“There wasn’t really a proper audience, so the audience didn’t matter—and it still doesn’t, for me.”

Richie makes a distressed sound.  “Can’t relate, my friend. If I’m not getting a laugh, I’d rather walk into oncoming traffic.”

Eddie looks at him.  “I’ve never been funny—not intentionally, anyway—so I can’t relate to that.”

“Do you wanna—?” Richie starts impulsively, stopping to take a drink when Eddie looks at him again, all endless eyes and open mouth.

“What?”

Richie takes another drink, fortifying himself.  “I have a crazy idea. For Blue Valentine, Michelle Wiliams and Ryan Gosling lived in a house with each other for a whole month leading up to shooting, so they could be in each other’s space and learn about each other and develop a real relationship—so it would hopefully translate in their performances as this couple who’s been together for years.”  

“So I’ve heard.”  Another smile threatens the corners of Eddie’s mouth.

“...Do you have anything going on before we start rehearsals?”

“No.”

“We don’t have to do a whole month—I’m probably a nightmare to live with—”

Eddie laughs, and Richie’s heart can’t help chasing the sound, wanting more.

“But maybe a couple of weeks?  There’s plenty of room at my house.”

“Okay, easy, TFS,” Eddie teases.

Richie’s even more thrilled at this bit of playful snark.  He actually doesn’t have a comeback, or maybe he’s just too hellbent on getting Eddie’s answer.

Finally, Eddie puts him out of his misery.  “I’m just kidding. That’s a great idea.”

And that’s how it starts.  

permatag list: @reddie-to-fight @hurleyhugo @raspberrywind @losver-kaspbrak @lilgeorgie @geckolover001 @its-stranger-than-you-think @gazebo-motherfucker @waypunsarelife @reddietofall @happytozier @librablossom @aesteddie @tapetayloe@spagheddi-kaspbrak @sadhelianthus @adhdtozier @justcallme-trashmouth @fuckboyrichie @thetheatregal @bandaids @20gayteeneds @richietoaster @burymestanding @reddiepop@notsugarandspice @peniswises

a memory of love list: @artofhely @trippy-alexissss @feelinsorad @where-ismy-miind @justanothetfangirl

[asksthelosers-blog]

hey!

welcome to our new account! we’re all huddled around bill’s shitty laptop right now, and we’re gonna tell you about ourselves!

stan: hey, my name’s stanley uris, i’m 16 and studying biology. i’m in love with nature and animals, especially birds and reptiles. my aesthetic is woodland and forest green, earthy colours. i’m 5,7″, curly golden hair, brown eyes. i’m jewish. i struggle with ocd and depression, and take medication to help. i’m an only child. my parent’s are strict and religious, but i know they mean well. my dream is to get out of derry and travel, pursue my photography and environmental reservation. i’m single, hungry and broke.

bill: hi! i’m william, or bill! my surname is denbrough. i’m 17, and 5,5″, short brown hair and blue eyes. i live with my mom, dad and younger brother, georgie, he’s 9. i go to derry high school, and study english literature. when i grow up i want to be an author, and a poet. i’m dating a girl called bev, she’s really witty and beautiful, we’ve been together for five months. i haven’t kissed her yet, i’m too shy. my aesthetic is reds and blues, stripes and patterns, i like denim and checked shirts. i have a stutter, it’s really bad. i struggle with words beginning with ‘s’ and ‘b’ the most. i think i love writing because you can’t stutter in a book.

richie: yo, i’m richie tozier, i’m 17. aesthetic? colourful grunge. i love dark colours matched with oranges and greens. ripped jeans are a must, and i will always have my skateboard on me, even if i’m not riding it. i got into bad habits when i was 13, such as smoking, drugs and drinking, i blame my parents for this. i also struggle with severe anxiety, it’s debilitating sometimes, but i survive! it’s pretty ironic, i’m a theatre and musical student with a crippling fear of social situations. i’m tall, 5,9″, but really skinny. i don’t know why. i also have dark curly hair, and dark eyes. my teeth are kind of crooked, and i wear these stupid oversized glasses, but i’m practically blind without them. you can’t count how many freckles i have.

eddie: hello, i’m eddie kaspbrak. i’m 16 and 5,2″, i know, i’m short. i have wavy brown hair, and brown/golden eyes. richie says i have a button nose, i don’t really know what that means, but i’m offended anyway. when i grow older i want to be an artist. i really love painting and drawing, and i’m never not covered in paint. i like soft, pastel colours, and flowers, but also dangerous items, like knives ans guns. pastel goth. i’m terrified of germs, and i blame my mother. she’s over protective, and if i as much as sneeze she’ll have me down in the doctors. i wish i was more adventurous. 

[nervyghost]

Back in all of my glory with another chapter of  @littlekiwifrog ‘s Turned good AU! This one (like the last chapter) got crazy long, but it mostly did so because I wanted to write something with the rest of the losers. (Cursing, as per usual with these losers) I’m tagging @da-chubby-burb as my lovely beta, and just before I begin, I wanted to ask if any of you wanted to be on my tag list.

Yep! You heard it! I’m starting a tag list, so if anyone wants to be added, shoot me a PM and I’ll be more than hapy to throw your name into the next one! That’s it from me, enjoy the chapter!

Bill hammered on his younger brother’s door for what had to be the thirtieth time that morning, his patience wearing thin as seconds ticked by. “JUH-GEORGIE! C’MON!” He shouted irritably. The sound of bedsheets being torn off of a mattress followed his words, causing him to add: “If you’re not out here in f-f-five minutes, I’m leaving wi-without you!” There was a crash from within the room along with the sound of clothes hitting the floor with a panicked sort of haste. Bill smiled and shook his head fondly, knowing full well that his brother was nowhere near ready to go and meet the gang.

Richie was hardly ever on time anyway, and Georgie was practically stuck to the other boy’s side whenever they were in the same room, when he wasn’t asking Stan a thousand questions about birds. Both would complain sometimes, but Bill knew they both secretly loved the attention the seven-year-old was more than willing to give them. Before he could become too lost in his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the door decorated with turtles and banged on it again, harder this time. “Suh-sometime today!”

“COMING!” Georgie hollered. Bill listened as the banging noises became more frantic, less spaced out, and altogether hectic as the boy within fought with his pajamas and tugged on his clothes. With a final creak of protest from the floorboards, Georgie emerged in all of his glory, his hair swept awkwardly across his face to obscure his bright eyes. He was quick to brush his bangs out of his eyes and look up at Bill with a grin on his face.

He tugged at the strings of his yellow hoodie before striding forward, trying- unsuccessfully- to hide his excitement. “I’m ready to go, Billy!” He chirped. Bill shook his head firmly.

“Guh-go eat something.” Georgie’s face fell near instantly.

“You’re going without me?” Bill snorted and leaned forward to ruffle his hair.

“Course not.” He reassured him. “But you sh-should eat something first.” Georgie looked ready to argue but Bill silenced him by turning on his heel and striding in the direction of the door. “I’m j-just going to fuh-fix Silver up a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” Georgie seconded, running to Bill’s side to grab him around the waist and stare up at him with his big brown eyes. “Promise?” He asked. Bill smiled.

“Of cuh-course.” Georgie grinned up at him. Bill almost felt bad for crossing his fingers behind his back as the younger boy bounded to the parlor to snag a muffin.

Bill knew he wouldn’t have long to wait before he was back at his side, so he quickened his step, letting his feet carry him out of the front door and to the pair of bikes parked neatly out front, looking like two dogs waiting for their masters to return. Bill ran his hands over Silver’s rusted frame. “Not yet.” He whispered to it, letting his fingers run over the dents in the handlebars before pulling away. Silver was in pristine condition, as always. The bike he was worried about, was Georgie’s.

He stared at it, wondering idly if it would disappear before his very eyes, but the bike remained, its blue paint gleaming in the sunlight as it waited for Bill to touch it. It seemed to call to him, which was ridiculous. It was a bike, not some sort of child-eating-demon. Bill still couldn’t bring himself to even touch it, the smell of what he knew wasn’t popcorn clinging to it like a foul musk to a wild animal. He had to take a deep breath before laying his hand on the cheery paint, just to calm his racing heart. It was stupid, really, to be afraid of a bike. He hated that he had to fight to convince himself that was true.

He knelt next to it and poked at the spokes, his eyes scanning the chain for any kinks or breaks in the metal. He ran his finger along the edge and inspected it further, the links cool on his hands. He pulled away with hesitance, wiping the grease stains on his hands across his pants, leaving twin smears across his jeans. He hardly batted an eye, standing to feel the seat instead, searching for anything sharp, not wanting to be responsible for anything bad happening to the kid.

He almost wanted to find something, just to prove to Georgie that Penny was nothing more than imaginary, but the lack of anything dangerous was driving him up the wall.

And, it still didn’t explain how it ended up in his bedroom with a red balloon. He didn’t want to admit how long he had stared at the red balloon, a feeling of dread causing his stomach to twist into a tight knot of sheer fear, the room near electric. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end as though Georgie had left his window open.

He hadn’t.

As he further inspected the bike, he couldn’t hold back more skeptical thoughts regarding Georgie’s friend. It was impossible for it to have brought the bike back, and Georgie wasn’t one to lie. Bill had no trouble believing that the Bowers gang had attacked his little brother, it had happened enough times. But the part that he was finding hard to swallow was the fact that the bike had been returned. Someone would’ve noticed if their house was broken into, surely. And for the intruder to be carrying a bike? It just didn’t make sense.

But, as his hands wandered up and down the pristine bike, he came to his conclusion. The bike, was just that. A bike. A blue bike that somehow had magically appeared in his younger brother’s room after being tossed into the river.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door behind him swung open on squealing hinges. He threw his leg over Silver’s sturdy frame and rested on the seat, watching with a forced smile as Georgie galloped over to his own ride.

“I had a muffin!” He proclaimed.

“Knew it.” Bill booted the kickstand into place and began to pedal forward. “C’mon, or R-Richie will beat us th-there!” That was all the convincing Georgie needed to spur the bike forward and out of their yard. Bill looked toward the road as Silver began to pick up speed and he stood up on the pedals, loving the feeling of wind in his hair. He let it blow all thoughts of ‘Mr. Penny’ out of his head, and with every noise of metal-on-metal that Silver let out, he felt just a little better about- well, everything.

He would never admit it, of course, but on the day Georgie had gone out all alone with his little paper boat, something inside of him just screamed that his brother was in danger. And not just in danger of a fall, or a bruised forehead, no. Bill was almost certain that something absolutely horrifying was going to happen to Georgie while he had been immobilized by fever. It was stupid, really, but the fear gluing him to the bed had felt so real, so cold and sharp, he was positive that he’d never see Georgie again. He didn’t want to admit how he had stared at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for his brother’s safe return as the piano downstairs played the tune Für Elise. It seemed to last for hours. Hours of waiting to hear Georgie’s screams from the window. Days of wanting to be anything but as useless as he was. Years of feeling his head burn and sweat drip down his back.

And then- Georgie had come home. Wet and waterlogged, but with a joy that warmed him from head to toe. He would never admit to practically leaping down all the stairs in a single bound when he heard his brother call him down.

He wasn’t even mad about the boat, not really. It was only his cold that stopped him from scooping his brother up in his arms and holding him close, just for a second. He’d be able to blame it on being more than a little loopy off his meds (As they all knew Eddie had been in the past) and that would be that.

“Wait!” Bill slammed on the brakes and nearly went flying over the handlebars as Silver screeched to a stop. He shot Georgie a dirty look.

“Wh-What the hell, Georgie?” He snapped. Georgie looked a little bit sheepish as he dismounted and began to pull his bike toward Bill, crossing the arguably large distance between them until he was at his brother’s side.

“Could you slow down a little?” He asked, looking as though he was asking Bill to carry out his own death sentence. Bill’s glare turned into a soft smile.

“Course.” He slid off of Silver’s seat with ease and began to walk his beast of a bike, Georgie’s looking ever so small in comparison. The small grin he earned as a reward was more than enough to make up for being late.

“So,” Georgie looked at the passing houses as he spoke, a hundred unsaid thoughts rushing about in his head. “Why exactly did Richie call you in a panic last night?” Bill let out a small laugh.

“They went to the N-Neibolt house, H-Him and Bev.”

“Why?” Bill shrugged.

“D-Dunno. Riche was too puh-panicked to say an-anything other than fuh-fuck and shit. It’s a w-wonder I got anything out of him at all.”

“Why was he panicked?” Georgie asked. Bill hesitated for a moment before deciding to be truthful.

“Well, I couldn’t guh-get much out of him, y-you know T-Trashmouth. Buh-but, he said that it always seemed ruh-really creepy to him, juh-just the whole place, y’know?” Georgie nodded. “An-Anyway, th-they said it was no-normal, except for the smell.”

“The smell?” Georgie echoed.

“L-Like something from the o-old drainage tunnel. Se-sewer water.” He knew that his brother wouldn’t sleep that night, but he hardly cared. “And downstairs, B-Bev and Richie kept s-saying that they were hearing this creepy n-nursery rhyme about oranges? M-Mike said it was super old, like from the seventeen-hundred-”

“Oh, Billy! Wait a sec!” Georgie rolled his bike to a stop and pushed down the kickstand of his bike. Bill watched him slide off of the seat and reach into his pocket, fumbling for a moment before his hand closed around something. “Mr. Penny?” He asked, a small grin finding his face. “Thanks for getting my bike back!” Bill could’ve sworn he saw something glimmer in the dark opening, but once he blinked, it was gone. That same feeling of unease began to creep back into his bones as his brother drew a small bag of popcorn from his pocket, along with a couple of hot cocoa packets. “I brought you some popcorn since yours blew away in that storm! And some hot cocoa packets ‘cause I bet it gets cold down there.” Bill smiled softly as Georgie rested the offerings in the leaves.

He shot Bill an innocent smile as he straddled his bicycle once more, only stopping to say a cheerful: “Hope you like them! Bye, Mr. Penny!” over his shoulder. The two pedaled forward a few feet before Bill spoke again.

“You really th-think that your imaginary f-friend from the sewers is the one that b-brought your bike back?” Georgie nodded enthusiastically.

“How else did it get in my room with a red balloon? I just wanted to say thank you.” Adding under his breath: “And he’s not imaginary.” Bill rolled his eyes, the near-horrific prickling sensation in his stomach completely forgotten.

“F-Fine.That just better not have been the k-kettle-corn from the fair.” Georgie began to pedal faster, Bill keeping pace easily astride Silver.

“I only took some of it.”

“G-Georgie!” Georgie, however, had already shot ahead a few feet, his legs pumping madly as he raced along the street. Bill grit his teeth and pedaled harder.

Had either of them turned to look back, they would’ve seen a pair of gloved hands reach up from the sewer and delicately grab the offerings, pulling them into the darkness.

Georgie kept shooting glances over his shoulder at Bill, cackling madly in a way that only a seven-year-old child can. He wasn’t even mad, not really. He just wanted to get into the competitive spirit, and what better way to do it than to race his sibling to the Barrens?

“Shit and shinola!” He heard Georgie shout as Silver’s huge front tire began to overlap his shadow. Bill grinned, standing up on the pedals and coasting past Georgie with ease.

“I’m g-going to beat you th-” This time, it wasn’t his stutter that caused him to stop. He was stopped by a sharp cry of:

“Look out!” from Georgie. Bill slammed on the brakes for the second time that morning and felt the back tire begin to skid out of control, leaving a black line on the street in its wake. He screeched to a halt, his heart hammering heavily in his ears, but-

Georgie began to cackle and he shot past Bill, nothing more than a blue blur. “Gotcha!” He crowed. If looks could kill, Georgie would have winked out of existence in an instant, leaving his bike to freewheel right off the road.

“You little sh-shit!” Bill leapt off of Silver and grabbed the handlebars, putting his head down like that of a charging bull as he tried to coax Silver out of its dormant state. He began to barrel forwards, the clink clink clink of the chains beneath him drilling into his skull. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he kept on pedaling, sweat beading on his brow even though the morning was cold. His hot breath fogged up the air and he lowered his head, giving Silver one more good kick to keep it going as he stood on the pedals once more. He could see Georgie’s bike wobbling and pushed himself to keep on pedaling like a crazy person.

Georgie looked over his shoulder and Bill grinned as his face drained completely of color. “Gotta be fuh-faster than that!” He taunted as he crept ever closer. Georgie squealed in response and stood up on the pedals. Bill didn’t do so much as slow down.

“Bill!” Georgie shouted. Bill stuck out his tongue as he zipped past.

“Gonna b-beat ‘ya!” He knew he was the textbook definition of a big brother when he rolled into the Barrens, a huge, somewhat cocky grin in place on his face. Georgie wasn’t too far behind, but even though he was tired, it couldn’t stop the scowl that slid onto his face.

“Cheater.” He huffed, sliding off of his bike so he could properly cross his arms. Bill playfully knocked shoulders with him.

“I’m n-not the one who caused the uh-other to slam on the buh-brakes.” He quipped. Georgie sighed, but Bill could see the small smile on his lips. “Cuh-come on, the others are probably waiting.” That caused Georgie to stop hiding his smile.

“Really?” Bill didn’t have time to respond before his suspicions were confirmed.

“Oh, come on!” Richie’s voice rang through the trees. “I’m not going to die, Eds! It’s a leaf, for fuck’s sake!” Bill grinned and began to quicken his pace in the direction of the shout, already able to see flashes of Richie’s eye-bleedingly bright Hawaiian T-shirt through the trees.

Bill was about to turn to Georgie to prompt him in the direction of the gang, but the boy was already bounding ahead, the strings of his yellow hoodie bobbing unevenly on his chest. It didn’t take him long to follow close behind. The scene he walked into was one that instantly caused his already wide smile to stretch impossibly wider.

Eddie was standing on a tree stump, pointing an accusing finger at Richie as he yelled something unintelligible about diseases and animal shit, hands fiddling weakly with his inhaler. Mike however, was his polar opposite, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on his thighs, eyes fixated on the object of Eddie’s discomfort.

“You can’t just eat leaves!” Eddie shrieked, “You’re going to give me a fucking asthma attack!” Ben was laughing so hard he could hardly make any noise, his shoulders shaking with frenzied giggles. Bill could practically hear Stan roll his eyes. Richie looked up at Georgie with the biggest shit-eating grin that he had ever seen, a leaf hanging from between his lips.

“Why are you eating a leaf?” Georgie questioned between giggles. Richie held up one finger, causing Eddie to gag.

“If you swallow it, you’re dead to me.” He threatened. Richie shrugged.

“I’m already dead if I eat this anyway, if what you say is true.” He managed to say around a mouthful of plant.Stan choked on the laughter he was holding back, letting it out in a sort of gasping bark.

“Suicide attempt,” he wheezed “I can see the headlines: Local boy killed by leaf.”

“T-Tragedy.” Bill agreed. Georgie was already at Richie’s side, peering curiously at the boy who was now doubled over, holding up his glasses with one hand to keep them from falling off.

“What’re you doing?” Richie made an exaggerated gulping noise and Eddie let out a high-pitched whine.

“Don’t you dare!” Eddie’s voice was nearing a screech now, sounding just a little more frantic. He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Stan. “Did he fucking swallow it?” Stan shook his head.

“Not yet.” Georgie’s eyebrows knit together.

“What’s he doing?” Mike chuckled.

“This loser,” He pointed to Richie, causing the accused to lay a hand over his heart dramatically. “Was pretending to lick a leaf, which, of course, set Eddie off.” Stan nodded, brushing a few stray curls behind his ear before continuing Mike’s narrative.

“And so Eddie’s ranting on and on about-” He laughed, cutting himself off. He had to brace himself against a tree until his frenzied giggles stopped. “About how you can get some disease-”

“Not a disease,” Eddie cut in. “Poison. Deadly poison.” Richie rolled his eyes dramatically and began to tip his head back. “SWEAR TO GOD, RICH!”

“Right,” Stan continued, “That. Anyway, that led to Richie saying, and I quote-” Richie grinned widely.

“I’ve got this one, my man.” Richie cleared his throat, but momentarily forgot that his mouth was full of leaves. This, of course, led to him inhaling a mouthful of leaves and gagging as one got stuck in his throat. Eddie instantly began prancing about on his stump whilst screaming:

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!” Richie hammered on his chest once and coughed feebly.

“I said-” He croaked. Bill cringed as something green dripped from Richie’s mouth. Richie followed Bill’s gaze and tried to wipe it from his chin with little success, leaving a bright smear across his jawline. “I said-” He tried again, only managing to make it worse, to everyone except Eddie’s amusement. “That-” A gob of something green was visible between his two front teeth. Georgie giggled, which of course, caused Richie to grin wider. Eddie gagged again. “That I could probably eat five of them and be fine, because they’d taste better than his Mom did last night.”

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike warned, jutting his chin out in the direction of Georgie. Richie waved him off.

“He’s fine, right Georgie?”

“Yep!” Bill rolled his eyes and moved to sit beside Mike.

“How long’s huh-he been ch-chewing on those?” Mike flashed him a wide grin.

“Few minutes? Eddie can probably give you the time to the second.” They both leaned forward as Richie turned back to Eddie. “I wish we had popcorn.” Mike mumbled. Bill covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.

“You know what,” Eddie threw his hands up in the air and stalked over to where Bill sat. “It’s your funeral.” This sent both Ben and Stan back into hysterics. Richie surveyed his audience with a gleam in his eyes that made Bill more than a little bit nervous. It was the signature Trashmouth look, the ‘Hey, look at me!’ sort of look he usually put on when he was about to do something stupid. Bill wasn’t wrong.

With a theatrical sort of flourish, he tipped his head back and swallowed the leaves in one gulp. Eddie looked like he wanted to scream.

“You’re disgusting.” He spat. Richie shrugged.

“Maybe so.” He licked his lips and Bill noticed that his tongue was tinted with a toxic looking green. “Still tasted better than your Mom did last night.” With that, he bent at the waist and bowed low, holding up his glasses with a green stained finger to keep them from falling off of his nose. Georgie applauded enthusiastically while Ben and Stan hooted their approval. Eddie glared at Richie until the giggles coming from the rest of the losers ceased.

“As much as I cherish every moment spent with you,” He growled. “I really hope this isn’t the reason you called me, and my mother while doing a god awful Mexican-”

“Pancho Vanilla, senor.” He corrected, but his smile faded with his next words. “No,” He broke off into nervous laughter. “God, I wish.” Something about Richie’s tone of voice made Bill’s stomach knot. He shifted his weight from one side to the other in a sort of nervous fashion as Richie wiped his tongue on his shirt and cleared his throat once more. “Can I wait ‘til Bev’s here?” He asked.

“Sh-She’s coming?” Richie nodded.

“Si, senor.” Mike leaned further back toward the tree he was propped up against.

“Depends if her psycho dad lets her come.” He pointed out. Georgie frowned.

“Psycho Dad?” He repeated uncertainly. Richie opened his mouth to respond, but Bill was quick to cut him off.

“Beep buh-beep, Richie.” They all knew Beverly’s home life was far from perfect, but Georgie didn’t need to know why she showed up with bruises on her arms some days, or with nasty gashes on her knees. They’d all seen the scars. All, that is, except for Georgie, and they intended to keep it that way.

“Ah, he couldn’t keep me away if he tried.” All eyes turned in the direction of the feminine voice, and they all pretended not to notice how Ben sat up just a little straighter.

“Bevvie!” Georgie was the first one to move, prancing through the trees to give her a hug. Bill would never say just how much he liked to hear her laugh.

“Hey, Georgie!” She said between melodic giggles. Bill watched as Georgie tugged her into the circle by the hem of her spotted summer top, oblivious to the eyes on him. Bev’s smile faded once she saw the solemn expression on Richie’s face. “Neibolt?” He nodded meekly.

“Wanted you to be here, but you’re here now, so…” Richie rubbed at the back of his neck nervously and coughed, causing Eddie to elbow Mike in the ribs. Bill managed to overhear Eddie saying something about how:

“He’s been poisoned, see?” Mike scoffed.

“Nah, he’s fine. Just nervous.” Bill’s stomach twisted unpleasantly upon hearing that Richie, of all people, was nervous

“Yuh-Yeah.” Bill agreed. Ben and Stan had both sobered up once Beverly appeared and sat at attention. Even Eddie had calmed down enough to take his eyes off of Richie as he sat next to Georgie, Beverly on the other side of the smaller boy.

“Do you want me to start?” Beverly asked, her questioning gaze connecting with Richie’s. Richie nodded.

“Si, Senorita.” She cuffed him on the shoulder playfully before turning her attention the ensemble.

“Okay, so. Neibolt street.” The clearing was silent as she gauged their reactions. Bill silently willed away the blush on his cheeks and the way her gaze made his thoughts blur together like the words that left his mouth. She laughed nervously. “Where do I even begin?” She stood and began to pace, nervously fiddling with the folds of her dress. “Everything inside was normal, I guess, for Neibolt. It was this idiot’s idea to go into the basement.” Richie let out a small squeak of indignance.

“Your idea.” He corrected. Beverly rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. We weren’t down there for very long anyway.” Richie slumped forward and averted his eyes, mumbling something that nobody could make out under his breath. “So, we’re walking around in the pitch-darkness, both of us bitching about our lack of flashlights when-”

Richie shuddered. “The fucking singing started.”

“Singing?” Stan asked, his voice showing how much he didn’t want to know, but also how much he knew somebody had to ask.

“Yeah, singing, if you can even call it that. It came from the well past the puppet room full of clowns.” Bill was surprised that Richie could even get the words out of his mouth from the way he was shaking. “It kinda, echoed…” He pushed his glasses up into his hairline and let out a groan. “Jesus.” He har to take a few deep breaths before continuing. George shifted over to him wide eyes, sidestepping Eddie in order to get closer. “We ran after hearing that shit, we didn’t even have to say anything to each other, we just kinda-” Richie searched for the right word for a moment. “Knew.” He settled with. “Like, dunno, we read each other’s minds or something.”  

“No,” Beverly corrected, moving to tug at Richie’s shirt. “We just fucking ran.”

“True.” Richie admitted. “God, I can still fucking hear it, just the tune.” Mike propped his chin on his hands, letting his feet shuffle nervously beneath him.

“Oranges and lemons…” Bill frowned, not wanting to acknowledge the prickling sort of anxiety sparking into existence in the back of his mind. Georgie, however, didn’t seem to mind. His gaze kept shooting from Richie back to Beverly, his questioning gaze lingering on them until they looked away. Bill knew he wanted to speak up, but also knew that he could sense the tension leaking off of all of them.

“Oranges and lemons?” He watched as Georgie tried to make eye-contact with the losers. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s a nursery rhyme.” Mike answered, his voice uncertain, as though he didn’t want to keep speaking. Bill knew the feeling well. He had enough problems with speaking to know. Every time somebody teased him for his stutter and he knew that defending himself would just make it worse, he still wanted to, just to prove them wrong. Every time he would stand in front of his Mother in the dining room, hands clenched into fists that quivered at his sides and his jaw so tightly shut, he thought it would break off from the tension. Every time he would open his mouth with her eyes on him, trying to make sense of all the noise.

He thrusts his fists

“It’s about churches.”

Against the posts

“How’s that scary?”

And still insists

“Look, when you hear it while in the basement of a house that could collapse at any given moment.”

He sees the ghosts

“It’s pretty fucking terrifying.” Bill could tell Richie was fighting hard to keep his voice under control. Even Eddie looked like he was showing the boy some sympathy, his gaze infinitely softer than it had been mere minutes ago. “We hardly even talked on the way back.”

“I cuh-can see why.” Silence descended in heavy waves in the barrens, not even the birds were singing as they all thought over the words that had been shared. It was crazy, really. Batshit insane, as Richie would not-so-delicately put it. Bill couldn’t say he disagreed. “D-Do you remember the tu-tune?”

The two who had been in the house paled and shared a glance.

“It’s just a song.” Richie reasoned. Beverly nodded.

“Right.” Beverly agreed. “Not like it can follow us.” She was the first one to start humming, and after a few bars, Richie joined in, adding his voice to the haunting melody. Bill felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end as slowly, Mike began to try and add words, despite his lack of a proper tune.

Uneasy looks were shared between all of them, Richie and Bev’s eyes staying firmly squeezed shut, as if opening them would unleash an unspeakable evil onto the entire club. Bill wasn’t sure he disagreed with the notion, as insane as it sounded. Even after they had stopped, the notes seemed to linger in the air along with Mike’s uncertain words, leaving a near-electric sort of crackle in the air in its wake.

“That was…” Stan’s voice trailed off uncertainly. “Wow.” He settled with.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice cracked and he flushed beet red. “Shit.” He mumbled, rubbing idly at his left arm, not wanting to meet anyone’s eyes. Georgie was gripping Richie’s hand tightly and bouncing his knees.

“You can open your eyes.” The nervous way he was speaking made Bill feel a pang of sympathy. “Richie?” Richie slowly opened one eye.

“What, little dude?”

“Are you…” Georgie bit his lip. “Are you feeling okay?” He laid his hand on the other boy’s knee.

“I’m always okay!” He insisted. “It was just,” He shuddered violently. “God…”

“It’s over n-now.” Bll managed to get out. “You’re huh-here with uh-us. It’s suh-safe.” The others nodded in agreement.

“And if it isn’t, whatever was down there is getting the shit kicked out of it.” Bev cracked a smile at Mike’s words. Her green eyes widened and she blinked once, slowly, as if she was lost and just regaining her bearings. Bill offered her a small smile and tried to hide the flush his cheeks gained when she returned it.

Conversation was hesitant after that, the dark cloud of what had been said hanging over the small group, weighing on their shoulders with just how- real it was. Even Richie’s constant jokes couldn’t lighten the mood, no matter how many times he pinched Eddie, all he got were a few forced chuckles. Eddie hardly even reacted, just swatted him away and tried to refocus on the rest of the club. He ended up being the first to go, and before Bill had time to do so much as blink, he was walking his bike next to Georgie on the way home.

“They were pretty scared of that lemon song.” Georgie stated after a few moments of silence.

“Yuh-Yeah.” Bill agreed, shifting so he could push his hair back from where it hung on his forehead. “Let’s just guh-get home, okay?” He silently begged Georgie to grasp the change of topic, not wanting to have to tell him about the creature that they all knew was haunting the town of Derry.

“Okay, Billy!” Georgie chirped, straddling his blue bike. His yellow hoodie seemed to glow in the sunset, and Bill couldn’t help but smile. “Do you think Penny liked his popcorn?” Bill swung his legs over Silver’s back and began to pump.

“Puh-probably tastes better than wh-whatever’s in the sewer.” He panted between breaths. The steady clicking of Silver beneath him helped ease his mind.

“Sewer popcorn.” Georgie mused. Bill grinned at that.

“Gross.” Let the kid have his fun. After all, imaginary friends were harmless, and a clown in a sewer couldn’t be the worst thing in Derry.

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Chapter 7: Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah)

Story: It’s My Own Fault

Title - Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah) by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

The continued adventures of The Losers Club through Richie’s POV. Anything in italics is Richie’s beautiful ADHD mind at work.

Also on Archive of Our Own

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

Richie woke up to a harsh light shining on his face. Fuck you sun. He was really groggy from staying up late drinking with the Losers the night before. They had beers and Vermont ciders, but he was regretting not having his usual glass of water before he went to sleep. They watched 3 movies (Beauty and the Beast for Ben, Eddie, Beverly...and me, An American Werewolf in London because I make them watch horror films, and Back to the Future - the First one because the others SUCK) before finally going to sleep around 4:00 am.

He shifted on the mattress wondering what he was hugging. There was a fluffiness tickling his chin. That’s weird. I haven’t slept with a stuffed animal in years.

He rolled away and the stuffed animal moaned in protest. Stuffed animals do not moan. His brain was processing really slowly. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, everything extremely blurry. Glasses Tozier, you are basically blind. He reached for his frames on the nightstand, treasuring his ability to see once more then looked to the other side of the bed. Oh, that’s right. Eddie and I are sharing a bed in Vermont. Is this real life?

Richie took a moment to admire Eddie sleeping. His brown hair was sticking up everywhere, his pink lips slightly open as he breathed in and out slowly. He looked so beautiful.

Richie smiled because Eddie was wearing his Metallica shirt, which was too big on him. He had insisted he sleep in it when Richie took the shirt out to put on. The big "friendship reveal" which came out last night was that Eddie becomes EXTREMELY affectionate after just a few ciders. He kissed everyone’s cheek at least once. During one movie he hugged Beverly the entire time and whispered in her ear a bunch. Then he willingly sat on Richie’s lap for the whole third film in front of everyone. He kept one arm around Richie’s shoulders so he could play with his curls and easily kiss him. Any time Richie said something inappropriate instead of the usual ‘beep beep’, Eddie would laugh and say “You’re stupid, but you're my stupid.” Richie’s face would flush and he could not stop grinning.

Eddie passed out halfway through the last movie and Richie had to carry him up the stairs to their room because he refused to wake up enough to walk.

The comforter had fallen down only covering his legs and the Metallica shirt had ridden up exposing a sliver of his stomach. Richie fought the urge to poke him there. Eddie would kill me if I woke him up that way.

So Richie got up and went around to the other side of the bed. He crouched down leveling his face with Eddie’s. They were inches apart. Richie ran a hand across the boy’s cheek and pushed his bangs away slowly. Eddie stirred a little, closing his mouth to smile. Richie leaned his face forward and kissed him.

Eddie grimaced into the lips then opened his eyes slowly, “Go brush your teeth, Trashmouth.”

“Go back to sleep, you were so nice to me then,” Richie responded still running his hand through Eddie’s hair.

“Not speaking to you is considered nice? I should do it more often.” Eddie slowly sat up stretching.

Richie stayed in his crouched position looking up at Eddie with a pout, “Why must you hurt me so early in the morning?”

“Because fuckkkkk mornings,” Eddie said through a yawn. Even his yawns make my heart flutter.  Eddie looked down at his attire, “When did I put on your shirt?”

Richie grinned mischievously, “You forced me to give it to you.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows skeptically, “That sounds fake.”

“You did!” Richie insisted, “And refused to tell me why you wanted to wear my shirt.”

He put his hands up in defense, “Whatever you say, liar.”

Richie’s pout deepened, “First you reject my kisses, then you call me a liar. This is shaping up to be a miserable morning.”  

Eddie looked at him contemplating something. Then he tapped his lips in a gesture for Richie to kiss him. When he eagerly got up and brought his face forward, Eddie rolled sideways on the bed out of reach. Richie missed spectacularly and got a face full of the pillow. He stayed in the pillow for a moment, listening to Eddie’s laughter. Then he pounced toward him, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist, and bringing him tumbling on top of him. Richie started to tickle him and Eddie kept yelling “Mercy, Rich!”  They were a mess of laughing and limbs before hearing a knock on the door.

“Get moving you two!” Came Beverly’s voice. “Eddie, I need your cooking expertise.”

“Be right there!” Eddie called. He hoisted himself out of Richie’s arms, grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom.

Richie pulled out his AC/DC shirt from his bag and grabbed his jeans off the ground. He scanned the room trying to find his toothbrush when he realized it was in the bathroom. The shower was running so he figured quickly going in to brush his teeth would be fine.

He opened the door saying, “Need to brush my teeth, so you will make out with me later.”

“Richie! I’m fucking showering, get out!” Eddie yelled behind the curtain.

Richie ignored the request and began brushing his teeth. “How can I guarantee you think of me in the shower if I don’t surprise you once in awhile.”

“You’re the worst,” Eddie hissed. Richie spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth.

“See ya downstairs, pixie sticks!” Richie sang before shutting the bathroom door.

When Richie got downstairs he went into the kitchen to see Beverly furiously making breakfast. “No one helping you, Bev?” Richie asked as he grabbed a carton of Ben ‘N Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie from the freezer.

She pointed the spatula at him menacingly, “Put the ice cream back, it will ruin your appetite for the feast I am creating.”

“Blasphemy!” Richie shouted, but he put the carton back and grabbed the orange juice from the fridge instead. “Anything I can do to help?”

She waved her hand dismissively, “You’re a terrible cook. Better if you don’t help.”

“You’re not wrong. I blame my parents because they never fucking cook, so I just make Eggo waffles all the time.” Richie grabbed a chair from the table and spun it around to face her as he drank his juice. He shuddered at the combination of orange juice and minty toothpaste. Should have waited to brush my teeth. Stupid Eddie not wanting to kiss me.

“All you have to do for Eggo waffles is put them in a toaster,” She teased while awkwardly flipping eggs in the pan.

“Stan the man can cook. Where is he?” Richie suggested.

“Stan, Bill, and Mike went to the slopes if you can believe that. Ben’s still sleeping. I wanted to make breakfast for you all but I am failing and need EDDIE.” Beverly shouted out the kitchen door as she mixed pancake batter.

“What are you, my mother? I am coming!” He countered back from upstairs.

“I’m sure it will taste fine,” Richie said. “I’m bitter the guys went skiing without me.”

Beverly shrugged, “Mike didn’t go on any actual slopes yesterday since he was flirting with Eliza. Bill and Stanley are morning people. You think Eddie would have willing gotten up this morning to go skiing on only 3 hours of sleep?”

“He’s the crankiest in the morning and that’s saying something because he’s always moody,” Richie said as he downed the rest of the orange juice. "So what was Eddie whispering to you during all of Beauty and the Beast?"

Beverly smirked, "That he thinks you're hot, duh." 

"I fucking KNEW it!" Richie laughed. "If only he would tell me to my face. He is the biggest tease."

Eddie strolled into the kitchen, “Stop talking shit about me, you assholes.” His hair was still wet from showering and his cheeks tinted pink. He wore a big red sweater with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and jeans. He is so cute, it hurts.

“If you would just kiss me, I wouldn’t have to talk shit about you.” Richie countered with a smirk.

He went over to Richie, put his hand on the back of his head and leaned down bringing their faces together. Suddenly, the only thing in the room was them. Eddie definitely meant it to be a gentle kiss but it became heated very quickly. Richie put his hands on Eddie’s hips to bring him standing between his legs. Richie tilted his head to get better access as he sucked at Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie opened his mouth and Richie plunged his tongue immediately to run across the roof of his mouth. Richie tried to hold back a moan but could not control his pleasure.

“Please don’t have sex in front of me,” Eddie’s mouth was plucked away as he was yanked backward by his sweater. Eddie yelped in surprise, his face going scarlet. Beverly let go of him and handed over the mixing bowl to take over making pancakes.

“We weren’t going to have sex, Bev. Jesus H Christ.” Eddie poured some of the batter into a heated pan. He had his back to Richie, but he could see his ears were still red from embarrassment. I can fix this.

“Yeah, if we were going to have sex in front of you, you would have to get in on the action.” Nailed it.

“BEEP BEEP RICHIE!” Beverly and Eddie both shouted. There was a moment of dead silence before they all broke into laughter.

“I want…” Richie began.

“Chocolate chips on your pancakes.” Eddie finished.

“And…”

“In the batter.”

“Don’t forget…”

“Whipped cream is in the fridge.”

Richie got up from his chair, grabbed Eddie’s ass as he passed him receiving a smack on the arm, then opened the fridge. He snatched the whipped cream container, removed the lid brought it to his lips and…

“RICHIE THAT IS SO GROSS!” Eddie shrieked, “Do you know how many germs there are in your mouth? Why couldn’t you put it on your finger or on a plate or anything else except right in your mouth? Maybe the rest of us want whipped cream?”

Richie swallowed, walked over to Eddie, put a little on his finger and placed it on Eddie’s nose then licked it off immediately. Eddie’s eyes bugged out in horror.

He ran over to the sink and washed off his nose. “BLEH! That was the least romantic thing ever. Don’t do that shit.”

Richie smiled at his small angry boyfriend, “So much complaining from the boy who never seems to mind when we exchange saliva.”

“That’s...not the same. I mean it is. But I don’t think about it because…”

“Because Richie distracts you with his sexiness,” Beverly smirked.

“Hey! That’s my line.” But Richie high fived her as they laughed.

“Fuck you both.” Eddie turned back around and kept making breakfast. “Richie, make yourself useful and go wake up Ben.”

“Ok, but I’m bringing the whipped cream with me.” Richie hurried out of the kitchen before Eddie could argue. He went down the hall to the room Ben and Mike were sharing for the weekend. There were bunk beds, luckily, Ben was on the bottom bunk.

Richie looked around the room and found a piece of paper and smiled to himself. He grabbed the paper and took the cap off the whipped cream shaking the bottle. He slowly turned Ben’s right hand over so the palm was facing up, then sprayed a ton of cream in his hand. Richie was holding in his laughter as best he could but almost snorted aloud. Using the tip of the paper, he lightly tickled Ben’s nose. It took a couple times of waving the paper before Ben brought his right palm to his nose. Success.

“What the—“ Ben said groggily. He looked at his hand then at Richie, who was on the ground cackling.

“Richie! You idiot.” Ben threw his blanket off and tried to strangle him but he stumbled to his feet and ran out of the room.

Richie got back to the kitchen first, grabbed a startled Eddie by the waist and swung him around to hide behind. Eddie still had a spatula in his hand and was hitting Richie’s arms so he would let go. Ben got to the door frame huffing and puffing, he had tried to wipe away the whipped cream but it was covering his face and hair.

“The whipped cream really brings out your eyes, Benny Boy.” Richie grinned putting his chin on the top of Eddie’s head.

Ben‘s face was a mixture of livid and conflicted. Priceless expression, where is Mike’s camera when you need it?   Ben tried to get around Eddie but Richie’s arms were firmly locked around his waist preventing Ben from reaching him. He stomped his foot like a child, “No fair! You can’t use Eddie as a human shield.”

Richie pointed at Ben fake threateningly, “I can and I will use the cutest, most precious thing in the room to prevent you from hurting me. Even if I do deserve it.”

Eddie turned glaring up at him, “Shut up, I’m not cute and precious. Now, fucking sit down. Breakfast is ready.” Eddie wiggled out of his grasp. Richie quickly sat down at the table and began piling his plate with eggs, bacon, sausage, and potatoes.

“Nice PJ pants, Ben.” Beverly giggled as she too sat down to eat.

Richie looked up to see Ben turn bright pink. His eyes went to Ben’s pants which had Star Wars logos all over them.

“Excellent movie!” Richie exclaimed.

“I’m still mad at you,” Ben eyed him as he took a seat next to Beverly. She grabbed a napkin and wiped off the rest of the whipped cream from his face. Ben’s expression became horrified and appreciative as he said a quiet, “Thank you.” Again, where is a camera when your friends are being adorable?

Using only two hands, Eddie placed down three plates of different pancakes. He took a seat next to Richie and started to fill his plate. Richie kissed the side of his head, “Thanks for cooking, jolly rancher.”

“Yeah, thank you, Eddie. You’re my favorite.” Beverly said through a bite of pancake.

“Thank you so much,” Ben said seeming to forget his anger with food in front of him.

Eddie smiled at them, “No problem. I like cooking.” They ate as much as possible before cleaning up the place.

  Mike, Bill, and Stanley returned around noon and the three of them took naps. Beverly, Ben, Richie, and Eddie played board games. Eddie getting competitive as usual.

“I cannot believe you bankrupted me. I thought we were dating. Do you want to keep kissing these lips?” Eddie huffed at Richie as he bitterly lost monopoly.

“Don’t make this another Janga situation, Eds,” Richie warned smiling.

“Don’t call me, Eds. AND YOU SHOOK THE TABLE!” He yelled furiously.

“Oh my god, you say that every time!” Beverly laughed.

“You are all so loud,” Stanley said shuffling into the living room plopping on the couch next to Richie. His tight dirty blonde curls were ruffled from napping.

Richie poked Stanley’s face annoyingly, “You’re so adorable when you just wake up, Stan the man.”

“I will murder you,” Stanley mumbled as he pushed Richie, who fell sideways into Eddie’s lap. Eddie ran a hand through Richie’s hair absentmindedly as he messed with the remote to put on the television. Ben and Beverly cleared up the game of monopoly.

“So what are we doing for the rest of the day?” Stanley asked.

“Well, you guys were gone and then slept for more than half the day.” Beverly accused.

“Let’s go get Ben ‘N Jerry’s!” Richie said from Eddie’s lap. Eddie pushed Richie’s curly bangs out of this face and rolled his eyes. It felt amazing when Eddie would touch his hair. His parents hated how long it would get, but Eddie always made him feel special for having long curly hair.

“You finished the one in the fridge, I am sure that is enough.” Beverly laughed at him.

“BLASPHEMY!” Richie yelled.

Eddie put his hand over his mouth, “Inside voice.” Richie licked Eddie’s palm in response.

“UGH! Damn it, Richie!” Eddie pushed him off the couch and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands. The room burst into laughter and Richie stayed laying on the floor clutching his stomach from his own giggles.

  They woke up Mike and Bill, then got bundled up to go out for the remainder of the day. They walked around Burlington, the biggest “city” in Vermont. That is not saying much because Vermont is a small state in the United States. They went to a Ben ‘N Jerry’s ice cream shop to please Richie. And please I was. Then walked around trying to find a cheap pizza place for dinner. Richie kept his arm across Eddie’s shoulders the whole time, with Eddie’s arm snaked around Richie’s waist. A lot of people kept looking at them, which made him feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah, we are gay, keep walking dude.” Richie finally said after the fourth person looked at them. The guy apologized and said ‘congratulations’ before hurrying away.

“Richie, chill.” Eddie said squeezing Richie’s side.

“Sorry, it is just annoying. They wouldn’t look at us if we were a straight couple.” Richie squeezed Eddie’s shoulder as they walked a little away from the group. Eddie did not respond right away then looked at Richie with his signature secretive grin and twinkling eyes.

“No, they would look at us, want to know why?” Eddie cooed.

“Why?” Richie said glancing at him.

Eddie lowered his voice, “Because you are the sexiest one here.”

Richie moaned, “Alright, we need to ditch these losers and find a place alone right now.”

Eddie’s smile broadened, “Nah, let’s just actually give everyone something to look at.” Eddie kissed him and hugged him so hard Richie thought his back would break.

Eddie is going to be the death of me.

Later that night, they showed up to Eliza’s house at around 10:00 pm. The party was in full swing when they arrived with about 80 teens packed in the house.

“First things first! Alcohol.” Richie said pulling Eddie along toward where he thought the kitchen might be.

“We should try not to get too drunk,” Eddie said nervously.

“Eddie, it’ll be fine. Come on Losers!” Richie shouted to the group.

When they got to the kitchen, there was a huge assortment of alcohol and a bowl with some kind of mystery punch.

“You made it!” Eliza, the girl who had invited them all, greeted cheerily. She went around and gave everyone hugs. “Eddie you look so cute in that sweater!” She rumpled his hair, which made Eddie flush and glare at her. She did not notice.

When Eliza got to Mike, she handed him a beer letting her hand linger on his for a moment. “Help yourselves, sweethearts.” Then gave a wink and walked out.

“She’s got it badddddd for Mike,” Richie sang.

“He’s just so lovable,” Beverly said hugging Mike, who did not respond just chuckled lightly.

Richie grabbed two beers handing one to Bill, “Let’s shotgun them.”

“Oh Rich, I sh-sh-shouldn’t.” Bill tried to hand the beer to Stanley.

Stanley pushed the beer back to him. “I’ll drive, Bill.”

“Are you sure?” Bill said worriedly.

He nodded, “Yeah, I don’t like alcohol.”

“Blasphemy!” Richie and Beverly said at the same time. Richie looked at her and they laughed.

Bill handed his keys to Stanley then took the can from Richie. They shotgunned the beers, Richie downing it fastest. He wiped his mouth and gave Eddie a cheeky grin.

Eddie blushed averting his eyes as Beverly handed him a cup of the mystery juice. He grimaced, “We have no idea what’s in this.”

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want too.” Beverly went to take it back but Eddie pulled it toward him to sniff the cup.

“Heyyyyyy! It’s the Maine kids!” A voice came from the door. It was the guys from the black diamond course. They came over and gave high fives to all of them except Eddie. Richie thought it was a little weird, but let it slide.

“Shall we do shots?” Said the guy who Richie thought was named Plyer? Eh, who cares. More fun to not care. Ryler guy started pouring out vodka shots and handing them out then purposely skipped over Eddie. “Sorry kid, you have to be 15 or older to drink with us.”

Richie opened his mouth to tell the guy off but Eddie cut in viciously, “I’m fucking 16 years old.”

“Damn. You look like a little kid,” One of the other Vermont guys said drunkenly. Richie thought Eddie was going to start screaming with how red he turned.

Lyler guy started laughing, “Oh shit man! I thought you were like 13. Here ya go.” He handed a vodka shot to Eddie, whose frown deepened. They all downed the shots and Eddie used his mystery drink as a chaser. Richie watched as he chugged the whole cup.

“Um...Eds,” Richie cautioned.

“Don’t call me Eds,” He said flippantly. He then snatched the vodka bottle from the table and drank straight from it. The Vermont guys were cheering and egging him on. Richie’s mouth parted, he was frozen in total shock.

“Eddie!” Stanley grabbed the bottle away, glaring at Richie’s lack of intervening. “Take it easy.”

“I can drink a little vodka, Stan.” Eddie insisted. His eyes were stinging from the bitter drink. Richie rubbed his back trying to get Eddie to look at him. He shrugged off the gesture refilling his cup with the mystery drink refusing to meet Richie's eyes.

Beverly grabbed his hand hurriedly, “Hey, let’s go dance, Eddie!”

He forced a smile on his now flushed face, “Ok, yeah.” Richie watched them go and turned to see the rest of his friends staring him. Stanley punched his shoulder.

“What?!” Richie looked back in confusion holding his arm. “What did I do?”

“Richie, you should have said something to those jerks.” Mike scolded.

“And he’s d-d-drinking too much too fast.” Bill added.

“Eddie can take care of himself.” Richie waved them off.

“He’s so small and doesn’t drink that much,” Ben said looking at Richie sympathetically. “I also think those guys hurt his feelings.”

“Which means he is going to spend the night proving he can drink anyone under the table.” Stanley flicked Richie’s forehead. “You idiot.”

Richie rubbed the spot where he was flicked, “You think it’s that bad?”

Ben nodded gravely, “Last time he looked that determined, he kicked our asses at arcade games and said, ‘If any of you ever say my small hands will prevent me from winning at games again, I’ll slice your balls off’.”

“I know I’ve said this before...but how can Eddie be both an angel and the devil incarnate?” Mike pondered aloud. Richie poured them all more vodka shots, which everyone took except Stanley.

“I’ll go check on him,” Richie grabbed another beer and headed into the living room. The alcohol was making him feel warm and excited. It took him a while to find Beverly and Eddie but when he did he maneuvered his way through the crowd toward them. Eddie was grinding up against Beverly laughing and singing at the top of his lungs. His hair was sticking up all over the place.

Richie came up behind him and placed his hands on Eddie’s hips. “Richie?!” Eddie asked dazedly.

“Hey, pop rocks,” Richie whispered in his ear. Eddie relaxed against him and soon he was in the center of a Richie and Beverly dance sandwich. Bill and Ben showed up making them create a dance circle, where they jumped and sang along to the music.

“OH MY GOD!” Beverly yelled over the music. “IT IS A JOAN JETT SONG. I could cry.”

Eddie grabbed her hands so they could dance together swinging each other back and forth. Richie could not help but smile while he drank his beer.

“ We've been here too long

Tryin' to get along… ”

Eddie grabbed Richie’s beer and finished it off quickly then threw it on the ground. Richie pouted, “Eds…l was drinking that!” Eddie just grinned drunkenly, getting on his toes to plant a kiss on Richie’s mouth. That’s one way to shut me up. They danced together with Eddie’s arms around Richie’s neck as they belted the lyrics.

“Do you wanna touch (Yeah)

Do you wanna touch (Yeah)

Do you wanna touch me there, where”

Richie got on his knees dramatically as they kept placing their hands on different parts of their bodies at the word ‘touch’. Richie touched Eddie’s face while Eddie touched Richie’s chest. It was making them laugh so much they could barely breathe.

Richie got to his feet grabbing either side Eddie’s face trying to get his to focus. “You take my breath away, Eddie.”

“Gay,” Eddie laughed kissing him.

“That’s my line!” Richie said between kisses.

“I’m going to go dance on the table!” Eddie said sprinting away. Richie just grinned at his retreating back.

“Eddie! No!” Ben ran after him.

Bill slammed into Richie, distracting him from following. Beverly came over putting her hands on Bill’s shoulders, “Whoops! Sorry, Bill. Too much spin!��

Bill flipped around to look at Richie, “RICHIE RICH THE BITCH! Dance with me dudeeeeee.” He swayed a little.

“You alright there, Big Bill?” Richie laughed steadying him.

“Yes! Now dance!” Richie danced with Bill and Beverly. At some point, someone handed him another beer. He knew he should slow down, but was having too much fun to care. Eddie came back over only to jump on Bill’s back and demanded a piggyback ride. Bill rode them away and Richie knew he was safe for now. As Beverly and he got to the 10th song of dancing, Richie’s legs were killing him.

“Bev! I’m gonna sit down.” Richie shouted over a Queen song.

“Ok!” She said, perfectly content to dance by herself.

Richie walked into a side room that was a lot quieter. He sat heavily on an open Lazyboy chair in the corner. The dancing had worn him out. I need a smoke. Just as he was about to get up, a body came crashing onto his lap.

“Oh hey butterfingers, hows your night going?” Richie laughed at Eddie’s complete drunkenness.

“IT’S MY BOYFRIEND!” Eddie yelled. He swung his legs around to straddle Richie’s lap. Then he put his hands on either side of Richie’s face and in a deadly serious drunken haze said, “Your hair is my favorite,” Eddie ran his hands through Richie’s hair. “It’s curly, black and pretty. Richie, you are so pretty. Stop being sssso pretty.”

“I can’t, Eds.” Richie laughed as Eddie played with his curls. Then he brought his face down to sloppily kiss Richie. He kept kissing every part of Richie’s face then grabbed his glasses and threw them behind him so he could get better access.

“Eddie!” Richie went to get up but Eddie locked his knees so he would not be able to rise without knocking Eddie off.

“I got them, Richie!” Mike shouted from somewhere. Not that I can see a fucking thing. He felt rough hands place them back over his face. Eddie grinned at Mike unfocused and kissed his cheek.

“So affectionate when you are drunk Eddie,” Mike laughed petting his head.

“You make out with that girl yet?” Richie asked him.

“I’m a gentleman, thank you very much,” Mike walked out of the room.

Eddie turned back to Richie. The flecks of grey in his eyes were dark like thunderclouds. He scooted even closer to him. It made Richie’s breath hitch and he tried to keep his darker thoughts down. Eddie’s red kissable lips. Nope, stop it. Eddie moaning in his sleep. Tozier keep it cool. Eddie wearing shorts. Fuck. He could feel an uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. Oh god, my teenage brain is a traitor.

“Richie,” Eddie put his arms back around his neck and played with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Do you think I look 13?”

This caught him off guard then he remembered what that asshole Dyler guy said to Eddie. “No of course not. 13-year-olds are not 5’5 and sexy as hell like you.”

Eddie scoffed slurring his words, “I’m not sssexy.”

“You are to me,” Richie kissed his nose. Then to his horror, Eddie began to cry.

“Eddie, why are you crying?” Richie could not help but laugh a little at the absurdness. He wiped away the flowing tears on Eddie’s face.

He seemed unable to answer why he was crying, which made him sob harder. “Richie you are so-so-so beautiful.”

“I try.” Richie shrugged.

“Nooo, you aren’t listening. You are so beautiful.”

“Is my beauty making you cry, gingersnap?” He smiled pushing Eddie’s hair back. To Richie, Eddie was the most beautiful person in the world. He was like a priceless painting. Richie was nothing compared to the freckle-faced, button-nosed, brown haired, brown with a hint of grey eyed, cute, spitfire that sat before him. He was the luckiest person in the world to be around this work of art every day. He’s like a Vincent Van Gogh masterpiece, which fits because that painter was absolutely gay.

Richie went into Eddie’s back pocket and found a packet of Kleenex. He used them to brush away the remaining tears. Eddie giggled to himself.

“What are you laughing at drunky?” Richie smiled.

“Because I’m always needy and horny for you,” Eddie laughed again. Richie could feel his cheeks heat up. Eddie talking dirty talk is both the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. How is that possible?

“Did you just use my own words from yesterday against me?” Richie gasped. “That’s not fair.”

Eddie hummed sweetly as he removed his hands from Richie’s neck and gripped his shoulders steadying himself. Their faces were so close, Richie could count the number of freckles that peppered Eddie’s nose and cheeks. There are 25. Then Eddie slowly slid his hands down to Richie’s chest. His heart was pounding and Eddie kept his palm there smiling to himself. This little shit.

Eddie’s eyes flashed to Richie’s then he dipped his face forward smashing their lips together. Richie tried to just focus on the kissing because Eddie’s distracting hands kept sliding down toward his stomach where a dangerous heat was building. Eddie was drawing slow circles as he went then he lifted the edge of Richie’s shirt a bit to hook his fingers around the top of his belt. Richie groaned softly, low in his throat, and his arms tighten around Eddie’s waist.

They were still heatedly kissing, tongues battling, teeth clacking. That small voice of reason in the back of Richie’s head was telling him to stop this but it was quieted by his alcohol induced state. It wasn’t until Eddie tried to dip a hand lower that Richie broke the kiss. He grabbed Eddie’s hands and pinned them to either side of his body.

“Eddie we can’t do this,” Richie bit out breathily. Eddie made a protesting noise then his head fell backward like he was going to pass out.

“Eds?” Richie said holding Eddie’s face. “EDDIE!” Eddie slumped forward into Richie’s arms grumbling incoherently. “Fuck! How much have you had?” He did not respond.

“Can you walk?” Eddie shook his head lightly. Richie put Eddie’s arms around his neck and adjusted him so he could carry his body fireman style. He ran into the crowded living room.

“Bev! Beverly!” Richie yelled over the dance music. She was dancing with Vyler guy. I’m going to give her shit for that later. Also, I am running out of alphabet letters to use for him. “BEVERLY!” He saw her redhead whip in his direction and her drunk eyes widened at seeing the state Eddie was in. “Find Stan! I’ll meet you outside!” She nodded trying to escape the Vermont guy.

“Richie, wanna go home.” Eddie moaned upset.

“We are babe. Fucking hell.” Richie tried to shove people aside. “Get out of the fucking way thanks.” Richie literally kicked at legs and used his shoulder to push forward. People started to make a path for fear of getting stepped on or hit by this crazy boy. He heard the sound of a punch behind him but did not have time to see what happened.

He finally made it outside and the cold sobered him up. He ran over to the car, tried to open it, but of course, it was locked. Eddie shivered and Richie realized he left their jackets in the house.

“Come on Bill!” Stanley said from behind. Richie turned to see Stanley dragging a protesting Bill with him.

“Stanny, I want to dance and hit that Vermont guy’s asshole face again.” Bill protested like a child.

“You can dance in the car ok? As for punching people, let’s not do that” Stanley looked really mad.

“Unlock the fucking car!” Richie yelled. Stanley let go of Bill to grab the keys. He unlocked the car, realizing Bill had left his side. “Fuck! Bill!”

“I got him!” Beverly could be heard saying from the front door. “Bill, I cannot believe you punched that guy. It was amazing.”

“Thanks, Bev.” Bill grinned drunkenly and latched onto her throwing his arm around her waist. “I’d punch anyone for you.”

Beverly grinned at him in wonder, then turned in Richie’s direction, “And I got your jackets, Rich!”

Richie opened the back door placing Eddie on the seat carefully. He was trying to unhook his hands from behind his neck but that weird vice grip Eddie has was tight as ever.

“Eddie, hun, you have to let go of me so I can buckle you in,” Richie said soothingly rubbing circles on his back.

“No, I’ll never let go of you!” Eddie cried horribly. Richie’s heart broke. He picked Eddie up carefully then sat in the back with Eddie cradled on top of him. He reached to close the door but one of his friends had shut it for him.

It took another couple minutes for them all to pile in.

“Is he ok?” Mike asked patting Richie’s shoulder from the way back.

“I hope so,” Richie’s eyes started to prickle with tears. How could I let him get so drunk? I should have been paying attention. He doesn’t drink that often.

“Rich, he’s going to be ok,” Beverly said from the front passenger seat. “Stay out of that head of yours. It’s not your fault. He was sad tonight.”

“I didn’t know he was that upset! God, I could kick those guys asses.” Richie hissed.

“I’d kick anyone’s assssssses for you all!” Bill chimed in. “In fact I did!”

“Yeah you did buddy,” Mike laughed.

Richie shifted awkwardly in his seat. Eddie’s full weight was on him because he had passed out entirely and it made his arm fall asleep.

“They weren’t worth it,” Stanley said evenly as he drove carefully. “You shouldn’t have done that Bill. I bet it will get back to my family.”

“Sorry about all this Stan,” Richie said genuinely.

They made eye contact in the rearview mirror, “Don’t worry about it. I figured someone would have to be carried home. I just thought it would be you or Bill.”

“Hey,” Bill said with no enthusiasm. “I’m an e-e-easy drunk.”

“You tried to take off your clothes at one point,” Stanley grumbled.

“You all just wish you h-h-had this bod.” Bill bragged.

“Bring back humble Bill,” Ben said annoyed. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“NOT IN MAMA!” Stanley shouted.

When they got back to the house, Richie rushed Eddie to the bathroom in their room upstairs. He splashed some water on Eddie’s face to wake him up properly. Stanley brought a glass so Eddie could drink water. This seemed to help him get his bearings.

“I’m going to be sick,” Eddie promptly emptied his stomach into the toilet. Richie rubbed his back and murmured that he would feel better soon. “Richie,” Eddie whispered. “I’m going to die.”

Richie could not help but laugh. “You’re not going to die. I’d have to kill you if you died.”

“That makes no sense you idiot,” Eddie said before getting sick again. There’s my boyfriend.

Once Eddie was feeling up to leaving the bathroom. Richie helped him brush his teeth and grabbed him pajamas. Eddie let Richie dress him in the Metallica shirt but when he tried to put pants on him, Eddie pushed them away saying, “I’m too hot.”

“Yeah, you are,” Richie responded immediately.

“Shut up, Trashhh.” Eddie did not bother to finish calling him Trashmouth.

“Alright, but at least take off your jeans,” Richie suggested calmly. Eddie unbuttoned his pants and slowly kicked them off. He had to help him step out of them, which proved a challenge when Eddie kept playing with his hair. Richie tried not to let his eyes linger on Eddie's cute plaid boxers.

Finally, Richie got him over to the queen bed and he crawled in closing his eyes immediately. Richie placed a glass of water and bucket by the bed. He tried to tuck Eddie in, but Eddie smacked his hand away not wanting the blanket over him.

“You’re always cold though!” Richie argued.

“No, hot,” Eddie mumbled.

Richie rolled his eyes and left the room. He went down to the kitchen in the hopes of finding aspirin, which Eddie and he would definitely need tomorrow. Stanley was sitting in the kitchen making coffee.

“You staying up?” Richie asked concerned.

Stanley grabbed sugar and milk for his coffee, “Ya, I’m going to check on everyone for a couple hours until I’m sure no one has alcohol poisoning.” 

“We don’t deserve Stan the Man,” Richie said affectionately patting him on the shoulder.

“Yeah yeah,” Stanley grinned tiredly, “How’s Eddie?”

“I think he’s ok. Threw up most of the poison.” Richie opened a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of aspirin.

Stanley shook his head, “He drank so much. I should have cut him off but he kept running away and taking people's drinks. I couldn’t keep track of him, Bill, and Mike.”

“Don’t worry about it, Stan.” Richie sighed. He poured himself some water and downed it.

“STAN!” Mike shouted from the living room.

“I’m coming! Night, Rich.” Stanley grabbed a small trash can and a glass of water before exiting the kitchen.

Richie heard Mike say, “I can’t sleep without my sheep, Stanny!” Richie stifled a laugh as he went upstairs.

He opened the door quietly and placed the aspirin next to the water on Eddie’s nightstand. He got into the bed on his side and left a gap facing away from Eddie, not wanting to touch him if he didn’t want it.

Richie felt an arm around his waist as Eddie snuggled into his back spooning him. His skin was a little feverish. Richie placed his arms over Eddie’s, turned his head to kiss his lips then settled into his pillow.

Eddie sighed contentedly, “I luv mu.”

Richie smiled feeling so much affection for Eddie that he thought his heart would burst. Then that feeling changed to a tightening in his chest. It became hard to breathe and his head felt dizzy. Wait, did I hear that correctly?

Eddie just said…

  I love you.

  Fuck.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Roller Rink

Beverly pressed her elbows into the weak wood railing as she let out smoke from her gaped mouth. Flickers of orange fell from the tip and crumbled to black ash before hitting the ground. From her right, quiet mumbles of swears grew more frigid. She glanced up, Richie was sat on the railing, hands shaking with what looked to be nerves as he tried to light his cigarette. From her angle, his head was perfectly blocking a good chunk of the neon sign behind him. She tilted her head and closed one eye, the blinking white and blue wing seemed to now steam from Richie and not the bright red lit roller skate. She smiled and steadied Richie’s hands for him. He successfully lit the stick and immediately shoved it between his lips with no thank you. She opened her mouth to ask him just what the hell crawled up his ass and died when they heard the roar of an approaching car down the main street. The headlights flooded the whole area in white light. Her eyes rolled and she stood straight up, still holding onto the railing. “Turn off your high beams, asshole.” She frowned, gesturing to the still pretty light, early stages of afternoon rolling into the evening. 

She waited patiently for Richie before stomping out her cigarette and crossing her arms. “Ready to go back to falling on your ass?” She gestured to the red trimmed roller rink doors. Richie stomped his out and pushed up his glasses. 

“You say something about your ass?” Richie pretended he hadn’t heard what she said with a smirk on his face and she stomped on his foot with a triumphant grin. He shook his head and held the door open for her before following inside after her. He dragged his feet across the swirled rainbow carpet and back over to their bench seat. Ben was sat, guarding the pairs roller skates. Bev plopped down next to him and started kicking her shoes off and shoving them back into the warm skates. Richie glanced down at his wearily before glancing back at Ben. 

“Where’d Eddie go?” 

Ben pointed and Richie followed the direction to find Eddie with Stan and Bill on his sides skating in the large rink. He smirked and sat down to put on his own pre-used skates. He stood, rolling himself to the wall around the rink and waited for Bev, retying her laces before sliding over to him. She started chuckling as soon as she caught sight of Mike, skating smoothly backwards. Richie shrugged. “No big deal, I can do that.” 

“Uh-huh, and I’m Miss America.” Bev rolled her eyes and waited as Stan, Eddie and Bill started coming round the corner. Richie chuckled and tapped her shoulder. 

“You are in my eyes, Bev.” He put his hand to his chest and she slapped him. 

Once he saw them, Stan immediately skated to the wall and Beverly laid her hands over his. “They taking a lot out of ya?” She teasingly glared at Bill and Eddie. Stan let out a gasp of breath and nodded. 

“Can’t say I blame ya, Staniel. I can barely keep up with Eds, myself. The little guys faster than a speeding bullet, I swear.” Richie skated around the wall to get into the rink and wrapped his arm around Stan, who shrugged him off. Richie sighed. He smiled and took Eddie’s hand. 

“It seems that suddenly I have forgotten how to skate, you will have to teach me, Eds.” Richie pretended to slip up just standing still and Eddie pursed his lips and then smiled. Richie took in the view. 

“You really are a sight for sore eyes, babe. I mean, the florescent lights reflecting on your rainbow shorts-” 

Eddie slapped him and Richie leaned down to brush their lips together. 

“Eww, get a room.” Beverly swatted her arms out to push them. Richie clasped his hands around Eddie’s shoulders and smirked at her. He flicked his hair back with sass and ushered Eddie away. 

They skated away from their friends, hand in hand. The lights went dim and the songs took a slow turn, the DJ announced it was time for the couples skating. Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie gripped his hand tighter. “This is so cheesy.” He felt his pink cheeks start to contradict him. Richie chuckled, delighted. 

He kept his clasp of Eddie’s hand as he skated in front of him, managing to safely skate backwards much to Eddie’s shock. He swung their arms and smirked. 

“I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over, I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older” He tried to pull a smooth sultry tone out of his locked box of voices. 

Eddie took the opportunity to swing himself in a turn under Richie’s arm and pulling himself closer, impressing his taller boyfriend.  “Dang where’d you learn to skate, kid?” Richie stopped singing to compliment him. Eddie shrugged, resorting to his routine move of slapping him in the arm. 

“ In my life there's been heartache and pain, I don't know if I can face it again...”

Richie made grand hand gestures and started kneeling down to the floor, Eddie cringed and held tightly on his hand. He was on the floor, skating backwards. Eddie was urging him to stand. 

“Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life....!” Richie then proceeded to fall on his ass like Eddie had predicted he would but tugged Eddie’s hand with him, making him fall on top of him as people skated around them. “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me.” Richie cut his singing short with embarrassment. 

“Can we get up now, dipshit?” Eddie chuckled and started to stand. Richie watched him get up, smiling suspiciously. 

“You can, Eds. I have to stay down here if I want to do this right.” Richie started feeling around his pockets and sitting up to kneel on his one knee. Eddie started to sweat nervously as he stood over him. 

“What are you talking about...?” Eddie raised an eyebrow as the lights went back to the normal rainbow blinkers. He raised his foot to it’s tip toe to bang the brake of the skate on the ground.

“Ughhh, hold on let me find it.” Richie kept patting his pockets and reached out to grab Eddie’s hand again. He was down on one knee, patting his pockets, and holding Eddie’s hand... “Richie, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“A-ha!” Richie pulled out a small gold band ring from his pocket. Eddie’s mouth gaped. Eddie tried to release his hand and maybe skate away in panic but Richie just held on tighter. “Relax, it’s just a frickin’ promise ring, Eds.”

“Oh” 

Richie broke out into hysterical laughter. “We’re seniors in high school Eds. Did you really think I was dumb enough to propose to you?” 

Eddie giggled “Honestly, with you....” 

Richie pulled himself off the rink floor and they awkwardly stood still, occasionally rolling a skate. “So...can I?” Richie waved the ring and Eddie blushed, putting his hand up eagerly. 

“Uh-huh.” Eddie smiled delightfully as Richie slid the ring on his finger. “When did you get this?” 

“Well, It was originally for your mom.” Richie chuckled and Eddie went to skate past him. Richie, still laughing, went after him. “Hey-babe-wait up.” 

They slowed to a good skating pace. “Hey, Stan helped me pick it out from that jewelry place in the mall. I was gonna ask Bev but he walked in on me looking at ring brochures...and well what’s a guy to do?” Richie chuckled again.  

Eddie looked at his hand, waving it under the neon lights. The ring glittered and he felt his cheeks heat up again. “So it’s a promise ring?” 

Richie threw his arm around him and nodded. “Yes indeed Eddie my love. It’s a symbol of our loving relationship and a promise that there will be another ring in the future.” He explained awkwardly, wiping his mouth like. Eddie skated to the wall where everyone was at, getting ready to get pizza. Stan gave him a wide knowing smile, the other Losers looked at them, curious as to why Richie had been knelt down in front of Eddie like that. 

“Let me see it.” Stan gestured for Eddie to give him his hand, obviously proud of his involvement. Bill looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the shiny band. 

“You d-d-didn’t pr-pr-propose did y-you-?” Bill widened his eyes and Richie rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a promise ring you dips. A symbol of our loving frickin’ relationship.” He said, exasperated. Eddie giggled as Stan and Bev played with the ring. Mike attempted to kick off his skates and hopped over, taking Eddie’s hand. He smiled. 

“How did you afford this?” Mike asked, passing Eddie’s hand to Ben like it was a piece of food. Richie swallowed and bit into his cheek. He gave Stan a nervous glance. Stan sighed. 

“Richie, uh...well he sold his bike.” Stan mumbled for him and Eddie immediately took his hand back from Ben. He gave Richie wide worrying eyes. Beverly looked at Richie in shock. 

“It’s no big deal, Eds. I wanted to do this for you.” Richie rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and felt himself heat up. Eddie took his hand and skated him off towards the food area, the losers took the hint to stay behind. 

They skated and nearly fell onto the table as they sat down across from each other. “Rich...You loved that bike...I mean, that was the bike you rode that summer...-” 

“Shit Eds, I can’t say I’m devastated to lose something that reminds me of almost dying.” Richie shrugged and Eddie slumped his shoulders. He gave him a thin lipped smile and reached over to run his fingers down Eddie’s arm to his hand, playing with the ring. 

“I just didn’t want you to regret it...”

“Eds, I have a car now. I can drive, I don’t need a bike and this purchase wasn’t a waste....was it?” Richie looked up, a little insecurely and Eddie shook his head immediately. 

“Of course the fuck not.” Eddie chuckled and leaned over the table, skates sliding him easily to connect their lips. Richie made it last as long as it could before Bill set down two Styrofoam cups of pop down between them. 

The boys sat back down. “C-c-can I borrow, R-Richie?” 

Eddie shrugged, standing and skating away. Bill took his seat as Richie picked at his teeth. “Whats up Big Bill?” 

Bill folded his hands together. “A promise ring is a big c-ca-ca-commitment.” He sipped his pop and Richie scrunched his face up. 

“Yeah....your point?” 

“You better treat him right R-Richie, or i-i’ll...”

Richie smiled warmly. “Punch me again?  

Bill chuckled but had a flicker of seriousness that made Richie gulp. He saluted him with a smirk and he seemed satisfied. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie was killing time, skating around the rink in boredom. He had his hands behind his back, playing with the ring subconsciously. He listened to the pop music as he swiveled around people and tried not to burn his eyes by staring into the bar of lights-

“Hey!”

Someone grabbed Eddie’s hand and he nearly face planted as Stan came into view, skating with his entire body up straight.  “Sorry.” He smiled and Eddie shrugged. “Look, Bill’s giving Richie the talk....y’know about treating you right and stuff. He told me I should do something similar with you? Being Richie’s first friend and that.” Stan shrugged, looking confused. Eddie chuckled. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say other than...good luck being stuck with that.” He pointed as Richie slid right into Ben’s arms, toppling them over onto the carpet. 

Eddie giggled and bumped their arms together as all seven of them met back on the rink. Eddie skated right Richie with a grin. Mike put his arms around them and grinned. “I offer you my congratulations...” 

The boys returned his smile and Mike suddenly swept Eddie up and lifted him, putting his on his back and skating away. Beverly smiled. “Congratulations squirt!!” She shouted after them. 

“Alright, somebody lift me!” Richie held his arms open and closed his eyes and everyone slammed into him as they skated past. “Hey, somebody congratulate me!” He shouted after them from the floor. 

Stan slowly skated over and reached out his hand. Richie took it and he was pulled up. “Congrats, he’s way out of your league.” Stan said in such a classic Stan way. Richie chuckled, looking at the way Eddie was laughing his ass off but in a sort of panicked way as Mike skated. 

“Yeah...fingers crossed he doesn’t notice.” Richie crossed his fingers as Stan chuckled. 

[lacefedora]

tng liveblog: Too Short A Season

Old dude who is very clearly a young dude in old make up

it was really nice of those terrorists to give these guys six days to import a starfleet negotiator.

I like the admiral’s wife’s hooded dress! damn i want that dress

admiral’s kind of a bossy dick though and what is up with that uniform?

Deanna finds you SUSPICIOUS admiral (also deanna’s orange-red lip color is amazing and I want some)

the wife looks familiar...

I love it when Bev just comes and just lounges in Picard’s office.

That little side bar thing they’re always making Crusher sit on continues to be super awkward

dude’s gunnin for your ship Picard

Whoop he’s getting younger, saw that one coming lol.

dude took it all at once MORON he’s gonna diiiiiie

Annie is like ‘BITCH’ Annie leave him you deserve better.

Data’s like ‘Double check with my real Captain first’

That makes much more sense that it was the dude who made the call having a personal vendetta

I”LL SAVE THEM MYSELF WHILE I”M ON THIS HIGHLY EXPERIMENTAL TREATMENT this dude ....

HEY get out of picard’s chair! or... is that Deanna’s chair... *squints*

dude... you’re doing all this to undo your fuck up? seriously dude...

picard’s like FUCK YOU IM GOIGN ON AN AWAY MISSION

the return of Tasha’s hand-vac phaser

Yeah just LIGHTSABER it open with some phasers

Nice roll data

love these old phaser graphics

lol is he still getting younger? or did they just give his hair extra floof?

Dude.., you’re the one that was fighting the war and demanded weapons... ti’s a little late to blame all this on Jameson

who authorized Annie beaming down?

gnarly scar man dermal regenerators exist folks, use them.

omg has this dude grown a conscience it only took 45 years

aww poor Annie.

Geordi and Data did that thing where they look at eachother and nod again and it saved the whole episode

[cyberbullygabor]

stozier for the “do you want a hit?” prompt thing??

“want a hit?”

-

the baseball team’s season-ending party is still raging hard inside, but richie leaned against the outside wall, blunt in hand and high setting in. he didn’t usually mind parties — they were loud, he got his chance at being center of attention, and getting drunk was usually pretty enjoyable. tonight, however, he was avoiding going in.

he’d be honest. he was afraid.

not of the baseball team, of course. big bill was the captain, and he was harmless. he was also one of richie’s closest friends. and eddie was on the team, though his ‘asthma’ often got in the way of him getting real playing time. beverly and mike had both come, and they were two people he trusted the most in his life. the real reason he wasn’t inside was stanley uris.

stan had been his best friend in childhood. they’d always clicked, in the way that they balanced each other out. he wouldn’t say any member of their losers club was closer to any other — they were equal, bonded by some force they couldn’t name — but stan had been his first friend, and he had the most history with him. it had also been around twelve weeks since he’d had a conversation with stan uris. it wasn’t stan’s fault, not really. it was richie, if he was being honest. looking at stan made him sick to his stomach.

not because he hated stan, but because stan had gotten so damn attractive.

he’d spent one summer in new york and come back on some new wave trend, his hair gelled back (though his curls sprung up at the bottom, like they always would) and pins through his ears. he had these sick (faux) leather jackets that richie could only dream of being able to pull off, and cool motor-boots. stan was still a huge dork, still as precise and logical as he’d always been, but he’d adopted a lot of style from his cousin (who stan said was really cool and spoke a lot of yiddish and introduced him to cute guys).

maybe richie was a little jealous of the cute guys part, too.

his general staying away from stan came from the basic facts of his life. one, he was born and raised a strict methodist, and though his mother and father would probably be fine if he dated a boy, he knew his very-rigid church would judge him. they’d all judge. and for as loose-lipped and attention-seeking as richie was…he didn’t want them judging him. two, he just wouldn’t fit. richie didn’t find himself all that attractive, after all. he was still stuck in braces and it was sophomore year (buck teeth were hard to fix!) his ginger hair stuck straight up and was never quite the right shade — not the fiery red of beverly or the golden red bill possessed. it was as orange as a carrot! his nose was covered in blackheads, and his glasses were too big, and his clothes were dumb (although he loved his clothes, the brightly-colored jackets and loose jeans that he rolled up and chunky, ugly-printed belts), and he was short. so damn short. shorter than stan uris! he was only taller than bev and eddie.

and, thirdly, he was just a little terrified of falling in love with his best friend.

so it’s these thoughts plaguing his fuzzy mind as he exhales pungent smoke that keep him from realizing stan’s joined his side for a good while. when his eye finally catches another shape in the corner, he jumps out of his skin, nearly dropping his blunt and instead fumbling with it like it’s a hot potato. he finally finds purchase and holds it steady in one hand, leaning awkwardly back against the wall. in some attempt to salvage his dignity, he clears his throat, extends his hand out to stan, and offers, “want a hit?”

his voice cracks on the word hit, and he really wants to shrivel up and die.

but stan just shrugs, takes the blunt out of richie’s hand, and takes a hit. he starts coughing right afterwards, and then richie starts to laugh. “shut up, tozier, i never said i’ve ever actually taken a hit in my life!” his cheeks are bright red, and it makes richie’s own cheeks flush, because stan is fucking gorgeous. handsome just isn’t the word you use for stan uris. he’s an angel walking the earth, and richie knows this, but all he does is reach over and start rubbing stan’s hair to soften. “my little weakling! he’s not ready for our stoner ways!” he cackles loudly as stan smacks his hand away in annoyance.

“beep beep, richie.” stan grumbles, but richie’s head is too fuzzy for him to really heed those words, and instead, he just drapes a lazy arm over his bird boy’s shoulders. “you fucking love me, stan, you don’t care.” they stay like that in silence for a little while, richie with his arm around stan, somehow, stan with his head on richie’s shoulder. and maybe what happens next makes sense. richie blames seeing weird science right before he left for this stupid party. stan doesn’t blame anything else, because while he may be an expert in the art of denial, he didn’t want to deny this happening.

he leans in, and presses his lips right to richie’s.

up this close, richie can tell stan’s smudged eyeliner against his lids. he can see curls springing free, and his glasses nearly slide off — “close your eyes, asshole.” the words are mouthed right against his lips, and it’s hot enough and he’s high enough to oblige without complaint. his fingers twist up into stan’s curls unintentionally, but judging by the little noise of pleasure stan makes, he doesn’t mind.

when richie pulls back for air, his heartbeat is erratic, and a dopey grin has broken out against his lips.

“you know, stan, we should smoke together more often.”

“i took one hit! i’m not even that high!”