#keep doing it...... richie staring at him desperately realising that time has run out

[billdenbrough]

Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately RICHIE WAS DOWN ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES STARING AT HIM DESPERATELY i am simply losing my mind

[mikeywheelerr]

cat got your tongue, trashmouth?

For a prompt challenge with @hannahberrie - “reddie kissing and eddie being WAY more into it than Richie expects”

Hope you enjoy, babe!

Also go read Hannah’s fic here! 

It’s Friday.

Friday, and there’s jack shit to do. How does that even happen? How is it possible? A perfectly good Friday afternoon and everyone is busy. The odds are totally against him.

It blows, too, because he’d managed to snag three firecrackers from the barrel in the general store yesterday afternoon; the cashier’s back had been turned at just the right minute, Richie’d been quicker than ever, and then bolted the fuck out.

But of course, chores and family and homework all come first. Homework which Richie did during school hours, when he’d finished all his assignments before everyone else (it happens a lot). Chores, which he did this morning. Family...

Richie huffs, flopping back against the soft bed of grass and clovers. He stares skyward, at the canopy of branches above him. In his science textbook there’s a picture of a forest in Malaysia, where the trees don’t even touch, forming channels of blue between the leaves. Crown shyness, or something. Here, light streams down like it’s beaming through shards of broken glass. Everything in Derry is broken.

“Hey, Rich.”

He starts, looking toward the voice. There, of course, is Eddie. He’s wearing the same scuffed jeans he’d had on earlier, only now they’re covered in grass stains too.

“I thought you were with your mom.”

Eddie shrugs. “She fell asleep,” he says, hands in his pockets as he comes over. “I didn’t really feel like gardening anyway.”

Richie smiles like an idiot. He knows it’s an idiot smile because he feels like one, but Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just sits down, brushing off his denim covered knees, and stares out at the barrens contemplatively.

“Hey,” Richie whacks Eddie’s arm. “Why do they call it a green thumb if you’re using all your fingers?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“I say, I say, what’s got you so glum?”

There’s something about the way his shoulders are sagging, about his frown. Richie doesn’t like it.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again.

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“Geez, who knew you could get dementia so early. Do you know me, Eds? It’s Richie, it’s your best friend, we’ve been inseparable since the first grade—”

He shakes Eddie’s shoulder as he speaks, all desperate, practically falling on him.

Eddie laughs, rolling over onto his side. “Stop it, Richie!”

“So you do know me? Oh, god, that’s great, for a minute I was worried. I thought we might have to reenact all our good times.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Good times?”

“Yeah, you know, like that time on the playground when I poured sand down your pants, or the time I broke your ma’s favourite vase and you yelled at me for twenty minutes, or the time I stole those comics and you had a panic attack in the parking lot—”

“None of those times were good,” Eddie snaps.

“What, you still got sand in your crack?”

Eddie snorts. There’s something about his half-smirk and flushed cheeks that makes Richie feel a little bit like melting.

“Can you get off me, already?”

Richie realises, a little late, that he’s practically straddling Eddie—half on him, half off, pinning one of his arms down.

He blushes. “What if I don’t feel like it?”

“Richie.”

“I’m pretty comfortable, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“You got a problem, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” he reaches up, pinching Eddie’s cheek. “Cute stuff, Eds—”

Then all the sudden he’s on his back, and Eddie is above him; tickling him and whacking him upside the head more than once. Richie can’t breathe, he’s laughing so hard.

After a minute, Eddie stops. He looks down at Richie with his head half-cocked and eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me cute.”

“Hey, I’m just stating a fact,” Richie tries for an innocent act, but his face is hot and Eddie’s scrutinising him like there’s no tomorrow. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

“So you think I’m cute?”

Rich bites his tongue. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds...”

A silence. Eddie leans down a little. “Sounds what, Richie?”

“Like, y’know...”

“No, I don’t.”

“Like I—” he pauses, swallowing. It feels like his stomach has completely disappeared; like he’s just full of air. Even his brain is gone. He could be floating. “Like I like you, or something.”

Eddie leans back, seemingly satisfied, and suddenly all Richie can do is panic. It’s like something has opened in the space between them; some chasm of unspoken things. His breath quickens. He feels like he might vomit.

“Huh.”

“Forget it,” he tries for a laugh—tries really, really hard. “I’m just messin’ with ya. I mean, there’s no way—”

“Richie.”

“I’m just reading too much into it. I mean, I don’t read into anything, since there’s nothing to read into—”

“Richie—”

“I’m just being stupid, I’m such a fucking idiot—”

“Richie.”

“I just mean, sometimes you look at me and I just—”

“Richie for the love of fuck, shut up.”

He does, but not voluntarily; it’s just that Eddie’s lips are on his, and he’s too busy sitting there like some frozen idiot while his best friend kisses him.

Holy shit.

“Eddie—”

“Rich,” Eddie’s hands are on either side of his face. He’s closer than close and Richie’s lips are still burning. “Stop talking?”

“Yeah,” Richie nods. “Okay.”

This time, it’s a little softer; their noses brush, and then their lips touch—but somehow, suddenly, it’s so much more; it’s open mouths and Richie on his back (what the fuck? when the fuck?), with Eddie’s fingers tangled in his hair, and his glasses are gone, and wow Jesus Christ this is great.

Richie is vaguely aware that Eddie is the one initiating most of this; he’s the one who keeps tugging Richie closer, who snakes his hand beneath Richie’s shirt. He’s the one that finally tugs it off him and sends it who knows where.

“Eddie—”

“This okay?”

Richie blinks up at Eddie—his vision his slightly blurred without his glasses, but he can still make out flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and fucked up hair. “Yeah,” he swallows. “Great. Um, are you sure—?”

He really, really hadn’t expected this. Not from Eddie, who gets grossed out at like, everything. Germs, is all Richie can think.

But Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. Their lips move together; fast and fervent, passionate, what in the name of good fuck.

His confusion slowly melts away, though. It feels like he’s slipping into some other plane of existence; one where it’s just Eddie’s rib cage beneath his palms, his skin, his lips. 

And then, everything is like, totally amplified from a holy shit to a holy good fuck, because Eddie moans. Like, actually. Like, against Richie’s mouth; desperate sounding and heated.

“Jesus,” Richie breaks away, panting. “Eds...”

Their foreheads press together. Richie keeps his hands at Eddie’s waist, trying to catch his breath and failing because Eddie won’t stop touching him; he runs his fingers up Richie’s spine, lightly pressing his lips to his cheeks and nose, just as winded as Richie.

“Something wrong?”

“Wrong? No. Fuck no. I just... I didn’t expect you to be so...”

“So what?”

“Forward?”

Eddie begins to speak, and then hesitates. “What did you expect?”

Richie blushes, because there it is. He totally just admitted he’s thought about doing this before (which he has, like, a lot—not that he ever planned on letting Eddie know). “Um...”

Eddie kisses him; really soft, this time. His fingers brush Richie’s curls. It feels so good. Somehow it’s even more breath-taking than making out for like four minutes flat.

“Something like that?”

Richie blinks. “Um.”

“Cat got your tongue, trashmouth? Can’t speak anymore?”

“Shut up.”

He does, gladly. 

[floralreddie]

Prompt: (is trans!richie a series idk??) richies transgender and at school he starts his period, not for the first time but he doesn't have any menstruation products with him. So all the losers are running around trying to help him but its a huge fucking mess with breakdowns and somebody losing their shit. But it ends up being alright. (Just a suggestion you obviously don't have to do it if you don't want to. No pressure my dude)

I really like this idea so ofc I’ll do it, my lovely. It’s with my other Trans!Richie imagine, it’s set a few days after the first part and Richie hasn’t started taking T yet, but he’s had the appointment. I haven’t really checked this over, so don’t kill me if there’s some spelling mistakes lmao

warnings: trans person struggling with transitioning, period talk, swearing, richie is sad and no one wants that

Part 1

forever taglist: @pearltheartist@mikoalabearwrites @arielgirly @trashmouth-smashmouth@mzcescapie @somenates27@reddiesballoons @cawcawhawkeye@richietoaster @sassy-molassy @fuckin-richie

It was a nightmare situations, one of which Richie couldn’t quite believe was fucking happening to him.

He rarely panicked. Some fucked up shit had happened to him in his sixteen years of life. He remembers one of the worst being when he started his period at that sleepover with Stan and Bill, and the horror and utter anger he felt at his own body had nearly torn him apart.

Still, he had his friends to support him. He lived life in Derry as the boy he was born to be, and no one knew otherwise other than those he loved the most in the world.

Things rarely went wrong, simply because he had them to support him. The Losers. Bev bought him his binder, so he could stop wearing those baggy jumpers that swallowed his skinny form. She bought him tampons when he needed them, because he didn’t want to be seen going into the Pharmacy himself. Bill let him borrow t-shirts when Richie’s own parents were going through phases of rejecting him, insisting he was a she. They accepted him. They looked after him. They made his life just that little bit easier.

Things went to shit one Wednesday at school, though. And he’s fucked off beyond belief, because he starts his T next week after having an appointment with the Endocrinologist just after his sixteenth birthday. Yet now, after so many fucking years, he has to come on his God damn mother fucking period at school.

And he doesn’t have anything with him. 

He hadn’t had any signs. No cramps. No aching on his chest (a chest that felt too large for his form, and he cringes when he remembers the days before his binder when he would bandage his breasts tight to his body). No nothing. It’s Bev who notices it first.

They’re all sitting on the grass outside of school, on their lunch break. The bell rings, and they all stand, cutting of their conversation about whose house they would be sleeping at that Friday. Richie grabs his backpack and throws it onto his shoulders, all the while pressing his side close to Eddie’s (because he swears his magnetically attracted to his small, ferocious little boyfriend), and suddenly Bev is letting out a little gasp and grabbing Richie by his shoulders and turning him around so his back is to the Losers and away from the hundreds of students meandering back toward the school.

‘What the fuck, Marsh-?’ Richie begins to swear, as Eddie stumbles back with an annoyed huff as Richie’s bag bumps into him.

But he is silenced by Bev’s wide blue eyes and tight mouth. She looks over her shoulder to the others, and then back to Richie. ‘I need you to not freak out, Rich’.

He hears a mutter from behind him, a quiet swear, and then he feels Eddie’s hands snake around his forearm. He’s worried, then. And he never gets worried. ‘Fuck, what-?’

Bev leans close to him, hands still on his shoulders, and mumurs, ‘You’ve started your period, Richie. It’s leaked, okay? But it’s fine-’

But Richie is hurtling away from her, his heart hammering and his stomach dropping. This is, he realises then, his utter and complete worst nightmare. He hadn’t realised it until now. He knows that he doesn’t have any products on him. He knows that the evidence of his period must be on his shorts.

He feels the others suddenly surround him, hands on him and calming words on their tongues.

‘R-Richie it’s okay. We’ve got you. We-we won’t let anyone s-see,’ Bill says, his own blue eyes suddenly replacing Bev’s he looms in front of Richie. Eddie’s hands on his arm suddenly become much tighter, and then Bev is talking to Mike and Stan.

‘I don’t have anything! Fuck,’ she swears. ‘I’ll go and ask some girls. Go to the boys toilets, I’ll be there as soon as I can!’

She runs off, but Richie hardly notices. He’s staring at Bill as he talks, heart frozen in his chest, and he only realises he’s crying when Eddie reaches for his face, knocking his glasses, and wipes Richie’s tears. He pulls Richie’s face toward his own, brown eyes wide and serious, and says, 

‘We need to go, Rich. Come on. We won’t let anyone see’.

And Richie believes him. He rubs his cheeks and looks wildly about, but the field is starting to empty up. It’s only himself, Eddie, Bill and Ben, now. ‘Where are Mike and Stan?’ he asks, and his voice is breathy and high from crying and, fuck, he can’t fucking wait to start T and sound like he’s supposed to fucking sound.

‘They’ve gone to check their lockers for something you can…er, you can change into,’ Ben replies, voice hitching as he yanks off his jumper. ‘Wrap this around your waist, Richie’.

He does, and he starts fucking crying again when his fingers brush against the wetness on his backside, and suddenly he feels to signs of his period. He hates it. He fucking hates it. This isn’t him. He’s a boy.

‘We know you are, Richie,’ Eddie says, bumping his forehead against Richie’s. Richie feels really fucking stupid, then, because he must have said it out loud. He realises he’s crying again, and stubbornly wipes his cheeks as Bill stutters out a, 

‘W-what the fuck are you looking a-at?’ to some passers by. 

Eddie grabs his hand then as Ben makes sure no one can see the stain on Richie’s beige shorts, and the four of them huddle their way to the school Bill at the front with his tall form and solid glare. Richie bows his head, mortified and angry and not wanting anyone to see him like this, ever. 

They make it to the boys toilets and Richie storms toward the cubicle as Eddie barks at the two nerdy looking AV Club boys loitering near the sinks. ‘Shouldn’t you be heading to class?’

They jump, startled at the red faced and short boy in his pink jumper and dark shorts. Sharing a quick look, they look from the crying Richie, to the glares from the other boys and push themselves from the bathroom in a hurry.

‘Fucking stupid,’ Richie groans, closing himself away in the cubicle and sobbing suddenly, his forehead falling against the wall of the cubicle. ‘I’m a fucking boy - it’s not fucking fair!’

Eddie ducks next to him, hands on Richie’s waist. ‘We know, Rich. You’ll start T, soon. It’ll get better - it will’.

Richie turns to him, glasses fogged up and short hair a mess. ‘Doesn’t it fucking bother you that I’m a girl?’ he mutters, a Bill and Ben turn toward the banging of the bathroom door as it swings open.

Eddie glares at him, hands tighter against his skinny waist. ‘You’re not a fucking girl - you’re a boy. You’re my boyfriend, so shut up’.

‘I got some!’ Bev says desperately, out of breath and pink in the face. She stops short at the entrance to the cubicle, her nose wrinkling. ‘God, it fucking stinks in here. Why do boys bathrooms always smell?’

Eddie darts forward and grabs the tampons from her, just as Mike and Stan stumble through the doorway. They stop short when Bill turns on them. ‘Jesus, Big Bill, it’s only us,’ Stan snorts. ‘Some bodyguard’. He rounds to where Richie and Eddie are huddles in the toilet and holds up a pair of dark brown shorts. ‘They might be a bit small. I borrowed them from some kid in the grade below. He’s clean, though, don’t worry. He said he wouldn’t ask any questions’.

Richie stares as Eddie grabs them from Stan. ‘Thank you,’ Richie croaks. ‘I’m so fucking sorry, guys. I’m a wreck’.

‘Eh,’ Mike shrugs. ‘You’re out wreck. Go on. Get changed’. He nods to the others, a pointed look on his face. ‘We’ll wait in the hallway. Yeah, guys?’

‘Or we could just ditch,’ Bev shrugs. ‘We’re late, anyway’.

Stan looks like he might protest, but at Bill’s pointed looks he nods, some what painfully. ‘Last period, anyway’.

‘Get changed, Rich,’ Ben says softly.

He does. Eddie stays with him as he cleans himself, despite Richie’s quiet insistence that he really didn’t have to see him like this. Eddie insists that he will go his Richie wants him too, but Richie had seen Eddie at his worst so many times, it was Eddie’s time to help him.

So, he takes the sullied shorts from Richie and wets some tissue to help Richie clean himself, and dutifully turns his back as Richie sorts the tampon out. Once the new shorts are on, Richie wrinkles his nose at the shorts Eddie holds. ‘Throw them,’ he insists. ‘I don’t want them anymore’.

Eddie does. He turns to Richie as Richie holds Ben’s jumper, and he wraps his arms around Richie’s skinny waist and kisses Richie’s cheeks and mouth. ‘I love you,’ Eddie tells him. 

Richie snorts and smiles. ‘Hard not to,’ he agrees. ‘I love you too, Ed’s’.

‘You’ll start T,’ Eddie tells him. ‘And you’ll be even fucking hotter then, right? That’s what you said, anyway, and I’m holding you to that’.

Richie grins and slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulder as they walk toward their friends, waiting for them in the hallway. ‘Kaspbrak, you won’t be able to keep your hands off of me’. 

[youwearfinethingswell]

I know you're faded, but stay open (stozier)

okay so this is basically just a rant about the beginning of a fic idea i have so its not an actual fic just like some thoughts about how i want it to start. buuutttt i mean we have no stozier content so i thought i would share this

 (listen to River by Joni Mitchell)

 So, everything starts with one of the days right before Christmas when they’re like 10 years old. Stan and Richie are both in Richie’s room and they’re talking about how Stan don’t celebrate Christmas and Richie is talking about how sad that must be because he loves Christmas so much. So, Stan askes Richie what his favourite thing about Christmas is, and Richie tells Stan that around Christmas his dad is usually home and his mum is more sober than usual. The house is peaceful and his mum always puts on this Joni Mitchell album and sings along to all the songs. But his mum’s favourite song on the album is River which she always sings beautifully. And Richie just loves when she sings it cause it’s kind of like a Christmas song and even his dad listens to it while she sings it. So, Richie kind of starts so sing it to Stan, and Stan gets all quiet cause the song is beautiful and sad and Richie is so sincere, and when he is done he just kind of blushes and looks away and he says to Stan that he thinks its kind of like a “blanket song”. What is a “blanket song” Stan asks, and Richie tells him that it’s one of those songs that might not make you feel better when you’re sad, but it makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a big blanket, and that makes you feel calm and safe. That’s what the song feels like says ten-year-old Richie.

When they’re 14 years old Richie is having dinner with the Uris family (like he often has) and Richie just feels overwhelmed cause they’re all so happy to see him and they all love to listen to his stories even though he talks super loud and fast and with food in his mouth. Mrs. Uris usually tells him to close his mouth while he is chewing but she still smiles at him with such a warm and loving smile. Richie loves Stan’s family so much he never wants to leave. Later when they’re in Stan’s room Richie kind of gets quiet and curls up on Stan’s bed. “Why don’t they care about me, Stan?” Richie’s voice is so quiet and sad that Stan’s chest aches. He curls up to Richie’s back and holds him as Richie cries quietly. “I don’t know, Richie. I don’t understand how anyone could manage to not care about you.” Richie continues to sob softly has Stan runs his slim fingers down Richie’s arm and starts to sing carefully. “It’s coming on Christmas, they’re putting trees, they’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace…” his voice is almost a whisper and as he sings; “oh I wish I had river I could skate away on.” and he can feel Richie slowly still under his touch and he continues to sing until Richie slowly turns around and looks at him with red eyes. They sing the last few lines together and Stan stroke Richie’s black hair away from his eyes. “You learnt the song?!” Richie asks him, sounding surprised and kind of in awe. “Yeah,” mutters Stan, feeling embarrassed, “you said it was your blanket song.”. Richie gives Stan his happiest smile he has ever seen, “How can you possibly remember that, Stan the man?”. “I remember everything about you, Richie,” he answers honestly. Richie doesn’t say anything else, he just crawls closer to Stan so they’re pressed up against each other and he presses his lips softly to Stan’s for just a second before pulling away. Stan’s heart is beating a thousand miles per hour and he lets out a breath of air as Richie lets out a laugh and turns around so he is lying on his back. “You’re my best friend in the entire world, Stanley Uris.”. Stan laughs and pushes Richie as he gets out of the bed, “Forever and always, Richard Tozier.”. He turns around, trying to hide how he can’t quiet catch his breath.

They both pretend that the kiss never happened. They only ever make out once after this, when they’re both really drunk and it’s what best friends do sometimes at parties, right? Stan doesn’t really know what he feels for Richie. He loves him a lot, and he always wants him to be happy and he wants to protect him from all the evil in the world, but he feels that way about all his friends, doesn’t he? It’s just a bit different with Richie, somehow. They both manage to graduate even though Richie has threatened to quit multiple times during their last year. But here they are both graduated and going off to college in the fall. They’re having a celebration dinner at Stan’s house and his parents are so proud. Proud of them both. His mum is still teary eyed and his dad can’t stop toasting to “Stan and Richie, the two college boys”. Stan can’t help noticing that Richie is quiet. He is trying his best to laugh and smile and do stupid shit, but Stan know that even though Richie didn’t say anything abobut it, he is extremely upset that none of his parents showed up for his graduation. He always talks about how they don’t give a shit about him, but Stan knows that deep down Richie still has a bit of hope that they actually do. Well not anymore.

They’re going out to a party at Bills later, but first they go up to Stan’s room and Richie sinks down onto the bed lying on his back while he stares up at the ceiling. Stan lies down with his feet pointing the other way to Richie so their heads are right next to each other but upside down. They don’t say anything for a long time. “I really thought they would come.”. Stan closes his eyes. “I’m such a fucking idiot!” Richie’s voice trembles, and Stan heart clenches. “I actually thought that they would show. How fucking stupid is that? After 18 fucking years shouldn’t I have realised that they couldn’t care less about their sorry excuse for a son?”. Stan turns his head so he is looking at Richie, but his face is turned the other way, refusing to look at his best friend. Stan hasn’t seen Richie cry in years. Richie stopped coming to Stan when things got bad. He didn’t really know if Richie went to any of their other friends or if he just didn’t talk about it at all anymore. But right now, Richie didn’t seem to manage to hold it in any longer. Stan stat up on the bed and put Richie’s head in his lap, Richie still refusing to look at him. Stan drew his hands through Richie’s dark curls, trying his best to soothe his best friend, even though he knew that nothing could really heal Richie from the pain his parents caused him. So, Stan began to sing. He didn’t know any other ways to make Richie feel better, or if not better, at least not worse. But as soon as Stan starts to sing the familiar song Richie lets out a dry sob and presses his face into Stan’s lap.

He shakes as Stan continues to sing and stroke his hair slowly. “I wish you had a river so long, you would teach your feet to fly,” he changes the lyrics in the last chorus wanting so much for Richie’s pain to go way, and Richie finally turns his head and looks up into Stan’s eyes. He looks so sad, Stan has to close his eyes. Still shaking, he takes one of Stan’s hands in his and holds it immensely tight, like he is afraid Stan is going to disappear. “I’m here,” he says gently, looking into Richie’s bloodshot eyes. “I’m here, okay?” he wants Richie to really understand, “They might not be here, Richie, but I’m here. I’m always here, okay?”. Tears stream down Richie’s pale face. He doesn’t know why but Stan leans down and he carefully kisses Richie’s closed eyes. Softly, slowly. He tastes the salty tears on his lips and he can’t help noticing how Richie’s breath hitches. Struggling to get up from the bed Richie keeps his eyes closed. It feels like something is pressing down on his chest as Richie steps of the bed and turns his back towards Stan. “Richie I’m…” Stan’s words die in his throat as Richie faces him, eyes frantic and scared, like, like he is going to… but before Stan can finish his thoughts Richie is pushing him down on the bed and crawls over him. For a terrible long second, they stare at each other. Wide, blue eyes meeting intense, dark eyes. Stan puts both hands on each side of Richie’s face and pulls him down. Their lips meet and Stan is on fire. Richie is like flames under Stan’s skin, and he is burning. Suddenly everything is falling into place and he feels light headed. Stan feels like the world could have ended right there and then and he wouldn’t notice. All he can feel is Richie’s lips on his, Richie’s hands moving over his chest, hands tracing his arms. Stan desperately tugs at Riche’s hair, wanting, needing him closer, but before he can even begin to think about what’s actually happening, Richie pulls away. He is off the bed before Stan can properly open his eyes, and as he does, Richie is collecting his things. “I…I don’t…I don’t know…I’m…I’m sorry,” and before Stan can even prosses Richie’s words, he is out the door, leaving Stan stunned and alone on the bed. He suddenly feels very cold.

[writingishard-loverandloser]

Hey! Firstly I love your writing (it's so good!!) Secondly, can I please get a ship for IT and ST? I'm a 5"4 bi girl with glasses, short brown hair and freckles. I'm very loud and swear like a sailor. I'm very sarcastic, but also a good listener. I'm a huge bookworm and write my own stuff. I love music a lot. I sing and play 4 instruments. I'm a big musical theatre fan, and have been doing drama for 6 years. I'm very academic and can speak French. I also have a massive family. Thanks!

Thank you so much, love, that means so much!😭💕

IT:

I ship you with Beverly!

God you guys would be fantastic. You guys met when Bev was taking abuse from Greta and her gaggle of desperate attention hogging try-hards. “How is she the slut when you’re the one actually jumping into the bed of any guy who so much as looks at you for more than a few seconds?” Yeah. That’s when Bev decided that if she’ll never do anything for the rest of her life she’d be happy if you and her became friends, and you did. Jesus you guys were inseparable. You had a huge crush on her all through middle school, especially after the whole Pennywise thing… that really made you appreciate her more. She always asked you to teach her to speak French but you never did because you didn’t want her to understand the pet names you give her. “Come on, please~?” “Nope. Sorry, Chaton.” “Please??” “Ne se produira pas, Charmant.” “Why not?!” “Je ne veux pas que vous me haïssez…” You’re also the reason Bev started singing. When she moved the two of you would constantly send each other mixtapes—the 80s language of love. Sometimes you’d even record your own covers of cute songs that reminded you of her and send them to her. Those were Bev’s favorites. During your Sophomore year Beverly came down to visit so you and the Losers’ had a karaoke party. You guys went all out and it was really fun. Richie—being the person he is—decided to bring alcohol to the little reunion. You were so happy and so depressed at the same time. On the bright side Beverly, your best friend and love of your life, is back and looking more gorgeous than ever. On the down side Ben and Bill are going at it. Both passive aggressively fighting for Beverly’s attention. It was really a side sight, so you took a flask of whiskey from Richie and started downing it. “Oh! Damn… You wanna—? No?? Okay.” It was Richie’s turn to be a little depressed. You weren’t shit-faced, but you weren’t sober either. You were that happy middle were you have no shame and will remember everything the next morning. You kinda had if after Bill and Ben started singing The Girl Is Mine. Like really, guys? So you kicked them off the small makeshift stage in Bill’s basement halfway through the song and broke out your guitar, deciding to go acapella. Sober you would’ve never done this, but for the love of God you’re gonna stop this bullshit even if it ruins your friendship. You start to sing C’etait toi(You Were The One). You refuse to look at Bev the whole song, scared of what you’ll see. “Me revoici Cherchant ton visage Et je realise Que je devrais en chercher une autre C'etait toi You were the one.” You finish and look directly at Bev. Bev can’t help but smile widely as you walk off the stage. She takes the guitar from you and walks up the stage. She strums the happy opening to Walkin’ On Sunshine and clears her throat. “I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I’m sure.” That was all you needed. You cut her off with a kiss. It was hungry and urgent, like your life was on the line. I suppose in a way it was. 

Stranger Things:

I ship you with Will!

In a dramatic turn of events, you’re his knight in shining armor. When he went missing you lost your shit and kinda went off by yourself. You guys were always really close and bonded over music and being smart. You’d defend him from bullies and the two of you would sit in his room for hours doing nothing but listen to music and homework. God you adored him. After awhile of running in circles and finally figuring some shit out you ended up behind Steve’s house where you joined forces with Jonathan and Nancy. “What are you doing here!?” “What are you doing here?” You were in the hospital room when Will woke up, you waited until Jonathan and Joyce left before you went up to him though. “We just gave him something to numb the pain. He’ll be asleep in a few minutes so make it quick.” The nurse told you. “Oh my God Will are you alright? What happened down there are you okay I was so worried I—” “You look the same as the last time I saw you…” “W-what?” “…beautiful.” Needless to say you had some things to think about when you went home that night. You came to the conclusion that you did in fact like him and have for awhile. But you didn’t want to say anything to him because what if he didn’t mean to say it or didn’t mean it at all. He did have drugs being pumped into his system when he said it. He’s probably just happy to be back. These emotions conflicted you the entire second season. It didn’t help that you were on high alert protective mode because off all the assholes running around saying he should be dead and other bullshit. You felt almost like the third wheel to Mike and Will because you were always with Mike when Mike needed help. Sure, you know that Mike is his best friend and has known him longer than you but it still hurt. When Mike wasn’t with Will than you were. You let him talk about whatever he wants, not forcing him to talk about all the shitty things that keep happening. It really helped Will to just be able to talk about how the sky looked, or how the sunset made him feel, art class, the Clash, his brother, his mom. You could listen to all the things that make him happy for hours. It crushed you when he forgot you, although there was a dollop of triumph that he remembered you longer than he remembered Mike. “Do… do you remember that day we met in art class? The teacher told us to draw something we think is beautiful or admire. I looked up to think of ideas and you were staring straight at me… Everyone else drew pictures of flowers, a sunset, but you drew a perfect stranger. Near the end of class when everyone was packing up I walked up you, you looked so nervous… I asked you why you drew me. You said you thought that I was—” “—beautiful.”

Oh fuck I got a little carried away, huh?? Sorry about that!!

[floralreddie]

falling in love with Richie Tozier: part 9 (when they’re adults)

taglist: @pearltheartist@mikoalabearwrites @arielgirly @trashmouth-smashmouth @mzcescapie @somenates27@reddiesballoons @cawcawhawkeye @richietoaster @sassy-molassy @fuckin-richie

you remember when you were a teenager, you used to spend days at a time at Mike’s family farm. you would laze in the sun, or help him with the animals

you loved how days at his farm could fill days at a time

as you sit in the hospital waiting area

your hands sticky with dry blood

and Richie’s pressed so close to your side you’re surprised you haven’t merged as one

you think of those days

the days of listening to Smooth Criminal and dancing when his grandpa wasn’t looking

and you wonder where the fuck those days went

because here you were, in the hospital, wondering if he was going to be okay 

Eddie, Bill and Bev were still scouring the town together, searching high and low for any signs of the clown and making sure it didn’t take anyone else 

you all knew full well that Bill would rather die than let there be another Georgie in Derry

you wonder if Stan had made the right choice, checking out before he could face all of this

Bev sits across from you and Richie, her eyes dead and her red hair a mess. around you, the patients in the waiting area buzz with a quiet hum, their talking drowned out by the thoughts whizzing through your head

you hadn’t even realised Richie’s hand was in yours, not until you feel his fingers contract in yours and you start, looking at him

his dark eyes are trained on something in the distance, through the busily moving doctors and people, and you turn to look, brow furrowed

it’s a balloon

a shiny, red balloon

you clench his hand and bring your other to his face, fingers running along his jawline as you yank his gaze to meet yours. ‘don’t look,’ you tell him, to which he stiffens and breathes heavily through his nose. ‘don’t look at it’.

‘are you the friends of Michael Hanlon?’

Bev stands, eyes tearing away from you and Richie, and you all group around the balding Doctor

he tells you that Mike is stable, but in dire need of rest

he says he’s going to be okay, and you thank whatever fucking God even exists

and then

then you’re just mad as hell

‘we need to and help the others,’ you say, as Bev nods and wipes away her tears, and Richie looks from the retreating Doctor to you

finally, he nods. ‘yeah,’ he agrees. ‘let’s kill this fucking clown’

you call the others and tell them Mike is okay, and you hear the utter relief in Bill’s tone, as well as the fear. you find them in the middle of town, and Bill is covered in dirt and Ben has some slimy looking black stuff smudges across his cheeks. Eddie looks pale and tired

‘you saw It?’ Bev asks, approaching Ben and wiping his cheeks. the man blushes and stares at her

Bill nods. ‘near the Barrens. we think It’s taken another child. 

‘that’s it,’ Bev says. ‘We have to go. Now’

and you do

you don’t even go back to the hotel first

you go for Neibolt house, after stopping in a hardware store and grabbing a hammer and a saw

and you wonder why the fuck none of you tried to bring a gun

‘or a fucking bazooka,’ Eddie supplies, to which Richie bellows out a laugh

you stand, the six of you (but there should be eight), in front of the house, fear seeping into your beings and a horror that no one on Earth, apart from you Losers, could ever know

you all walk together

it’s much the same as last time, the Well. it’s old and so out of place, and you all help each other down it with rope and with helping hands that are so much older than last time

but there’s no Henry Bowers this time

there’s no one but you six

and It

you think of the years after coming to this place, and how you forgot it, even when you still lived in Derry. As you lower yourself down into the Well, with the others helping you down, you wonder how the fuck you could forget such an utterly horrifying place such as this

Eddie is the last down the Well, and as you all duck in the tunnel, Ben makes a comment about how this was a lot easier when you were all two foot shorter

‘nah,’ Richie says. ‘Eddie’s still the same height’

‘Shut up, Rich’

you shuffle along the tunnel with the help of Richie’s hand against your back, and as you all climb through and stand, you wade through the grey water that comes up to your ankles and breathe in deeply, ‘ah, home sweet home’

‘don’t breathe too deeply, you might catch something,’ Eddie snaps. ‘God, this is disgusting’

you all move together, careful to not leave each other but knowing the exact way to where It should be

but then Bill is suddenly crouching low and picking something up, and you see a shiny necklace in his hand in the shape of a flower, and looks up, eyes wild

‘Bill…?’ Bev asks

‘AUDRA!’

and then he’s sprinting off and Bev is running after him

and you all slosh through the water, desperate to not lose him, and you can only assume that the necklace had belonged to his wife

and you wonder

wonder of It has her

wonder if she’s even alive

you trip and fall and come face to face with faces floating in the water; rotting with gaping eye holes and Eddie yanks you to your feet and screams himself

and Richie and Ben push the two of your forward and you’re all screaming for Bev and Bill

and then

then you see the circular opening to the cavernous room when you had fought It last time

and you see a scene that is so eerily similar to the one you had seen before, that you nearly wonder if you’re thirteen again

there is a body floating in the middle of the room, a woman with dark hair and skin, and her eyes are milky and open and Bill is pulling at her ankles, shouting her name

and you all wander over, eyes darting all over the place

and you grab Richie’s arm to keep him close to you; to protect him

and Ben is staring at Bill hopelessly

and then

you hear It

and the room seems to shake as it forms in front of that pile of children’s toys and objects

the clown

it stares at all of you, a slow smile spreading across It’s face and It’s head tilting

and fear ripples through you like a disease

there is silence as you all stare, and then It speaks

‘she floats now, too, Billy’

then It moves, tall and grotesquely as it lengthens and darts across the room, it’s arm grabbing at Ben first and yanking his face to his and throwing him across the room

and you’re all fucking yelling

and Bill is pulling at Audra

and Bev is running to Ben

but he gets her, too

and you’re slammed to the ground and Richie jumps on It’s back as Ben comes at It with the hammer

and you all fight, so much like that time

and Bill yells as he faces the murderer of his brother

‘you’re not taking anyone else from us!’ you scream, scrambling to grab It’s legs and pull and kick and do anything you can

an then you hear Richie stop yelling

and Ben

and Bev is screaming, ‘Don’t look at it, Eddie, (Y/N)! It’s the lights - they make you float!’

and you half see Bill, Richie and Ben staring at something as you peek from underneath your arm, and suddenly

they’re floating, too

‘NO!’ you screech, and Bev yanks you to your feet and back behind it and you watch, in utter horror, as if morphs and moves into creature after creature and Richie’s eyes are milky and white and not the brown that you love so

and then Eddie

Eddie is pushing through the men

and he has the saw in his hand

and he’s

he’s coming for It

but he doesn’t…doesn’t make it

the clown becomes a clown again and grabs Eddie, head pulling back and hundreds of teeth forming as the lights die and the boys starts awake, their feet hitting the floor as Eddie s c r e a m s

and Bev grabs at your in horror

and there is blood

so much of it

and you don’t even blink before Bill is catching Audra’s falling form, and Bev is hurtling forward onto It’s back and you run for Eddie, as Richie and Ben yell and claw at the thing

and Eddie’s arm is gone

and you hear Bev screaming, ‘AIM FOR THE LIGHTS! THE LIGHTS!’

and you hold Eddie, desperately pulling of your jumper and pressing it to his bleeding arm

‘Kill It!’ you scream

and suddenly there’s a bright light

and you fall over him as Bill pulls Audra close to the both of you, his eyes blue and tear stained as the light grows and grows, and he looks at you in question

and you shake your head

and then there is nothing

and silence reigns

and then Richie is falling onto his knees beside you, face pale and drawn as he reaches for Eddie, whose brown eyes are wide and whose cheeks are devoid of colour

‘Ed’s,’ Richie breathes, hands finding the man’s soft dark hair

and Bev pulls Ben close to her as you all crowd around Eddie Kaspbrak

‘I need to keep pressure,’ you mumble, desperately pushing against the gaping hole where his arm once was. ‘We need to get him out of here’. but you know. of course, you know, that he isn’t going to make it through this

‘N-no,’ Eddie breathes, brown eyes moving from you to Richie

‘Ed’s-’ Richie starts again, voice harder this time

‘Richie, don’t call me Eds. You know I…I…’ 

he dies, then

with you all around him

with Richie’s hands in his hair and his blood on your hands

and then

then there were seven Losers left in the world

[floralreddie]

The Unfairness of It All (Part 3)

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12248406/chapters/27857208

Pairing: Richie x Eddie (Reddie)

Warnings: Swearing. Sexual implications. Very light smut. Child abuse. They’re seventeen. Angsty afffff

Summary: It was a Tuesday, and it was officially the worst day of Richie Tozier’s life. There were two reasons that contributed to this fact, and these are those reasons. The first was that Eddie Kaspbrak had a girlfriend. A quiet girl that was in Richie’s Biology class, but a fucking girl all the same. The second was that it was the first time in Richie’s seventeen years that his father hit him.

The walk to the Quarry is, if Richie must choose just any word for it, fucking awkward.

Okay, that was two words.

There’s never really been an awkwardness between himself and Eddie. Heck, there’s never really been an awkwardness between him and anyone. Even the first time he met Ben, when the kid was all bloodied up because of Bowers (what the fuck happened to him, again?) Richie still found a way to crack a joke and ease the situation.

Glad I got to meet you before you died.

He somehow wishes he had the girl, Bev, with him through all of this shit. Because realising he had a crush on Eddie (the night of the kiss, in fact, and after than he realised, oh fuck, I kinda love this little fucker) would have been bearable had he had Bev, not fucking Stan.

He doesn’t know why. He can’t really remember her, other than freckles and red hair and a bravery they all only wished they could have.

Portland. She went to Portland.

He and Eddie ducked out of the school quickly (Richie knows the best route to take when skipping class) and hurried along the side roads of Derry, hands brushing and hearts hammering. Richie wants to kiss Eddie again, because kissing Eddie sober was a billion times better than kissing him when he was drunk.

They have today. They have today to figure it out.

The Quarry hasn’t changed much since they were kids, Richie decides. It’s still earthy and airy so entirely theirs. He remembers jumping into the water with all his friends, and spitting loogies during the summer time. They still sometimes came here, the remaining lot of them, but the summer evenings in which they did were after they’d all finished their shifts at corner shops and the arcade, and they’d crack open beers of whatever Richie had stolen from his Ma.

It’s April, and the air isn’t half cold, so Richie kicks off his boots and pulls off his socks as Eddie stands behind him, decked out in pristine chucks, red shorts and a yellow jumper that slips off his shoulder.

Rich looks over his shoulder as he rolls his jeans up above his ankles, eyes scanning the shifting and serious looking Eddie. ‘You’re so fucking pretty, Ed’s,’ he scoffs, turning away from the curly haired boy.

There’s a moment of silence before Eddie splutters out, ‘Don’t fucking call me Ed’s’.

Richie merely shrugs. ‘You gonna sit?’ He doesn’t turn around, but instead stares out at the water below. There are birds swaying against the blue waters. Hesitantly, he reaches up and pokes his nose. It hurt a little less. At least his dad hadn’t broken it. 

He hears Eddie shift. ‘It’s dirty’.

‘You’ve never cared before’.

‘I know, but…’ He trails off, but Richie knows what. He knows that Eddie’s dirt and germ phobia gets far worse when he’s stressed, just like Stan’s obvious OCD goes fucking haywire when there’s a test coming up. Bill was always good at calming him down, though. Richie finishes sorting his jeans and turns, long legs splayed out and feet hanging off the edge of the cliff. ‘C’mon, Eddie,’ he says softly, almost too softly for it to have possibly come from his Trashmouth.

Eddie complies, mouth pressed into a hard line and chucks scuffing against the dry dirt. He sits carefully next to Richie after kicking some stones aside, legs drawn up and arms hooked around his knees. ‘Now that we’ve broken a fuck ton of school rules, what’s the big plan now, Richie?’

Richie doesn’t really know. He just wants answers, really. He pushes his glasses up his nose (fucking ow) and peers round at Eddie, who stares blankly back at him. Richie has to cough out a laugh at that. ‘You’re so fucking grumpy. What the fuck. Stop looking at me like that, or I might have to ravage you again, Kaspbrak’. Eddie flushes, glares, and Richie pauses. ‘I meant what I said, y’know’.

I love you so fuckin’ much, Ed’s.

The younger of the two stares at Richie in wide eyed surprise, mouth open and jaw twitching. ‘I know,’ he nods and turns to look out at the water, eyebrows drawn together. ‘I’m sorry. I started this. I’m…sick. Fucking fag-’

‘What the fuck!’ Richie yelps, turning to Eddie fully now, his feet scraping against the dirt floor. ‘Eddie, what the shit, don’t say stuff like that, dude! I mean, shit, I’m a massive fag for you, if that’s the case-’

Eddie shakes his head, and Richie is horrified to see tears coming. Shit. Eddie never cries properly. He freaks out and his breathing gets bad (even though it’s water in that inhaler) and his eyes water, but he never cries. ‘Do you know what my mom will do if she ever finds out, Rich? She’ll send me to a fucking shrink, or put me on those pills that turn people straight. Don’t like at me like that, I know they fucking don’t!’

Richie is at a loss for words and he feels like a bit of an asshole, really. He never really considered that Eddie had comes to terms with that kiss, nor that he had thought the whole thing through and known it was dangerous. Of course, Mrs Kaspbrak would throw a fit, but the words Eddie was saying made Richie think that maybe… ‘Has she said all of this to you?’ Richie murmurs, peering at Eddie as tears run down his cheeks.

Eddie nods and sniffs, drawing up his sleeve to his face and wiping. ‘She heard what the kids at school were calling me in Middle School. Girly boy and all that shit. She told me that if I ever turned out like that, she’d never forgive herself or me. She says people like that are sick’. Eddie turns to him, a hot glare on his face. ‘Not all of us can not give a shit what people think, Richie. I’ve liked you since we were freaking eleven, you know that? Took you up until that stupid fucking kiss down at the Barrens to realise, you blind idiot-’

Great. Now he feels like even more of an asshole. ‘Eddie, I had no clue, I didn’t-’ He’s desperate and sorry. He just…just assumed Eddie was being a dick, or a pussy, or both.

‘So that girl, Susie, asked me out and I said yes. She’s kinda pretty. Kinda nice. The kind of girl my Ma would like’. Eddie shakes his head and draws his knees closer to his chest. ‘I’d just gotten over the fact that I fucking kissed you, which was fucking stupid, and that we’d started acting normal again. Then you had to do that today!’ He’s sobbing now, and Richie is staring in utter bewilderment as Eddie’s face crumples and his hands fly to eyes, attempting to hide the hot and heavy tears from Richie’s gaze.

‘Eddie. Shit. Please stop crying?’ Richie reaches for him, large hands swooping around Eddie’s shoulders and drawing him close to his chest. Eddie is fucking shaking. He’s sobbing and heaving and Richie doesn’t know what to do until Eddie is angling his face upward, gaze desperate and eyes searching.

Eddie kisses him first this time, and Richie finds that he might start crying himself.

He can taste the warmth of Eddie’s tears; their saltiness. He grips Eddie tightly to him, and in return Eddie grasps at Richie’s face and angles his body so that Richie is all but wrapped around him. He moves and Richie moves with him, pulling Eddie until he’s sitting across Richie with his bare knees digging into the sharp rocks and dry dirt.

‘It’s not fucking fair,’ Eddie breathes, gazing down at Richie as Richie settles onto his back, his thick and dark hair catching in the dirt below him. Eddie is blocking out the morning sunlight, his brown curly hair, a shade lighter than Richie’s, falling about his ears. His eyelashes are wet with tears, and his impossibly wide and dark brown eyes are scanning every inch of Richie’s pale and freckled face. ‘Why does it have to be wrong?’

Richie shrugs and holds Eddie’s waist. He still can’t quite believe this is even happening. ‘It’s not. That’s the problem’.

He kisses Eddie, and it’s warm and hard and fast, like they’re making up for lost time. They’re seventeen, though, and so fucking tired of everything in this town being so fucked up. This town, who would peer at them and call them wrong if they ever knew of the two boy’s feelings for one another, feelings that had only just come to light. Richie bitterly thinks that the town should fucking bow at their feet, because somehow (Richie can’t remember how, but the memory grates on his nerves and has him waking up in a cold sweat sometimes) he and the Losers had saved this fucking town.

Eddie pulls away and kisses Richie’s cheeks, his breathing still shallow and his hands pressed against Richie’s chest. ‘I’ll tell her,’ he promises Richie, kissing him on the lips in-between words. ‘But not yet. Can we have time, like this, until everyone finds out?’

Richie shifts and pushes himself against Eddie, desperate to feel more of that hardness against his thigh, and the boy on top of him stutters and goes a deeper shade of red than Richie knew possible. ‘You gonna keep the boring beard, Ed’s?’

Eddie stares down at Richie with sad, sad eyes. ‘It’ll make things easier,’ he murmurs, drawing a hand away from Richie’s chest to push it through his hair. Stopping, he pulls Richie to him and kisses him soundly, pushing his chest against Richie’s until they’re both upright, and Eddie is moving slowly in his lap. Eddie is hard, and Richie is in fucking bliss.

Richie breathes in deeply though his nose and chuckles. The pain in his nose doesn’t matter anymore, because Eddie’s hot breath is all over his face, and his hands are grasping at Richie’s shoulders as he moves. ‘Holy fucking shit that’s hot, Ed’s’.

Eddie laughs then. It sounds wet and sad, but it’s a laugh all the same. ‘Don’t be fucking crude,’ he shoots back, but gasps when Richie tightens his hold on his waist (how is Eddie so much fucking smaller than him?) and pushes him harder against him.

It’s a decision made. Richie doesn’t fucking care in that moment how sad or angry it makes him that he’ll have to watch Eddie with fucking Boring Susie the Beard for however long, nor how fucked up the whole thing is. All he cares about is that Eddie loves him too, even if he can’t say it, and how other fucking worldly it feels to have Eddie pressed against him, making those musical fucking sounds as he buries his face into Richie’s shoulder.