#minor eddie kaspbrak

[t4tozier]

thinking about richie kneeling on the floor in nothing but a collar and a muzzle, tongue out and drool dripping through the holes, chest flushed, eyes glazed over as they look up at eddie with nothing but obedience and deep, deep love, and eddie taking pictures of him and saving them in a special folder in his phone for whenever someone asks to see his dog <3

[princess-glassred]

It's so funny how Nicholas Hamilton got casted as Homophobic psycho bully Henry Bowers when he is openly gay, pretty normal, and a fairly silly guy. Meanwhile James Ransome got casted as the fairly good and closteted hero Eddie Kaspbrak, when he's like... openly homophobic/transphobic, harasses minors, doesn't like Bill Hader at all, and has gone on crazy rants about how Reddie is CP.

Like i understand what acting is and how not everyone is like their characters, but it's just funny how we have a total homophobic asshole playing a closeted hero, and a fairly nice gay guy playing a homophobic asshole.

[poisonedspider]

Getting to know the mun.

NAME: Strode

PRONOUNS: He/Him

MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S): Angel Dust is drowning out the other muses right now, but my other mains are Steve Harrington and Eddie Kaspbrak.

RP PET PEEVES: Call out culture/DNI lists (other than like, DNI with minors). In my time on Tumblr, I have had a lot of being put in this situation, to the point that I experienced horrendous depression. No one deserves to go through that. Just talk it out like adults, or block and move on. Also, when I write multiple paragraphs and get one or two sentences back. I never expect anyone to match my length, but when it's that drastic...

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS: Uhhhh, since I was 11. Which would have been....fuck I'm bad at math. 20 years ago. Wow.

FLUFF, ANGST, or SMUT: All of it, but I would be a liar if I said smut wasn't my preference.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: LONG LONG LONG. I am a multipara to novella writer and those are my favorite things to read as well.

TIME TO WRITE: I write every night past 9 PM. I still live with my mom, and I want to spend time with her with everything she has gone through these past five years. So when she's awake, I'm with her. She goes to bed at 9, so that is prime writing time for me.

Tagged by: Crap I stole this and don't remember who from already.

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it!

[reddie-ao3feed]

The Difference Between All Dead And Only Mostly Dead

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Rs7WToK by writersagainstwritersblock Eddie nodded along when the doctor came, telling her blandly someone must have flushed a shark down the toilet for it to end up in the sewers in Maine when she asked what had happened. It didn’t even get an amused look, but Eddie could hear the echo of Richie in his head saying, Aw, Eds, you flubbed that joke, it’s supposed to be an alligator, everyone knows that, you should’ve told them you’re an extra on the Jaws remake. Aside from the whole missing arm, blood loss, and concerns of infection, he had several scrapes and bruises, but no head trauma. Eddie stared at the spider. “Can any of the pain medications I’m on cause hallucinations?” “…it’s rare, but not impossible. Mr. Kaspbrak, are you currently seeing any hallucinations?” Eddie looked away from the spider. “No, I… I don’t like taking medication, can you please start lowering my dosage?”   Eddie Kaspbrak finds himself in the collapsing sewers by himself, not nearly as dead as the other Losers thought him to be, not happy to find himself left behind, and not quite alone either. OR Eddie Kaspbrak and the spider that just won’t die. Words: 3579, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Stanley Uris, Myra Kaspbrak, Tom Rogan Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Eddie Kaspbrak Needs A Hug, Eddie Kaspbrak Has a Bad Time, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), The Losers Club Are Good Friends (IT), The Losers Club Deserve Happiness (IT), Gay Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Cars, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, Not Myra Kaspbrak Friendly, Myra Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Fix-It of Sorts, Break It More Then Fix It, Amputee Eddie Kaspbrak, Unreliable Narrator, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Rs7WToK

[beep-beep-sunny]

Reddie week!!! Day 3- Meet-cute! This is based on my experience visiting Manhattan!! I did NOT like it.

You learn quickly in Manhattan that people never just want to talk. It's always something. There's always an angle. Once you stop and make eye contact, they've trapped you. They've won. Eddie Kaspbrak logically knew he grew up in Maine, but he always felt like he was shaped by New York. The fast paced hustle and bustle. He perfected the "I'm a businessman and I'm far too busy to stop and chat" demeanor.  

It was obvious when someone didn't belong. Tourists in Manhattan stuck out like a sore thumb, if the thumb had on one of those yellow hats with the sting keeping it on its head and a camera around its…neck. Do thumbs have necks? Around it's knuckle which in this analogy functions more like a neck. Regardless, it was obvious. To some, these things were walking dollar signs or lambs to be led to slaughter. Eddie just kept his head down. He had no use for tourists. They were a minor inconvenience at best. They never walked fast enough, always gauking at the various "landmarks". Sometimes, they even stared, wide eyed, in awe of the majestic and rare pigeon. 

Eddie almost felt bad for tourists, he knew the city would do nothing but chew them up and spit them, like gum, back onto the street, penniless and sore. Though, what was he realistically going to do for them? He had his own problems. His wedding chased him like a creature chasing a teen girl through the woods in a hoodie movie. He knew it was approaching, but he couldn't bring himself to look. He'd just keep walking forward until it caught up with him. His mother was also recently spending more and more time in the hospital. No, tourists were not his problem. They were as numerous as the pigeons and nothing he could do for tourists or pigeons would make any difference. 

So, he just kept walking. Keeping his head down and moving forward with purpose, clutching his briefcase with white knuckles as he made expert turns and pivots around fake monks raising money for fake temples or this costumed off brand SpongeBob that's face was just a little off in the way you'd see in a kid's creepy jumpscare game. Someone else could get suckered into taking a picture with Spongecreep that they think is free, but oops, that'll be twenty dollars. 

It was like a dance. A dance that Eddie did everyday, so he knew the chirography by heart. Dodge, dodge, duck, dip, pirouette, slide, and SMACK. 

The smack was not a normal part of the dance. What the fuck. A big sunburnt hand broke through the haze, reached out to him. "I am so sorry." Said a man in a voice that was deep, but also deeply unserious. The humor in his tone boiled Eddie's blood slightly as he took the man's hand with a hard squeeze and a tug, he pulled himself off the greasy Manhattan sidewalk Disgusting. Oh my god. When was my last tetanus shot? No. Die later, Kaspbrak. Kill this guy first. What a klutz. A big stupid lug. A- 

Eddie looked forward and got a look at the man. Dark messy hair clumping in sweaty chunks on his red forehead. Big black plastic frame glasses that were already leaving a stupid tan line. His eyes were bluer than the muddy Manhattan sky. He was lanky and big. Eddie felt small with his hand …still clutched in this stranger's large paw. He quickly ripped his hand away and straightened up his suit. The guy was obviously a tourist. Everything about him said tourist, from his yellow hat, to his camera hanging off his neck, to his kind smile and friendly eyes, but especially the fact that he stopped to help Eddie up instead of letting him get trampled like Mufasa in a stampede of antelope. No, instead, they both stood in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk with people washing around them like they're two rocks in a stream and the sound of rushing water was the cursing Newyorkers they were mildly inconveniencing. 

Then, Eddie realized it had been a weird amount of time that he'd just been standing there, staring at this man and saying nothing. "... it's fine" he forced out, knowing he looked like an idiot even though he wasn't the one that crashed right into a stranger with his stupid long limbs. 

The guy laughed at that. What the fuck was so funny about all this? "You're pretty cute for a curmudgeonly business man." Cute? Cute?? What the hell was that supposed to mean? His eyes met Eddie's and it was like the words even surprised himself. Like he didn't know that's what he was going to say until it fell out of his mouth. "Well," he broke the eye contact. "I'm sure you have places to be, you walked right into me after all." He winked and ran off. "Bye cutie business man." Eddie should have said Excuse me? You are obviously the one that ran into me with your stupidly long limbs, you floppy man they put outside of car dealerships. 

He didn't though. Instead, he kept standing. Now a lone rock, the water only having him to slosh around. Cute? He felt something unpleasant turning in his stomach. It wasn't strictly unpleasant, but perhaps nostalgic. The kind of feeling you get when your limb just starts falling asleep or what he imagined it might feel like at the top of a roller coaster just before the big drop. It was similar to dread, but he couldn't understand why he'd be dreading something. Maybe that guy looked like a mugshot on America's Most Wanted and he was subconsciously remembering. Cute. It kept playing on repeat in his head. He could almost hear someone saying that. Cute cute cute. Probably just his mother. No one else would have called him that. Just his mother and some jackass tourist trying to make fun of him. 

He watched the man keep walking until he crested over the horizon and disappeared into a crowd of faces going every which way like a page out of a Where's Waldo book. Then, Eddie did all he could really do, and kept walking too. He wasn't even going to make it to work early. Never talk to anyone in Manhattan. Just keep walking. 

Eddie shook his head as he fast walked towards inevitability. "Cute." He repeated under his breath, and if he smiled, no one saw. 

[aceditwrites]

The Master List (hi)

Master List:

Hi, i’m ace. I got really bored and i need an excuse to procrastinate on my personal writing projects so i decided to start an account dedicated to just writing. So like, you can request almost anything (limits below) like if you want like a platonic fic just ask! If you want the reader to be the kid or sibling of the character, i’ll do it! You can be as specific or as vague as you want, eventually i’ll get some prompts for help but for now, you gotta wing it. Also I’ll write for like any fandom even if i dont know it, i’ll try my hardest but i’d prefer if you stuck to the list below. Anyways yeah.  (also pfp is nyurei on picrew)

So basic rules, 

If youre an nsfw account dni, also i will not write smut regardless of age given i’m a minor

No incest 

I’m currently only doing x readers, that might change in the future but for now no ocs or ships

I’d prefer if you didn’t request x reader with an actual person, (ex. Instead of asking for a Maya Hawke x reader, ask for a Robin Buckley x reader)

If you know a character’s sexuality and you dont fit, dont ask (ex. Nico is gay, I will not write Nico x fem! reader)

Please specify pronouns when requesting 

Please keep in mind i’m not a professional writer 

Please use common sense and dont do something that makes me have to update the rules

Anyways, so fandoms i’ll write for

It 2017/2019: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon (specify if you want 2017 or 2019)

Percy Jackson: Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Grover Underwood, Piper McLean, Jason Grace, Leo Valdez, Hazel Levesque, Frank Zhang, Connor Stoll, Travis Stoll, Nico Di Angelo, Will Solace

Supernatural: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel, Kevin Tran, Crowley, Charlie Bradbury, Rowena (does girly have a last name 💀), Jack Kline (platonic only)

South park (platonic only for everyone, they’re children): Kyle Broflovski, Stan Marsh, Eric Cartman, Kenny McCormick, Butters Scotch, Tolkien Black (or is it Token? I swear its always spelled different), Timmy, Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Jimmy Valmer, Wendy Testaburger 

Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous/Chaos Theory: Darius Bowman (i’d prefer if we kept it platonic with him but romance is ok i guess), Kenji Kon, Brooklyn, Yasmina Fadoula, Sammy Guiterrez, Ben Pincus, 

Marvel: Tony Stark (platonic only, so sorry) Steve Rodger, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Peter, Ned Leeds, M.J, Harley Keener, Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, Shuri, T'Challa, Okoye

The Owl House: Luz Noceda, Willow Park, Amity Blight, Edric Blight, Emira Blight, Gus Porter, Eda Clawthorne, Lilith Clawthorn, Hooty (platonic preferred, but if you freaky like that go ahead and ask for romance, see what happens), Raine Whispers

The Umbrella Academy: Luther, Diego, Alison, Klaus, Five (would he date a kid or an adult cause-), Ben (he can be alive or yall could be ghosts), Vanya 

Dear Evan Hansen: Connor Murphy (my beloved), Evan Hansen, Jared Kleinman, Zoe Murphy, Alana Beck

Heather: Heather Chandler, Heather McNamara, Heather Duke, Veronica Sawyer, Jason Dean, Martha Dunnstock

Invincible: Mark Grayson, Debbie Grayson, Eve Wilkins, Rex Splode, Amber Bennet, William Clockwell

Idk how any of this works but uh have fun

[reddie-fangirl24]

Eddie Kaspbrak lay in his hospital bed, his body battered and broken from the final battle with Pennywise the Dancing Clown. While the Losers' Club had emerged victorious, Eddie had paid a heavy price. His spinal cord had a minor injury from Pennywise’s piercing claw, thus leaving him temporarily unable to walk. 

He was now faced with the daunting task of relearning how to walk through physical therapy. But doctors weren’t sure if he would walk again. It would be a miracle - just like his survival.

As Eddie stared out the window, nervous about his first day, he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Hey, Eds, mind if I join you?" Richie Tozier's voice cut through the silence of the hospital room. He had another chocolate pudding with him from the hospital’s cafeteria.

Eddie forced a smile. His best friend had done more than he should have, even remaining in Derry when he had comedy shows to perform. "Hey, Richie. Sure, come on in." He motioned for Richie to take a seat next to his bed.

Richie settled into the chair, his eyes scanning Eddie's bandages. "You ready for today?"

Eddie's smile faded slightly. "Honestly, Rich, I'm scared. Scared that I won't be able to walk properly again, that I'll be stuck like this forever. And I wish they could move me out of Derry! I don’t want to stay in this fuckin’ shithole. But, I don’t want to go back to New York either. What if... I have to stay in rehabilitation for the rest of my life?

Tears threatened his eyes, but he forced them away. He divorced Myra over the phone a month ago. She did not take that well, immediately disallowing him anything they owned on their property. Eddie was saving what money he had for all these medical expenses. 

Richie reached out and placed a comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Hey, don't think like that, alright? You're a fighter, Eddie. You've survived Pennywise twice. You'll get through this too."

Eddie sighed, his gaze drifting back to the window. It was a nice sunny day outside. He always went for jogs. "I know, but it's just so frustrating. I used to take walking for granted, you know? And now, I can barely move without feeling intense pain."

Richie nodded empathetically. "I get it, Eddie. It's going to be tough, but you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, every step of the way."

Eddie's eyes flickered with a glimmer of hope. "Thanks, Richie. I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

They both felt that magnetic pull, wanting to kiss each other. That feeling had been there since they were kids and the first time they met back up in the restaruant. Eddie shook it away, looking away from Richie as the doctors entered the room. How could Richie have feelings for a man like him? 

"Now, come on, let's get through this physical therapy together. You've got this!” Richie gave him a thumbs up as the nurses helped him into a wheelchair.

Weeks passed, and Eddie's journey through physical therapy was more challenging than he anticipated. The sessions were grueling, pushing his injured spine to its limits both physically and mentally. Eddie never sweat so much in his life. 

One day, when he was clasping the bars of the balance beam, Eddie fell to his knees out of exhaustion and lay on the ground, curling into a fetal position, his body trembling with pain as he struggled to catch his breath. Tears welled up in his eyes fearing he’d never fully recover.

As the doctors were encouraging him to stand up, Richie rushed to Eddie's side, kneeling down beside his friend, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Eds," he said softly, his voice filled with empathy. "It's gonna be okay. You're gonna get through this."

Eddie sniffled and looked up at Richie, his expression a mixture of pain and frustration. "I can't do this, Richie," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I can't bear the pain anymore. What if I'm stuck like this forever?"

Richie's grip on Eddie's shoulder tightened slightly, offering him a sense of support. "I know it's tough, Eddie," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "But you're stronger than you think. You've faced worse before, remember? We defeated that freaking clown together!"

Eddie nodded weakly, memories of their battle with Pennywise flooding back. Despite the pain, he managed a faint smile. "Yeah, you're right," he conceded. "We did beat that son of a bitch!” Eddie wiped away his tears and took a deep breath, finding a renewed determination within himself. 

He looked up at Richie, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thanks, Richie," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Richie flashed a small, genuine smile. "You'll never have to find out, Eddie," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "We're in this together, always. And I'll be right here, being the best cheerleader ever!"

As Eddie slowly got back on his feet, without hesitating, he kissed Richie. The other man was surprised, but he didn’t pull away, kissing him back. They stood there in their embrace for the longest time as the physical therapists gave them space. This was long overdue after all. 

Slowly but surely, Eddie progressed with each passing day, regaining more strength. Eventually, he didn’t have to use a walker. Eddie's face would light up with joy every time he achieved a new milestone, and Richie cheered him on, proud of Eddie’s resilience.

One day, as Eddie prepared for his last physical therapy session, Richie stood beside him, holding his hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, Eddie, guess what? I bet you can outrun me in a race once you're back on your feet."

Eddie smirked, his competitive spirit reawakening. "Oh, really? You're on, Tozier! You better start stretching now!”

Richie raised an eyebrow playfully. "Oh, you think you can take me on, Spaghetti Man?" he teased, his voice laced with mock arrogance. "Well, bring it on, Kaspbrak. I've been practicing my victory dance."

“Yeah, says the guy with two left feet!”

With the therapists acting as referees, Eddie and Richie positioned themselves side by side, their gazes locked in determination. The countdown began, and as the final number echoed through the air, they exploded into a sprint, their feet pounding against the ground.

Eddie could feel the wind rushing past him, his muscles working in sync with his willpower. This was... incredible. As he sprinted, Eddie could hear Richie's laughter mixed with shouts of encouragement, spurring him on. Was Richie fading behind on purpose or did he really find the ability to run again?

As they neared the finish line, Eddie's heart raced with exhilaration, pushing himself to his limits, and in that final burst of strength, he crossed the finish line just a fraction of a second before Richie, 

Their bodies colliding in an embrace of laughter and triumph, they stood there, breathless and elated, Eddie leaned on Richie, both of them catching their breath, as they buzzed with the thrill of the race. 

"I told you, Richie!" Eddie panted, satisfaction in his voice. "You may be the clown, but I'm the one who outran you."

Richie chuckled, his face beaming with pride. "Damn right, Eddie," he replied, his voice filled with admiration. "I just... have one question for you."

“What’s that, Richie?” Eddie asked, tilting his head. His arms still remained clasped around his large body.

“Now, that you’re better. Do you... want to come back to L.A. with me?” Richie asked, sheepishly, nervously looking away. 

Eddie answered, standing on his tiptoes, and kissing Richie.

[diedbrave]

Eddie was all the more delicate because he sometimes suspected he was not delicate at all. Eddie needed to be protected from his own dim intimations of possible B R A V E R Y.

Indie Eddie Kaspbrak from Stephen King's IT. Aggressively adored by Strode. Minors DNI. Multi-verse. ©

[midnightpink]

How To Raise a Child With Your Best Friend/Long-time Crush: An Inaccurate Guide by Eddie Kaspbrak

read it here on ao3

A look into Richie and Eddie's lives as they raise a child together.

by: hoeziertozier

Words: 28,320, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English 

Collections: Its_Reddie

Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (2017)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Original Characters, Myra Kaspbrak, The Losers Club (IT)

Relationship: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Parenthood, NOT an established relationship, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Character Death, this spans over 19 years, follows the timeline of the 2017 movie, but none of that shit with the clown happened, there's some minor eddie/myra that's very plot relevant, Mild Sexual Content

[krisnosura]

These are the mainest main characters.

Top left: Chandrabhan (Chandra) Phukan. He is pansexual.

Top right: Benudhar (Benu) Acharya (Chandra's partner). He is bisexual.

Bottom left: Nilmitra (Nil) Goswami (Chandra's childhood bestie). He is straight.

Bottom right: Gayatri (Gaya) Rabha (Nil's partner and member of the GayaNilChand trio). She is straight.

These two are roommates, and have been roommates for 10 years in the gurukul (basically a Vedic-system school) now. Chandra on arriving in the gurukul for the first time becomes roommates with these two.

Yug (Yugantar) hates Chandra's future boyfriend, Benu due to some feud their families had with each other (I will get to it later prolly) and Sudem and Chandra are like stuck in this unwanted beef. Sudem, however, will always be on Yug's side, even though secretly he asks Yug to not be so mean to Benu for something that was out of his hands.

Yug is aroace.

Sudem's sexuality is unknown (he doesn't tell me wtf) but he's mostly straight.

We all know about Gayatri by now.

Alpana and Yangkyi are her friends, and swimming buddies.

Yangkyi is also Sudem's future love interest, and she is like Richie Tozier to Sudem's Eddie Kaspbrak. Go figure. Yangkyi's sexuality is fluid and her ex's name is Ganga (Haven't drawn her yet).

Alpana is aroace but she becomes good friends with Yug (aroace duo).

Poumit was also Nil's roommate in the beginning. Then he shifted with Yug and Sudem after Chandra shifted to Nil's.

Gyan is a minor character who becomes a friend of Nil.

Poumit is straight.

Gyan is also straight.

Characters I haven't drawn yet:

1. Abhigyan (Benu's cousin and initial roommate, but he later shifts with Nil after Chandra shifts with Benu). He is straight.

2. Ganga (Yangkyi's ex. She wanted a poly relationship after she cheated on Yangkyi with another boy but Yangkyi refused). She is probably polysexual idk.

3. Arun (one of Nil's friends). Straight man.

4. Harideb and Udipti Phukan (Chandra's parents)

5. Yug and Benu's parents.

6. Jyotirmoy Rajbongshi (Harideb's friend. He's a middle-aged gay man.)

7. Himabhas (the gurukul owner and teacher.) And his family. He has two sons- Amrit and Pradyut. They help him in running the gurukul.

8. Mr. Kakoti (The Phukans' neighbor and Harideb's friend.) Straight guy.

More characters and updates on them and the story may/will come as my book progresses.

Tags:

#ksa/krisnosura - main tag

Character tags:

#benudhar acharya

#chandrabhan phukan

#benuchand - for Benudhar x Chandrabhan content

#gayatri rabha

#nilmitra goswami

#gayamitra - for Gayatri x Nilmitra content

#yangkyi deori

#sudem baruah

#yangkdem - for Yangkyi x Sudem content

#yugantar das

#alpana hazarika

#poumit rabha

#abhigyan bhagavati

[motoroil-recs]

HELLO UHHH.. canoncall i'm eddie ! or any other kin names, he/she + neos, tmasc mlm .and i'm fictionkin Obviously ( my rentry is linked in my profile, lots of cool info there )

just gonna get straight into it UHHH. i'm mainly looking for IT kins? any of the medias but primarily the movies . i'm kin w eddie kaspbrak and stan uris . i'm not rlly looking for anyone in particular so anyone can int, BUT eddie doubles and preferably bowers gang kins dni - and just in case, none of the parents either though i don't reckon anyone would kin them XD i only have a few memories, mainly as eddie but i would love to talk about them ! keep in mind i'm a minor so, anyone over like 25, and under 12 please dni ^_^

Best of luck finding your folks, Eddie! I wish you nothing but the very best.

[goomys-writing-space]

Welcome to my tumblr blog. This is the blog I have for finding new roleplay partners. Please read through everything before messaging me

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About mod: I am 25 years old, so if you interact on my profile you MUST be 18 years or older. If you are a minor following my blog, you need to leave or I will block you. I do suffer from anxiety and I am on the ASD spectrum, so I may come off as a bit weird or high strung. Though I NEVER use this as an excuse to be rude to people, it’s simply not in my nature.

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About blog: While I do not really rp on my blog, I primarily make posts to find rp partners. I don’t make posts very often, so this blog may look a bit blank at times, I also remove posts as I lost interest in certain fandoms. Please just ask about fandoms and their activity when messaging me.

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Also a very important note: please be aware that I enjoy dead dove content BUT it will not be shared on this blog. What will mainly be shared here is lighter romance ideas, AU’s, MAYBE some a/b/o ideas depending on the fandom and such.

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About fandoms/muses: I have a large variety of fandoms, and they will also be listed below plus the characters I rp. Please note that if nsfw arises at any time, all my muses are bottom. None of them will be dominant, so please do not ask.

Muse list:

Stranger things: Nancy Wheeler, Jane Hopper (Eleven), Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Max Mayfield, Jonathan Byers, Will Byers, Chrissy Cunningham

Child’s Play:

Tiffany Valentine, Glen Ray

IT (2017-2019):

Eddie Kaspbrak

Hunger Games:

Lucy Gray Ballard

Hazbin Hotel:

Charlie Morningstar, Angeldust, Lucifer (test muse!!)

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More to be uploaded with time.

[reddie-ao3feed]

My Friends Call Me a Loser (Cause Im Still Hanging Around)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4Acbgfr by RichieToizersBigOldGlasses Richie Toizer yearns for Eddie Kaspbrak, but he’s good at feelings. Eddie Kaspbrak yearns for Richie Toizer, but he’s bad at feelings. Or, If Casual and Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan had a baby and made it Reddie Words: 1443, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King Rating: Explicit Warnings: Underage Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Sonia Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Georgie Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, others - Character Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Consensual Underage Sex, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Gay Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, He’s just a pussy, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend, Minor Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh Lives With Her Aunt, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Poet Ben Hanscom, Eventual Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Track Star Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Toizer Skateboards, drugs drugs drugs, Eddie Kaspbrak is a bad person, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Alternate Universe - High School, They’re juniors in their second semester, so most are 17, eddie kaspbrak is 16, He’ll turn 17 later in the story, Blowjobs, handjobs, Teasing, Semi-Public Sex, Richie Toizer need to stand up, Slow To Update, have no idea what troupe this is, I have no idea if they’ll get a happy ending, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Service Top Richie Tozier, Sub Top Richie Tozier, at times - Freeform, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak/Top Richie Tozier read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4Acbgfr

[schrijverr]

Package for Mr. Kaspbrak

Follow a package that is bound for Eddie as it goes through the office and thus through the hands of people, who all have their own perspective and opinions about him.

On AO3.

Ships: Richie x Eddie

Warnings: everything that is wrong with corporate America

~~~~~~~~~~

A package of files is delivered to the risk analysis company on Flower St LA on a Thursday morning. The delivery boy who brings the package vaguely recognizes the name Edward Kaspbrak, but not in a manner that matters to him.

The man in the mailroom, Chad, whom he hands it to however, does know the name a little better. He often handles packages addressed to him and has heard all the gossip. He used to be a fan of Richie Tozier, before he came out, but he isn’t a fan of the new content.

Chad is a little bit of a bigot and denied ever having liked Richie’s work whenever asked. But he had followed Richie’s coming out, hoping it was all a joke. When it turned out it wasn’t he got annoyed, posted some hate, then went on with his life.

Alas, the universe has a funny way of getting back to him. Because it was after that, that he realizes one of the new names in the company is Richie’s famed boyfriend. Now he’s stuck way further down on the ladder, sorting his mail.

So, he takes the package, scoffs at the name and puts it on the right pile, hoping the intern will come pick it up soon.

Kamaria, the intern, is on her way to the mailroom to make her rounds. She knows that her internship means being the lowest on the ladder, she just hadn’t counted on that meaning that her job is to play delivering service.

It’s practically a crime she doesn’t get paid for this. She already has it bad enough with the micro aggressions she has to deal with on a daily basis. The mailroom itself is a minefield and she hates Chad, who works there.

She had her fingers crossed that he was out sick, however that doesn’t seem to be the case, because she is greeted with: “There you are, finally. God you all are so lazy.”

Now, Kamaria isn’t lazy and she knows that. She also knows that telling Chad that won’t do her any good, so she ignores it. One has to ignore a lot if you want to make it far as a minority in corporate America.

So, she just loads the cart with mail as quickly as she can, before getting out of there. She doesn’t speak a word to Chad, privately hopes he falls down the stairs or something.

She pushes the cart by the offices on the manager floor in the main analysis department, who she interns for. Not that she does much actual analyzing, unless they are too close to the deadline and push their work on her.

The secretary for Mr. Hearding, Karen, always calls her Kim, despite her many corrections and complains that she is late, despite the fact that Kamaria is on time every morning, including this one.

Linda, the secretary for Mr. Sullivan, greets her pleasantly and has to gossip. Linda isn’t so bad, thought a bit too into conspiracies, which connects to her love of gossip. On this morning, she says: “Did you hear about Mr. Kaspbrak?”

While claiming to be above it, Kamaria absolutely isn’t, so she replies: “No, what happened?” with a little bit of guilt. She cuts herself some slack, however. There is hardly any entertainment here and it is not like someone so far above her in the company ecosystem will care about what she, a low intern, has heard or said about him.

“Apparently he used to work in the New York branch,” Linda says, which is something everyone knows, so Kamaria is about to roll her eyes and move on, but then Linda goes on. “He transferred because of a very nasty divorce. He has a restraining order against his wife. My cousin is a hairdresser there, she heard all about it from the ex-wife. He ran away with that comedian after a reunion. Totally out of the blue.”

“Oh really,” Kamaria replies, thinking that talking about her boss’ private life like this went a little too far. So, she hands Linda Mr. Sullivan’s packages and quickly moves on to the last few in the hall, finally landing in front of Mr. Kaspbrak’s secretary, Hannah.

Hannah smiles at Kamaria kindly, making her feel a little guilty for listening to Linda, though she thought she was about to hear so manager break room drama, not the man’s nasty divorce.

“Thank you, Kamaria,” Hannah says, taking the package from her. “Any plans for the weekend? Or still trying to survive until Friday?”

“Trying to survive,” Kamaria smiles, not telling someone with a direct line to her boss that she is going out partying. “You?”

Hannah knows she is not entirely honest, but lets it slides. She remembers what it is like to be young. So, she puts the packages down to sort through later and says: “Me and Jacob are visiting my parents this weekend.”

“Oh, have fun,” Kamaria says, before walking back to her desk with the now empty cart.

Hannah watches her go, before looking through the pile just delivered onto her desk. There isn’t much, however, she sees a thick packet that is probably the files Mr. Kaspbrak, or Edward, as she is allowed to call him, is waiting for.

She takes the pile and walks into Edward’s office holding them. He is working on his computer and looks up when she comes in, smiling when he sees it’s her. Edward isn’t the most sociable person there is, Hannah knows. However, she doesn’t mind much, because he is a good boss.

Unlike some of the horror stories she hears from other secretaries, Edward’s particularities are very mild. He is a bit of a clean freak, but at least he doesn’t grope her or yell at her for things out of her control. On top of that, he gave her free Yom Kippur, giving her a sad smile and telling her he lost an old friend, who was Jewish before moving to the LA branch.

It’s little moments like those, which makes working for Edward bearable. He is mostly known as a strict man throughout the company, but he just likes to get things done on time and have those things done well. He has high expectations of himself and expects the same quality from everyone else.

Hannah has figured out how to meet his standard and now he is nothing but pleasant. She considers herself very lucky.

So, she returns his smile with one of her own and pleasantly says: “A delivery just came in. I think the Lemmin Inc. files are here.”

“Ah, thank you, Hannah,” Edward replies, taking the package from her and opening it. She waits as he studies it, knowing the request that will come. Indeed he asks: “Could you copy these for me, please? I need six for the meeting.”

“Of course,” she answers, taking them and going to the copy machine to do just that.

She had once asked him why he copied these things instead of handing them out digitally. He told her that nothing is as confronting as a physical manifestation of something. Having a task you can’t minimize on a screen, but something that takes up space on your desk, makes that you complete it faster. It was a sensible answer, but the way he said it made her a little uneasy.

Edward has the habit of suddenly getting intense sometime. It is always a little odd when his eyes go all serious and he says something profound or confounding.

Hannah privately thinks it’s because of that accident he was in a few years ago. It’s the reason he now walks with a cane and she does a little more leg work than the average secretary. He divorced his wife afterwards and got together with a famous comedian. Quite a nasty divorce she knows, because she has had to block the ex-wife from calling.

She can imagine how such an accident will make one reevaluate themselves and Edward seems happy, so she can’t imagine it was such a bad change.

The gossip made the rounds when he first started working there, Hannah in the middle of it. They are all curious how Edward is as a boss, if he is anything like the anecdotes Trashmouth Tozier likes to tell on stage.

Hannah doesn’t see much of the argumentative, competitive, concerned, overbearing boyfriend in her boss. However, she knows that everyone has a version of themselves they are at work. Edward is no different. And she sees how he can be whenever Richie calls the office, how much he smiles and rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. It’s sweet.

She gets to the copier and scans the pages to be printed. It’s mindless work, but Hannah doesn’t mind. It is part of her job and she likes it. A quiet moment to herself.

The moment sadly doesn’t stay quiet.

Linda, Mr. Sullivan’s secretary, comes over when she’s busy. Linda is an absolute gossip and believes everything she reads on the internet. Hannah promises herself that if she starts about the ‘secret elite’ running everything again, she is going to snap and walk away.

Instead Linda goes on about another topic of interest to her. Edward Kaspbrak. She doesn’t even say hello, just starts: “I heard Mr. Kaspbrak has a restraining order against his wife. I’d be careful with him, if I were you. Someone willing to go to such extreme’s over something mild is dangerous, I’m telling you.”

In turn Hannah only hums in acknowledgment, not wanting to start a fight this early in the morning over Edward’s divorce of all things. She herself doesn’t think it was anything mild, but that is likely because she had the distinct displeasure of talking to Myra. However, she is not telling Linda that, she can be like a shark.

“I mean, honestly, you never hear a man getting a restraining order against a women,” Linda continues on, despite getting no encouragement to do so. “It feels fishy. He probably made up all sort of horrible things about her to keep the money. He seems the type.”

This is a little far and Hannah doesn’t want Linda spreading such nonsense further, Edward has enough weird rumors going around as it is. So, as politely as she can manage, she says: “I think this is not the sort of topic to speculate on.”

��Alright, alright,” Linda says, holding up her hands as if she is surrendering. Her tone makes it obvious that she thinks Hannah is a stuck up bitch, but Hannah doesn’t care.

“Did you need to use the printer?” she asks, when Linda doesn’t leave.

“Oh no, I just came to check if you needed any help,” Linda tells her. “Mr. Kaspbrak always makes you do the carrying. He’s a man, he should be able to get his own papers, not use you like some sort of servant. Don’t you think.”

“Edward needs a cane to walk, Linda. He is not allowed to do his carrying,” Hannah snaps slightly, needing Linda to stop talking.

Edward has many times apologized for all the work she needs to do for him, but she does not blame him. The company is afraid he’ll sue if something happens to him, so that means Hannah has a few more physical tasks. In her opinion he more than makes up for it by keeping to the schedule by himself. She would rather carry a little more than constantly play nanny like she sees the other secretaries do.

“I think he’s just being dramatic,” Linda informs her conspiratorially.

Right when Hannah is about to smack Linda, the copier beeps that it is done and she gratefully makes her exit with the files she needs. One of these days she is reporting Linda to HR. She would have done so already, if Edward hadn’t requested she not cause a fuss surrounding his disability. He hates the attention and scrutiny.

She shakes off the frown and annoyance Linda has left her with and goes to Edward’s office, leaving the stack on his desk with a smile and without a word, because he is in a call right now. So, he only gives her a smile back, before she retreats.

Eddie flips through the files that were delivered this morning idly. Most of the information in the files are already known to him, but it doesn’t hurt to glance at it again before his presentation on the Lemmin Inc. assessment later.

On the phone he is listening Todd, who is working on the case with him later. If Eddie is honest, he doesn’t like Todd much. He always has something to say or complain about, but never any solutions himself. Plus, he has terrible timing. They have a meeting in an hour, Eddie is sure these questions can wait.

He tells Todd as much and hangs up. He wants to get as much work done as he can in the hour he has. Tonight he and Richie are meeting up with the rest of the Losers. Everyone is flying in to LA for a get together.

They try to get together whenever they can, all of them still a little afraid that they will forget everyone when they don’t see each other for a while.

When the hour is over, he gather the files for the case and gets to the meeting. He likes to make notes on them, before scanning them in and sending them digitally.

He puts the files on the table, so everyone has them and they don’t have any delays when starting up. Eddie is in the middle of setting up his power point when Todd enters. He mentally sighs before putting on a neutral look and greeting Todd.

Todd picks up his packet and flips through it. He scans for a little bit, but doesn’t really read it, Mr. Kaspbrak isn’t his favorite to work with and he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual. However, he has worked together with the man often enough to know that reading it all is pointless. Mr. Kaspbrak will explain anyway.

“Todd,” Mr. Kaspbrak greets and Todd feels a stab of annoyance go through him. Todd has been with the company since his internship, yet when it came time for what should be his promotion, his spot had been taken by Mr. Kaspbrak. A transfer.

Now Mr. Kaspbrak is above him in the hierarchy, leaving Todd to call him Mr. Kaspbrak while he could call him Todd. It frustrated him to no end. So, he always tries to trip him up, make him look incompetent, so that Todd would get his promotion, but so far no dice.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” Todd greets back pleasantly, but with an undertone. It’s one of the first skills he learned when he started in the field.

After the greeting Mr. Kaspbrak goes back to setting up, which also irks Todd, who believes he should never be ignored like this. So, he leafs through the files again, then asks: “Has there been proper communication with the client about their needs?”

It is quiet for a second as Mr. Kaspbrak looks up, if Todd had better eyes, he would have seen the murder hiding in them, however, he does not. So, he misses the layer of being utterly done as Mr. Kaspbrak answers: “Yes, there has been.”

“Okay, good, just checking,” Todd says, sitting down.

The others are already dropping in, which is far more interesting than Mr. Kaspbrak. Brady enters and Todd knows he just got a yacht for his birthday, so he abandons any pretense of being interested in favor of asking about it.

They are just getting into the parties Brady plans on throwing when Mr. Kaspbrak makes them stop in favor of his boring meeting.

Todd hates being in meetings like these. His father wanted him to make something of himself and if he didn’t then he might not get his inheritance. So, here he is listening to Mr. Kasprbak babble on about numbers.

He’s obviously gay, Todd thinks to himself, with how proper and uptight he always is. If he has to bet, he’d say Mr. Kaspbrak got that promotion over him as a diversity hire. Every company is doing that nowadays. There’s one black intern too, she’s under Mr. Kaspbrak. Let her, those talentless people should be clumped together away from the hardworking American’s, who actually earned their spot.

After that he scratches his face and thinks of whether he can convince his father to buy him a vacation house in the Caribbean, since he has spend all of his own salary and allowance on a few very nice cars.

Once he has decided he probably could, he raises his hand and asks a probing question. He has to keep Mr. Kaspbrak on his toes. Besides one of these days Mr. Kaspbrak won’t have a good answer, which will show everyone that Todd is a much better candidate for his position.

Unbeknownst to Todd, his question had been answered in the presentation earlier and thus an annoyance to anyone who had been paying attention. Todd just notes that Mr. Kaspbrak looks annoyed when answering, which isn’t very professional.

To distract himself, Todd crumbles the paper in front of him, refraining himself from doodling on the files. They always get the files digitally afterwards anyway.

This continues on for another half an hour before Mr. Kaspbrak finally lets them go. Todd sighs of relief and gets up, talking with Brady as they go to the break room. Actually working is for the interns under them.

In the break room Todd sees the crumpled packet of paper still in his hand that he throws in the trash. As he does so, he gripes: “I can’t believe the old fashion-ness. Paper? I mean, really? You would think he’s sixty not forty.”

The comment gets some laughs. Brady commenting: “Well, that hot secretary heard he had a nasty divorce, probably aged him twenty years.”

Everyone laughs again, before Connor, one of the other lads Todd knows from Harvard, says: “I can see it, but I don’t know if you should trust her. I mean, I’d fuck her, but you gotta be careful who you listen to. Last week she claimed he got that scar on his face because he was attacked by a madman with a knife.”

“You’re kidding,” Todd snorts. “That’s ridiculous. I mean have you seen him? I could pick him up without issue.”

“That’s what I said,” Connor rolls his eyes with a grin.

They continue talking like that for a little while, before going to shoot the shit at their desks, leaving the break room an absolute mess.

Nico sees them leaves and silently seethes a bit at them. He won’t ever say something about it to them, he has transitioned years ago, but jerks like that always seem to be able to pick him out of the crowd, so he is far too attached on the invisibility being a janitor grants him.

So, yeah, he seethes quietly as he watches, having timed his round by when they’ll leave, knowing that his work will otherwise immediately be undone. He also doesn’t like how they use the interns as coffee maids, but at least the interns know how to keep a room tidy.

Still, it is his job, so he sets to work. Emptying the trashcan and picking up everything that hasn’t made it into the trashcan. He doesn’t see the packet of paper that gets buried under used napkins and empty packaging.

Once this break room is clean again, he starts pushing his cart to the elevator. Nico quite likes his job, in all honesty. It’s not that bad. Just the people are.

The elevator dings and he pushes his cart in, the man already there moving to the side to give him space. He thanks him with a smile, getting one in turn from the man, who Nico actually recognizes, because it is Richie Tozier.

He has to admit the first time he ran into Richie he had been kind of star struck. Ever since he came out, he has become a bit of a household name in the queer community. Nico loves his newer work about his life as an older, recently out, gay man and his struggles growing up. Of course, Nice also loves the bits about his husband, but it’s always a bit odd that he cleans the office of the husband of Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier.

However, Nico can see the Eddie Richie talks about in Mr. Kaspbrak, albeit it still confuses him from time to time. Mr. Kaspbrak is always so professional that if Nico didn’t know better he would assume the man lived at the office, or was some sort of pod-person created to work in an office.

But Nico knows better, because he has seen Richie’s bits about Eddie being an argumentative potty mouthed little shit, who can be the worst mother hen, yet still loves Richie very much even if he keeps telling him he loves Eddie’s mom more.

Richie also has bits about the germophobia his boyfriend has, which is where Nico can see Mr. Kaspbrak best.

It can be a serious fear, Nico knows, but Mr. Kaspbrak is one of his favorite workers in the company because of it. To him, Mr. Kaspbrak is always cordial and kind, leaving a big tip each month, because he recognizes the work Nico puts in to keep the office clean and how important that is. Furthermore, his own office is always already very clean, which means Nico doesn’t have much work with cleaning it.

All in all, Nico likes Mr. Kaspbrak.

The elevator dings open and Richie perks up from his phone as they both get out of the elevator. It is a little awkward as they continue to head in the same direction until they reach the toilets where Nico halts as Richie continues on.

As he starts cleaning, he can hear Richie yell in the distance: “Eddie Spaghetti, come eat lunch with me! You’ll suffocate in that tie.”

Mr. Kaspbrak returns in an out of character manner that only happens when Richie is near him, when he’s more Eddie than Mr. Kaspbrak. “It is not even lunch hour yet, dickwad. Not all of us can just leave.”

“Lies and slander,” Richie replies. “Come on, you work hard enough to skip out early. You’re not a coward, are you?”

“This has nothing to do with what you said,” Eddie says and Richie laughs loudly. A little bit later they walk by the toilets Nico is cleaning, on their way to lunch. Eddie gives him a nod when their eyes happen to lock and Nico nods back equally friendly.

Later he walks by Linda’s desk, god does he despise her almost as much as the frat bros a few levels down. She is telling Karen: “I mean, did you see how he was dressed. I bet he and Mr. Kaspbrak are close to going bankrupt.”

Nico thinks of the tip Mr. Kaspbrak always leaves him and the Beverly Marsh jacket Richie was wearing when he came in, so he rolls his eyes as he highly doubts that.

At the end of the day, the files that came in that morning are laying in the big dump next to the office building of the risk analysis company on Flower St LA. The garbage collectors that come to pick it up, have no clue it related to Edward Kaspbrak, unaware he even works in the building and neither a stand up fan.

~~

A/N:

Please note that I have never worked in the corporate world (something I’m grateful for, because I hated most of the character I made up for this lmao) and I don’t plan on it, so enjoy this with a grain of salt

I thought it would be fun to see from the perspective of the files as they’re handed from person to person, you know, but let me know what you think!

[amanitaphalloides]

a chicken with it's head cut off by the magnetic fields is soooo sweat it out eddie core

one of my favorite songs ever you are SO right and so smart thank you for this message!! fwiw my other sweaty eddie anthems: 1985 bowling for soup. frustration by soft cell. and for recent chapters sweet escape 💘 “first of all let me say I must apologize for acting stank and treating you this way” -eddie kaspbrak. ok also as long as we’re here I’m sorry I’m off track with my update schedule rn what happened is that ive been making a bunch of pretty minor edits as I post but that has finally culminated in me needing to basically rewrite the next two chapters 😬 which is fine I just was out of state and now I have friends visiting so it’s taking longer than I planned but I’ll get it up soon as I can!

[octoberobserver]

Losers of the Rectangular Table

(Read on ao3)

"Damn, I wish I had a gong. It was so cool last time."

"You've never been cool a day in your life, Trashmouth."

Richie Tozier blinks, surveying his friend from where she sits diagonally across from him at the long, dining room table, a glint in her jade eyes. It really is a sight to behold, ten grown people sitting pretty at the glossy mahogany structure, Richie and Bill at each end like twin-kings of their weird, little kingdom.

Upon arrival, they each had silently acknowledged that a circular table would have facilitated their large group a little better. But, after last time...Richie is glad for the change. He had already made the obligatory ‘Last Supper’ joke more than once, of course. He blames the cold for his lack of creativity. Eddie blames his now-fired ghost-writers.

"Words hurt, Beverly. I thought engaged life had changed you, but alas," he places a wounded hand to his chest, "you have marred the first annual Clown Club meet—"

"We're not calling it that," Stanley cuts across Richie’s dramatic speech, with a withering look from his right.

"Well, you already vetoed Dead Losers’ Society, Staniel—”

"That's because out of the ten people present, only three of us have actually died, so that name doesn't hold up, genius," Eddie sighs from his left, picking up his glass.

"Okay fine, Mr Pedantic Pants,” Richie shrugs down at Eddie before addressing the table at large, “how about - welcome to the first annual 'Pennywise fucked us up and we can't talk about it to professionals lest we get thrown in the nut house' meeting. That satisfy everyone?"

Various murmurs echo throughout the room and Richie takes that as his cue to sit back down, drink in hand.

"I never thought I'd hear you use the word 'lest' in a sentence," Eddie snorts, taking a large sip from his long island iced tea, his third of the night.

Three-drink-Eddie is where his lips really loosen, to Richie’s endless delight.

Richie studies his mouth around the purple crazy straw for a second, eyes lingering on said thin, pursed, snarky lips before he shoots back, unthinkingly, "Watch your tongue, Kaspbrak. Lest I put it to better use."

Shit. Rein it in,Tozier.

Three-drink-Richie is an idiot.

Well, an even bigger idiot than sober Richie, anyway.

He knows that he has gotten a little too...comfortable these last few months where Eddie and his carefully constructed line is concerned. They have been living together in Richie’s L.A. apartment for over six months now, after Eddie landed on his doorstep, announcing his divorce following his after-death crisis. Being roommates had come remarkably easy, with only minor hiccups, especially considering their type A and type B personalities, (the vegetable crisper is not a candy-drawer, Richie!) and it brought out a brazenness in Richie that he had thought was long-buried.

It’s just too fun fucking with Eddie (and have him give as good as he got), always had been.

Trouble is, subty isn’t exactly Richie’s strong suit the best of times, and when it comes to his oldest, deepest secret, he really can’t afford to test that. And yet, he does, almost unbeknownst himself, constantly.

Stan has always said I’m a masochist.

Richie has officially been out of the closet (complete with Twitter hashtag and upcoming Netflix special) for almost a year, while Eddie is too, albeit on a much quieter scale, for almost eight months. And not much has changed in their dynamic, really. They are still RichieandEddie, EddieandRichie, EdsandTrashmouth. They are, still at their core, those thirteen year old bickering boys, poking and prodding at each other, literally and figuratively, only they both now acknowledge that they had always been boys who liked boys, too.

And that...that made things interesting.

Kinda heartbreaking too.

‘Cause at least when Richie had thought Eddie was straight, he had that as an excuse, something to nurse his wounded, fragile heart. It was just never to be. Will never be.

But now…

Now he has to face the fact that Eddie is into dudes. He just isn’t into Richie. Will never be.

But that doesn’t stop Richie from riling him up at any given opportunity.

He’s only human.

If a little obvious, sometimes.

Though he’s certain Eddie hasn’t caught on as surely he would have run for the Hollywood hills if he had.

A flush of crimson rises steadily up Eddie's neck that Richie hungrily follows with his gaze like a man starved, heat pooling in his treacherous stomach. Eddie opens his mouth, no doubt to squawk an indignant retort when Bill leans forward, catching their attention.

"Richie, behave. We have company," he admonishes like a weary schoolteacher, gesturing first to Stan’s wife, Patty, and then to Adrian Mellon and his fiancé, Don Hagarty, as if they had all somehow forgotten their esteemed guests of honour.

“Oh don’t mind us,” Adrian waves dismissively, “we’re used to Richie’s latent flirting,” he leans forward in his chair to catch Richie’s eye, a smirk lining his face, “right, Tozier?”

“What can I say, Mellon?” Richie smirks right back, thinking, you smug little shit, “I’m an equal opportunity tease.”

Patty gives an amused snort as Richie turns to wink at her, ignoring Stan’s patented eyeroll.

Eddie shifts in his seat, clearing his throat.

“Alright so, uh...how do we start this?”

The Losers all look to their old leader, who is taking a sip from his piss/battery acid hybrid (according to Richie) craft beer.

Bill looks to his right, catching Mike’s eye and slowly lowering his glass.

“Well, uh...I’m no shrink but, I-I guess we could start with any uh...any pressing issues?”

“We’ve more issues than The Walking Dead, Big Bill,” Richie chuckles, not caring that he is ripping a line straight from his new special, “you gotta be a bit more specific.”

It had been a nice weekend, so far. Ben’s ‘cabin’ (actual giant wooden mansion) in Montana, had been the perfect backdrop for this little get-together, just over 18 months after everything that had gone down in Derry 2: Electric Boogaloo.

They were so far away from their real lives. A four hour flight from Los Angeles. Three from Georgia. Six from New York. Each pairing, (Richie did not allow himself to think ‘couple’) - Patty and Stan, Adrian and Don, Bill and Mike, and Richie and Eddie, had waved goodbye to their jobs, their responsibilities, their everyday worries, for an entire weekend to live it up with Ben and Bev in their vacation home.

And live it up, they did. Their first night had been spent settling in, acclimating themselves after their travels, followed by a quiet dinner and earlyish to bed like the near-middle-aged people they were. (Don and Adrian notwithstanding.) But tonight, after spending the day sight-seeing and catching up, tonight held a purpose.

“I’m still having nightmares.”

It’s Ben who speaks first.

Bev reaches out to squeeze his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m being buried alive.”

Richie watches as Bev’s hand tightens over the planes of Ben’s knuckles, her own ghostly white.

“I’m suffocating to death, alone, the clown’s laughter all around me.”

A short silence follows those words.

“My deadlight dreams come back sometimes,” Bev pipes up quietly, running her free hand through her hair and blowing out a breath, “I thought they’d...stop, after. But they haven’t. Not completely.”

Richie swallows down the bile rising in his throat, dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Deadlights?” Don asks gently, surveying the table.

“Goodness gracious great balls of light,” Richie deadpans, gesturing with his drink, “big-ass orbs. The clown’s...energy, I guess? I dunno, man. Bev stared them straight on when she was a kid and...went into a trance or something. All white-eyed and floaty, like doing Molly at Burning Man. Except she didn’t achieve enlightenment or whatever the fuck. She saw us all die horribly in a freaky premonition.”

Bev’s gaze is heavy and knowing, no doubt hearing the strain in his voice as he tried to joke.

“You saw them too, Rich.”

Richie suppresses a shudder just as Eddie reaches out and clasps his forearm. The weight feels nice. Solid. Comforting. Everything Eddie has been for him for the last year. Or thirty years, depending how you look at it.

When it’s clear Richie isn’t going to say anything, Mike rests his palms against the table, staring at nothing.

“I think about Henry Bowers sometimes.”

Richie practically feels Eddie still in his seat, his grip on his arm tightening.

“Me too,” he admits, “hard not to think about the guy I axe-murdered.”

“You didn’t murder him, Richie,” Mike murmurs, trying to catch his eye, “you were defending me. You saved my life.”

The bile rises higher in his throat as he avoids Mike’s stare.

“Henry Bowers was Derry’s favourite bully,” he addresses Adrian, Don and Patty respectively, instead of even attempting to broach the subject of his ‘heroism’. “A real winner. Racist, sexist, homophobic. The true trifecta.”

“Anti-semitic too,” Stan adds, swirling the slice of lime around in his glass.

“Shit, yeah,” Richie agrees, “what’s after trifecta? Four-fecta?”

“Quadfecta,” Eddie corrects with a pat to his arm before letting his hand fall away.

Richie tries and fails not to miss its warmth.

“Yeah, I met a few of Derry’s bullies myself,” Adrian chuckles humorlessly, hand coming up to rest on his chest where they all knew an impossibly large, mouth-shaped scar lay directly over his heart.

Don leans into him, knocking their temples gently together, his arm winding around his shoulders and pulling him close.

Richie watches their casual intimacy, the ever-present ache flaring within him. He doesn’t look at Eddie. But it’s a near thing.

“They’re...they’re being prosecuted, right?” Patty asks, voice gentle but gaze fiery, “for what they did to you?”

Adrian nods, “Yeah, I mean, as much as they can be. Murder is off the table ‘cause, well,” he gestures up and down at himself, “but they’re up for assault, grievous bodily harm, attempted murder too. My lawyer says with that, and the Hate Crime angle, it’s looking good for fifteen to life.”

“Too good for those assholes,” Eddie growls, angrily gulping down the last dregs of his cocktail, slamming the glass back onto the table.

Adrian smiles, “Aww, Kaspy. I’m touched you care.”

Eddie blinks at him, “Of course I care, man. You...without you I—” he breaks off with a wave of his hand, the table filling in the rest. It’s still hard for Eddie to talk about what happened...after. Just as hard as it is for Richie to hear, if he’s being honest.

Adrian tilts, clapping Eddie on the shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have made it back without you, my afterlife-wife.”

Eddie glares at him.

“I hate that nickname.”

“Aw, Kasp—”

“That one too.”

Richie leans into the two of them, whispering conspiratorially, “Take it from me, Mellon-head. Spagheds is not a fan of any nicknames. I’ve been trying and failing since before you were just a twinkle in your dad's dick."

The whole table lets out some low chuckles at that. After a beat, Patty pipes up, smiling softly.

“I just...I can’t believe everything you all went through, now, but also, back when you were kids,” she marvels, glancing around at the Losers, her eyes settling on her husband, “you were all so brave.”

Don and Adrian hum in agreement before Bill heaves a sigh.

“If we had have just figured out how to kill IT back then—”

“That way madness lies, Bill,” Mike cuts across his friend, resting a hand on his shoulder, “trust me.”

Bill and Mike hold each others’ gaze for a weighted moment. It gives Richie pause. As does most interactions between Big Bill and Mikey these days. There’s something comfortable, familiar laced between them that Richie can almost put a name to.

It takes one to know one…

“You wouldn’t have died.”

Bill says it directly to Mike, but he means it for Stan, Adrian and Eddie.

“G-Georgie...he still would have, I know that. But...you three, those kids...they wouldn't have had to go through that. Dying and coming back.”

They all let that sink in.

“You think, ten years down the line we'll have Dean and Victoria knocking on our doors?” Eddie asks, clearly wanting to put an end to that train of thought, sounding both intrigued and horrified by the idea.

“Maybe,” Stan shrugs, “I mean, we get it, right? What they went through. Well. You guys do anyway.”

Richie can feel Eddie’s frown wafting from him across the table at their friend.

“You get it too, Stan. You...died and came back too.”

Stan nods, eyes lowered to his half-empty glass.

“Yeah. But you and Adrian were murdered. I took a bath.”

Patty’s sharp intake of breath is the only sound that follows that.

Stan reaches out for his wife’s hand, squeezing it apologetically.

“That’s bullshit, Stan,” Eddie practically spits, throwing up his hands, “I’m sorry, man, but it is. You...you sacrificed yourself for us. You ‘took yourself off the board’ to try and save us from that bastard. It may not have been directly him that physically did the job, but he did fucking kill you.”

Eddie is vibrating in his seat, his knee bouncing up and down as if independent from his body. Richie’s hand lands heavily on it, stilling it with a gentle squeeze. Their eyes meet, a little of the tension draining from Eddie’s shoulders at whatever he sees on Richie’s face.

Richie has an idea what it could be, but tries not to think too hard about it.

“I should’ve been able to warn you,” Bev breaks through whatever spell has befallen them, snapping both of their attention back across the table.

Richie goes to take his hand away, only to have Eddie’s fall atop it, their fingers brushing.

Heart hammering in his chest, Richie tries not to think too hard about that either.

That way madness lies…

“What?”

Bev glances over towards Stan.

“I—back then, back in the Barrens...I told you that I saw all of us, as we are now. Fighting IT. But I...I didn’t see you, Stan.”

Her voice is thick with emotion, her eyes wide and glistening.

“I’m sorry I—”

“Bev, it’s not your fault,” Stan interrupts gently, reaching over his wife to pat her hand where it still lay atop of Ben’s, “you were just a kid. You didn’t know what any of it meant. Didn’t...didn’t you say you saw all of us, die? Not just me and Eddie?”

She nods, her amber hair catching on the soft light.

“Well,” Stan gives a half-shrug, “then how could you know what would come true and what wouldn’t? Until it happened?”

Something ugly squirmed in Richie’s gut at that. He tried to shove it down, tried not to think of how, in those impossibly hard weeks after Eddie—after what happened, he had blamed Bev, was furious at her for not warning them that Eddie would be impaled.

It’s not her fault, it’s not her fault, it’s not her—

“What did you see in the Deadlights, Richie?”

It’s Bill who asks this time, his tone tinged with a determination that Richie had not missed from childhood.

Thing is, Richie had avoided outright telling them exactly what he had seen every time anyone dared to broach the subject, but now, with nine pairs of eyes levelled at him, even he, trash-talking Trashmouth that he is, knows he can’t evade the question any more.

So, he does the next best thing.

He lies.

Or rather, tells a half-truth.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, keeping his voice as light as he can, “the usual showreel of horror - Bev drowning in a sea of blood, Ben being buried alive, a spectre of Georgie drowning you in your basement, Mike being beheaded, and Eds—”

His voice catches in his throat as he gently slips his hand out from under Eddie’s, eyes glued to the table.

“Eds being skewered like the world’s biggest shishkabob,” he rasps, “I uh...I didn't know the last one would actually happen either.”

He had been too slow. Too dazed. Too horrified to do anything but watch as the love of his life—

“You couldn’t have done anything either, Rich,” Eddie murmurs, his eyes burning a hole into the side of his face, “you know that, right?”

Richie swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding vigorously before leaping up out of his seat, waving his now empty glass in the air, “I’m raiding your booze, Benny boy. I’m tapped out.”

He can feel several concerned glances follow him across the room to the liquor cabinet. His hand shakes as he reaches out for the bourbon, shakes even harder as the liquid splashes into the glass, filling it higher than it probably should.

Why the fuck did I agree to this little therapy session?

He knows it’s been a long time coming. This little trauma talk of theirs. Had known it pretty much from the moment Eddie had called him from Derry General, no longer dead and wondering, ‘Where the fuck are you, dickwad? I woke up in the Barrens and you assholes were gone. What gives?!’ not realising that it had been him who had been…gone for over a month and most of the Losers had headed home. But not Richie. Oh, no. Richie had ignored all 79 missed calls from his manager, exchanged his flashy rental for an inconspicuous Volvo and been hauled up in a shitty motel in Bangor, brainstorming ways to excavate the whole of Neibolt to get Eddie’s body the fuck out from under that hellhole. ‘Cause there was no fucking way Richie was leaving him down there.

Turns out, there was no fucking way Eddie was staying down there either way.

“...and he actually said, ‘chicks dig scars.’”

Richie tunes back into the conversation going on behind him, (having heard the story of Adrian’s pigheaded brother-in-law before), putting the lid back on the bourbon and snatching up the pitcher of Long Island iced tea. With a deep breath, he forces himself to turn and walk back to his seat as normally as possible.

He’s about 69% successful.

“Shame you bat for the other team, Mellon,” he snorts as he lowers himself into his chair, ignoring the dark eyes he adores as he deposits the pitcher to his left, focussing on the younger man, “that would’ve been one hell of a scar to show off to the ladies.”

He gestures with his glass towards Adrian’s chest.

“You could’ve said it was a shark bite or like a Wendigo or some shit. You woulda been swimming in puss—”

“Nope! No, thank you,” Adrian interjects over Richie’s chortling, grimace marring his face, “I thought you were the ‘new and improved’ Trashmouth? No more pussy references when you waved the rainbow flag?”

Richie wiggles his eyebrows, “Guess some habits are hard to break.”

Like being in love with your best friend. You haven’t managed to break that one in thirty years.

Something glints in Adrian’s eye that Richie decidedly does not like.

“You know, dudes dig scars too. But I’m happily engaged,” he smiles sweetly at Don before tilting his head, turning to his right, “but you’re single, Eddie. You ever think of showing yours off in your Grindr profile?”

That little shit.

Installing Grindr had been an impulse decision of Eddie’s. An impulse that Richie had hated with every fibre of his being. But, Richie is a good friend. Eddie’s best friend. So of course he had helped him with it. Helped him craft a witty tagline (that nobody actually reads) and leaf through his very few selfies for an appropriate profile pic (that nobody really cares about unless it shows he's either jacked as shit or hung like a horse.)

But still, Richie helps. Because he’s a good friend.

And a fucking coward.

“Ugh, no thanks,” Eddie curls up his nose in disgust at Adrian’s suggestion, causing Richie’s stomach to swoop with relief, “Grindr is weird enough without bringing out the like...body gore freaks or whatever. I don’t want some Freddy-Krueger-fanboy perving on me.”

Adrian nods, humming in thought.

Richie doesn’t like that either.

“So what do you like then, Kasp? Anyone catch your eye?”

Richie can feel the heavy gaze of every other Loser (Adrian, Don and Patty included) at the goddamn banquet table (seriously, Ben, who the fuck needs a table this big?!) deeply regretting his conspicuous seating choice, as their looks alternate from him, to Eddie, and back again.

Subtly isn’t the Losers’ strength either.

Because here’s the thing - Richie knows he showed his hand back at Neibolt street. Back when he had to be dragged, literally kicking and screaming, out of the dilapidated well-house as his whole world crumbled down around him. And his whole world? Well, everybody figured out pretty quickly that that was Eddie.

Had always been Eddie since as far back as he could remember (now that he was allowed to.) He had spent those three days, over that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad weekend that was Derry 2: Judgment Day, remembering just how much Eddie had meant to him. And still means to him, despite their twenty-three-year-forced-separation.

Only to have it all snatched away with a claw through the back.

Hey, Richie listen, I think I got it, man! I think I killed it, I did! I think I killed it for rea—

“Aren’t we meant to be talkin’ about how fucked up we all are? Not critiquing my dating life?” Eddie’s indignant tone snaps Richie from his haunting reverie, his eyes darting up and meeting Bev’s.

She smiles gently at him. Her lips tinged with something like sadness, as if she can read his mind.

Richie takes a drink.

“Sometimes,” Stan speaks up, saving an embarrassed Eddie from the turn in conversation, “I wonder why we were brought back.”

“W-What do you mean, Stan?” Bill asks in a careful tone, fiddling with the coaster in front of him.

Richie watches as Stan shifts in his seat, brushing his thumb across the back of Patty’s hand.

“I mean...why us? Eddie, Adrian, the kids...me. Why did we get a second chance and nobody else?”

A sharp inhale of breath sounds from Richie’s left. Reaching out, he claps a hand down on Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

Slowly, Eddie lets out the breath.

Their eyes lock.

“I’ve thought that too,” Eddie admits, still looking at Richie, “I keep asking myself, over and over - what makes us different? Why did whatever...force...reverse what happened to us and not—not…” he falters, his eyes falling away to rest down at Bill.

“Georgie.”

The name seems to ring throughout the room.

After a beat, Bill leans his elbows up on the table, hanging his head.

“I think it’s been too long. He—he’s been gone for nearly thirty years. I don’t think even Derry magic can reverse that,” he speaks solemnly, “but you guys, you all died recently, were the clown’s newest...victims. Maybe whatever it was could only reverse the last cycle. Maybe it wanted to reward us for getting rid of Penny—”

“But I didn't fight the clown,” Stan cuts across him, voice hollow, “I was in a bathtub in Georgia. Eddie is the real hero. He figured out how to kill IT. His resurrection I get.”

Richie’s grip on Eddie’s shoulder tightens as he sits up straighter in his seat, stare boring into their friend.

“I’m...no, I’m not—we all did it, Stan. You too. You fought IT as a kid and you sacrificed yourself to try and help us this time around. That...that must have been why you were brought back despite being a thousand miles away.”

Stan nods, but doesn’t seem too convinced.

“Stan is right, though,” Richie pipes up, the words slipping from his mouth before he can stop them, “you are a hero, Eds. We—we wouldn’t have figured out what to do without you. We wouldn’t have beaten it, without you.”

He chances a glance to see Eddie already looking back at him.

His heart ricochets against his ribcage.

“I told you you’re braver than you think.”

Something passes across Eddie’s face, then. Something soft and indecipherable. He gets like this, sometimes. Still wholly Eddie, something knowable to Richie, shadows of his past-self always present, while sometimes shrouded in the enigma of their missing years. But no matter what, he was still something Richie wanted to figure out, like the best kinda puzzle, for the rest of his life.

Careful, Trashmouth. That sounds like a vow...

“Always happy to help you bully a demonic space clown to death,” Eddie replies, a smile in his voice even if his face remains a little crinkled in that way that made him seem fourteen and forty all at once.

He blinks, breaking their eye contact.

Richie forces his gaze away only to land on Stan who is fixing him with his own knowing stare.

Drop it, Stanley. Just 'cause Eds admitted he likes dick, doesn't mean he likes this Dick.

“Guys uh…” Eddie takes a breath, addressing the table and from Richie’s side-view of his face, seems pained as he searches for words.

“I just wanna say, I...I'm sorry I died on you like that. I...I really tried to hang on. That must have been pretty traumatic for you all. To...to find me like that.”

Richie lets his hand fall from Eddie’s shoulder as his own body tenses like a coiled wire, blood rushing in his ears as his heart leaps into his throat, nausea rising from the pit of his stomach.

Richie honey, he’s dead.

Let him go, man. Let him go!

We can still help him, guys, we can still help him! EDDIE!

“...and I remember holding his jacket,” Eddie is saying as Richie forces himself to shove down the memory, feeling the weight of his gaze fall on him.

Be normal. Act normal. Don’t let him see—

“And I remember thinking to myself, ‘shit, I made Trashmouth cry.’ I knew it had to be bad if I couldn’t get Richie to laugh at a stellar ‘your mom’ joke.”

That got a murmur of laughs from the table.

Richie shoved down the urge to spew chunks all over Ben’s mahogany finish.

“And then I just...slipped away, I guess? Last thing I remember was hearing some lame playground insults being yelled by five grown adults,” he gives a small chuckle before sombering, “but yeah, I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I couldn’t hang on and you had to leave me down—”

“I didn’t want to.”

Richie blinks, realising too late that those words had come from his mouth. He stares ahead at nothing, his pulse jack-hammering in his ears.

“What?” he barely hears Eddie ask, sounding far away as if underwater and in another room all at once.

“I didn’t wanna leave you,” he continues, his mouth on autopilot as his eyes trace the dark wood, “these assholes made me.”

Silence rings throughout the room as Richie’s jaw tightens, something raw and ugly rising within the depths of him. Something that he has been repressing for longer than he’d like to admit.

The loud screeching of a chair sliding across hardwood floor is the only indicator to Richie that he had stood up.

“We could have got you out,” he growls, clenching his fists at his sides as he fights the urge to slam them down and test just how strong Ben’s carpentry skills are.

“We could have taken you with us,” he continues, eyes flashing down at every Loser but Eddie and Stan, “but they wouldn’t let me even try. We—”

“Richie, we couldn’t—”

“Bullshit!” Richie snarls across the expansive table at their fearless leader who looks about ready to stand himself.

What’s the matter, Big Bill? Gonna hit me again?

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Richie spits, his words tasting like battery acid, “I know you’re a shortass, Denbrough, but between me, Mike and Haystack who are built like two brick shithouses?! You’re really telling me we couldn’t have carried him out?”

“Richie,” Ben pipes up placatingly, trying to catch his eye, “the place wasn’t structurally sound. It was coming down. We barely got out in single-file, there’s no way—”

“Then you should have left me!”

The words rip from his throat like the breath of a wounded animal. He would have barely registered having said them, if it isn’t for the deafening silence that follows.

Suddenly, there is a wave of colour in the corner of his eye and a heavy presence at his side.

“Richie…” Eddie murmurs, his puff of breath brushing Richie’s jaw, “you would've died.”

He sounds...broken. As if it had been Richie who had actually died and he couldn’t bear the thought.

Slowly, Richie tilts his head down, eyes catching on that dark gaze he loves with every atom in his being.

“So...?”

A gasp punches out of Eddie’s chest.

“Rich, I…” were it any other circumstance, Richie would have revelled in striking his frenetic friend speechless, but now, it just adds more guilt into his potent, swirling mix of emotions.

He stares doggedly at the pattern on the mahogany table.

“I wouldn’t have wanted that for you,” Eddie says so quietly that Richie is convinced the words are only for his ears.

A humourless chuckle rips from his throat.

“You were fucking dead, Eddie. You couldn’t want anything.”

Suddenly Eddie is directly opposite him, wedging himself between Richie and the table, glaring up at him, eyes flashing bright.

“What good would it have done, huh? You dying along with me? What the fuck, Rich? Why would you—”

“I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO BE ALONE!”

He doesn’t mean to yell, he really doesn’t, but the words explode from him anyway, as if finally breaking free from the cage he had kept them in for the last eighteen months.

Eddie startles but doesn’t step back as Richie continues to rant, the words escaping him quicker than he could catch them.

“You were stuck down there in that dark, disgusting, shithole. Grey water fucking everywhere and what? I was just supposed to leave your germaphobe-ass down there? To let you spend eternity in your worst fucking nightmare after—”

“YES!” Eddie erupts, all hands and frantic movements, “I was gone, Richie, fuck! I wouldn’t have wanted you to die too! I—”

“You died saving me.”

All of the fight drains from Richie, his shoulders slumping as he mutters barely above a whisper.

“You sacrificed yourself to save my shitty life. An ex-coke-head-closet-case who made a living talking shit that wasn’t even his own. I was the one dumb enough to taunt the clown, I was the one that got caught in the deadlights. It should have been me who was stabbed through the fucking back. It was my fault that my best friend that I only had back for three fucking days, died. And...I couldn’t fucking live with that.”

Richie turns on his heel and stalks out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him.

Out. He needs to get out now.

Fuck this fucking maze of a house!

His eyes bounce around, desperately searching for somewhere, anywhere to take a fucking breath when they land on the balcony.

That'll do, pig. That'll do.

Scrambling forward, legs akimbo in his tipsy haste like some overgrown, bespectacled Bambi, Richie wrenches the sliding glass door open and steps out into the night air.

It's moments like these where he regrets having given up smoking back in the early 2000s. The bite of the Montana cold, coupled with the impressive view of glowing lights down below and twinkling stars up above, really made a man wanna spark one up for the hell of it.

He leans his elbows on the railing, letting his head hang low as he forces himself to breathe.

In and out. In and out. Just like a pregnant lady, Rich, you got this.

If he were an even bigger masochist than Stan thinks he is, Richie might torture himself with thoughts of those lonely, desperate weeks after Derry 2: Bigger, Longer and Uncut, hauled up alone in his room in Bangor, pouring over topographical maps of his shitty hometown and guzzling down more booze than air to keep the sound of Eddie’s dying voice from rattling around in his skull.

He would think of how a depression, deeper and sharper than anything he had ever felt even in his most closeted, isolated years, had wrapped around him like a vice as he avoided the Loser groupchat, his agent, his mom and his weed dealer, all while Facebook-stalking Myra Kaspbrak like a jealous ex-boyfriend.

His writers would have had a fucking field day with that one.

‘I cried over my dead best friends’ wife’s profile pic ‘cause her husband still had that dimple in his cheek that I always wanted to poke as a kid, and that’s not a euphemism, folks…’

But instead, as he stands there on Ben’s admittedly impressive balcony, shivering his ass off being not-so-subtly reminded just how fucking close to Canada he is right now in the month of November, all he can think of is how nice Eddie’s hand, warm and so, so alive, had felt on his arm.

“You left your jacket.”

The voice shouldn’t startle him, but it does. His grip tightens on the railing as his jacket is draped over his shoulders, a soft pressure against his biceps as Eddie slides his hands down his arms.

Richie can’t blame Canada’s proximity for the shiver that racks his body at that.

“Thanks.”

His voice sounds like he has spent the last hour swallowing glass, which, considering their topic of discussion, he would have preferred doing.

Eddie steps back, taking his warm touch with him as he settles next to Richie (who makes quick work of slipping on the coat), also leaning on the rail and looking out at the view.

A beat passes.

Two.

“When I was 27, I tried to kill myself.”

Richie tenses, jaw slackening. He isn’t sure exactly what he had expected Eddie to open with, but it sure as shit wasn’t that.

“I took an overdose of prescription meds in a hotel in Jersey after convincing my mom I was on a work retreat.”

Richie holds his breath, not moving a muscle as he surreptitiously surveys Eddie from the corner of his eye. He looks...not calm, but resigned, almost. Richie isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“I woke up in the hospital three days later,” he shuffles his weight, blowing out a breath that they can both see in the night air.

“A maid found me. Called an ambulance. Saved my life.”

Richie’s stomach lurches, an ominous feeling overcoming him.

“That maid was Myra.”

“Fuck.”

Richie hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but Eddie nods all the same.

“Yeah. To this day, I’ve managed to convince her that the overdose was accidental. I—I think that's partly why she was so fucking militant about me taking my pills over the years. Something mom definitely passed down to her,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, before turning to face Richie.

Even as every atom in his body screams not to, Richie turns to face him back.

Their eyes lock.

“I had nobody, Richie. No one. I had never been in a relationship, had never been in love or had someone be in love with me. I had no best friend, or a casual friend to meet for coffee, or even a work friend to bitch about nosy Brian in accounting to. I was lonely. So, fucking lonely.”

Richie’s heart pangs painfully in his chest. He can see him, a late-twenties Eddie Kaspbrak, much like he is now except younger, all buttoned up and reserved until you piss him off and then he’s wildfire, all karate chop hands and acid tongue, hiding a soft, gooey center that only a lucky few ever get to see…

“And marrying Myra, my ‘saviour’, someone that my mother approved of, didn’t help, either,” Eddie sighs again, “sure, she came with ‘couple-friends’ and brunches at the weekends and Lance my ‘workout bro,’ but I was still fucking miserable. Still had no one I could call a genuine close friend or even a decent acquaintance. Nobody knew much more about me other than I liked my coffee black and my small talk non-existent. For a whole fucking decade, I went through life like that. Like a guest star in my own depressing show.”

He pauses, tilting his head, something unreadable swimming in his gaze.

“And then, thirteen years later, I got a phone call from Derry,” he smiles gently, “and suddenly, I remembered The Losers. I remembered I had friends. The best group of friends on the planet. I had felt love before. I had loved and been loved. I had people who knew me, inside and out. Every little piece of me had been accepted, not rejected, ever.”

His smile twists.

“Until I forgot.”

Richie blinks, not entirely shocked to feel the wet trail of a tear slipping down his face.

Eddie steps closer, hand reaching out to rest on the one Richie still had leaning on the railing.

“Remembering the Losers, even just for those three days, made me feel more alive than I had in twenty-three years,” he half-whispers, gaze boring a hole into Richie.

“Remembering you…”

He trails off, a little line forming in between his eyebrows as he chooses his next words.

“Remembering the last time I saw you, saying goodbye to you on The Kissing Bridge, crying my eyes out—Richie, I’ve never felt pain like that since. And I’ve been impaled.”

A surprised laugh escapes Richie’s chest, then, bubbling up his throat.

Eddie joins in, tickled by his joke landing. Richie always did say he was funnier than he had ever been. And he still is.

It’s between one breath and the next, that Eddie slides his hand down Richie’s arm to rest on his hand, squeezing gently.

“The Deadlights would have killed you,” he continued, quiet but firm, “and there’s no way in hell I would ever let that happen to you, Rich. You were my best friend. Still are my best friend, even after all those years apart. You said I’m braver than I think, and I believed you because you said it. So, yeah. I died saving you...and I’d do it again.”

Richie goes to pull away, a noise of disagreement clawing up his throat.

“No, no, Richie, listen to me,” Eddie tightened his grip on his hand, “I—you may not think you deserved to be saved at my expense. But you’re wrong. And what’s done is done. I died. I came back. And I’d do it all over again if it meant that you got to live. Okay? Once that goofy kid with glasses who did bad voices and made up dumb nicknames for me that I fucking loved with everything in me got to stay alive, then it was all worth it. And nothing you say will ever change my mind."

I'm in love with you. Have been for thirty years. Would that change your mind, Eds?

After a pause where it becomes obvious Richie isn't going to say anything, Eddie tilts his head, eyes narrowing a little.

"You were in Bangor the day I called you," he says lightly, but Richie hears the heavy implication all the same.

"Over a month after I died and you still hadn't left Maine."

It's not a question, more of an observation, really. But Richie knows Eddie has been itching to discuss it ever since they reunited back on the land of the living the very same day Eddie called from the hospital, scarred but freshly breathing.

Another beat passes where Eddie, in a show of patience he is not well known for, waits Richie out.

“I couldn’t…” Richie rasps when the silence becomes too much, “I couldn’t just leave you, Eds.”

Eddie’s hand on his tightens.

"You really would have done anything to get me out, huh?"

His voice is low, his eyes shining against the night stars.

Richie feels like he’s in some sort of Nicholas Sparks novel. Except with 50% less death, 100% gayer and 150% more cursing.

He nods.

"And you…” Eddie swallows as if struggling to get the words out, “you would have stayed with me if you couldn't?"

He nods again.

Suddenly, Eddie is lunging and pulling him down into a tight, all-encompassing hug that knocks Richie’s breath from his lungs.

“I’d do the same,” Eddie mumbles into Richie’s shoulder, his mouth pressing against his jacket’s collar, “you know that, right?”

Richie nods yet again, feeling like he’s slowly turning into one of those drinking-bird-toy-things that boring people have on their desks in corporate offices. He doesn’t need to see Eddie’s office to know he doesn’t have one. He’s far too interesting.

Eddie mustn’t be satisfied with his nodding bird routine however as he soon breaks the hug and steps back slightly, clasping Richie’s biceps in his hands, his stare unwavering up at him.

“Richie, I mean it. You’re my best friend in the whole world. I may not have remembered you, not fully, just bits and pieces, but I...I carried the pain of losing you for over twenty years. I’d...I’d do anything for you.”

Emotion wells up Richie’s chest, unshed tears stinging his eyes.

“You know why I brought you to the Kissing Bridge that day I was leaving?”

What the fuck are you doing, Trashmouth?!

Eddie’s eyebrows slowly rise up his forehead as he thinks back to one of the worst days in Richie’s life.

“Uh, you...you said you had something to tell me,” he murmurs in confusion.

Richie stares down at him, at those dark brown, bush-baby eyes he never fully forgot, his heart in his throat.

'That I fucking loved with everything in me,' rings in Richie's ears as he forces out:

“Do you remember what I told you?”

Eddie frowns that adorable frown of his, “Yeah, man. You told me you fucked my mom, then got snot all over my sweater pretending you weren’t crying.”

Richie lets out a huff of a laugh at his transparent sixteen year old self, even as his brain continues going all Kill-Bill-sirens on him.

“That wasmy very own version of ‘As you wish’, Eds. What can I say? It’s a—"

“From The Princess Bride?”

Fuck. Kinda showed your hand there, Trashmouth.

“Uh...yeah.”

Something passes over Eddie’s face that Richie has seen many times before, both as kids and as recently as this very night. His heart lurches as Eddie leans even closer to him, his hands brushing up and down Richie’s arms, leaving a path of heat.

“What did you really wanna tell me?”

This is it. This is your do or die moment, asshole.

I know your secret. Your dirty, little—

“I fucked your dad too.”

Something shutters down over Eddie’s eyes, dimming them as Richie cringes, cursing himself and his cowardice, nausea swirling in his gut as he watches him step away, dropping his arms from Richie and huffing out a laugh that sounded anything but amused.

He takes a step back towards the door, face unreadable.

“Okay, Rich. Alright. It’s cold, I’m just gonna—”

Richie’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist gently, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, Eds wait—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I...I’m bad at this. I talk trash, remember? I’m not...not good with serious shit. I don’t know how—”

“I deleted my Grindr profile.”

If Richie had the life of Ferris Bueller, now would be the time that a loud record-scratch would sound to alert the audience of his sheer astonishment.

“...What?”

Eddie isn’t looking at him anymore, but rather down at Richie’s fingers around his wrist.

“I said I deleted Grindr. I...I realised that I didn’t wanna find someone on a dumb hook-up app.”

Richie blinks, his brain fried by the turn in conversation.

Eddie tilts his head, heaving in a breath, “Especially ‘cause…I already have someone I wanna spend all my time with.”

Slowly, he twists his wrist so that Richie’s hand falls open and he takes the opportunity to brush their fingers together.

Richie stops breathing.

Holy shit. Is he…?

“Rich.”

He lets Eddie’s voice coax his gaze up, biting his bottom lip to try and compose himself as he shakily admits:

“I carved initials into the Kissing Bridge that Summer.”

He can practically feel Eddie opening his mouth to say something, so he rushes on, lest he lose his nerve.

“We weren’t talking. Me and Bill had had our fight, I said some shitty things, Bill punched me in the face, and you were practically on house arrest after breaking your arm so Mrs K had banned me from seeing you. I had never felt so alone as I did those few weeks. I...I kept going to the arcade and thought I’d maybe made a new friend, but...” he blew out a breath, running his free hand through his hair, “Bowers showed up, did his whole homophobic bully schtick, you know. So I fled, ended up at the Paul Bunyan statue. Then the clown showed up and it was really a party.”

I know your secret...your dirty, little—

“Bringing the statue to life, singing his little songs, taunting me with truth or dare...but none of it worked. I still did it. I stole Went’s pocket-knife from his toolkit and I booked it over to the Kissing Bridge anyway. Because it—I had to let it out. I had to say it somehow. And if it couldn’t be out loud, then it would sure as shit be right up there with every other lovesick asshole in our crappy hometown.”

He takes a steadying breath, surprised at how the words keep flowing from him, as if the dam that he had carefully constructed around his heart all those years ago, had finally broken. He stares directly down into Eddie’s eyes, those wide eyes that he had recurring dreams about even when his childhood was a foggy haze, his heartbeat a crescendo in his chest.

“I carved our initials, Eds. R plus E. Richie and Eddie.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open, ever so slightly. Richie probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it wasn't for the fact that his gaze had been alternating between Eddie’s eyes and lips for the last few minutes.

A beat passes.

Two.

Three.

The sirens in Richie’s head are blaring.

Well, you’ve done it now, asshole. You’ve ruined everything with your stupid—

“I carved a heart,” Eddie whispers finally, lacing their fingers together and squeezing, “a shitty, misshapen heart around the letter ‘R.’ For ‘Richie.’”

Oh.

“Ed—”

Richie is cut off when he's abruptly yanked down by his jacket as Eddie surges up, their lips crashing together in a desperate kiss. His heart soars as Eddie’s free hand slides up his chest to cup the back of his neck. He gasps as he feels the faintest brush of Eddie’s tongue along his bottom lip.

With a broken moan that he will one hundred percent deny later, Richie opens his mouth, deepening the kiss, Eddie licking in behind his teeth and causing a flood of warmth to spread in his abdomen as he reaches out to clasp Eddie’s hip tightly, pulling him flush against his chest.

Richie winds his arm around Eddie’s lower back as he nips playfully at his lower lip, just like he always daydreamed about doing when he was a hormonal, pining teenager.

“Shit, Rich,” Eddie gasps against his lips as they break for air, tilting up on his tip-toes (cute, cute, cute!) to bring their foreheads together.

“I—I…” Richie swallows around the lump in his throat, overwhelmed as he opens his eyes, “I saw us. In the deadlights.”

It’s not what he intended to say. In fact, he had wanted to say something else entirely. Something sexy, or flirty, or god help him sincere, anything but downright traumatic, but such is his life.

Eddie leans back a little to blink at him. Waiting.

Generally, Richie doesn’t like thinking about it. About any of what he had seen in the godforsaken hellscape that was Pennywise’s...mouth? Whatever. And he hadn’t lied, he really did see all the Losers’ gruesome deaths. But it was what he saw after, in the sparse few moments before he woke up to Eddie Kaspbrak, love of his pitiful life, leaning over him, smile elated just before things took a turn for the absolute worst.

“I saw...us,” he murmurs, letting himself cast his mind back to the memory that had been too painful for him to entertain in those following weeks, months, over a year since. Even with Eddie alive again. Perhaps because of Eddie being alive again, even. So close and yet so far from that vision he had seen.

“We were…” he closes his eyes, lets the image come to the forefront of his mind. “We were standing like this. Close. Smiling. Our arms around each other. Kissing at the kitchen table at home.”

He keeps his eyes closed as he feels Eddie’s fingers rake through his hair.

“You were making pancakes, and I was putting too much sugar in my coffee like I always do. And...and then you just leaned in, put your arm around my waist and kissed me. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I kissed back. Like I’d done it a million times before. It seemed to last forever...and then I woke up.”

“Oh, Richie,” Eddie mumbles, sounding bereft, no doubt realising what Richie had awoken to.

“I’m so sorr—”

“Don’t.”

Richie’s eyes fly open, desperate for Eddie’s gaze again.

“Don’t apologise, Eddie. Please. It wasn't your fault. You were a hero, you saved my life. And I know I have conflicting thoughts on it but...but I never want you to feel bad. Never.”

Eddie nods, still looking pained.

“So you stayed.”

Richie’s not sure if he means in Neibolt, or Maine in general, but nods all the same.

“I stayed.”

Eddie blows out a breath, it tickling Richie’s cheek.

“Fuck. I love you so much. I always have.”

Richie’s breath punches out of his chest, the surge of emotion overwhelming him. He squeezes his hand and tips his head down, resting their foreheads together.

“E-Eds, oh my god,” he rasps, cursing his voice that’s noticeably thick and at least an octave higher, “I’ve been in love with you for practically my whole life. Back when we shared hammocks and comics and I called you dumb names in dumber voices just to get you to look at me. I’ve never loved anyone else. Even...even when I couldn’t remember you, I could in a way. Feel...feel the gap in my life where you used to be. Feel the pain of missing you. Ever since I set foot in that haunted fucking restarant, I can’t remember how it feels to not love you.”

He tilts his head back to meet Eddie’s gaze, surprised to see tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

God, we’re saps.

“Aww, Eds…” he teases gently, unable to stop himself, “did Trashmouth make you—”

It’s another kiss, not a ‘beep beep’ like he expects that cuts him off. This one is more chaste, just a pressing of smiles really, but still makes his toes curl and his blood sing and his entire body feel like it’s a fireworks display on the 4th of July.

“Hmmmm,” he grins as Eddie breaks the kiss, “now that’s the kinda ‘beep beep Richie’ I could get used to.”

He can practically feel him roll his eyes.

“Beep, beep, asshole.”

It’s somewhat lessened by the fact that it’s immediately followed by another peck to the cheek and a snappy retort of “Just putting my tongue to better use,” into his collarbone.

Richie chuckles into the slope of Eddie’s neck, “‘Better use’ is right, Eds. Now, is this where we take our shirts off and kiss, or...?”

Eddie groans, forehead falling to Richie’s shoulder, no doubt remembering his little drunken slip when they arm-wrestled back in the Jade.

“In this weather? Fuck no. Maybe later though. Under one of those huge fucking afghan blankets that Ben has draped in every guest room.”

Richie is hit by the very confusing duel-feeling of potent sexual arousal and childlike excitement at that suggestion, and even has to physically stop himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Oh my god, Eds. Can we push our twin beds together to make a double? I always wanted to do that when we were kids.”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head.

“Sure, Rich. We can make a fort while we’re at it. Really relive the glory days.”

Richie gives him a playful squeeze to the hip.

“Hey! Our forts were the shit. We had the best sleepovers.”

Something glints in Eddie’s eye, then.

“Yeah we did. I have a feeling they’ll get even better now.”

Molten heat tugs low in Richie’s gut.

“Fuck yeah they will.”

They share a grin before Eddie’s eyes drop to something over Richie’s shoulder.

Richie chuckles.

“They’re watching us, aren’t they?”

Eddie keeps looking, tilting his head.

“Yep.”

“ENJOYING THE SHOW, YOU PERVERTS?” Richie yells behind him, cackling as Eddie shoves him, shushing him with a “shut up, you animal! Ben has fucking neighbours!”

A flurry of muted noise can be heard as eight fully-grown adults, clearly caught snooping, scramble back into the living room.

Richie turns just in time to see Bev’s fiery hair disappear around the corner. He smiles softly at the sight. He has some apologies to make.

“Come on, Eds. Back to the Losers of the Rectangular Table we go,” he throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulder, leaning down to kiss his temple.

“Losers of the Rectangular Table?” Eddie asks, miraculously allowing himself to be steered back into the house.

“Yeah, you know,” Richie gives a half-shrug as they slide the door closed and creep through the kitchen, “like Knights of the Round Table. Except with less swords and more psychological trauma.”

He feels Eddie’s chuckle rumble against his chest as they enter the living room still wrapped around one another, to find the Losers (Patty, Adrian and Don all considered new members now) playing what looked like a game of poker.

Nobody acknowledges them as they sit back down, their arms pressed against one another, Stan merely dealing them in and Bev sliding fresh drinks in their direction, a soft, knowing smile on her face.

“You gonna be my good luck charm, Spagheds? You are way cuter than a rabbit’s foot,” Richie wiggles his eyebrows as he squeezes Eddie’s knee under the table.

“Stop flirting with me and pick up your hand, dumbass,” Eddie faux-grouses, trying and failing to hide his grin.

“Aww, Eds! I’ve been flirting with you since 1986. Thanks for finally noticing.”

Eddie splutters, knocking their elbows as he whips around to gape at him.

“You have not!”

“Yep.” “He has too.” “He definitely has.” “Yeah he has.” “He has 100%.” The O.G. Losers all reply in unison, still looking at their cards.

Richie glances fondly around the table at all his favourite people in the world, eyes falling on Eddie Kaspbrak last, and laughs.

(More Reddie fics)