#quixoticquest

[reddielibrary]

prompt: both work at the coffee shop and talk sometimes but that's enough to make each of them fall for each other. one day business is slow so richie and eddie get some coffee and have a mini date in their own job!! boom then they're rlly in love and they all live happily ever after - for anonymous

written by: Alexis | @quixoticquest

read on AO3

“I’m sorry ma’am, the peppermint bark latte is a seasonal drink. We don’t serve it until December.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” The woman across the counter levelled an incredulous glare at Eddie, as if he had spit in her face instead of reporting something he thought to be very reasonable. “I drove all the way here and you don’t have it?”

“We don’t. It’s a holiday drink,” Eddie answered, clinging to the scripted explanations that usually worked on perfectly rational customers. Who the fuck wanted a hot mint chocolate coffee in the summer anyway?

This woman, however, was anything but rational. “Can’t you just grab some syrup from the back, or whatever the hell you use to make it? It’s not that hard to flavor a latte.”

“We don’t have what we use to flavor it, ma’am. Since it’s, y’know, June?”

“Don’t get fresh with me! I know what month it is!”

“Then you should know we don’t have any fuc-”

“Whoa there, amigo.” The edge in Eddie’s voice died off as his coworker sidled up next to him - as if there was any room in front of the POS for two. “That’s no way to talk to a customer as lovely as any other.” Smooth as you like, Richie took over, laying it on thick. “No worries, ma’am, we might not have peppermint bark, but I’ll tell you what we do have - mint, and mocha. I’ll whip you up a latte with both and you won’t even know the difference. We don’t have the peppermint flakes to sprinkle on top but I can do chocolate shavings. Whaddaya say?”

For a tense moment, they glared between the three of them, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly style. Eddie wasn’t sure where he and Richie fell but he was pretty damn certain this nuisance customer was decidedly the Ugly.

“I guess that’s fine,” she finally grumbled, leaving Eddie to wonder where that grudging acceptance had been when he was dishing out facts.

“Awesome! Eds here’ll ring you up for that. You want any whipped cream?”

“Just to melt into the latte? No thank you.”

The awful woman passed over a wad of bills and moved on to the pickup counter without even dropping her change in the tip jar. When no one came through the dinky door at the front of the shop, and no one to the register, Eddie took up the flimsy plastic sleeve of hot cups Richie had been using to stock up, before he swooped in to save the day.

“I could have handled that,” he mumbled next to Richie as he shoved cups into the rack, unable to use his normal volume with the Peppermint Bark Bitch within earshot.

“You could have,” Richie exclaimed, nodding enthusiastically, squirting equal parts mocha and mint into the steaming cup in his hand. “You would have cursed her out and it would have been glorious. I might weep hot tears of joy just thinking about it. But also, like, you probably would have gotten fired, which isn’t so glorious, ya know? ‘Specially since I’d be so lost without you.”

Richie winked, and topped the dumb latte off with a sprinkle of the aforementioned chocolate shavings, before passing it down to the pickup counter. Eddie stood there, hands planted on his hips, frowning - doing a very good impression of someone who didn’t get flustered at the mercy of one stupid wink.

With that awful woman on her merry stupid way, the rest of the shop appeared exceedingly empty. Four o’clock on a weekday in the summer wasn’t the most prolific hour for a small town coffee shop, with lunchtime passed and the morning rush long over - which meant all they could really do before their shift was over, was clean and restock until someone else came in.

When it came to maintenance, Eddie always worked faster than Richie, wiping down the machines and filling the cups and lids like a champ - while the dumb brunet spent ten minutes at a time with a rag in the pastry case. Depending on how long they had been there, he may or may not start whining too. Whatever the reason for Richie’s shitty cleaning ethic, though, he made up for it in spades with his customer service. How he got through the full five or six hours without throwing a piping hot cup of coffee in some asshole’s face, Eddie would never know.

“This is boring,” Richie huffed, already whining as he crossed his arms leaning over the counter, where the orange afternoon sun set all the muted browns in the wood and his hair and apron to sepia. “I dunno why mid shift has to do this. Night shift does a whole fucking sweep of the place and God knows only the truckers and drunks are gonna be in here then.”

“Maybe food service isn’t for you,” Eddie mentioned, just barely managing to keep the smile from curling in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re right.” The four-eyed brunet sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders (he didn’t), spinning to perch the other way, with his elbows balanced on the counter. His voice took on a soulful southern twang. “Mama always told me to get outta this one horse town. That I was born for the stage. That we’re all born superstars. She’d roll my hair, and put my lipstick on, in the glass of her boud-”

He got a face full of coffee-soaked rag, courtesy of Eddie. “Those are the lyrics to Born This Way!”

He didn’t realize he was staring until Richie transitioned entirely, hauling himself up to stand straight, for once.

“You don’t belong here either,” he mentioned, pointing a finger toward Eddie’s chest. “I’d peg you for a lawyer, but I’m not sure that mouth of yours would fly with the judge.”

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie retorted. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he wanted, or where he wanted to be. Just that this job payed a little better than minimum wage, included tips, and would hopefully get him somewhere better, someday.

He could think of one thing he might want though, glancing sidelong at Richie, aimlessly tidying the display next to the counter. And he didn’t even have to pay for it at all.

“I can’t really think of anything else to straighten up,” Eddie admitted eventually, rubbing his teeth over his bottom lip as his gaze trailed around the service area.

“You know what that means. Break time!” Spinning on the heels of his worn-out Chuck Taylors, Richie yanked a plastic cup from the stand - indication enough that he was going for his usual frozen favorite. “I’m making myself a drink.”

Suddenly, spurred by his presumption, an absurd idea came over Eddie. Without really thinking, he came forward and snatched the cup out of Richie’s hand, with all the gusto of someone following through with a concise course of action. This, however, was anything but.

“I know how you take yours,” he finally said, his mouth working at the same speed as his brain. “Bet I can make it perfectly.”

Richie blinked for a way too long second, long enough that Eddie’s blood started rushing with the weight of how stupid he was being. But finally, the idiot’s face took on a look of mock judgement, and he crossed his arms with put-upon petulance.

“Alright, Edspresso, do your worst.”

Calm again, and set to task, Eddie set the cup down on the prep counter and got to work. “A large caramel mocha frappe, no espresso,” he explained, narrating his actions with a dramatic roll of his eyes as he shovelled ice, milk and syrup into the blender. For a few seconds the tiny coffee shop filled with the buzz of the spinning blades, and Eddie remained silent until the noise settled, along with the thick concoction.

“Caramel drizzle around the cup,” he continued, demonstrating just so (with expert drizzling skill, if he did say so himself). He poured the frappe mixture into the cup, and darted away to grab the whipped cream can out of the ice bin. “Extra extra extra whipped cream, and to top it all off, caramel and chocolate drizzle.”

When all was said and done, with the dome lid capped over a mountain of whipped cream shooting out the hole in the middle, Eddie presented drink and straw to Richie, smiling rather smugly.

“In short, a diabetic coma waiting to happen.”

That familiar, toothy grin split onto Richie’s face, and he slow clapped for Eddie (a ridiculous gesture that definitely didn’t have him several sorts of secretly flattered).

“Well how ‘bout that.” The frappe passed from Eddie’s hands into Richie’s and he took a sip off the straw, indulging a few lip-smacks, wafting the cup under his nose as if it were wine. “Not bad, Eds, not bad. Your top drizzle is a little sloppy but I know the nozzle on the chocolate is fucked. Solid nine and a half.”

“Oh buzz off, Richie.” Eddie made to jab the idiot in the ribs but Richie was too fast, side-stepping with all the grace of a gangly newborn horse. The idiot then set his frozen confection on the counter, and plucked out another plastic cup.

“Now for you.” Winking again, Richie bopped the cup against Eddie’s nose, but was gone before the shorter brunet could protest - and the potential of Richie knowing how he took his coffee was just too great to resist, and so he clammed up.

“Medium iced hazelnut,” Richie began easily, with the tone and air of a proper English butler whilst shovelling ice and squirting flavoring. “Little less ice. Two sugars, two skim, two shots of espresso - which is probably why you’re so wound up all the time, but that’s none of my business.”

A sprinkle of sugar here and a spot of milk there and he filled the rest of the cup with coffee, gave it a good mix, and snapped a lid on before finally offering the drink to Eddie. “Short and sweet, just like you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eddie mentioned, almost tightly as he took the coffee out of Richie’s hands, lips twitching as he fought yet another smile. Judging by Richie, who couldn’t resist a smile, he probably thought he had done a fantastic job. And to some extent, he had.

“But this is my morning order,” Eddie declared, closing his lips over the straw for a sip anyway.

Richie’s face fell. “What?!”

“Two espresso shots in the afternoon? Are you fucking nuts? My heart’ll give out.” Eddie rolled his eyes and scoffed. “If I get iced coffee later in the day I ditch the espresso and go one skim. I might even get a small too.”

“Well that’s not my fault! Sorry I don’t know the inner workings of your complicated coffee regimen!”

“Shut up, you dumbass,” Eddie griped. Before his lips could stretch too much, he took another sip, effectively quelling any inclination to smile. No way he was going to let himself finish the entire caffeine-pumped drink, though. “Besides, you were technically right anyways.”

Richie seemed satisfied with that at least, taking a moment to lick off the whipped cream puffing out over his cup. Eddie watched him for a moment, out of the corner of his eye. Even if his coffee hadn’t been completely right, there was something sort of delightful, knowing Richie had noticed enough to get his usual order down like that. All those mornings on the way to class, when Richie was scheduled and Eddie wasn’t. Busy with the regulars, and still managing to remember all those details.

Eddie could only wonder if Richie remembered them for all the same reasons.

“Hey, can I try?” Richie asked all of a sudden. “I’ve never had hazelnut before.”

“I thought you didn’t like espres-” Without warning, Richie’s head loomed down and close, and just when Eddie thought he might steal a sip from the straw, he shifted forward instead, slotting their lips together.

Richie’s mouth was cold from his frappe, and his breath tasted like mocha more than it tasted like caramel. Eddie blinked for a few endless seconds, heat creeping up into his ears and cheeks, until his friend and coworker finally slipped away - still bent at eye-level.

“Well hey,” Richie murmured, voice low as his dark eyes glinted behind his thick glasses. “Hazelnut tastes pretty good.”

Eddie shoved his hand up into Richie’s face, heart pounding as the idiot yelped and stumbled back. They calmed down just in time for the bell to tinkle over the door, and work and routine resumed in the little coffee shop once again.

Tagging: @princesass-theresa @r-u-reddie @stellarbisexual 

[hychlorions]

Stenbrough headcanons! I might have said this somewhere else before idk but anyway, Stan using cryptic bird logic to compliment Bill when he's overwhelmed like for example if Bill's hair catches the light or something "you're flaunting your crest to get my attention" B: what??? "It's working"

pls keep talking

[thereddieficlibrary]

hey!!! i was wondering if you could help us find some reddie zombie apocalypse fics? thanks! love you’re page!💕

sure! though most of the fics posted on ao3 seem to be abandoned :( -Madi

the world has turned (and left me here) by orphan_account (2/? | 2859 | general)

There were three weeks of debate and approximately 4 days of preparing to leave Derry for good, everyone in agreement with Richie’s oh so eloquent, “if I’m going to die, it’s not going to be in this shit hole of a town.”

Or, in which, The Losers' Club go on a cross-country trip to outrun zombies, kick looters with shitty mullets' asses, and avoid stupid teenage emotions all before Eddie's 18th birthday.

Just Survive Somehow by leighwrites (21/21 | 43167 | mature)

When the world ended, and the dead rose to eat the living, it turned into kill or be killed, but how do you survive when the creatures around you are constantly evolving?

Get Reddie To Fight (Zombies) by stanpool (1/1 | 2029 | teen)

Zombies or not, the Losers’ Club would survive.

an apocalypse or nihilism on your lips by mulletrichie (1/3 | 3947 | teen)

Richie levels him with a look. “What else would you call a zombie outbreak?”

“My own personal hell.”

“Besides that, dipshit.”

Eddie squints at him as he paces around Richie’s living room. “Okay, maybe the apocalypse.”

Virus by cassettesforeddie (1/? | 823 | mature)

When the world goes to shit Eddie is sitting by his mothers side watching the news

or

The world gets infected with a virus that turns people into Zombies and this is the Losers story of what happened during.

286 Miles and Counting by quixoticquest (1/1 | 17198 | teen)

An epidemic breaks out in southern Canada while Richie, Beverly, Stanley, and Ben are on a field trip in Quebec. The infection eventually spreads to Maine and Eddie, Bill, and Mike have to take matters into their own hands. There's over 286 miles between Montreal and Derry, but there's a lot that gets in the way when your traveling on foot, and pining after your best friend in the middle of a zombie outbreak.

Not Quite A Video Game by dyspraxicdyke (1/1 | 3620 | teen)

Whilst trying to survive a zombie apocalypse, Richie and Eddie are lured and abducted by a madman cannibal dressed as a clown. But they aren't the only ones who this Bob Gray is keeping on his flesh farm, and since they're all survivors, they do what they do best: survive.

Breakable Heaven by interstellarstars (1/? | 2609 | not rated)

America. What once was a total shit-show, had somehow hit rock bottom of shittiness. Zombies walked the earth in what Eddie Kaspbrak called "The United States of Zombieland." Eddie was alone surviving the apocalypse, making it through only because of his extensive list of rules, (ex: Rule #28: "Double Knot Your Shoes"). However, soon he finds himself with others, and before he knows it, Eddie might actually be enjoying the demise of humanity.

(Zombieland- 2009 AU)

[reddieao3feed]

those pieces of you it feels the easiest to lose

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/36xV3WD

by quixoticquest

Bill Denbrough gets accosted by Stan Uris on his summer book tour, who's supposed to be dead going on a year. Richie Tozier encounters some rando on a dating site who looks an awful lot like Eddie Kasprak, right down to the scar on his cheek. Beverly Marsh is just trying to enjoy her new life with Ben Hanscom without any bloody accidents, or their freshly uncloseted best friend tagging along. Mike Hanlon, desperate to prove he's not a madman, can't let go of Derry or the friends he had to bury along the way.

And so the Losers Club converges on Derry again to find some more tokens and make sure that fucking clown stays fucking dead once and for all.

Alternatively titled, IT: The Final Chapter

Words: 5404, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Eddie Kaspbrak

Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh (past), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris (past), Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips (past)

Additional Tags: Fix-It, Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, Suicide Attempt, Scars, Amnesia, teenage relationship, Heavy Petting, Flashbacks, Guilt, Hallucinations, Blood, Black Spot incident, Richie being a trashmouth, Angst, Adult Losers Club (IT)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/36xV3WD

[mclennon-ao3-feed]

Emperor of Eternity

by quixoticquest

Four times John was under the influence when he kissed Paul, and one time he wasn't.

Words: 13361, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Beatles (Band)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Yoko Ono

Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon & Paul McCartney, Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon (mentioned), Jane Asher/Paul McCartney (mentioned), John Lennon/Yoko Ono

Additional Tags: Drug Use, Stimulants, Marijuana, LSD, Heroin, Kissing, Implied Sexual Content, four times they did one time they didn't format, Angst, Character Study

[aceonthebass]

Hi! I've just begun writing Beatles fic and I was wondering if you had any tips or resources as far as finding a beta reader. Normally I'd just ask a friend but in this fandom britpicking and fact checking is so very important.

Yay, and welcome! I’m afraid I don’t have any Beatles-specific resources for finding a beta on tumblr (the last time I had a beta was back in the Livejournal days, so, uhhhh, it’s been a second!), but if you have any Beatles fandom community blogs you follow, you could ask if they’d boost a post from your blog? Or post in the tags of whichever pairing you’re writing for?

(also, hi, lovely followers! If anyone is looking to do some Beatles fic beta-reading, shoot quixoticquest a message! signal boost!)

But my actual recommendation would be to do your best with a couple of fics, post them on AO3, and include in the author notes at the end that you’re looking for a beta and/or Brit-picker. That way you’d get people who are active readers in the fic community (and possibly also writers, who often make for the good betas, since they know the kinds of issues that crop up from their own experience). (And you can always go back later and edit stuff in the fics you’ve posted, if you learn about things you want to change/avoid as you go on.)

(I recommend putting the note at the end rather than the beginning, just because “this wasn’t beta-read” isn’t the main thing you want people to be thinking about when they start reading. Let them focus on the story as-is first! And if they end it thinking, hey, that was great, but I wish Ringo had said “bro” less, well, great! They can shoot you a message and offer their beta skills.) 

But most importantly, I recommend having a discussion before you send them anything to make sure the two of you are on the same page about what kind of things you want them to be providing feedback on: only Brit-picking and fact-checking stuff? Or do you want their thoughts on the content, the characterization, and so forth? Do you want corrections on general grammar stuff, too? What are they comfortable/confident providing, and what do you want them to provide? Clear communication of expectations on BOTH sides is the key to a productive relationship with a beta reader, in my experience!

(And, tbh, at the end of the day, if you don’t find someone, I recommend you just post it anyway! (1) It’s fic, it’s for fun, everyone makes mistakes, and while the historical details are a lot of the fun of Beatles fic, as long as you enjoyed writing it, it was worth writing, and it will find readers who will also enjoy it; and (2) the more Beatles content you consume—by which I mean, in this case, recordings of them and things actually written by them—the easier it will get to internalize their voices, which will help you keep them in character and avoid Americanisms automatically, even without a beta or Brit-picker.)

[slutybitchrich]

rules: list ten songs you’ve been listening to the most and tag ten people

I was tagged by the very sweet @gczebos 🖤

(these are in no particular order)

1. Meet me in the hallway // Harry styles

2. Parents // YUNGBLUD

3. This boy // The Beatles

4. I can't handle change // Roar

5. Can't take my eyes off of you // Frankie Valli

6. Scrawny // Wallows

7. You're somebody else // Flora cash

8. Ribs // Lorde

9. GUY.exe // Superfruit

10. I wanna boi // PWR BTTM

@im-reddie @richietoaster @quixoticquest

tagged peeps no pressure if you don't feel like doing

(I legit couldn't think of 10 blogs to tag oops sorry)

[reddielibrary]

My lonely heart calls

Prompt: “Listen, I know I originally came over here to talk about the noise but OMG you are so high right now like how are you even standing so no objections because I’m taking care of you until you’re sober" AU

Written by: Alexis | @quixoticquest

Word count: 3903

*click title to read on ao3

The eighties had not been a fun time for Eddie Kaspbrak. In fact, he preferred to forget the decade altogether. The local top forty radio station begged to differ, though, and wouldn’t you know, that’s what most people wanted to listen to when he was chauffeuring them around in a limousine. Jackson, Collins, Benatar and Gabriel all competing to make Eddie relive the worst years of his life. His only reprieve came at home, in the privacy of his apartment, where he was free to listen to whatever he wanted, eat cereal for dinner, and turn in at nine thirty promptly.

Unless it was Thursday night.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down Letting the days go by, water flowing underground Into the blue again, after the money's gone Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

Eddie groaned, throwing himself back against his couch. It had been like this for three weeks now. Like clockwork. Every Thursday, about an hour after he got home, the music would start in the next apartment over. Some eighties-loving sociopath and his endless collection of synth-saturated music that had come out when Eddie was a kid.

The only reason he hadn’t complained yet was because he was new to the apartment complex. Eddie had gained a reputation at his old place for being the overbearing neighbor, and he hadn’t even realized until he’d called the landlord over a party full of people not even five years younger than him. He wondered what kind of crusty curmudgeon he’d turned into, at the ripe old age of twenty-four - also, why wasn’t he getting invited to parties like that?

This time, though, it was personal. There was no reason to be blasting music, no matter what awful decade, on a weeknight. Noise curfew wasn’t in effect for another few hours, but Eddie had time to kill, and he couldn’t hear Seinfeld.

He marched himself over to the adjacent apartment, fists balled and ready for knocking. Here, the Talking Heads’s redundant lyrics were louder than ever.

Same as it ever was Same as it ever was Same as it ever was Same as it-

Eddie pounded on the door, just hard enough to drown out the words, but not the thumping bass. By the end of it, his knuckles ached as he cradled his hand to his chest, but the distinct sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from inside, so he had succeeded either way.

The door swung open, and a full frontal barrage of music hit Eddie square in the face - right alongside a thick cloud of earthy musk.

“Hey, neighbor, what can I do ya for?” the tenant drawled, just loud enough to be heard as he pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand.

And you may ask yourself Where does that highway go to? And you may ask yourself Am I right? Am I wrong? And you may say to yourself,

"My God! What have I done?" Eddie wondered.

His mother’s voice came screeching from some dark corner of his mind. WEED?! In my house?! Not that this was Eddie’s house, or even his apartment, or that he had ever touched the stuff. More likely than anything, he’d be dead if Sonia Kaspbrak had caught him high, stoned, or otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Eddie pronounced over the song, feeling his priorities shift from angry neighbor to medic. Just the sight of the guy - red-rimmed eyes magnified by dorky specs, leaning dangerously in the doorway - was enough to have all Eddie’s deeply ingrained warning bells going off.

“Better than ever, now that you’re here. Finally it’s a party.” Neighbor dude grinned so wide Eddie thought his cheeks might split open. “Do you want to come in? I’ve got some chips and Fanta - ooh, sorry, Orange Crush. Hope that’s not a dealbreaker.”

“Thanks very much.” Eddie barrelled past without much ceremony - thinking maybe he shouldn’t be so eager to act like he owned the place, but he had been invited inside after all.

Better yet, he could turn down the music himself.

“I’m Richie,” the stoned idiot stated as he shuffled down the front hall, while Eddie searched for a stereo. “I think I helped you bring in a box of baking supplies when you moved in.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.” Eventually Eddie pulled his shirt collar when the skunky stench became a bit too much. “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meetcha proper, Eddie. Glad to put a face to a KitchenAid mixer to a name.”

Eddie eventually found the big stereo system behind the couch, complete with speakers and a big honking volume dial that he used to turn the music down far enough that he could barely hear the Huey Lewis song that came on next.

“Hey hey hey! What are you doing?” Richie demanded, landing hard enough on the couch to send it teetering in Eddie’s direction for a single, terrifying moment. “You can’t just waltz into a man’s home and turn off his music! Didn’t your mama teach you manners?”

“It’s too loud,” Eddie answered, feeling himself slow his words as he stared down those bloodshot eyes (as if he was talking to a non-English speaker, and not a stoner). “That’s why I came over here, to ask if you’d turn it down.”

“Well I don’t have to turn it off. Noise curfew isn’t until ten.”

Eddie sighed, and reached for the dial again. He cranked the song as loud as he dared.

Don't need money, don't take fame Don't need no credit card to ride this train It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes But it might just save your life That's the power of love

“Is that okay?” he asked.

“I can live with that.” Richie flopped away to lie on his back, humming along to the instrumental section. “Hey, do you want to smoke?”

“No,” Eddie said immediately - which made him realize his next order of business.

“Actually,” he went on, rounding the couch in search of paraphernalia, “where’s your, uh, blunt? Joint? Bong?”

“Uhhhhh.” Richie stared at him for a couple seconds, and finally pointed over toward the window at the back of the apartment. “My bowl is over there.”

“Thanks.”

The glass tube didn’t look anything like what Eddie was used to from pot (not that he had very much experience), but there was definitely marijuana in it, smoldering remnants releasing dank smoke into the evening air. Eddie opened the window wider, dumped out the contents of the bowl onto the fire escape, and pocketed the thing.

Eddie’s experience with marijuana began and ended catching a whiff of it off certain students in college. He knew sometimes his friend Bill smoked, but other than that Eddie had, and wanted, nothing to do with it.

He had, however, helped his friends through drunken stupors and hangovers on many occasions. This couldn’t be that different, right? They were both drugs. He’d just stay to make sure Richie didn’t drown in his own vomit or anything.

“I don’t think you should smoke anymore tonight,” Eddie said as he rounded the couch again.

“Is that so?” he asked, a smirk curling into one corner of his mouth.

“Yes. You’re high as a kite, I don’t want you to go overboard.”

Richie snorted hard enough to sound like it hurt, and rolled toward the floor, laughing like a hyena. Eddie stood watching, bewildered.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll stay in me quarters, captain,” Richie answered when he had recovered, taking on some kind of pirate voice as he saluted Eddie. “Won’t be goin’ overboard this time, I’ll keep me sea legs alright.”

“...Okay,” Eddie uttered, deciding he was better off not unpacking that one. Instead, he sank into the recliner next to the couch. Both pieces of furniture did a pretty good job of framing the tiny area that constituted the den.

“Do you want to watch TV?” Eddie asked. “Seinfeld is on.”

Before Richie could answer, The Power of Love gave way to a new song: chant, and a guitar solo ripping right on after. The toked idiot scrambled to sit.

Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on Livin' like a lover with a radar phone Lookin' like a tramp, like a video vamp

“Demolition woman, can I be your man?” Richie screeched in a tone matching the singer’s, echoing himself as he air guitared with more soul than Eddie could ever dream of having.

“I hate this song,” he grumbled to himself, thinking Richie wouldn’t hear over his own rock fantasy, and the actual track.

He was wrong.

Richie gasped. “This song’s awesome!”

“The singer sounds like he’s whining,” Eddie griped, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Joe Elliott is singing his heart out. And it’s about sex, which is like, arguably more awesome than the song itself.”

I'm hot, sticky sweet From my head to my feet, yeah

“Sticky sweet from my head to my feet,” Eddie repeated dully. “How moving.”

Not to mention, Eddie wasn’t all that interested in sex with a woman to begin with, demolition or otherwise.

Richie waved his comments away with his hands, only to twist over the edge of the couch. He managed to reach the stereo, and skipped to the next song.

I've been hearing your heartbeat inside of me I keep your photo right beside my bed Livin' in a world of fantasies I can't get you out of my head

“Oh.” Eddie sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “I don’t mind Whitney Houston.”

“Don’t mind.” Richie huffed dramatically. “Is there anything you like or do you judge everything on a scale of how much you hate it?”

“I just don’t like eighties music, okay?” Eddie stated. “It’s not my thing. I like what’s popular now. Whitney’s best stuff came out this decade.”

“Well what is it? Not a fan of synthesizer stuff? Don’t like rock in general? You more of a nineties divas kind of guy?”

“No, it’s just not my thing. I guess bad associations and stuff.”

Richie tilted his head, propped up on his hand, on the armrest. “What kinds of associations?”

Eddie scoffed. “That’s a whole decade’s worth of explanation.”

“Well we got time to kill,” Richie replied, sweeping his arms around the empty apartment in a grand gesture. “Just try to keep it under a decade, I got work tomorrow.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, tonguing at his cheek to avoid a smile. Was he really about to unload on a stoned stranger why he didn’t like a particular type of music?

I get so emotional, baby Every time I think of you I get so emotional, baby Ain't it shocking what love can do?

Well, he was high off his ass. Maybe he wouldn’t remember.

“I guess I just don’t like the eighties in general,” Eddie explained, shifting to tuck his legs closer. “My mom was kind of a bitch, and I got bullied a lot. So whenever I hear any of these songs I just remember long car rides to the doctors or getting yelled at, or hiding from assholes at the arcade. Soundtrack to the worst years of my life.”

“Dude, I feel,” Richie said, a hand flying out to put on top of Eddie’s. He short-circuited for a second, and yanked his hand back to tuck under his chin. “But that’s why I like the music! It distracted me from the shit going on in my life.”

Richie jumped up on the couch, sneakers and all. Eddie jolted upright when he heard a dangerous creak of springs.

“If I was getting reamed out by my folks, or dealing with pea brain jocks at school, I knew I could always go to my room and turn on the radio at the end of the day.” Richie moved back and forth to the beat, probably stuck in some memory of being twelve and jumping up and down on his bed. “Queen, and Bowie, and Journey, and Bon Jovi raving about the underdog. It’s not all sex and love, my friend, it’s about finding your voice and powering through!”

He dove behind the couch hard enough to shake a couple shelves, and Eddie rushed to his feet to see if Richie had killed himself. But he was fine, skipping through the songs until he found what he was looking for. A rhythmic baseline resounded from the speakers.

“Ice Ice Baby?” Eddie asked after a moment, lip curled in disdain.

Richie shot to his feet. “You’re really pushing it.” He began to bob his head, mumbling along to the song, and Eddie realized he was an idiot.

Pressure! pushing down on me Pressing down on you, no man ask for Under pressure, that burns a building down Splits a family in two Puts people on streets

Richie babbled the interlude of gibberish with the singer, snapping his fingers to the beat as he gently herded Eddie back around the couch. It took him a second to realize the stoned jackass was trying to dance with him.

“No, Richie, that’s okay-”

“It's the terror of knowing what the world is about,” Richie sang, just about cornering Eddie at the coffee table. “Watching some good friends screaming ‘Let me out!’ Pray tomorrow gets me higher-”

“I pray tomorrow gets you sober,” Eddie proclaimed. Richie didn’t seem to hear him though. He was just about back to his bum-bum-bums and dee-da-dos.

The beat was pretty catchy, Eddie decided. Which was the case with a lot of eighties music, whether he liked it or not. There was a reason Vanilla Ice had sampled the bassline.

It couldn’t hurt, he also decided, if he nodded a little to the music. Richie seemed to like that, and mirrored Eddie’s awkward movements with a lot more gesticulation.

Even as he wondered whether or not he should be letting Richie move around so much, Eddie felt himself relax enough to move a little more, as much as he allowed himself without shaking the foundation. If he forgot all his obligations for a second, and his crummy childhood, then it was easy to get lost.

Can't we give ourselves one more chance?

“Why can't we give love that one more chance?” Richie caterwauled.

Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love?

They danced like dumbasses with no rhythm for as long as it took several more tracks to play on the stereo. Richie knew the words better than Eddie could ever hope to, and his voice wasn’t that great, but Eddie was happy to let him wear himself out all the same.

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go faded out to nothing, the next song came in with a familiar voice, humming and ad libbing to the beat.

“Whitney!” Richie cried with his arms cast wide. “Your favorite!”

Eddie panted, catching his breath. “She’s not my-”

“Clock strikes upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade,” Richie crooned, singing into his fist like there was a microphone. He did a very good job matching the voices each time, even Whitney Houston’s velvety cadence. “Still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away!”

He hopped up on the table for his performance, and this time Eddie didn’t try to stop him. Richie kicked magazines every which way as he shimmied and shook, singing his heart out.

Oh, I wanna dance with somebody I wanna feel the heat with somebody Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody-

Suddenly Richie thrust the pantomimed microphone up to Eddie’s lips. He was just lost enough in the music to open his mouth in time.

“With somebody who loves me!” Eddie exclaimed, watching as Richie grinned at him, eyes shining behind his glasses.

A second later, the microphone was cast away so that Richie could jump off the table, grabbing Eddie’s hands in exchange. Twisting to and fro, heads thrown back, to the tune of a bangin’ good song.

Doncha wanna dance with me baby? Doncha wanna dance with me boy? Hey doncha wanna dance with me baby?

“What the hell is going on?”

Eddie froze, tripping over his own feet in the process. There was another stranger standing at the foot of the front hall, keys in one hand, looking at them like they’d become a two-headed dancing monstrosity.

“Stanley! Come join us! Dance your fucking heart out!” Richie kept on rocking, but Eddie shuffled away, flushing on his neck as if he’d been caught doing something much worse.

Stanley, Edde figured, huffed, and put his things down to march into the den. “It’s almost noise curfew, Richie. You’re done for the night.” He turned the stereo off completely, much to Richie’s anguish - and, actually, a little bit to Eddie’s.

“Sorry, who are you?” Stanley asked Eddie, looking absolutely unamused.

“Oh - I’m your neighbor,” Eddie offered, wiping a bit of sweat from his hairline.

“Oh yeah. I think we’ve seen each other in the mail room.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Why are you jumping around my apartment though?”

“Uh.” Eddie glanced at Richie - only to find him slumped on the couch, already knocked out. Leaving him all alone to deal with the annoyed roommate.

“He was high,” Eddie tried, motioning to the snoozing lump that had once been a dancing, screaming idiot. “I came to ask him to turn down the music, but I didn’t want him to get hurt or pass out or throw up or anything, so I stuck around.”

“What?” Stanley’s brows furrowed together. “He’s not drunk. He’s high, he’s fine.”

Eddie felt his shoulders drop. “Oh.”

“He eats some crap and listens to his music really loud and eventually tuckers himself out.” Stanley sent an accusatory glance in Richie’s direction. “He’s not really supposed to of course, but I don’t care and as long as he does it when I’m not around then I don’t have to get in trouble for it.”

“Oh,” Eddie repeated. Only to realize something and add, “Okay, but he was jumping around and acting like an idiot, singing and shit. You sure he didn’t drink too?”

Stanley snorted. “That’s just how he is. I think he gets nostalgic or something when he’s high. I got him some eighties hits CDs for his birthday so he’d stay off my CD shelf.”

One more “Oh,” out of Eddie. His gaze drifted to Richie - absolutely out cold on the couch. Safe and sound, apparently. In no immediate danger due to his substance abuse. Eddie felt his neck warm again.

“That was nice of you, though,” Stanley mentioned, plucking Richie’s glasses off his face to fold up and set on the coffee table. “And if he plays his music too loud, don’t hesitate to come over and tell him to cut it out.”

“Thanks,” Eddie murmured.

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I wasn’t really planning on guests tonight...”

“Right.” Eager to get out of Stanley’s hair, Eddie hurried for the front door, offering a quick goodbye before seeing himself out. His own apartment was just a short walk away, and soon he was back in his own home.

His own, utterly silent home.

He didn’t realize until he started undressing for the night that he still had the bowl, when it fell out of the pocket of his jeans.

***

Eddie didn’t get a moment to himself until almost noon, when he found ten minutes between rides to grab a coffee, and sit in a normal chair for a second. If he wasn’t inclined to get promoted soon, he would have dropped chauffeuring weeks ago.

The tinny ringtone of his Nokia sounded in his pocket, and he hurried to answer without spilling his coffee.

“H’llo?” Eddie asked, taking a sip afterward.

“Hey! It’s Richie.”

Eddie managed to swallow before he spit his drink all over the window in front of him.

“How the hell did you get my number?”

“The landlord gave it to me. I told him you borrowed something from me and I needed to get in touch with you soon to get it back.”

“I didn’t borrow-” Eddie clammed up, and remembered the glass tube tucked away in his sock drawer, where he had put it in fear of the landlord doing random apartment checks for some reason.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll bring it back after work. Sorry, I forgot I had it.”

“No problem, no problem. I’ve got a spare laying around somewhere.”

“Oh. Neat.”

There was a beat of silence. Eddie heard Richie cough and sigh dramatically on the other end.

“I had fun last night,” he finally said, while Eddie rubbed his lip raw with his teeth. “I hope Stan didn’t scare you too much. And if he didn’t, maybe you’d want to come over and learn to like eighties music again. We could dance too, if you’re into that. It’s kind of cool to do stuff with someone else, and not just sit there by myself with the stereo going.”

“That sounds like fun,” Eddie said honestly - even if he was a little embarrassed Richie remembered everything after all. Weed really wasn’t alcohol at all, huh.

“And I won’t smoke. I’m not sure I dance better either way, but I guess we’ll find out.”

“Actually…” Eddie glanced around the tiny coffee shop - as if anyone gave a shit who he was, or what he was saying.

Nevertheless, he kept his voice low. “It’s not something I want to make a habit of, but if you were being serious when you offered, I’d like to try it.”

“Smoking pot?” Richie asked after a second.

“Yeah. You seem to know what you’re doing. Maybe just...ventilate the area better.”

“Yeah, okay. We could do it on the fire escape if you’re nervous. I know for a fact that the landlord goes out for bingo Sunday nights, so…”

“Sounds good.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Eddie murmured, feeling warmth creep into his cheeks as he traced the lid of his coffee cup. As if he were a flustered teenager again. “I think I could afford to mellow out a bit. Just for one night, maybe. And learn a thing or two about what it’s like.”

Richie laughed on the other end. “I can jive with that.”

For once, Eddie let the smile twitch onto his face. “Great.”

There was a little more silence, where he couldn’t think of what else to say. Luckily, his pager saved him, letting him know he was off on his next drive.

“Gotta go. Talk to you later, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

Eddie hung up, threw out the rest of his coffee, and drove off to meet his next ride.

“Any music preferences?” he asked, glancing into the rearview mirror as he navigated.

“The local station’s fine.”

Eddie flicked on the radio, turning the volume up so his passengers could hear.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word And love dares you to care for The people on the edge of the night And love dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves This is our last dance This is our last dance This is ourselves

That suddenly familiar bassline came in, bringing Eddie back to the night before. Not his mother’s car, or the arcade. Just Richie’s haphazard dance moves, and the coffee table.

Eddie smiled. Maybe eighties music wasn’t so bad.

[tossertozier]

random fic rec:

please read Those Were the Best Days of My Life by ailorian and quixoticquest. (Rated E.) it caught my eye scanning through archive and I just skimmed the first few chapters and I’m love it so fucking much. I can’t wait to sit down and read it more thoroughly and leave comments.

It’s funny and sweet and realistic n it has me :)) over n over. Go check it out it deserves lots of love.

[oaf-inactive]

Take Me Home Tonight by quixoticquest on AO3 is a good one if you like adult Reddie!

oh YEEHAW? i love all reddie thanks nonnie

[scrunklyyokkie]

tagged by @dont-call-me-eds and @delicateloser thank u love u!

Rules: tag 20 people you wanna see do this too

Nickname: trash, staniel

Gender: male

Star sign: taurus

Height: 5′7

Sexuality: pansexual

Time: 09:03pm

Birthday: may 19th

Favorite band: placebo? bmth? mcr? thousand other bands that i love? idk

Favorite solo artist: pink guy

Song stuck in your head: paramore - the only exception

Last movie seen: the outsiders

Movie I want to see: rn?? the disaster artist 

Last TV show watched: brooklyn nine-nine 

Why did you create your blog: i wanted a neat blog for all the it content

What do you post/reblog: IT related stuff and some occasional memes and

Last thing you googled: northen inuit white dog 

Other blogs: a nsfw/gore blog/art blog/and old star wars blog

Why url: bc richie used to be my fave and also he’s a trash like me 

I follow: 337

Followers: 2,004 

Average hours of sleep: depends, i either sleep for 3 hours or 12

Lucky number: 28

Instrument: i cant play any but i want to learn how to play bass and piano

What are you wearing: pants and a comfy hoodie, i just came back home 

Dream job: an actor? a voice actor? or a concept art artist

Dream trip: a road trip across europe tbh 

Favorite food: pizza, def pizza

Favorite song rn: jets to brazil - sweet avenue 

Top three universes: IT, stranger things, overwatch 

Last book i read: IT

tagging @plsshutuprichie @sten-bros @quixoticquest @darknesswithrainbow @stan-ur-is-my-son

[reddieao3feed]

My lonely heart calls

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2VLbtWq

by quixoticquest

Prompt: “Listen, I know I originally came over here to talk about the noise but OMG you are so high right now like how are you even standing so no objections because I’m taking care of you until you’re sober" AU

Words: 3903, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Additional Tags: 80s Music, soft, Fluff, Dancing, Marijuana, Drug Use, kind of pro weed but not really, Prompt Fill, Prompt Fic, Song Lyrics, song fic kind of

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2VLbtWq

[myaltao3feed]

by quixoticquest

Bill Denbrough gets accosted by Stan Uris on his summer book tour, who's supposed to be dead going on a year. Richie Tozier encounters some rando on a dating site who looks an awful lot like Eddie Kasprak, right down to the scar on his cheek. Beverly Marsh is just trying to enjoy her new life with Ben Hanscom without any bloody accidents, or their freshly uncloseted best friend tagging along. Mike Hanlon, desperate to prove he's not a madman, can't let go of Derry or the friends he had to bury along the way.

And so the Losers Club converges on Derry again to find some more tokens and make sure that fucking clown stays fucking dead once and for all.

Alternatively titled, IT: The Final Chapter

Words: 5404, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Eddie Kaspbrak

Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh (past), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris (past), Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips (past)

Additional Tags: Fix-It, Canon Compliant, Everyone Is Alive, Suicide Attempt, Scars, Amnesia, teenage relationship, Heavy Petting, Flashbacks, Guilt, Hallucinations, Blood, Black Spot incident, Richie being a trashmouth, Angst, Adult Losers Club (IT)

[moved-to-viletoilet]

i was tagged by @quixoticquest !!! Thanks dude!!!

Rules: Answer 30 questions about yourself and tag 20 people you wanna see do this too

Nicknames: Kyle, Ev

Gender: Female 

Star sign: Scorpio 

Height: 5′1″ 

Sexuality: Bisexual!

Time: oof its 2:34pm PST 

Birthday: November 9th yo!! 

Favorite band: Gorillaz <3 

Favorite solo artist: Tyler, the Creator ?? 

Song stuck in your head: My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco

Last movie seen: Tank Girl 

Movie I want to see:  The Disaster Artist!!!! I’m kinda excited to watch that!!!

Last TV show watched: South Park!

Why did you create your blog: Ey because why not?? I thought it would be fun i guess???

What do you post/reblog: i mix around. ill post some of my art. ill reblog something that i like. :P

Last thing you googled: Richie Toizer. drawinghim,,,

Other blogs:  nah. well not yet??

Why url: klowns are kool!! and im a total fool. im Fool the Klown HAH

I follow: 471. trust me there is gonna be more

followers: 12 boo hoo love you guys,,,

Average hours of sleep: 9

Lucky number: 9 

Instrument: i can play the flute!! 

What are you wearing: sweats and a deadpool tee

Dream job:  Illustrator or Actress???

Dream trip: New York!!

Favorite food: Milk-Steak! ((joking. Hot Cheetos count right???))

Favorite song rn:  CUCO - LO QUE SIENTO!!! 

Top three universes: Stranger Things/It ?? Marvel?? HS??

Last book i read: Of Mice and Men for my English class

eeeehhhh im not gonna tag 20 people because i barely know anyone?? So anyone can do this if they want???

[reddielibrary]

Riding Lynda Carter

Prompt: young eddie falling over and breaking his leg in the barrens and richie has to find a way to get him out and to a doctor

Written by: Alexis | @quixoticquest

Word Count: 4288

*click title to read on AO3

For the last twenty years since he had moved away from Derry, Richie had left a majority of his childhood crap at his folks’ place. There wasn’t any real purpose for it in LA. But recently he had an encounter with his past again, and the people in it. Now just seemed like as good a time as any to revisit those old keepsakes, go through what he wanted to donate, or keep.

Keep in preparation for moving in with his boyfriend, that is.

“Yikes, this inflatable pool has got to go,” Eddie stated, gripping the great rubber monstrosity with both hands, shielded by yellow gloves.

“Aw, why?” Richie whined, for no other reason than it was fun to be contrary. “That’ll make a great centerpiece for our dining room table. Just gotta find one big enough.”

Eddie trashed the pool, eyeing his boyfriend the whole way into the black garbage bag. Richie just smiled and carried on flipping through a box of pictures from some party or another.

“Hey, what’s this?” There were only so many things that Richie expected to find in his parents’ garage besides his dad’s tools and rat poop. Imagine his surprise when Eddie dragged a big hunk of old wood out from behind Went’s workbench. A set of rusty, crusted runners hooked under the cobweb covered slab, which meant it could only be one thing.

“Oh, shit. That.” Richie rushed over, tripping over Eddie’s trash bag as he yanked the old sled away from him (and boy was it heavy!). “This we can burn. I mean there’s no way to throw it away responsibly and with global warming running rampant it won’t serve any purpose if we donate it.”

“Wait, I remember this.” Eddie gasped, eyes flashing brighter than Richie expected anyone else pushing forty. “Your Flexible Flyer, from ‘87. I can’t believe you didn’t take better care if it. Don’t you remember, Richie? Oh my gosh.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Richie grumbled, staring ruefully at the dreaded sled. That was one memory he wished not to keep.

***

Patience was not a virtue Richie Tozier possessed, but today, he was actually giving it the old college try. Watching Mrs. Kaspbrak fret and dote over her nylon-clad son, pulling buttons and zippers and strings until he looked like a bright red Michelin Man, was its own kind of torture. Richie couldn’t groan, couldn’t sigh. He couldn’t even laugh when Mrs. K  asked if Eddie had remembered his thermal underwear (though he would definitely tell Bill and Stanley later).

One wrong move, and he’d be sent off without Eddie for the rest of the day - maybe the rest of winter break. Who knew when Derry was going to get another perfect eight inches of tantalizing snow again? Probably on a school day in February for the jerk principal to keep class in session.

“I want you back before it gets too dark, you hear me?” Mrs. K commanded, while Richie struggled not to fidget in the doorway. And here he thought he could avoid all this consternation if his mom called and asked the night before. Like they were six and still needed to schedule playdates.

Eddie nodded, with a good deal of swishy noises between the hat, earmuffs, hood, and scarf all competing to swallow up his face.

After a drawn out goodbye session full of wet cheek kisses and smeared lipstick stains, they were off, stepping through the snowtracks Richie had already made on his way to the door.

“You don’t have to pee, do you?” he asked Eddie, when they were out of earshot. “I dunno if I can wait any longer if you do. You might have to take one for the team and shove a bottle up your pants.”

Eddie made a noise that sounded like a lot of hot air against wool, his mouth muffled by his scarf.

“Pardon?” Richie asked, cheesing.

Eddie growled, shoved his scarf down, and ripped off his hood. “I said shut up, Richie,” he snapped, wiping his mother’s lipstick off his cold-nipped cheeks.

Walking was a lot faster when they reached the street, where the snow had been scraped away the night before in preparation for what the perky blonde weather lady on channel five was calling the biggest snowfall of the season. It certainly seemed to be true, with the fluffy white stuff climbing up Richie’s legs to chill his shins. Perfect weather for playing (so long as Eddie’s mom decided to be reasonable).

“Check it out,” Richie gushed, shuffling backward to pull his brand spanking new Flexible Flyer out from the bushes where he had tucked it away. Had to hide it before he got to the Kaspbraks’. No way Mrs. K would let Eddie participate in any winter activity more strenuous than a snow angel, if she knew about it.

“Wow,” Eddie exclaimed, all bright-eyed excitement as he bent toward the sled to glide his mittens over the red runners and smooth, finished wood. “This is so awesome, Richie! Is it the newest model?”

“Yeah, Santa really pimped me out this year.” Richie grinned smugly from behind his glasses, and crossed his arms - best he was able in his stiff, puffy snow jacket.

“Did you name it?”

“Her , Eds, her. You know what Bill says. And yes, I did. Wanna know what?”

“Well, that’s kind of why I asked, stupid.”

“Her name is Lynda Carter,” Richie proclaimed, patting the flat seat of the Flexible Flyer with his gloved hand, “because she’s fast, and strong, and the minute I saw her I knew I wanted to ride her all day long.”

Eddie must not have been a fan of Wonder Woman, because he levelled a dry glare at Richie. “Gross.”

“Get your own sled if you don’t like it, Eds.”

“I can’t!”

Eager to put Eddie’s house far behind them, Richie grabbed the rope on Lynda Carter and started off on their winter trek, Eddie in tow. The number one spot for sledding in Derry was behind the library, where the slope was flat and steep and teeming with every stupid idiot from school, pushing into one another and taking forever to get back up to slide down again. With that many people, the snow was bound to get worn through too.

“The library’s in the other direction, Richie,” Eddie pointed out, shuffling along behind Lynda.

“I know,” Richie chirped. Their walk was pretty slow-going, but there wasn’t much he could do dragging a sled with almost a foot of snow on the ground.

Eddie made a flabbergasted noise that sounded like his voice had been caught in the back of his throat. “Then where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

It didn’t take very long to see. Richie was still trying to master the art of anticipation, but one thing he did know was that if he told Eddie where they were headed, he ran the risk of derailing his whole operation. Sometimes Eddie could be just as persnickety as his own mother.

In no time, toes chilled through boots and two layers of socks, they arrived at the road up to the Kissing Bridge. Richie waited like a good little boy for a car to pass before he crossed the street, but Eddie yanked him back by his collar and nearly choked the life out of him.

“The Barrens?” Eddie demanded, while Richie lamented (not even a hundred feet away from their glorious destination!). “You wanna sled in the Barrens? It’s all trees, Richie. You’ll break your sled.”

“Lynda,” Richie whined. “And I can steer clear of trees! Don’t you have any faith in me, Eds?”

When Eddie stared him down silently for too long, Richie waved his arms and relented.

“Okay fine, we can go to the dumb old library.”

“Good,” Eddie stated, grinding his heel into the snow to turn around.

“Where everyone else is gonna be,” Richie went on.

“Probably!”

“Bumping into each other, hogging the slope.”

“Oh well!”

“Waiting like sitting ducks for when Henry and his chuckleheads come and ruin everything.”

All Eddie’s forward momentum ceased. Bingo.

“I think we could take ‘em though,” Richie went on, patting his scrawny bicep through his coat. “A little fisticuffs never hurt nobody - well, just so long as you can dodge some punches, otherwise your mom’s gonna have a hissy-”

“Just cross the street already!” Eddie shoved both hands into Richie’s back, and he grinned triumphantly toward the heavens as they headed to the Barrens.

The slanted plane of land leading down into the trees was a lot steeper than Richie remembered from the summer. Maybe it evened out toward the bottom, he wondered. Not all the snow would stick to the top of the slope, and fell to the end of it, to create a bigger cushion, all because of gravity. That was just basic physics, after all.

“How ‘bout here?” Richie asked, stopping after they’d walked on for a few minutes. “Looks pretty clear to me.”

“Richie, there’s like seven trees all down that direction,” Eddie said, motioning toward the pristine blanket of snow laid before them - or it would have been pristine, if not for the spindly trunks shooting into the sky.

“Uh, I count five,” Richie retorted, hauling Lynda over the bridge barrier. “And I told you, I can steer past them. All I have to do is lean a little. It’s barely steering.”

If Eddie meant to say something back, he floundered, helpless while Richie went about settling Lynda where she wouldn’t slip too soon, and mounting with the rope in his hand. When Eddie didn’t come sit his stupid butt down immediately after, Richie waved him over.

“I don’t know about this, Richie.”

“Come on, Eds! What are you, a pussy?”

Eddie’s eyes flared indignantly. Richie was doing a damn good job with his kicks in the right direction today.

“I am not a pussy.” Eddie dropped onto Lynda with a creak of wood.

“You can put your arms around my waist if you want,” Richie gushed.

“Just shut up and push off!”

Richie did just that. Lynda and her load slid through the snow with amazing agility, gaining speed as the incline disappeared behind them. Richie yanked on the string and wrenched his body around the thick trees scattered across the hillside, usually in the nick of time, to the tune of Eddie’s shrieking. Richie matched him in volume, only he was laughing instead.

They came to a gradual stop at the bottom of the slope, grinding into the snow-covered field that banked off into the stream where the sewers emptied out. A couple more feet and they might have been skidding across the frozen, rocky water.

Red-faced and panting, mostly from shouting their lungs out, the two of them climbed off Lynda, just a little eager for a surface that didn’t move and rumble beneath them. Richie grabbed onto the rope again, while his stomach let loose their butterflies, and his joints relaxed from being clenched so hard.

“See? That wasn’t so bad!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

Eddie wasn’t hyperventilating, or curled up on his side in the snow - a good sign. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said, while Richie did his best to look mock offended. “You steered alright, Richie. If we do it from that spot every time we should be good.”

“See? And you doubted me.” More smug than he deserved to be, Richie slung an arm around Eddie’s neck, nearly tripping him. They hauled Lynda back up the slope, and did it all over again.

“Should we have a philosophical debate, like Calvin and Hobbes?” Richie called over his shoulder as they tipped off their starting point.

“I dunno if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters,” Eddie went on as they whizzed through the trees, “what do you know about philosophy?”

“Lots!”

“Well I don’t.”

“Then I’ll teach you, and that’ll be the debate.”

“Second, you don’t want to be like Calvin and Hobbes when they sled, Richie. You know at the end of every comic, Calvin and Hobbes start arguing, fly through the air and-”

A thick crack sent the Flexible Flyer - well, flying - arcing over a shallow rock ledge Richie had managed to avoided before. The two of them lost their grip far too easily, airborne for a half a second that felt so much longer. Long enough for Richie to register his dad would kill him if he broke Lynda.

The impact threw him flat into the snow, harsh and hard, the icy powder biting into his face as his frames dug into his skin. The wind got knocked out of Richie for a moment, and he squirmed, choking, until there was air in his lungs again, and he could sit up without dying.

If it wasn’t Lynda, then he was definitely toast for his specs, he decided, when he pulled them off his face to find thin cracks splintering the glass. Richie whined, more bummed out than sore, really, and lumbered to his feet to survey the damage on his beloved sled.

“Ow ow ow.”

Pausing in his literal tracks, Reddie shuffled in the snow to find Eddie hunched over in on himself. He was breathing hard, tilting back, and forth.

“Asthma?” Richie asked, wide-eyed as a new panic set in.

Eddie shook his head, eyes screwed shut. “I landed funny on a tree root. Over there. I think I sprained my knee.”

“Lemme see.” Richie knelt down beside him, hovering hesitantly. Eventually he worked up the nerve to grab Eddie’s leg with his gloved hand - only to reel back, when Eddie howled louder than he’d ever heard before.

“That hurts!” Eddie snapped, tears dotted along his eyelashes.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathed, wary. “For real, Eds?”

“You think I’m making it up?”

“Well you’ve freaked out about smaller stuff!”

“I’m freaking out because it hurts so bad!” Eddie swore, mouth twisting up on itself as he fingered his knee. He whimpered, a small, scared sound. Richie had never heard anything like it before.

“Maybe we should take you to the doctor,” he said, forcing a single logical thought into his head.

“No!” Eddie’s head flew up, eyes wide. “No, I hate the doctor. They’re just going to call my mom and she’s gonna pitch a fit, and I won’t be able to hang out with you guys ever again! If we go to the pharmacy we can get stuff to make a splint. I can hide it under my pants and pretend I fell at home, later.”

“I don’t have any money, though!”

“Neither do I!”

“Then why would you suggest the pharmacy?!”

Richie thought long and hard, jarred by every pained noise that left Eddie’s mouth. No Mrs. K, no doctor, no pharmacy. Where the hell were they supposed to go?

A new idea dawned on Richie, and he gasped. “Wait, we could go to my parents’ house. They know how shitty your mom is, they’ll know what to do.”

Eddie stared at Richie, suspicion written across his distraught face. “You think so?”

“Yeah, my dad could probably figure something out. He’s a doctor.”

“He’s a dentist, Richie.”

“Everyone’s a critic, ain’t they?” Glancing around, Richie eventually spotted Lynda through his broken glasses, and went to retrieve her where she had capsized. Wasn’t broken, thankfully - but that was the least of his worries.

“I can pull you out on the sled,” he explained, situating her rightside up, before returning to Eddie, beckoning with his hands. “Come on. You can prop your leg up.” The nerves must have been getting to Richie, because he finished off with his best cowboy. “Don’t you worry, little lady, doc’s gon’ be ‘round to patch you up real soon.”

Eddie stared glumly, only to wince and his as he moved to get on the sled a second later. Richie’s guiding arms could only help so much. Each noise was like hot and cold, in regard to how much pain was being inflicted. A small breath was cold, and screaming OW OW OW was hot hot hot.

They eventually got Eddie set up with his leg propped in front of him, the other tucked under his butt. Like that, there wasn’t any room for Richie, but he had to pull anyway.

“Hold on tight,” he chirped, heaving the flimsy rope to drag Eddie, and Lynda, out of the Barrens.

There was no reasonable way to leave the way they came, which meant they had to take the long way out, following the more gradual incline of the land, past the sewer. Hauling over snow-laden grasses, rumbling across stones embedded in the ground, Richie really put his arms to work. He thought just Lynda had been bad - add a hundred pounds of injured pipsqueak, and it was downright torture. His knuckles ached in their grip, and the muscles in his arms seared. But hey - at least his knees were in tip-top shape.

“What did I tell you?” he mentioned at some point, huffing for breath as his heart worked itself into a tizzy behind his ribcage. Now that D in gym class made perfect sense. “We didn’t hit a tree, did we?”

Eddie’s pained groan was answer enough. Eventually they got themselves up and out of the Barrens, back into Derry proper, where the path was even and flat. Still, there was a whole neighborhood to traverse before they reached Richie’s house.

“You gotta admit, it was pretty fun, right Eds?” Richie asked hopefully. The silence behind him was deafening. All he could ever hope for, at any point in his life, was a reaction. Struggled noises didn’t really fit the bill. “And someday, we’ll laugh about this. How you hurt your knee riding Lynda Carter.”

“I’m not laughing about it now,” Eddie grit out.

“Well, we could laugh about something else.”

“No jokes. My stomach hurts.”

“Jeez, your knee hurts, your stomach hurts, there’s always something with you, isn’t there?”

Wondering, maybe for the first time, if he had gone to far, Richie decided he was better off shutting up - also for the first time.

They finally came upon the Tozier house, and Richie picked up the pace for the home stretch, boots grinding into the asphalt road as he hauled ass to his own front lawn. He went up the driveway, and “parked” Lynda in the yard (which Mom had said not to do, but desperate times and all that). Eddie grunted and grimaced all the way up, even with Richie taking one arm over his shoulder and his own hand around Eddie’s waist, so he could limp his way to the front door.

Before they could even make an attempt at the porch steps, though, the door flew open. Richie’s mom stood there in her thick Christmas sweater, a rag from some abandoned chore in her hand.

It didn’t take much to assess the situation, with Eddie propped up on Richie, his leg suspended in front of him.

“Richard, what did you do?”

“Eddie hurt his leg!” It’s not my fault rose to the tip of Richie’s tongue, but he swallowed it back. He wasn’t a hundred percent on that statement yet. He was pretty sure the anxious feeling rattling around in his skull was some form of guilt anyway.

Mrs. Tozier helped Eddie inside, over to the couch in the parlor no one was supposed to go in unless guests were over. Without any hesitation, with what Richie could only call Mom Mode fully activated, she took his boots off and rolled the leg of his snow pants up as gingerly and carefully as possible.

Richie’s eyes flared wide, his pulse picking up at the sight of the bulbous purple bruise spread across Eddie’s knee. He flicked his gaze into the corner of the room, where everything was much less grotesque.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Tozier murmured, trying not to touch Eddie’s knee too much. The red spread across his freckled face had little to do with the snow now, Richie figured, but Eddie set his jaw all the same.

“I think it’s broken. We’ll have to call your mom, Eddie. She can drive you to the hospital.”

“What? No!” Richie and Eddie said - almost in unison.

Mrs. Tozier gave each of them a look (the one for her son slightly more scathing). “We can’t do anything here, Richie. Eddie, you need a doctor. You need to get an X-ray, and probably some kind of cast.”

“Then what if we take him to the doctor?” Richie asked.

“They would still have to call Mrs. Kasprak,” his mom answered, almost exasperated. “And we don’t need to be at the hospital right now. I’m sorry, Richie. Eddie is his mother’s responsibility, not ours.”

She moved to leave, only for Richie to fling himself at her, clutching around her waist.

“You can’t do that, Mom! Mrs. K is gonna ruin his life! He’s going to be stuck with her big fat ass all winter break and not be allowed to leave the house!”

“Richard! Language!”

“It’s fine, Richie.”

Who would have thought it would be Eddie to stop the commotion. Richie paused, still latched onto his mom like a baby koala.

He expected Eddie to look so small and sad from the couch, what with the latest turn of events, but the opposite was true. He sat up, leg out, expression hard. If his knee weren’t busted, Richie thought he might shoot up and march right over.

“I gotta go to the doctor with my mom, that’s all there is too it.” Eddie huffed, fingers fiddling in his lap. “We tried, but if my leg is broken then I can’t really hide it. Thanks for getting me out of the Barrens, though. You really helped me out there.”

“The Barrens?” Mrs. Tozier demanded. “You brought your sled to the Barrens? What’s wrong with you, look what happened! Not to mention how much we paid for it, not for you to go crashing into things!”

“It was my idea, Mrs. Tozier,” Eddie chimed in, lying as easily as he would to his own mother. “I told Richie we should go play in the Barrens. It’s always so crowded behind the library. I thought it would be more fun.”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. Eddie stared back, confident, despite the pain that twitched on his face.

Behind them, Mrs. Tozier sighed. “We’ll talk about this later, Richie. Right now, I’m going to call Eddie’s mom.”

She slipped right out of his grasp, striding away, into the kitchen. Richie stood there defeated. He hadn’t felt sorrier in his entire life.

Mrs. Kaspbrak came soon enough, spittle flying as she shrieked. Not just at Richie, but at his mom, as Eddie waited by, face turned away. She took him away, far away, to the hospital - and after that, home. His piss poor excuse for a home, where he stayed until school was back in session. Richie got grounded for playing in the Barrens for about the same amount of time.

He never rode Lynda Carter again.

***

“I felt so fucking betrayed by my mom that day,” Richie explained, shaking his head, laughing when the memory took a somber turn he had not been prepared for. “I couldn’t believe she did that. But I guess, in the end, I sorta betrayed you more, huh?”

“What?” Eddie asked, face twisting up.

“I delivered you into the hands of the enemy! I told you you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor or your mom and look what I did. I was a real snot-nosed brat.” Richie stared at the sled - Lynda - accusingly. As if she had made the decision to go play in a dangerous place.

Suddenly, Richie’s gaze was jarred by Eddie’s hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Don’t be stupid, Rich. We were kids.” His gaze turned a little soft. “I broke my knee, we couldn’t just avoid the hospital, as much as we wanted to back then. It was a mistake, yeah, and definitely your fault-”

“Thanks,” Richie said, voice muffled by the squish of his cheeks as he stooped down in front of Eddie.

“But I still agreed to it. And I turned out okay.”

“But your mom. I just wish there was something me or my parents could have done-”

“There wasn’t.” Eddie shook his head. “We were kids, we were at the mercy of everything. We didn’t have control over anything except where we went to fucking sled. And I was my mom’s responsibility, even if she was shitty about it. Not yours, or your moms.”

“Funny,” Richie mumbled. “My mom said something like that, I think.”

“Probably because she was an adult for way longer than you.”

“You callin’ my mama old?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and tilted forward. Their lips met, easing Richie’s troubled mind. His boyfriend was right, anyway - there was little they could have done back then. You couldn’t exactly call CPS on a mom keeping her son home about his broken leg.

“Besides,” Eddie said when they parted. “Mom’s in a retirement community, and it’s just you and me, now. Together forever.”

Richie gasped, delighted. “You’re right! That means you’re my responsibility.”

Eddie frowned. “That’s not what I-”

“Worry not!” Setting Lynda down, Richie clutched his arms around Eddie and swooped him into a dip, his boyfriend yelling all the while. “I will protect you with my life, fair sir! The evil, wretched, corpulent Sonia-beast can never touch us again!”

Richie pulled Eddie in for a sweet, enveloping kiss, the annoyed noises eventually dying down until there was nothing but soft lips, and an eased conscience.

Hell. Maybe one day, Lynda Carter would ride again.

[honkhonkrichard]

Your icon makes me laugh every time I look at it. I can like.. hear it in my head

I NEED YOU

MORONS

TO WORK 8x HARDER THAN YOUVE EVER WORKED

IN YOUR ENTIRE

L I V E S

I'm havin' a heart attack.

Yeah I'm having a heart attack.

Get back to work.