#richie is like a shaking chihuahua

[irenic-raccoon]

S' Up immediately became one of my fave Bottom episodes bc he's so bbg here

[an-inspired-eternity]

yk what this rui card is how ive been feeling with the sleep-deprived-understimulated-no-spoons-writers-block wombo combo. free me from the mortal coil and get me a brain that works

[rollingsins]

Hi babes!

"Of course. Why wouldn't there be?" I'm still SO salty and embarrassed about there being two Ghostfaces and me not even thinking about that possibility. Ugh.

Well... Rs nonchalance is completely justified. Wes was Tara's friend. Richie was a stinky bag of shit. Sooo... he deserved death.

"She’s still in there when you arrive. " Lol I don't think Tara could have gone anywhere. Not even that little psycho pookie bear can break out of jail.

Awww I love how strong Tara is. Picking R up and kissing her like her life depends on it. BUT LEAVE SAM ALONE!! She did it FOR YOU. And it was Rs idea anyway. ...oop there it is. Question is, will the trouble R is in come out in the bedroom or... 👀

😂 poor Sam has to deal with these two horny fuckers. She deserves an award for that, honestly.

TARA SHUT THE FUCK UP! SAM DIDNT KNOW!! I swear I will fight Tara if she doesn't leave Sam alone. She feels guilty enough already and doesn't need her angry chihuahua sister to go off on her. I'm a full blown Sam stan now, so Tara better watch out!

Ha, Tara really is a puddle in Rs hand. "Tara, show some empathy. Yes honey baby love darling of course I will. Anything for you sweetie." That's basically their relationship.

I reread All Hers completely the last few weeks and I'm still convinced it's Judy. I can't sink any lower or lose any more of my dignity and pride because I let myself be fooled by Richie, so if it is nit Judy, I'm all good 🤷🏻‍♀️

Ooh, is Sam suspecting Tara now?? 👀

Tara. Sam lied to get your murderous ass out of jail for a crime you DID commit. So maybe let the small lie slide and focus on catching the other Ghostface 🙄

Sam is just so over these two idiots. I love it!

The PowerPoint!!!! Mindy, if you show me yours I'll show you mine. Mine is only 4 slides long but I'm sure it could be helpful.

Liv 🤦🏻‍♀️ How does that girl even survive? She has absolutely no clue what's going on, ever. I don't know if I should laugh at what she's saying or shake my head.

MINDY!!! NO. SHUT UP. Say it with me: 👏 SAM 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 GHOSTFACE 👏

Oh boy. If Wes wasn't dead already, Tara would immediately go hunt him down. ...damn. possessive, rage filled Tara is SO hot. Toxicity aside, she's just so incredibly sexy and dominant.

😂 not Tara kicking everyone out so bluntly to soend some time with R alone. Probably sex. I love that girl so much, I swear

Wow. The Rage in action really can be quite scary. But also still hot. I would like more of that... Sue me, okay.

Tara would win gold in many things. Sex, murdering people, being a rage filled chihuahua, tearing down Liv...

"Micro strap and carrot cock" I gasped and laughed at the same time. I have no clue how you can come up with these amazing one liners and insults 😂

Nooo poor Sam 😭 She really deserves a nice long quiet spa vacation when all of this is over. Having to deal with these two horn dogs must be so aggravating.

...I volunteer as tribute to help Sam relax and make sure she gets some!

Ghostface can wait. But I can't to figure out who it is! Judy. It must be her. Wes is dead. Liv is way too goofy and dumb. Chad is way too nice and sweet. Mindy is too small and not crazy enough. Sam is Bae. Who is left? JUDY HICKS.

That was fantastic as always!

Hey boo! You’ve got your detective hat on, guess you’ll just have to wait and see 😉

You and Mindy for sure need to swap PowerPoints 😂😭

Gold star for Sam today for dealing with so much damn bullshit

[eminems-skittles]

how they react to you stealing their sweater [west wing characters x reader]

requested by: @shutupanddance  pairings: josh lyman x reader; toby ziegler x reader; sam seaborn x reader; (ALL SEPARATE)  warnings: none ;) word count: 1.3k a/n: there will be a part two with will, cj, donna, and charlie

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

JOSH LYMAN

he honestly wouldn’t even notice unless someone pointed it out or until after the fact

i mean in the episode where donna is trying to convince the family in new hamsphire to vote for bartlet instead of richie, he didn’t even realize donna took his coat even though he said she could 

so here’s what i’m thinking

everyone is working late one night and donna, on her way to josh’s office, bumped into you 

you quickly scurried away before she could say anything so she just continued on her way

“you know y/n is wearing your jacket right?”

“wait? no she’s not. my jacket is right there.”

josh pointed at the now empty chair that was normally where he put his jacket

“okay so maybe she did...”

josh looked down at his desk, fighting the smile that was trying to appear on his face. 

donna rolled her eyes at the obviously smitten man

“do you know-”

“she’s in her office”

as soon as donna finished speaking, josh was out of his chair and making his way towards your office

“oh hey josh!”

josh felt a blush dust his cheeks as he spotted you 

“you’re wearing my sweater.”

“oh yeah i am. sorry about that. my office just gets really cold and your jackets are always much warmer than mine.”

“don’t worry about it. you can keep it if you want.”

SAM SEABORN

you and sam had been dating for a few months, closer to a year really

you decided to give him a key so that he could come over after work and spend the night

not like that, get ur mind out of the gutter LOL

anyway

one night he comes over after work

and you’re already asleep 

because the man does not know how to healthily balance work and well anything other than work (besides sailing but even then...)

anyways back to the story

so he gets home at basically the ass crack of dawn (not really but you get the point. he got home late)

since it’s so late, you’re already asleep 

and he’s envious of you

you look so peaceful and comfortable and the weight of how the country and the world sees the president isn’t resting on your shoulders the way it is his

after he puts his pajamas on (really just sweatpants and no shirt lets be real....brb thinking about shirtless sam) he climbs into bed next to you but behind you? like y’all are going to spoon

he pulled you close to him, his hands clutching the fabric of the sweater

you turned over and smiled sleepily at him

“hi sammy”

“hi hon”

the soft light of the bedside lamp hung over the two of you

sam’s eyes traced from your face down to your sweater

well to be more specific-his gray princeton sweater

“you’re a thief, you know that?”

“can’t help it. it was cold and that was the warmest thing i could find.”

you mumbled something under your breath

“what was that?”

“plus i missed you and it smells like you.”

upon hearing that, sam pulled you closer to him so you were pressed against his chest

“you can steal all of my sweaters.”

“good because i already have

TOBY ZIEGLER (not so much you stealing as he willingly gives you his jacket but still cute)

now we all know that toby isn’t the most warm...

his jackets however are incredibly warm

especially on cold winter days

the west wing team had gone up to new york for a few days and during a few hours of unusual downtime, you all decided to head down to central park to do some ‘exploring’

“y/n come on you need a jacket”

toby argued with you as they made their way to the elevator 

“no i don’t i’ll be fine. it’s only like 5 degrees colder than home.”

it was, in fact, twenty degrees colder 

the group was walking around central park, talking about work of course

“y/n are you okay? you’re shaking like a chihuahua”

donna asked, gaining toby’s attention.

“yeah i’m fine just kind of cold is all.”

without a word, toby slipped his own jacket off his shoulders and draped it across your shoulders

“told you you should have brought your own jacket.”

“yeah yeah. yours are so much warmer though.”

toby smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders

the two of you continued to walk while bickering about the importance of wearing jackets in cold weather

while you two were walking, donna turned to cj and said,

“how can they act like an old married couple yet they aren’t even together?”

to which cj said,

“oh donna, there’s so much you don’t know. let’s get you up to speed.”

y/n turned her head, making eye contact with her two friends

“you know we can hear you right?”

[izzyspussy]

after derry, richie goes back to writing his own material. for his first big stage comeback he’s planning to start things off with a bang and open with a combination coming out and honey roast of eddie,

and eddie of course is going to be in the audience, thought richie has carefully concealed the relevant content,

except richie’s agent has met eddie twice or maybe three times, and he knows that eddie is god damn hysterical when richie pushes his extra large red buttons, and he knows that richie’s going to need to outperform his past self wildly in order to make it through the inevitable audience turnover, and he plans a little plan,

so richie’s up on stage doing his thing, coming out to half stunned silence and half exuberant cheers, and he starts in on eddie, and he asks for a spotlight on him, and there is eddie, redfaced and shaking like an enraged chihuahua,

but then suddenly, eddie has a mic,

“oh shit,” richie says as soon as he sees it, “oh shit, eds, i’m sorry,” he begs, and he’s pleading genuinely but he’s also laughing because he knows whatever revenge eddie takes on him is going to be the funniest shit he’s ever heard in his entire life,

and eddie takes the mic from richie’s agent, and he brings it in close to his mouth, too close so that the sound will be bad, but not so close that his lips will actually touch it because fuck knows where this thing has been,

and richie laughs harder and he begs, “eddie, please, no,”

and eddie’s voice booms out over the packed venue, both muffled and too loud, with a completely flat affect, “he cried the first time we had sex,”

and richie cries on stage too, from laughter and from the kind of humiliation that a stand-up comedian thrives on,

and later richie’s agent receives a raise and also a gigantic gift basket of candy dicks

[nblesbianbenhanscom]

43+45 for kaspbroughzier or streddie

anon! hello! a million years later, and your fic is ready! are you even still here? i hope so ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

*

i had to go with the kasproughzier cause i love those goofs and also sonia is the perfect no, really you don’t want to meet my family.

the prompts were ‘trust me, you don’t want to meet my family’ + ‘you may technically be an adult, but you are still my child.’

***

read it on ao3

Little Dashes of Doom

“Eh-Eddie, your phone is r-ringing,” Bill says. It’s the tenth time in the last half hour.

“Just turn it off, Bill. I’m not going to answer it.” Eddie doesn’t look up from his computer.

“Buh-But it’s your ma.”

“I know, Bill. I already told her when I was coming home. She can chill.” He sounds tired, and Bill just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and make him relax between him and Richie. This semester had really kicked all of their asses.

Bill watches the phone as it stops ringing. It dings a moment later with a voicemail. Bill picks it up and turns it off. He kisses Eddie’s hair as he sits it on the table next to him.

“H-How’s the puh-aper coming?” Bill asks as he opens up the fridge. Bill himself had just finished his own last final just a few hours before.

“I hate fucking Shakespeare,” Eddie growls.

“Th-That good, eh?”

Eddie doesn't respond while Bill looks through the fridge. He finds a beer and heads to the couch where Richie is playing on their shared Switch. His legs are spread awkwardly, one up and over the back of the couch, the other hanging down by the floor. Bill sits in between his legs, pulling Richie’s leg into his lap.

“Hey, babycakes, you ok?” Richie asks without looking up.

“I’m ok.” Bill takes a sip of his beer. “You ok?”

“Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Shit! I just fucking died!” He sighs and lets the Switch fall to his chest. “What are we doing for food?”

“We have l-leftover p-pizza,” Bill says.

Groaning, Richie sits up and tugs himself closer to Bill with his legs. He leans close and kisses Bill’s neck.

“I am so tired of pizza.” Richie scrapes his teeth against Bill’s chin. “Maybe I’ll just have you for dinner. How does that sound?” They giggle and Eddie huffs from the kitchen.

“Ugh, rude of you to start without me,” Eddie grouses, but there’s no real heat to his words.

Bill and Richie giggle again.

“S-Sorry, E-Eddie!”

“We were just discussing dinner.” Richie kisses Bill’s neck again.

Giggling, Bill pushes him away. “Shhh… St-Stop.”

Richie just pulls him closer and they giggle again.

“If I fail my final, it will be all your faults!” Eddie yells.

“Wh-What d-do you want for d-dinner?” Bill asks.

Eddie is silent for a minute. “Surprise me.”

Bill turns and kisses Richie. “We’re guh–nna go p-pick up dinner.”

“We are?” Richie asks. Bill nods. He holds his hand out and Richie takes it. They go to the door, tug on their coats and boots. It’s cold outside, but Bill just holds tightly to Richie’s hand.

“Where to, Big B?” Richie asks after they’ve climbed in the car.

Bill shrugs. “I don’t care.” He thinks for a minute. “Wh-Where do you—”

“I already told you what I wanted.” Richie winks.

Leaning back against the passenger seat headrest, Bill smiles at him. “Ok, b-but like a-actual food, Richie.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Richie says. They talk for a few more minutes and end up going to the local diner. They get pancakes, fries, salad, and pie. Sometimes Eddie has trouble eating when he’s stressed, and they want to make sure to get him something he’ll eat.

When they get back, Eddie’s computer and his books are in a neat stack. The bathroom door is closed and they can hear him screaming at someone.

“I am working on my finals, mommy!” Eddie screams. Richie and Bill hesitate in the doorway. They look at each other but creep in. It’s been a while since Eddie had gone off like this. When they’d first met him a few years back, he’d yelled a lot more. Richie liked to tease that he was a feral chihuahua until Eddie’d absolutely lost it and tried to beat Richie up. It hadn’t gone well; Richie was so much taller than him and he had just pulled him into a hug, apologies sliding off his tongue. He promised to never do it again. After that, there were less and less explosions until there were none.

“No! No! You listen! I’m doing my work. I’ll be home in three days. Three! You have my–” Eddie pauses. “Please, would you just–”

Richie puts the food on the table and Bill clears away Eddie’s school work.

“God damnit, mom! They are not my roommates, they are my boyfriends. We have been over and over–” Another pause. “Well maybe I won’t come home then!” There’s another pause followed by a loud banging sound and then Eddie begins to sob.

Bill and Richie look at each other as they sit there listening to Eddie cry and yell at himself. Bill can’t quite make out everything he’s saying, but he knows it’s not good. He hears things like pussy, and coward, and little bitch. Things that he’d been told his whole life. Things Bill had thought he’d worked through.

Bill had apparently been wrong.

“I’m gonna go get him,” Richie says, and gets up. Bill catches his hand, and shakes his head. They sigh.

“Wuh–ne m-more m-minute.” He swallows hard. Richie sits back down slowly. Bill hates this just as much as Richie, but he doesn’t want to push Eddie too hard.

Slowly, Eddie’s sobs lessen. Bill wants to get up and go to him, but still he hesitates. Richie leans into his space and rests his head on Bill’s shoulder.

“Can we go get him now?” Richie asks.

Bill licks his lips. He’s about to say yes when they hear the bathroom door open, and Eddie sees them as soon as he looks up.

“Oh,” he says softly. His eyes are red and puffy. He swallows hard several times. “I-I–” And then tears fill his eyes, and his face crumbles, and Richie and Bill go to him, pull him close and let him cling to them as he cries.

“It’s ok, Eddie, we’ve got you,” Richie murmurs into his hair. “We’ve got you.”

“L-Let it out, b-baby,” Bill whispers.

Eddie’s fingers dig into Bill’s shirt as he sobs. His whole body is shaking and Bill wishes he could find Sonia Kaspbrak and give her a piece of his mind, but he tries to push these thoughts away as he kisses Eddie’s hair.

They sit on the couch, and it takes a long time for Eddie to calm down. Even after he’s stopped crying, he still clings to them. He whines when Richie pulls away.

“I’ll be back, my love, just going to get you some water,” Richie says as Eddie grips his shirt hem.

“But I–” Eddie’s hoarse, and Bill can’t help but feel sorry for him.

“I-It w-will help,” Bill says. He reaches out and pulls Eddie’s hand free. “It will help.” Slowly, Eddie lets go and lets Bill lace their fingers together. He leans back into Bill and closes his eyes.

After Eddie drinks his water, he looks around at them with heavy sad eyes. He’s cradled between them, both of them pushing into his space.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” Eddie says.

“What for, love?” Richie asks. He strokes Eddie’s hair, kisses his temple.

“Because I–Because I’m such a freaking mess,” Eddie whispers.

“Yo-You’re n-not a m-mess.” Bill kisses Eddie behind his ear and Eddie’s eyelashes flutter a little.

“Your mom is a fucking cunt,” Richie says.

Bill frowns at him. Eddie usually freaks whenever someone says something bad about his mom.

“Yeah, she is,” Eddie says. 

Bill and Richie make shocked noises. Bill squeezes him.

“I’m just so tired of her. She’s...” His voice waivers and takes a deep breath. “I have to use the bathroom.” Eddie gives them each a kiss before he gets up.

Once the door is closed, Richie looks at Bill, scowling.

“What the fuck is that bitch’s problem?” Richie growls.

“I d-don’t kn-know.” Bill sighs. He scoots closer to Richie. “I h-hate her so much. It’s been s-such a l-long t-time si-since–”

“Yeah, he’s been doing so good.” Richie huffs. “I just wish I could meet that bitch just one time so I could–”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet my mom,” Eddie says. Richie and Bill jump, neither of them had heard the toilet flush. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

Sharing glances, Richie and Bill get up and follow Eddie into the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, pulling the food out of the bag and frowns at the fries.

“Aww, fuck, they’re cold.” Eddie’s lip trembles a little. “I’m sorry. I should have waited to call. I just finished my final and I–”

“N-No, b-baby. It’s ok. Th-The fries w–ill heat up,” Bill says.

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “That’s why God invented microwaves, right?” He picks up the container and throws it in, pushing buttons quickly. “See? It’s fine.”

Sniffling, Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Nuked fries taste so gross.”

“I think we got some cheese and Ranch. That will help.” Richie goes to the fridge as Eddie looks at the rest of the food and looks up at Bill.

“You two are the best, do you know that?” Eddie asks. Richie kisses his hair as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

“N-No you,” Bill says.

Wrapping his fingers around Richie’s forearms, Eddie kisses his inner arm. “I love you both so much.”

“We love you, too.” Richie pulls away as the microwave beeps.

After they eat, they curl up on the couch to watch TV. They’re all crossed limbs and elbows in stomachs and pulled hair, but they don’t really care. Eddie just lets the others hold him close, pet his hair, kiss him.

“Are you doing better?” Richie asks after a bit. Eddie shrugs.

“Wh-What happened?” Bill asks.

Eddie shrugs again. “Just the usual. I finished my paper like right after you left, so I decided to call her before she called the police like she did that one time, and she said since I was done with my finals that I needed to come home right away. When I said I want to stay with you two, that my ticket is nonrefundable or exchangeable, she said she didn’t care about the cost, that she’d pay and…” He sighs. “She just wouldn’t listen. She kept saying, ‘You may be an adult, but you’re still my child.’” He huffs. “I’ve been financially independent from that old bag for over a year. She has no right to say shit like that to me any more.”

“N-No, she doesn’t,” Bill agrees.

“Honestly, she never should have talked to you that way, ever,” Richie says. Eddie leans a little closer to him. He plays with the strings on Bill’s hoodie.

“I know,” Eddie whispers.

Bill can hardly believe what he’s hearing. His heart fills with pride and he pulls Eddie’s legs into his lap and cups Eddie’s face in his hands before kissing him so, so gently. When they pull apart, Bill pushes his forehead into Eddie’s forehead. 

“L-Love you,” Bill whispers. When he pulls back, Richie presses his own kiss into Eddie’s temple.

“You know, you don’t have to go,” Richie says. “You can come home with us.”

“O-Or we c-could go wi-with you,” Bill says.

Eddie shakes his head. “It will be ok.”

Sighing, Richie shakes his head, no. “You shouldn’t have to deal with her alone. Let us come with you.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Eddie murmurs.

“Y-You d–idn’t. We’re t-telling you. We’re coming wi–th you,” Bill says. Richie smiles at Bill.

“You really don’t–”

“Eds, you may as well give it up. We’re coming with you, and if your mom can’t deal, well, fuck her, and we’ll leave early.” Richie pauses. “In fact, plan on it. We’ll all have to change our tickets, call our families, but we’ll split up the break evenly. It will be fun.”

“We can’t afford that!” Eddie protests.

“Y-Yes we c-can! I just got p-paid for th–at piece I wrote a why-while back,” Bill says.

“No, Bill, you were going to use that for a new computer!” Eddie says.

“I’ll j-just st-steal yours.” Bill strokes his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie murmurs, but there’s a small smile on my face. He sighs and leans into Richie. “You guys are the best, do you know that?”

“N-No, you.” Bill laces their fingers together.

“Yeah, spaghetti, you’re the best.” Richie kisses his hair.

Eddie closes his eyes, and settles back.

“We d-don’t have to m-make any d-decisions tonight,” Bill says. “W-We can t-talk t-tomorrow.”

“Ok,” Eddie says. He sighs again and sits up. “You guys wanna do something?”

“Like what?” Richie asks.

“Play Mario Kart?”

“Only if you don't cry when I kick your butt!" Richie says as he pulls himself free and gets up to set up the Switch. Eddie scoots around and leans into Bill's side.

"Yeah, we'll see who cries, Tozier!" Eddie teases.

Bill knows it is a toss-up between the two; they are both really good. It's Bill that's going to be the loser, but he doesn't really care. He's terrible at video games, but he loves being with his boyfriends. 

He sits there listening to them argue about who is the worst player and waits to be handed a controller. He loves listening to them bicker like this, and he knows Eddie bickering is a good sign. Licking his lips, Bill leans into Eddie, eyes closed for a moment. 

"You ok, Bill?" Eddie asks as Richie's attention falters. He's fighting with the cords and cursing under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm good." Bill takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Love you so much."

Eddie squeezes his hand. "Love you."

"Got it!" Richie says triumphantly. He tosses a couple of controllers at them and sits near the TV. "You two losers ready?"

"Shut up, buttmunch," Eddie says. "Get ready to eat my dust!"

"Bring it!" Richie says. 

Bill struggles with his controller and gets settled. He knows the next couple of weeks are going to be hard. Eddie had agreed tonight that they would change their winter break plans, but that doesn't mean that it isn't going to be a struggle. He knows Eddie wants to break free, but Bill knows it isn’t easy; Sonia has a firm grip on her son.

Bill is not looking forward to the back and forth that is inevitably coming, but he decides there is no point in worrying about that now. Right now, Eddie is happy, Eddie is safe, and the three of them are going to have a good night. Tomorrow is future Bill’s problem, and tonight all he has to worry about is not driving the wrong way on the track. He knows everything will be ok.

[skinks]

I would just like to say Bongo Smugglers killed me. I’m sitting in class giggling thinking about a Losers movie night where they have a dramatic showing of the movie. Audra and Richie are less embarrassed then they should be. It becomes an annual tradition to play a bongo smugglers™️ drinking game at Christmas.

AHH this is amazing, I just shoved two words together that I thought were funny and suddenly it’s this whole ugly 2002 sex comedy fully formed in my head. Glad it killed you during class. And yeah, they’re definitely not embarrassed, everyone’s heckling the writing and the early 2000s fashion more than anything else anyway.

Richie happily provides commentary the whole way through even though he’s only in the sex scene, waving his tortilla chip in Eddie’s face because he’s got his arm around his shoulder, hugging him close into Richie’s side. Eddie keeps snapping bites at it so often that Richie just ends up hand feeding him chips.

“Aaaaaaand... that’s the first time I touched a boob, right there!“

“Glad to help,” Audra winks.

“The exact moment I realized I was totally lying to myself. I’m having an entire existential sexuality crisis right there on camera, but can you tell? Does my fratty façade crack an inch?”

“I could tell, because you spent fifteen minutes before the scene pacing around set and chanting you can do this, you can do this, don’t throw up, you like girls, but not too much, because you don’t get paid if you pop a boner, c’mon Richard, c’mon—”

“Like I said,” Richie shouts, over all his stupid friends laughing at him, “no one can tell, ‘cus I’m a pro—”

“You call yourself Richard during pep talks?” Stan’s grinning at him sharp-beaked, like a vulture. Has Richie seen him blink even once since he came back from the dead? Not sure, not sure, make note to ask Patty to spy.

Onscreen Audra is shimmying down her low-rise stone-wash boot-cut jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was in fact lookin’ at her. What the fuck was anyone thinking back then? Richie privately blames the Bush administration, and continues.

“You’re a great scene partner, Audra-my-deah, and I respect you for cougaring not one but two of our little balding Brady Bunch here, but you were kinda the reason I figured out I’m gay. Like, big time gay. Well, the second reason.” He rubs tortilla-salt fingers through Eddie’s hair and feels his stomach go fuzzy when Eddie kinda thrums out a low noise against him. Oh, he’s purring. Some deep down part of Richie’s caveman psyche, lodged right in the hungry reptilian nub of his central brain wants to bear-hug Eddie to a pulp, wants to Lenny him like a mouse until they both stop breathing at the same exact moment from the pressure.

Yeesh, dark!

He smooches one of Eddie’s Easter Island eyebrows instead, keeps his lips mushed there. Smooches again. “Biiiiiiig time.”

“My wife,” Bill whips around from his seat on the floor at Richie’s feet, cheeks bulging with wontons, “my wife did not cougar me.”

Eddie shushes him. Everyone else is exchanging Looks, including Audra, because she totally did cougar Bill. Good for her!

“My wife,” Richie mimics, all sing-song and bugling. “Who the fuck are you, Borat?” Eddie snorts, hard. “Turn around and watch me make sweet love to ya woman, Bill.”

Onscreen Richie is struggling out of a giant hockey jersey at the sight of Onscreen Audra’s nubile charms. Everything is lit terribly, to a Smash Mouth deep cut.

“Oh man, check out that figure.” Richie whistles at himself, twenty-six years old with muscles like long ropes. “These were the pre-gut days. Even though my diet was just Adderall and instant ramen.”

“I like your gut,” Eddie murmurs, squidging at it with the hand not shoved up the back of Richie’s shirt. He’s already looking pretty tipsy, because he told everyone loudly and at length that he’d have to be what he deemed, shithouse drunk, to cope with whatever 90 minute dick jokeathon he was about to endure for the sake of two minutes of Richie-ass. “You’re hotter than him.”

Richie preens. “I am him, dude.”

Eddie’s hand lands clumsy on his cheek, pulling Richie’s attention away from his own foregrounded bare ass and Onscreen Audra’s shocked expression, to face him. Eddie’s all unfocused, flushed in the cheeks. “You’re both hot. Him and you, I’d fuck you both. I’d let both of you fuck me at once.”

“Um,” says Ben. Mike keeps slorping up noodles, but his eyes are saucering at Bill’s giant TV.

“Hhohkaaay,” Richie breathes.

“Is this when you saw it, Audra?” Bev asks. She waggles her eyebrows at them from the muscular nook of Ben’s arms. “The famous Tower of Tozier? You mentioned in the group chat.”

“What group chat,” Richie croaks, wrenching his eyes from the sight of Eddie’s slick tongue pulsing gently against his lower lip, hanging open like he wants Richie to see inside his mouth. Yowza-yowza-yowza, this is so much better than movie-nights back in the 90s. “I never saw anything about that? And I monitor you all on WhatsApp twenty-four-sevs. I literally have nothing better to do while Eddie’s working.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beverly dismisses him with a flick of her wrist.

Audra is nodding vigorously while Onscreen Audra tilts her head comically far to the right. “That’s when I saw it,” she says. “They couldn’t find a modesty sock that fit you, Richie, remember? I didn’t have to fake that reaction. And that’s with them blasting the A/C on high so my nips would poke through my shirt.” She nudges Eddie’s shin gently and stage-whispers, “Well done.”

Eddie growls hot miso breath into Richie’s neck. Snarls, really. That’s the only word for it. Richie’s not embarrassed—he’s been telling people about his donkey schlong for years, not his fault nobody ever believes him. It’s a boy who cried wolf situation, perhaps, if the boy was actually telling the truth every time and just wanted to brag to everyone about seeing a really big, thick wolf.

“Honey,” Bill says, visibly distressed, “this is already weird enough for me, please don’t say nips.”

“Nips, nips, nips.” Audra tickles into Bill’s ribs, and Richie joins in the chant, they all do. It’s a hailstorm of sesame toast raining on Big Bill’s protesting head. “Stiff nips! Stiff nips!”

“Shut up, I’m, uh’wanna see Rich fuck!” Eddie roars, wrestling the couch cushions for the remote and stabbing the volume obscenely loud.

Moans fill the air. Rice sprays from Mike’s mouth, between his hasty fingers. Patty is laughing so hard into Stan’s shoulder Richie would be kinda worried about her, if he wasn’t so distracted by the way Eddie’s leaning forward, hand on Richie’s thigh and eyes locked to Onscreen Richie’s bare bucking hips. He remembers this part horrible and clear, preserved behind glass in his mind like the embarrassing ninth grade school photo his mom still won’t remove from the mantelpiece. Braces like train tracks and his eyes squinted up small and moleish because his mom said she wanted to see his handsome face without his glasses for once. Eddie laughed at it for five whole minutes the first time Richie brought him up to visit mom and dad as his—as his, at last, before snapping a careful picture of the photo with his phone and muttering, so cute.

It’s the noises.

“This was the day I learned women really can, uh, fake orgasms,” Richie says. He coughs. Eddie’s fingers tighten on his thigh and he looks back at Richie over his shoulder, eyes all drunk and dark and dilated like a shark’s to the backdrop of Onscreen Richie and Audra’s plastic din. Richie’s head thumps dizzily, sliding his hand secret under Eddie’s shirt to the damp small of his back, watching his neck go pink. This, now this is familiar from 90s movie nights, how sweaty they’d get, tangled together like pocketed earbuds the longer the VHS spun. Always on the same couch by unspoken agreement, kicking and left to do so by the others, like the clubhouse hammock flirting was more RichieandEddie status quo than behaviour tethered to any one location. Feeling your heartbeat in your ears and everywhere your limbs are shoved between another sapling boy-body, and the couch.

Richie can see exactly what Eddie’s thinking, in that darkness. That’s not how you sound in bed with me.

“This is revolting,” says Stan, mildly, but Richie holds up his hand like a stop sign, pulled roughly back to the present.

“Wait, wait, here comes my line!”

“Thought you said it was a non-speaking—”

The camera cuts from Onscreen Audra’s bouncing breasts to Onscreen Richie’s slack-jawed face, his ill-conceived soul patch. He was asked to remove his glasses for the scene, he remembers, and was glad of it, feeling useless and young and stupid and exposed enough already just by virtue of needing the money, he didn’t need to see this perfectly nice and reasonable actress pity him for not even knowing how to pretend at being with a woman. Onscreen Richie tilts his chin up, and Bill’s entire rec room holds its breath. There will be bruises on Richie’s thigh tomorrow.

A grunt, a groan. An unsubtle trumpet fanfare musical cue on the soundtrack, but hey, neither of them ever claimed Bongo Smugglers was a masterpiece. “¡Ay, chihuahua!”

Richie throws his arms up in triumph. “All my own improv, folks! And they kept it in the final cut!”

Eruption. He’s pelted with howls of disgust and prawn crackers. Eddie grabs one of his arms and just shakes him, ragdolls Richie’s laughing body around until he tips over and sprawls into Eddie’s lap, shielded from assault. Eddie chews his insistent teeth into Richie’s shoulder, and finally, the scene ends with Onscreen Richie leaping a naked escape from Onscreen Audra’s balcony.

“Worst,” Eddie mumbles against Richie’s nape. “Worst thing’ve ever seening m’life.”

He’s so drunk, sweet thing. Richie sits back up, still wheezing. He rests his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder and gazes starrily up at his plastered little face. Steel-cut jaw softened with laughter and stubble, un-gelled hair curling around like a chestnut lamb’s. “Worst ever-ever?”

“No,” Eddie says plainly, and that’s true, “but it’s up there. Woulda rented the shit out of this at Blockbuster.”

Richie flings his leg over Eddie’s knees, kicking Bill in the process. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, gathering up all Richie’s loose ends in a big circling cuddle. “Every week. Woulda worn it out. Broke the disc.”

“Got your ‘Lil ‘Busters membership card revoked for being a creep.”

“Worth it.”

“Aw, Eddie-baby.”

“Would you two stop, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bev says, smiling fondly. The movie’s moved on, and none of them are really paying attention now that the main event’s over, but everyone’s still coming down, dismounting from belly-laughter and landing ankle-deep in giggles. “That was inspired.”

“He made me laugh so hard on that take,” Audra sighs, leaning against Bill. “I remember thinking, shame he’s a closet-case. I always knew you were a good guy under all that fake stand-up.” She rolls her head back on her neck to look at Richie, upside down. “D’you remember right after, too?”

“Ah,” says Richie, tensing up. Eddie must feel it, because he makes a lowing noise of concern and turns the volume down.

“What you did to those guys?”

“Ahaha, uh.” Richie struggles to sit upright with hot embarrassment tugging at his stomach. “They don’t need to—Audra, it’s not, anyone would’ve done the same—”

“No, actually, you were the only one who ever did,” Audra says, sharp-eyed, and Richie remembers that too. How much surer and in control of herself she was than him, even back then, when they were both just simple bottom-feeders on L.A.’s sludgy floor.

“What happened?” Patty asks. They’re all looking. Richie stares at the wall beside the TV’s garish over-saturation, scratches at the back of his neck, until Eddie takes his hand softly back to hold in his.

“I was pretty much always the only woman on set,” Audra explains. “Par for the course on a movie like that, it was whatever. It’s nothing like real sex, obviously, you have to stop and wait for lighting changes, new set-ups and stuff, you’re surrounded by crew. But you’re the only ones naked, and pretending to fuck, right? It can be a little.” She pulls a face, tilts her palm back and forth. “Degrading.”

Richie snorts, humorlessly.

“Anyway, that scene wrapped and they called cut, and a few of the guys in the crew said some stuff. About me. The director ignored it, the producer ignored it. I was used to it,” Audra says. Richie can see the edge of Bill’s jaw clench and re-clench like a fist as he watches his wife speak. Audra smiles widely, then, and jerks a thumb at Richie. “But this guy?”

They’re grinning, they’re all grinning, because they know him. Richie squirms under it. He can feel blood pounding behind his ears, across the surface of his scalp in pulsing waves of embarrassed heat, because it’s one thing to spend your life running your big fat Trashmouth to distract the bullies’ attention onto you, but it’s another for people to treat you like some kinda hero for it. Like it’s not just something friends do.

Bev’s eyes go all emerald-shiny with delight, like the quarry in sunlight. She covers her mouth. “Oh, Richie.”

“Knocked the first one out cold,” Audra crows. “You tried your best after that. It was three against one and he had a black eye before the rest of us could separate them, but he had the element of surprise at first. I mean, he flew at them, if you can imagine it—you’re what, six-one, six-two?”

Eddie’s trembling ever-so-slightly against him. Richie screws his eyes shut. “Six-two.”

“No wonder the asshole shit himself, you came at him all six-foot-two naked inches, pissed as hell, with a massive—”

“Alright!” Richie yelps, because if there’s anything more embarrassing than his brief Bongo Smugglers cameo, it’s the fact that he left set that day with a black eye and no money. Who cares. His closest friends are alive and they’re cheering, and Eddie is shoving himself into Richie’s lap just like it’s movie night in 1991 but with 100% more enthusiastic frenching, seating his drunk ass in Richie’s startled hands and hissing god, you’re such a crazy dumbass, I love you so much, Richie, even back then with that soul-patch I’d have loved you so much, god, sexy, Rich, wanna see you with a black eye, can I give you one, can you give me one, Richie, I’m gonna fuck you so good for this later, ay chihuahua—!

[the-sweetest-dragon]

A Summer Like Never Before

- A Summer Job AU - No Pennywise - Georgie is still alive - Mostly tomfoolery - 

Fandom: It

Characters: Eddie, Richie, Bev, Ben, Bill, Stan, Mike

Word Count: 1158

Ships: Eventual Benverly, Reddie, Stan x Patty

Warnings: Out of character behavior

AN: This is super short but I wanted to have it done before the day was over sooooo. Let me know if you enjoyed the chapter by reblogging!  Likes only get the story so far.  Thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving comments, they really make my day.

Tags: @nerdsarebetter @audder17 @ just-another-shipper-01

Chapter One  Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight

___________________________________________

Chapter Nine

Richie is a nervous person.  He doesn’t look it, but on the inside he’s a shaky chihuahua who’s scared of thunderstorms.  Especially around boys.  Or rather, around a single, specific boy.  Who is sitting right next to him, bopping along with Kesha’s Woman, as they drive to the pet store.  

Richie is driving, but every so often he catches Eddie singing along to some song on the radio.  His fingers tap nervously on his knees, something that distracts Richie to no end.  Eddie catches him staring once, and screams at him for not watching the road.  Richie had just grinned and rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue for once.  He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, allowing some of his nervous energy out.  This was not the plan, not the plan at all.

Richie, despite being a chaotic trashmouth, liked to plan important events.  And tonight was supposed to be THE night, the most important night.  Everything had been perfect; he had ordered flowers from Stan’s work to surprise Eddie with at the door and then Richie would have confessed the feelings he’d been having for years.  Hopefully, Eddie would have fallen into his arms, totally in love with him as well.  But life has a way of screwing Richie over.

Lost in his own thoughts, Richie misses ninety percent of Eddie listing the things they would need to buy for the lizard.  He blinks slowly a few times, clearing his mind of the Eddie fog and tries to focus.  

“We’ll need a basking lamp, crickets, substrate for the aquarium, not to mention hiding places…” Eddie trails off, lost in his own mind.  

“Oi Eduardo!  Don’t leave me alone mate!”  The fake British accent is an accident and Richie mentally winces at how horrendous it sounds to his own ears.  He clears his throat and tries again.  “You kinda have to make me a physical list so I don’t get distracted looking at the birds.”  Eddie nods, pulling out a piece of paper from the backseat and a pen from the pouch of his sweatshirt.  The damn thing never failed to amaze him.  Eddie pulled some of the most outrageous things out of his sweatshirt pouch. 

As Richie pulls into the parking lot of the pet store, Eddie grabs the handle above the door (lovingly titled the “Oh Shit” handle by everyone who drove with Richie).  Richie raises an eyebrow, knowing he took the turn a little too fast.  Eddie just glares at him and turns away from him, pouting slightly.  Richie hates it when Eddie pouts,mostly because it makes it very hard to not lean over and kiss him just to knock the look right off his face.  

With a soft huff, Eddie turns back to Richie and hands him the list.  They were both going in the store, but Richie had to have a list or they would both get off track because Richie led excursions like this.  Eddie wasn’t shy per say but his anxiety sometimes made it hard to ask where things were.  Richie was one of the only people in the group that could ask for things without freaking out.  

“No getting sidetracked.  The store closes in thirty minutes and we need all these things for the lizard,” Eddie states.  Richie nods, both getting out of the car with purpose.  “We especially need the food and heat lamp.  It won’t last long without those things.”

“He,” Richie corrected. 

“I’m sorry?”  Richie has to look away because the confused look on Eddie’s face is too cute to handle.  

“The lizard.  It’s a he.  Didn’t you check?” Richie asks.  Eddie shakes his head, rolling his eyes slightly.  “What?  It’s not that hard to figure out.  Why’d you think I called it our son?”  Riche shrugs.  

“I thought you called it our son because it sounded better.”  Richie does an amazing impression of the white guy blinking gif, you know the one.  Eddie just shrugs.  

“By the way, he will need a name.”  Richie opens the door for Eddie, waiting patiently for Eddie to answer.  “I think Momo would be a good name.”

“Like the lemur from Avatar?”

“Yes, exactly!  It’s a fantastic name for our son.”  Richie smiles, proud of himself for remembering the name.  Avatar was Eddie’s favorite show as a kid, though he hadn’t watched it in several years.  

They head into the store and immediately Richie is distracted by a very large dog barking at him.  Eddie takes a small step backwards, and Richie instinctively grabs his hand to steady the smaller boy to calm him.  Large dogs make Eddie nervous, a leftover of his mom’s influence over him.  Richie pulls Eddie towards the reptile part of the store, never once letting go of his hand.  Richie doesn’t notice Eddie’s face going red.

“Now then Spaghetti.  We got a lot of things to do and not a lot of time.”  Richie smiles, and starts looking for the things on the list they need.  

Eddie follows him around, occasionally making suggestions on which product was better.  With ten minutes to spare, they check out with everything they need to provide a happy life for Momo.  Richie had been so concentrated on finding everything that he forgot he was holding Eddie’s hand, something that he’d usually be hypervilanating about.  Eddie’s hand in his just felt right, there was no other way he could describe it.  

Richie carried everything back to the car, the only time he let go of Eddie’s hand.  As he loaded everything into the trunk of Eddie’s car, Eddie triple checked that they had gotten everything they needed.  

“Looks like it’s all here.  Thankfully, we shouldn’t have to make another trip like this in a while.  Momo deserves the best.”  Eddie smiles and heads toward the passenger side door.  Richie’s heart skips a beat at Eddie’s smile, as it always does.  

Richie unlocks the doors with a click of the key fob’s buttons.  Eddie slid in gracefully, while Richie plopped himself into the driver’s seat.  

“Hey!  Watch the seats!”  Richie just laughs and starts up the car.  

The trip back home went quickly, with Richie’s Spotify playlist blaring from the speakers.  They sang along with every song and Eddie danced in his seat occasionally.  It made Richie happy to see him so relaxed.  

Pulling into Richie’s driveway, the music changed from upbeat music to a soft ballad.  Richie sighs as he puts the car in park.  This night had not gone as planned, at all.  But he was still glad that he had been able to spend time with Eddie, alone for once.  Richie took a deep breath and turned towards Eddie, readying himself to confess his feelings, once and for all.  Instead, he is met with Eddie grabbing his hands and smiling softly.  This was a look Richie had not imagined on his friends face but was not unwanted.

“Richie… we have a lot to talk about.”

[hadererer]

A Few Eddie Kaspbrak/Reddie Headcanons

Eddie’s jacket has little hooks to connect his mittens to because “what? and risk losing my mittens?”. He wears his mittens like this into adulthood.

When they’re adults, after hearing Richie complaining about losing his gloves, Eddie bought Richie mittens with a string and sewed little hooks onto his coat. 

After he and Richie first got together after defeating Pennywise, the paparazzi followed him around. Constantly. Even to work sometimes. He would get so annoyed (esp when they would yell super invasive questions) that he would yell at them until he got to the front of his office building. Then he would pretend to act calm/professional. 

And honestly it freaks out his coworkers because they would see Eddie yelling/flipping the pap off/etc and then immediately turn into Edward Kaspbrak, Risk Analyst in like .2 seconds it takes him to walk through the door. “YOU FUCKING MOTHERFUCK--Morning, Tina, how did the report go?” 

He likes tying Richie’s hair into little pony tails. Richie will walk around with his hair in like four tiny ponytails.

He and Richie adopt a dog (a little mutt that looked like a mix between a pomeranian/chihuahua/terrier named Poe) after they move in together and it’s a Big Step for him because his mother convinced him that he was allergic for most of his life. 

Poe loves Eddie so much. Like she gets excited when Richie comes home but when Eddie comes home she acts her whole body shakes from the force of her tail wagging and she whines at him until he pets her. 

Athleisure. He honestly just gives up on wearing nice clothes (outside work of course) because he hates clothes shopping so he just wear comfy athletic wear all the time. 

When they were younger, he used to visit Mike at his farm because he loved to see all the animals. At first, he was terrified of them, but then Mike showed him how nice and sweet and kind they were and how cute it was when the sheep nuzzled his hand when he fed them treats and Eddie was sold. They weren’t going to bite him or kick him or anything else his mother had tried to poison his mind with. They just wanted treats. 

He only read half of one of Bill’s books. But don’t tell Bill. (he’s a slow reader while also working a full time job, sue him) 

He did go see The Black Rapids movie when it came out though. He’s been referencing that every time the topic of Bill’s writing comes up and he has to think of a scene or something to say that will convince Bill he read the book. 

He loves Richie’s dad bod. So. Much. 

[bravemercutio]

Hummingbirds - a fanfiction

fandoms: IT / the goldfinch characters: stanley uris, boris pavlikovsky ship: boris pavlikovsky/stanley uris tags: pining, yearning, no-pennywise, alternate universe, high school, crossover, one shot, part of a series description:

As the weeks ticked by, Stan might have expected the pull he had to lessen, for something ordinary to pull away the almost magical veneer he carried. Even if Boris didn’t make him laugh, or say things that would stick in his mind at night, or light up any time Stan brought his own thoughts to their stolen back-of-class conversations, it wouldn’t have been true. The more they learned about one another, the tighter the pull between them became.

Boris is new to Derry, and Stan is drawn to this magnetic force of a boy.

read on ao3: [link] / fic below

A tile of dark clothing wrapped around a rail of a boy drops into the seat next to him. It’s the first pair discussion that hasn’t filled Stan with dread since September. In the sole class he has without a single friend in it, the prospect of talking literature with people who would shove or strike or stare right through him if they could, has never appealed. Sulky, with unsettling dark eyes, and an air of gloom he’s only heard discussed in a low voice once or twice, Boris  Pavlikovsky  is the best Stan could hope for in a paired discussion.  

He looks like he’s killed a man, and Richie wasn’t sure he hadn’t, but he’s yet to call him anything technically classed as hate speech. He’ll take his chances, he supposes. He was a loser, and people had to take a chance on him, too, at the end of the day.  Put into the world what you want out of it,  and all those things that feel wise when no one is making it hard come to mind.  

It’s the kid’s first day, his book so new he can barely have cracked it open. “Odyssey.” His voice is disarming, an accent Stan can’t place, and it has a bounce to it that makes him want to hear more as he continues. “Is Greek gods and men with swords, yes?”  

He supposes helping the kid catch up isn’t the worst way this could have gone. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s--uh, after the Trojan war.”  

Boris nods, thinking a moment. “Know a little about Greek gods. Read books about it in New Guinea.” Stan doesn’t have time to ask about that, because his face is changing, sharp brows  raised  and he leans forward from his slouch.  

“In English, you have word, ‘panic,’ yes ?”-- Stan nods, but Boris is already on a roll--“Is Greek word. Or was. Used to believe their goat-god Pan would creep along forest and leap out at you.” He pauses  onl  for a second, and when he speaks  again  he lurches forward a little. “Wah!”  

Stan feels  really stupid  for the jump he makes, and he should have seen it coming. Despite himself, he’s laughing through the start, and Boris’s wan face has cracked a smile, reaching his dark eyes and giving them a shine that makes him seem less like a knife.  

“Pan can leave me the hell alone.”  

Boris nods. “You seem nervous. You shake like  k olibri .” Stan can’t, for the life of him, guess what that is, but he’s imagining a chihuahua or a leaf or something nervously vibrating through its fragile life. Fair enough, he supposes. “Whatever is scaring you, make it think you can bite deeper. Punch harder.”  

“I don’t think that’s my—uh, skillset.”  

A shrug. “Doesn’t have to be true. Just have to stand up tall enough.” A beat as he looks at his own slouch, feat dripping from the edge of the chair, back barely touching anything. He’s as close to supine as a person can be in a school chair. “Or whatever’s scary.”  

Stan smiles a little at that again. He’s the weirdest person he’s ever met, and Stan understands, now, why Captain Kirk approaches each new planet of aliens with a wonder and curiosity, rather than sinking away or bracing for a blow. Whatever distant star breathed Boris  Pavlikovsky  into his orbit, he wants to wish on it, ask if to keep them in this strange little moment.  

“So,” he clears his throat. “Do you, uh, know the Trojan war? This is after it. Odysseus is trying to get home.”  

“I know Trojan war,” Boris nods. “King of Greece had tiny prick. His woman got sick of it and went away. Instead of drinking or kicking other man’s kneecaps himself, he starts war.” A snort. “Stupid man. Plenty of other women with lower standards out there.”  

In this manner, AP English, one a slog of a dead-eyed teacher and students just as unmotivated became something Stan looked forward to.  

He caught himself counting down the minutes through algebra, shuffling quicker through the hallways, knowing when he came through those doors, he had a seat saved, Boris’s beaten-up backpack with a smattering of keychains thrown into the seat next to him, while he cleaned his nails with a pencil, or doodling in his books. Hummingbirds, and hammers-and-sickles, and notes in Cyrillic, strange birds (Stan wants so badly to ask about them), pairs of glasses, pills, cigarettes and half-finished figures with curly hair, letters that could be initials or something from his brain.  

“Kolibri,” the greeting is always the same, the slack form of a boy perking up some, dragging his backpack from the chair. Stan wonders if he even remembers his name, because he uses nothing else but Kolibri.  

When he asked that it meant, Boris simply gestured. “Is what you are,” he says. “Don’t know word in English,” he confesses by way of explanation. Stan’s face must read more legibly than he likes, because Boris told me once, “Don’t worry, is good thing. They’re cute little fuckers.”  

He feels his face turn its heat dials up, and never asks what it means again, not sure he can hear the word ‘cute’ from his lips again and survive the blow.  

As the weeks ticked by, Stan might have expected the pull he had to lessen, for something ordinary to pull away the almost magical veneer he carried. Even if Boris didn’t make him  laugh, or  say things that would stick in his mind at night, or light up any time Stan brought his own thoughts to their stolen back-of-class conversations, it wouldn’t have been true. The more they learned about one another, the tighter the pull between them became.  

Boris, in so many ways, was a baffling creature, one Stan would never have sought. He did homework in class, ten minutes before he handed in crumpled paper next to Stan’s neat, paper-clipped stacks. He was crass, words Stan’s mother would wash his mouth for passing his lips daily. He was a communist, or something like it, which scandalized Stan more than he would have guessed. On one memorable Socratic seminar, he had railed against systems that made people poor, made families property, ruined the earth—he’d dragged out a beaten copy of Thoreau to prove a point.  

Stan found himself backing it—after all, if he learned one thing from his father, it was that everything should be questioned, examined, considered. He went down these rabbit holes to enthusiastic prodding from Boris, and the more they were paired, the more the two of them took schoolbooks to a level where they almost felt real.  It became a time to leave his shell, and Boris let him get out of his head and into a moment, private despite a class full of people who didn’t get either of them. Mrs.  Aernis  gave up on separating them, since Boris didn’t shout with Stan to contain him, and Stan didn’t melt into the wall with Boris to encourage him.  

It wasn’t until a rainy presentation day, that he realized it went both ways. He watched Boris’s eyes light up when Stan presented on the reason the Odyssey proved that people shouldn’t have an endgame, that Ithaca would be changed without him after years of chasing, that living life with an end in mine can stifle the moment and create sea monsters and storms where they weren’t. Boris had sat there, lips slightly parted, and staring at him like Galileo at Saturn’s rings, and Stan stumbles over his conclusion, once he notices.  

--  

He starts finding notes slipped into his locker. Postcards, each other a photo of a hummingbird on them, scrawled with something random each time.  

The first one has a quote from the Odyssey on it, in a sharp hand that  he’s seen in notes passed in the middle of droning conversations, inane things said by classmates neither of them will bother listening to .  It’s a hand that learned to write in a different alphabet, that knew what it was doing, but still had the character of a tongue far away.  

The next, simply “This is  kolibri .  Your word for it is stupid,” with a word (kolibri?) in cyrillic, and an arrow to the front side. It makes Stan’s heart lurch a little.  

Cute little fuckers.  Boris knew he liked to watch birds, and  all of  those hummingbirds in his notebook flashed before Stan’s eyes. Stan would never  guess that Boris  Pavlikovsky  thought about him half so much as he haunted Stanley Uris when he wasn’t there .  But Boris, with his hummingbirds and postcards, had been braver about it than Stanley would have dared. Derry isn’t a place where you can give away too much about yourself. He’s spent ages worrying that someone will somehow see the way his heart speeds up when Boris hands him a note, that if he just gets too close, they’ll both end up bloodied.  

This note shows an abandon, a lack of fear that he wishes he could take into himself.  

The notes keep coming, sometimes quotes from Tolstoy with translations by hands, sometimes the lyric to a song, sometimes something absurd. Without fail, every Thursday, Stan has a new bird.  

--  

Somehow, Room 211 became its own little world. Outside of it, Stan could count the ways they interacted on one hand, for all the times they spoke for an hour he wished would never end.  

At lunch, they shared glances across the  lunch room , where Boris sat slumped in a corner, thick volume in Russian on his lap, while Stanley  sat with the Losers, thread between eyes cut eventually, by something absurd from Richie’s mouth, making him laugh.  

It was the same in the library, catching a glimpse of black hair to match an oversized blazer, and he always wants to catch him, say something, but he’s held back once, Bill softly whispering how weird that guy is, what a bad feeling he gives him, that he’s probably bad news. Stan loses the nerve to approach him where people might see.  

There was one trick of Fate, or some  maniuplator  of circumstance, that turned the winds, and blew Stan and Boris to one another and away from the schoolbuilding.  

One day, Stan’s caught between   Hockstetter  and the wall of his locker, timing working against him in a busy hallway after the final bell of the day. In what could have been ugly, there’s a thin body rushing in, grabbing  Hockstetter’s  hand by the wrist as it was raised, pulling it back and around until the boy crumples, a near-miss  with a fractured femur. Stan will have dreams about it going differently, imagining the snap, maybe a spurt of blood. The way Boris had moved showed an ease in the art of force that chilled him, but gave him feelings he would admit only to his dirtied bedsheets.  

“Told you, Kolibri. Don’t have to be big. Just scary,” he’s almost smiling, eyes a little wild with confidence and something darker. “You hurt?”  

Stan shakes his head. He’s a little shaken, more by this wisp of a boy’s strike taking down someone who had seemed, in the moment, a giant. “I’m good.”  

“Good.” A comforting arm around his shoulder. “You want ice cream, Kolibri? You need ice cream.”  

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”  

He didn’t think, when he agreed, that Boris would be stuffing a box of  klondikes  under the side of his shirt, throwing in a few bottles of beer liberated from their box, and strolling out of the corner store like it was nothing. His long fingers were light, slighting everything free from the kinds of things that set off alarms.  

“You’re not going to—pay for those?”  

He laughs, head tossing back, and claps Stan on the back. “Kolibri, life is hell. Is bad enough without paying capitalist pigs for simple pleasures, eh?”  

Stan’s brows knit. “But--what if we get caught? Do you know what kind of trouble we’ll be in?” He’s more afraid of Boris, tenuous and aloof, going down, than he is upset at a few loose ice cream bars or bottles. Even so, the anxiety knots his stomach, he’s already seeing Boris in handcuffs, knowing he’ll talk back to the officers, knowing they will hurt him for that, for his foreign accent, for the whispers that he’s a freak. He knows the  Toziers  have a connection to him, that they’ll be called, and for all Maggie’s goodness, she’ll have no idea what to do.  

Boris takes hold of both Stan’s shoulders, looks him level in the eye. “Kolibri, will be fine. Can take care of myself. If things go wrong, drop goods and leave. Can replace them.”  

Stan’s breathing is uneasy, and he nods, but if he’s convincing at all, Boris is all the wiser.  

“Nothing will happen to you, yeah?  I know what to do.”  

Stan doesn’t have the words to say that it isn’t himself he worries for. But he puts his faith in this boy, who had nearly broken a bone to save him.  

He doesn’t tell his mom that  the  boy he brought home smokes, that there’s stolen beer in his backpack, that he’s not a virgin and has said so at more than one turn. In fact, as far as Mrs. Uris knows, Boris is a foreign exchange student from the Ukraine, who absolutely loves America.  

He’s gracious enough, however. The warm food on the table he  savours  and compliments, skinny body packing away second helpings of everything, keeps his head bowed through Rabbi Uris’s prayer before eating, smiles at landscapes on the wall and talks about the time he’d seen the same beach in Australia that decorated the sitting room.  

In Stan’s bedroom, Boris cracks open the beers, and Stan doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s his first. It tastes like plastic and bread, but after a few sips, the aftertaste is almost spicy. He wants to throw up, and he wants to have ten more.  

They were open, in the way only people with nothing to lose could be.  “My dad still hasn’t forgiven me for my Bar Mitzvah speech,” he found it spilling out. “We’re close, don’t get me wrong. I love him, but I think—he'll never get over the being the Rabbi whose son dropped his mic and saying ‘fuck’ in front of a whole congregation.” A wry smile. “Most badass I’ve ever felt.”  

“You’re not your father. Could not be. Don’t beat yourself so much for it—is probably good thing.”  

“I doubt he agrees.”  

A shrug. “If he forgives, accepts even what he doesn’t get? Is good father. If not? To hell with him.”  

Stan thinks for a moment. “I guess he will. He’s weird about stuff, but he’s not angry. I can’t remember being yelled at in the past year.” He sees Boris smile, a little sad, and a hand reaches over, briefly cuffing Stan’s shoulder.  

“Good man, then. You are lucky.”  

“I guess. I mean, he’s my dad.” A shrug. “He should, you know?” Stan knew there were bad parents in the world—knew people who lived with them daily. He’d never particularly questioned what it was he had, the ways he could be lacking.  “You know?” Boris is in thought for a moment, eyes cast down to his third ice cream sandwich.  

“My dad’s in Australia. Or was, last I knew.”  

“When does he get back?”  

“Back? Is no ‘back,’ Kolibri. Ditched him in Vegas.  Big fight,  almost died. Everything else went to shit.” He shakes his head. “Got brought here by social worker. Ward of state,” he raises his fingers in quotes. Boris says nothing more about it, and his voice is flatter than he has ever heard it.  Emotionless, almost, the way he talks about the plot of movies he watched years ago, he shrugs away his own scars.  

Stan realized, though he couldn’t articulate at the time; he wasn’t lucky, because everyone should have a family who, despite whatever ways they broke apart or didn’t grasp one another, pulled one another up, not tearing them down. People needed someone to go home to, not shrink from.  

“Fuck.” His heart’s going faster. “I’m sorry. Oh god.”  

“Life. Is what it is, huh?” Boris takes a huge bite of his sweet, cheeks bulging with effort to hold it all as he chews. “By the way, Kolibri, is silent as grave  in  here . What music you like?”  

“I have a lot. I try and switch it up, you know?”  

“What,” he swallows, clearer afterwards, “is favorite today?”  

Stan plays a record for him, and they lay on the floor of his bedroom listening. As Stan explains his favorite song, a hand reaches out,  slopply  taking his as the singer croons feeling like Jesus’ son on heroin.  

“I’ve taken hit before. Am more of an upper kind of man. Cocaine maybe.”  

“You take drugs?” Stan raises his head above the floor to look over him.  

“When I have some to spare. More useful to sell, though. Everyone is best friend. Is why it was a shame to twist the arm of Hockstetter.” He’s looking at the ceiling, free hand reaching for his beer, taking a drink.  

“So why did you do it?”  

“Someone had to give him hell for you, Kolibri. Was an honor to be that man for you.”  

[hiyo-silver]

Behind Blindfolds

summary: Nobody expected the world to end the way it does until it starts. It was always thought to happen all in one go but instead it drags on for years of feigning really living when all they're doing is surviving. In this situation maybe, surviving is really losing.

taglist: @fuckboykaspbrak @thesquidliesthuman @rachi0964 @beepbeep-losers @bigbilliamdenbro @jalenrose11 @sleepygaybrough @itandstrangerthingsfanfic @boopboopbichie @peachywyatt @aizeninlefox @sockwantstodie @ahoybyeler @yooonbum @coffeekaspbrak @sedanleystanley

read it on ao3!

The end of the world is always expected to come sudden, unexpected, and uncontrollable. That much is true, but it doesn’t come with a bang, really just screams turning into strangled cries and the sounds of people dropping one after another. It came without warning at possibly the worst time. But isn’t any time a bad time for humanity to end?

Beverly had been in the car, another driver swerved at her, sending the car flying off to the side like it was weightless. Surreal. She has to climb out of the car when it’s turned upside down, gripping her pregnant stomach. She never felt much attachment to the fetus inside, now isn’t any different. It just makes it worse that she’s doing this on her own.

The baby has a father somewhere technically. Tom Rogan, the idea of him makes her goddamn blood boil. She could sometimes handle him when it was just the two of them, but she made the choice to up and leave the moment the pregnancy test revealed a cross to her on that dim night. He just can’t raise a child, he really thinks he could, but with how he treats her, like her own father, makes his lack of paternal instinct clear.

She reflects on all of this now, sitting on the wood floors of this unfamiliar home as she tries to catch her breath, tries to wrap her head around what she’d seen out there, some of the most unseeable things anyone could see. But it’s not over yet. She brushes a reddish strand of hair behind her ear with a scratched up hand, finally studying the faces of the people around her.

The one standing over her looks angry with her, showing his dominance, filling her with a hope that she’s not already on his bad side just being here. The next one is in the red vest she can only attribute to the local supermarket, she doesn’t recognize the man though. The next one she tries to read is standing near the stern looking dark-haired man, he has skin of a deep brown, his face set similarly, though more determined than angry, an undertone of warmth coming through. It’s hard for her gaze not to snap to the next one, an ashy blond man, gripping an inhaler and taking a puff from it, he’s thin and nervous, though he holds a similar determined energy.

What makes her most curious is a man in a bright pink button up, tossing a ball at the wall to catch it, over and over, like he’s just trying to keep his sanity. Suddenly one who wasn’t there before appears in the archway, crossing his arms over his chest, his hair having almost the same copper tones as Beverly’s own. “Another one? G-good, this thing doesn’t work as fast as we thought it did.”

Bev just nods to the group, “Who are you all? And who- who was that woman who tried to get me here?” she asks, having a habit to be automatically suspicious of people after all she’s been through, especially strange groups of men she’s never met before. She pulls herself to her feet, a bit difficult with her center of gravity so drastically changed by the child growing within her.

The intimidating man of the dark hair and olive-y toned skin looks her up and down before speaking. “I think considering this is my home I hold the right to ask that question first, who are you?” he asks, wrapping his arms across his chest. It’s obvious he’s trying to be an authoritative presence, but really he just seems bossy and largely insecure.

She nods and sighs out, she should have known she would be asked that. “I’m Beverly Marsh, I live a couple blocks down, now can I know who you and that woman are?” she asks, feeling unsafe and impatient, who could blame her?

“Call ourselves the survivors for now. I’m Stanley, the one in the red is Ben, not to be confused with Richie, the one in the eye bleeding bright pink. Eddie’s the one that looks like a shaking chihuahua. Bill is the blunt asshole in the archway there. The one next to me is Mike, he’s about the only other sane one here. And that woman who saved you? That was my wife. Patricia. Much rather her over you,” the last sentence is spit out bitterly like a stab to the chest. The man keeps his arms crossed across his chest, swiftly turning around to leave the foyer, it’s as if he can’t even look at her without thinking of Patty and making his green eyes swim with tears. Too fresh.

She looks at the others, her own green eyes pulling in everything around her, the room is dimly lit so it’s hard to catch all their features, but besides Stan they don’t seem too upset to have her around. The next one to talk is the one he’d gestured to calling him Richie. The man doesn’t look away from his game of ball, his eyes trained on the bouncing and the wall. “Don’t worry about the bitch boy, he’s just an elderly man in a young adult man’s body, but he couldn’t hurt a fly, bet he’s got the joints of one too,” the man runs a big hand through his brown hair, snorting at his own playful insult. Whatever keeps them sane, for Richie it’s quite obvious that it’s his humor.

Eddie isn’t so much entertained by Richie’s rudeness and vulgarity, he’s been dealing with it for more consecutive hours than the others, they’re sure to get fed up too. The two of them are in police training, they were in the same carpool at the time everything outside started to go awry. Richie would call them buddies, Eddie, not so much. He takes his inhaler and slips his backpack off his shoulders, hastily unzipping it and putting the asthma medicine away, not wanting to seem even weaker than their pregnant newbie. He’ll have to pretend he’s not wheezing every breath he takes out of sheer anxiety.

Bill seems the most stable of them all, standing taller than everyone except for Mike, he seems to be constantly scanning every bit of everything happening as it does. The observer, quite useful to have around, but maybe not in a situation plagued by a monster who can only hurt you once you’ve seen It. they haven’t come up with a name for it yet, so it’s simply It. Or the shadow, but once you’ve seen it you don’t call it anything, all you can do is cry for mercy.

“You w-want a glass of water?” he asks, also seemingly the warmest to the newbies. He’s cautious yes, but he’s not cold and uncaring by any means. She nods at his offer, trying not to be so timid. Be a big girl, Beverly, be strong, she tells herself, she’s been telling herself that since her childhood years. It’s sung by a harsher voice in her head now that she’s going to be a mother, she hopes that voice stays in there and never has the need to spring from her own mouth.

She follows him to the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the island in the center, looking around, it really is a nice home. The counters are marble, the chandelier is modern, the appliances all stainless steel. Stan maybe be an asshole, but either he or his wife are excellent interior decorators, or at least know how to hire one. “How long do you think this will last? Like how long do you think we’ll be stuck staying here?” she asks, leaning her elbows on the cold counter, she’s not sure if the shiver that goes down her spine is because the temperature or the grave look that Bill returns her with.

She’ll never forget the way he says it. “I’m n-not so sure, we don’t know exactly when it b-began. The news can’t p-pinpoint it. We aren’t s-sure what causes it either. It’s i-indefinite. Hopefully you can go home soon, though,” he talks with words on unconfidence but his tone is unwavering. “It always could be worse though, a-at least it hasn’t gotten you,” he says as he stops the tap and passes her the glass. A nice cool glass of water is about the only method he knows to calm people down, his own methods of self soothing are to ignore the problem, and he can’t exactly ignore people’s problems for them without being some level of rude.

She nods slowly. She doesn’t know how to respond, of course the idea of it terrifies her. She watched person after person on the street just fall dead. A glassy look grows in their eyes, they go bloodshot for a moment before anything else happens, a sign It’s hit. She’ll never forget the look. That woman, Patty, she had these beautiful golden brown eyes before they shifted. She had kind eyes, she can understand why Stan cared about her so deeply. She gave her life to help a stranger, there’s about no greater sacrifice than that.

“How’d you end up here?” she asks, her voice soft, he seems to be able to hold his own, she wonders why he hadn’t been hiding out at his own residence, he seems fully capable of it. His expression changes, a little less so sure, less full of determination and hope. One more of… grief.

“Was at the h-high school tennis team’s m-match at the park. S-supporting my brother, George. We were f-far from home, he got injured d-during the match, can’t run a-as fast as I can,” Bill says, chewing the inside of his cheek and letting his eyes trace discernable patterns in the swirls of the black and white marble. There it his, his reason to bottle this all up. He looks early ready to cry but instead looks up. “But it’s l-like all you are m-my siblings now. G-gonna protect you guys, if you’re o-okay with that,” he says, it’s like he can snap back into his role any time, like he’s had practice.

“Bill? You know it’s not your fault, right?” she asks, she doesn’t know him but she feels her heart pound with pain for him. She watched people die, but nobody she cares about. As morbid and evil as that may sound, she lives alone and she’s never cared much for anyone in this goddamn town. Derry is supposed to be a pit stop between her shitty life before and the greatness she knows she’s destined to become.

“Moving on,” he says, walking around the counter, “You’re gonna have a baby? Do y-you know where the dad is? M-maybe we can help find him for you i-if he’s still alive?” he asks, his God complex and need to save everyone around him becoming increasingly evident. It’s endearing.

“Oh God no I hope he’s dead, if he’s not could you do me a favor and make him look into the light? He could use a fucking lesson,” she grumbles, smacking her hand on the counter in front of her in emphasis. She may have loved him sometime, at some point, when he was someone else. But the man she left wasn’t the man she loved, she wants absolutely nothing to do with him.

“Understood,” he says, the conversation getting cut short with Ben coming in and settling himself on the couch with a beat up notebook, dozens of post-its sticking out, the frilly edges of paper sticking out at several angles from the spiral spine of it. Obviously well loved and constantly used, Bill knows what it is already, but Bev is curious.

“Whatcha got there, supermarket guy?” she asks, not even minding to check his nametag, still in his work clothes. She gets up and squats herself on the couch next to him, even eyeing coffee stains and ribs on the pages, it’s almost like he takes that ratty old thing everywhere with him.

“First draft of my novel” the man says distractedly, running his hand over the scruffy beard starting on his chin and jawline. If he were to even look over he knows he’d be intimidated by her beauty like he had been in the hall, so now he simply refuses. “It’s about the end of the world. Won’t market well now,” he jokes with bitterness in every undertone of his words.

She smiles just as dryly as his words had come out, “Good talk,” she says, patting him on the shoulder and standing up. She feels like a character in a video game, walking around the room and speaking to all the different people she’ll be stuck with. It’s for the best after all, probably. She sees Mike, she knows she hasn’t spoken to him yet, he seems to be another one of the quiet ones.

“Mike, that’s your name, right?” she asks as she taps him on the shoulder carefully. Not a good time and environment to sneak up on someone, but she doesn’t know how else to get his attention. Like Stan and Bill, he seems to be a leader, she likes that about him. He’s the quiet leader, not too stern and not too soft.

“Yeah, Beverly you said?” he says after his shoulder twitches and he whips around, sighing in relief at the sight of something actually human. “You know, I’m glad we saved you, the idea of a dead pregnant woman would haunt me forever if we hadn’t. My sister is pregnant, she’s up in Canada though, moved for college,” he says, revealing his own flaw, he rambles when he’s nervous.

Stan is the quick wit. Richie is the jokester. Eddie is the anxious one. Ben keeps to himself. Bill feigns a bravery he doesn’t truly have to make the others feel safer. Mike is the rambly handsome one who seems to know the place as well as Stan does. And Bev? Beverly is so far just here for the ride, but she’ll find her place.

[platitvdes]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: edward michael kaspbrak

NICKNAME(S): eddie, eds, spaghetti head, eddie spaghetti, spagheds, etc. by the losers/party. also wheezy, “sissy little queer boy,” and uh a bunch of other… more aggressive things by non–partylosers according to the book thanks a lot steve (king, not harrington)

AGE: eighteen

DATE OF BIRTH: september 3, 1976

HOMETOWN: derry, maine

CURRENT LOCATION: derry, maine

ETHNICITY: he white

NATIONALITY: americano

GENDER: cis male

PRONOUNS: he/him/his

ORIENTATION: het thanks!!!!! just kidding he’s a homoromantic homosexual

RELIGION: a good christian boiy. he was raised methodist. what is he really? who knows. fighting a giant clown monster demon thing makes you really question a lot about religion and he’s not willing to go too deep into it

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: left-leaning, but very moderately so, mostly influenced by his friends and also by the fact that maine has been a blue state pretty much for the entire time he’s been old enough to think about these things. his mom’s a democrat solely because she lives off the welfare system ( and because she finds bill clinton incredibly charming and charismatic ); otherwise she’d definitely be a republican

OCCUPATION: student, a sad small gay

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: he lives with his momma in a very toxic environment also his mom is lowkey a hoarder it’s not so bad that he’s embarrassed to invite people over but like she’s a hoarder

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english and…. english

ACCENT: um idk a maine accent

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: timothée chalamet

HAIR COLOUR: dark brown

EYE COLOUR: hazel—sometimes more green, sometimes more brown, sometimes more weirdly gold-ish; depends on the day and lighting

HEIGHT: five feet, eight inches.

WEIGHT: one-hundred twenty-two pounds.

BUILD: skinny af and long-limbed ( for his stature ). not crazy short anymore, but still below average height

TATTOOS: LMAO

PIERCINGS: y’all. pls

CLOTHING STYLE: from my head canons, bc i’m too lazy to rewrite it: eddie often looks like he’s stepped out of the pages of a ralph lauren catalogue not because he is stylish or fashionable at all—he isn’t—but because he wears a lot of polos and shorts, though he doesn’t fill them out nearly as well as the ralph lauren models do. Especially pastel polos. he also frequently wears your good ol’ graphic tee and jeans combo, because you can’t go wrong there, right?

USUAL EXPRESSION: concerned tbh

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: slightly doe-eyed, extremely doe-bodied, a preppy haircut, an inhaler in hand, and also he’s probably getting squeaky-voiced about something and/or visibly shaking. like a chihuahua.

HEALTH

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: technically? none

NEUROLOGICAL CONDITIONS: LORDY okay so the number one most important one is munchausen syndrome and hypochondria courtesy of being the proxy of his mom’s munchausen by proxy; severe anxiety (including generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and social anxiety disorder); clinical depression; and, finally, i believe the medical term for it is “FOMO"

ALLERGIES: supposedly pollen, animal dander, insect bites/stings, dust, latex, mold, wool, and, like, a bunch of other shit. he does actually have some allergies, especially to pollen/animal dander/dust, that aren’t super severe and therefore don’t necessarily present typical allergy symptoms and contribute to his constant feelings of general illness and malaise that heighten the aforementioned hypochondria. he also is actually allergic to latex. womp womp

SLEEPING HABITS: not the best but not the worst—eddie falls asleep early enough and wakes early enough, especially when left to his own devices, but he’ll often stay up later just to be in the group chat because of the aforementioned FOMO and also because richie will usually show up at his house and they’ll just talk for a while. but even then tbh he has a hard time staying up later than like 1 or 2, and even on the weekends he’ll wake up pretty early. so……… all this adds up to having ambitions of getting a good amount of sleep, not getting Terrible amounts of sleep, but also not getting Enough sleep.

EATING HABITS: you would think he would have some special diet and maybe in 2018 he would be raised eating nothing but kale and granola and gluten free shit but bitch it’s 1994 eddie eats hella processed foods

EXERCISE HABITS: that’s cute idk he gets exercise from running from bullies and riding his bike w his friends although they don’t do that as much anymore now that people have cars

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: 1 probably eddie is always on the verge of a nervous breakdown. in actuality he’s probably around a 7, which is much higher than you might think; as much as he is indeed constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown, he’s done a pretty good job of pushing down literally everything into a well so deep that most people, including himself, can’t really tell what’s wrong or what’s going on, and it’s been that way for a long, long time. or anyway, repression is the only version of emotional stability he’s learned to manage and maintain, which probably doesn’t actually count as very stable, so who knows, maybe he’s a 3.

SOCIABILITY: not as introverted as one might think; he’s definitely an introvert and needs some time alone to recharge, but in general, he prefers being around his friends to not being around them and will go out of his way to be with the people he’s closest to

BODY TEMPERATURE: runs cold, typically, which also means he gets cold easily, which sucks when you live in fucking maine

ADDICTIONS: none

DRUG USE: a seasoned pill popper of all kinds of vitamins and various placebos. he’s also on like 35 different mental health related medications. i know this isn’t what you were looking for but this is eddie kaspbrak

ALCOHOL USE: fam, come on

PERSONALITY

LABEL: “the little nervous one,” according to me upon my first watch of IT (2017); the crepehanger

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, feisty, energetic, brave

NEGATIVE TRAITS: defeatist, anxious, rambling, hypocritical

GOALS/DESIRES: to overcome his biggest fears, mainly—which means to be able to leave derry ( and his mother ) behind; to accept that he is not some sickly boy in need of protecting; to feel comfortable in his own skin.

FEARS: disease, death, abandonment, intense feelings of any kind honestly, his sexuality, exposure of said sexuality, change, his mom, disappointing his mom, independence, failure

HOBBIES: comics, movies, spending fucking HOURS reading medical websites and learning that all roads lead to cancer, hanging out with The Gang™, annoying his friends, lecturing his friends, sneaking out of his house, super mario bros, is candy a hobby? it is now, not dungeons and dragons ‘cause he’s not a fuckin nerd

HABITS: nail biting, compulsive timekeeping, pencil chewing tbh but only at Home, ice chewing also…..it’s super bad for your teeth but man does he love it……., assuming death lurks around every corner and shouting at everyone else about it

FAVOURITES

WEATHER: he likes a sunny day in weather that is slightly crisp, like late september, bc he has seasonal allergies

COLOUR: blu. particularly a good royal blue. sometimes sky blue if he’s feeling festive

MUSIC: pop music mostly…………. he loves a diva. he is a Loud whitney houston stan but he keeps his madonna love much closer to the vest

MOVIES: comedies definitely. he doesn’t care much for movies that are like, cinematically renowned and artsy or whatever. he’s here for something stupid that’ll make him laugh. he really likes dumb and dumber, embarrassingly enough. he also loves bill & ted. it’s his favorite movie. good ol wholesome fun, there.

SPORT: tennis obviously

BEVERAGE: an arnold palmer he’s really wildin out here

FOOD: honestly? a fuckin ice cream sundae

ANIMAL: penguins they’re gay and they mate for life

FAMILY

FATHER: frank kaspbrak. he died of cancer when eddie was a wee bab ( he was five so not actually a wee bab, but wee enough )

MOTHER: sonia kaspbrak, a devil woman

SIBLING(S): none

PET(S): he had a goldfish named arnold once that’s it

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: lower middle class. his mom doesn’t work and lives solely off disability checks and the like, but they never seem to be for lack of money for eddie’s extensive medical care or, like, food or shelter.

EXTRA

ZODIAC SIGN: virgo binch

MBTI: ISFJ ( the defender )

ENNEAGRAM: type 6 ( the loyalist ), but actually he’s a type 6 with a type 5 wing that’s almost balanced, which, hilariously, is also called the defender

TEMPERAMENT: melancholic

HOGWARTS HOUSE: GRYFFINDOR FIGHT ME

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good

PRIMARY VICE: envy

PRIMARY VIRTUE: charity

ELEMENT: earth

[writingishard-loverandloser]

Hey could I get a match up for it and stranger things? I'm like 5'3" and bi. I've boy short, bright blue, and and deep brown eyes with big glasses. I've asthma so I don't really play sports but I'd love to. I love drawing and making things and reading. Holy shit I'm a fucking nerd. I'm usually labeled the mom friend and care alot about those I'm around. I'm very protective but also terrible with feelings lol I've been told I'm a flirt but also and angry chihuahua who can stop cursing lolol

First of all you’re like the Reddie love child we’ve all been looking for and I love it.

IT:

I ship you with Mike!

God we would love his smol fiery mouthed chihuahua. You and Mike met when you were riding home one day. You say Mike getting beat up by Bowers. It was just him but by how bad Mike looked you guessed that the others were there earlier and Henry just stuck around to kick Mike while he’s down. Of course — being the decent person you are — you couldn’t stand for it. “Hey, Bowers! Cut it the fuck out you freak!” Bowers turned around and sneered at you, “Why aren’t you a pretty thing. Maybe I can have some fun with you instead of the low life.” “Do not fUCKING TOUCH ME!” Right after you screamed Bowers fell face first onto the ground, behind him a bruised and bloodied Mike stood over him holding a large stick. “Thank you...” “You too...” Needless to say the two of you felt a strong connection after that. You’re actually the reason he got so into books. The two of you would read the same book then have in depth conversations about it once you finish. You’d always ride your bike to his house after school and draw while he finishes his chores. Your excuse was that you like the landscape but really you’d take any excuse to be around him constantly. Your sketchbooks are filled with cute drawings of him and his animals. Mike always knew he cared about you he just wasn’t sure how much he really did — since you guys met and started hanging out before the IT summer. When you all were in the sewers at IT’s lair he noticed how protective he was, how close he was, how his heart started pounding whenever you shifted your stand slightly away from him out of fear of you wandering, how when Bowers attacked him you were the thought in the back of his mind that made his will to live even stronger. He didn’t feel that with any of the other Losers. A few weeks after everything was over he told the other boys about it during a sleepover at Bill’s house. Richie laughed in his face, “You like her, man!” “No… no she’s my friend. You’re all my friends.” Richie scoffs, “Who’s the first person that comes to your mind when you wake up in the morning?” “Y/n…” Stan injects, “What about when you go to sleep?” “Y/n…” Ben smiles, “Do you want to sing but throw up all at once?” Bill adds, “D-d-does your stomach tie into knots when she l-laughs.” Eddie gives him a knowing glance, “Does your heart to backflips and breath catch in your throat when she smiles?” Richie smirks, “Does your groin start to tingle when she stands close to you?” “Richie!” He laughs, “Do you do any of that stuff when it comes to any of us? Or even Bev?” Mike blinks and shakes his head. Richie grins, “Well there’s your answer!” Mike stands up slowly, “I, uh… I have some place to be.” Stan winks at him knowingly, “We know.” With that Mike smiled at them and ran out the door. MEANWHILE: Bev had just convinced you to let her look through your sketchbooks and she can’t stop smiling, “These are fantastic!” You smile shyly, “Thanks.” “But like all of them are of Mike…” You guys widen a bit and heart lurches. She smirks, “Do you like him?” “Fuck off! Of course I don’t! We’re just friends.” Bev gives you a look, “Just friends don’t draw just friend in flowery heart crowns sitting on your porch.” Oh shit. She’s got you there. “If you like him why don’t you just tell him?” Bev continues. “Easy for you to say,” You scoff, “Every boy in town has liked you at some point. You’re pretty and smart and—” “Stop. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” You bite your lip, “Really?” Bev smiles, “Go get him.” So you run to his farm. By the time Mike got home you were asleep in a pile of hay in the barn with two sketchbooks on your lap and a origami heart in your open hand. Mike smiled softly and picked the sketchbooks up from your lap carefully sitting beside you. You never let him look through your sketchbooks for now painfully obvious reasons. He couldn’t help grinning as he flipped through the pages. The pictures gave him confidence — some proof that you like him too. He was halfway through the second sketchbook when you opened your eyes. Horrified and embarrassed that he was looking through the last thing you’d want him to see right now. “Oh God…” You gasped sitting up, “I can explain those. You see— I— I just—” You sigh in embarrassment and frustration. Mike open his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “I like you a lot okay?!” You blurt out, “And I made this for you,” You hold out the origami heart, “I’m terrible with this stuff I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t feel the same way I just love you a—” Mike cut you off with a kiss. Your eyes widened but them you melted, leaning into it. “I love you too,” Mike whispers, pulling away.

ST:

I ship you with Jonathan!

The two of you are hella compatible. You have similar interests but your personalities are just different enough for the two of you to benefit from the relationship. The two of you met in woodshop. He was having trouble so you helped him and made sure he didn’t fail the course. Neither of you had too many friends so you kinda stuck by each other. You were at his house a lot and his family loved you. He introduced you to different music and you introduced him to good literature. You and Will bonded over art and would draw and listen to music all the time. Joyce just loved that her oldest hs somebody. You were sweet and protective — you remind Joyce a lot of herself when she was younger. When Will disappeared you were there. You knew that Joyce and Jonathan would be destroyed so you needed to be strong. You let Jonathan talk and cry — even if you weren’t sure how to comfort him it was comforting for Jonathan just knowing you were there. You lost your shit when Steve started harassing him in the school parking lot. Screaming profanities he didn’t know existed. When Will came back you gave Jonathan space and time — something Nancy couldn’t — you knew he needed time to settle back into things about you knew it was comforting for him knowing you’d be there. And you were. Jonathan and you were back to normal in no time with the exception of Nancy. He started to see you in a new light during this time. You were strong, smart, caring, protective, creative, beautiful, funny, and the only person outside his family willing to wait for him. You waited. And got along with his family like they were your own. You noticed him acting slightly different around you but didn’t let it bother you. You were spending a lot more time at the Byers’ house when Will started getting worse. You wanted to help him. You knew Joyce and Jonathan mean well but you also know how suffocating they can be. Helping Will escape is one of your many hobbies. You and Will were sitting on his bed drawing when Will suddenly spoke up, “Do you like my brother?” You froze for a second before responding without looking up, “Why do you think that?” “It’s just… the two of you are always around each other. He cares about you a lot. He’s always talking about you,” Will glances up at you, “And I’ve seen the way you look at him.” “You’re a very observant kid,” You comment in a slightly annoyed tone. Will chuckles, “Thank you.” Will really made you think. You and Jonathan have been there for each other for a while. And you knew you both cared about each other… but you guess there’s something else there if a part of you melts whenever his soft brown eyes been yours. When everything went to shit — Will’s a spy, a creature’s after Hawkins again, everything is more dangerous than ever before, and now Jonathan has to leave you to go burn out Will while you stay with Steve — Jonathan couldn’t let anything else happen without letting you know. Before he got into the car he ran back and kissed you. It was explosive, powerful, electric, soft… it was everything. “He pulled away breathless and rested his forehead on yours, “I love you…” Joyce honked the horn of the car to tell him to hurry up, “I have to go. Don’t die.”

[borkha]

15 for the writing?

Trembling hands ;)

The short man runned throught the hallways, trying to not hitting himself on the walls. It was dark.

Richie's breath was lazy, he felt on his knees and hold his stomach.

His hands were shaky, himself was shaking like a cold Chihuahua.

"I wont be able to get Jo- Joey? The fuck- The police! The police. Of course, police. " He tried to get up but his legs didn't respond, he felt something liquid, cold crawling on his legs.

He gasped and looked over his shoulder. Oh no.

It's I-Ink.. he tried to clean it away his legs as he started crying.

We know he wasn't found.