#whats stopping you from remaking the font from scratch

[gnotknormal]

I want someone to tell me about font crime

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.7

Ao3  N.6  N.8

 Tuesday 18.05.1993

“I'm gonna fuckin get ya, four-eyes!”

That’s the third time Henry spats those same exact words behind their backs, Eddie thinks to himself as he hears Richie throwing some lost response in shallow breaths.

“How’s that working-  fuck!  How’s that working for you, dude?”

To feel their sweaty hands intertwined, tight enough to stop blood circulation, would have been great if they were not trying to stop Henry Bowers from catching them and start throwing punches. They had been running for a bit now, and false respiratory complications aside, Richie knew that Eddie could go for longer than him, so he really hoped their chaser would have given up by the time he fell in utter exhaustion.

Running with a backpack is the weirdest fucking thing to do, Richie notices. And if he wasn't about to puke out a lung at the moment, he would have joked around, telling Eddie how ridiculous they must look. Like the backpack was doing them from behind or something.

Nah, he scratches off that option. That's way too bad, even for me.

So, he settles on running, because that's all he can do at the moment. Not even breathing. No, he doesn't think he can breathe, automatic mode at its best.

His clammy hand grasps tighter onto Eddie's to pull him forward along. Since his legs are smaller, it leaves him behind some steps, long enough to keep their arms stretched between them. Just as Richie was about to allow his body to pass out, a frustrated grunt was heard from behind them. A small reminder that they were still being chased.

See, things were going pretty regular today, at least for Eddie. As for Richie… well, let’s just say he had a few plans.

This morning, when they woke up to the sound of Eddie’s alarm an hour earlier than normal so as to avoid Sonia discovering the bedroom’s door locked, Eddie expected everything to be worse. And by worse he means more awkward. More tense between them than what it had been the day after the quarry, more distant from each other in opposition from last night’s events. But Richie woke up and threw his body on top of Eddie’s, and he had to turn on his ‘totally annoyed mode’ in order to keep things on the regular track.

After pushing Richie out of bed and onto the floor, he waited until the (apparently energetic in the morning) boy got dressed and left through the window. Then, in the room all by himself, Eddie unlocked the door carefully, attempting to keep the noise down, and got dressed and ready for school.

His mother, unsuspicious as ever, sat with him in the kitchen table to watch him eat breakfast and complain about life in general. Luckily, she didn’t come in time to see Eddie shove two plastic-wrapped peanut butter sandwiches on the outer pocket of his school bag.

When asked why he was leaving earlier than usual, Eddie answered with a simple

“I want to talk to the teacher about my work project before class starts.”

And off he went, mocking her naivety.

Richie was sitting on the sidewalk some houses away, just enough to be hidden from the Kaspbrak’s living room window. When Eddie approached him, bike by his side, he tossed the two sandwiches to his face, startling him out of his existence when one collided with his ear.

“Ouch, Eds! You sure know how to woo a guy.” Eddie watched as thankfulness made its way on Richie’s eyes as he grabbed the two sandwiches, now on his lap, and stuffed one in the pocket of his jacket.

Their ride to school was comfortingly quiet, the town was still waking up. They could see stores opening up, adults leaving their houses and entering their cars. There were no kids around, yet. And there wouldn’t be many until half an hour later, when they’d start their path to school. The morning air was vaguely chill, the rain from last night gave the asphalt a glossy touch and the sidewalks were slippery, along with the small patches of dirt and front backyards that looked alive and muddy.

Derry. What else could they say about a town that is heavily rained upon in the beginning of summer. Just Derry.

It wasn’t until they were stuck going around the school building to pass the 30 minutes left until their friends would arrive, that the awkwardness seemed to settle.

Eddie could easily say he was feeling terrified of what he allowed his body to do some hours prior. Did it happen? He couldn’t wrap is head around the reality of it, couldn’t distinguish if it was a dream or not. He wished it was.  Did it really happen? He thinks again.

Did I make things harder for us? If he weren’t so preoccupied, he would have laughed out loud for the innuendo of his question.

Oh God. He thinks. Fuck, no. This is so wrong on so many levels. There’s definitely nothing funny about the double meanings of that.

Embarrassed was an understatement for how he felt. Eddie was ready to turn around right now and leave Richie walking alone. He would run in any other direction, as long as it didn’t have Richie standing at the end of those.

Wrong paths they would have been.

On the other hand, Richie was sure it had been a dream. Pffff, yeah sure. Eddie gets a boner rutting against me?

Yowza! That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard since diapers.

But that didn’t explain why his cheeks felt warm, or why Eddie’s looked pink. That didn’t explain why Richie could feel his skin prickle where he can faintly remake the images of being in touch with another body.

Funny!

 -

 By the time their whole group was present by the bike rack, Beverly got the pleasure to announce, as she opened the zipper of her bag and shoved a hand inside it, that their party was still on. And then, as if it was the world’s most natural gesture, she took out a thick stack of purple … paper sheets?

“What’s that?” Ben had asked while leaning over Bev’s figure to read the words on the top paper.

Overexcited, Richie removed the whole stack from Bev’s hands and shook his arms in the middle of the group while grasping the papers. “These? There are flyers, baby!”   Bev’s aunt works in a stationary store, it was easy for her to print a hundred of them while working one of her single shifts.

Stan rolled his eyes and turned around to start walking towards the building, everyone subconsciously started following along.

“Flyers? Are you serious right now?” Eddie asked no one in particular. Bill, who was by his side, agreed to his surprised tone.

“Isn’t that a buh-bit ex-exss-” He struggled with the word, frustrated momentarily while the group kept walking but waiting for him to succeed. “-Excessive...?” He spoke carefully.

“No sir, no sir!” Richie took one of the flyers from his arms and stuck it in Bill’s face. Eddie peered over to see it for himself, too.

It was a fairly small piece of purple paper, with big blocky yellow letters announcing “PARTY”. Creative. Above that was some information like the date, which Eddie noticed was next Friday, the address to Mike’s barn, and, surrounded by musical notes’ doodles standing in a stupidly flashy neon font:

“LIVE MUSIC!”

“Live music?” Bill must have been reading the same part along with Eddie, because they both asked the same thing together, stuttering tossed aside.

Eddie and Bill shared a glance, then looked straight to the party organizers. Eddie mocked them. “Who’d you get to play there? Some shitty group with low percussion skills?”

Richie flashes him a grin. “That’s up to you to find out ain’t it?”

With a scoff, Eddie tore his eyes away to instead look around the school halls as if they were any interesting. “Yeah, right.”

“You promised!” Richie shrieked, surprised.

“I promised my ass, Richie!” He retorted back.

“I’ll take that, too, then.”

Bev rolled her eyes and bumped Richie’s elbow, he smiled sheepishly at her.

Trying to ignore the burning sensation on most of his skin, Eddie tore the flyer from Bill’s grip to read it over better while the others started handing out the rest of them throughout students.

That’s when he read it.

 everyone invited except Mullet Bowers and Greta-st Face Disaster

Oh man.

 And here they are, unwillingly skipping last period because it took Henry that long to understand why he was being laughed at in class. Nonetheless, he found out. Eddie had been walking to his chemistry lab along with Ben and Richie when the bull came out of nowhere, fumbling with rage (was it even necessary?).  By the time Richie spotted Henry at the end of the hall, he had grabbed Eddie’s hand and started off in the opposite direction.

Ben stood there, confused, and Eddie stumbled to try to keep up. He fell as soon as Richie began running, which took him three seconds, but their hands had been clasped together which meant Richie was pushed towards the floor, too.

That’s when Henry screams reached them. (seriously is it really necessary?) But Eddie’s thoughts were pushed out of his head when both of them stumbled to their feet, fingers still intertwined, and resumed properly running this time, still with a long advantage over the older bully.

Here they are now, long left school ground. Bowers was still after them and Eddie was trying to overlook past his burning muscles to think ‘Why did you drag me along, Richie?’ But maybe Eddie should be asking himself why he had let Richie drag him in the first place.

“Holy fuck…” Richie’s lungs were on fire. “No way- ugh! I need to-”

Eddie kept throwing glances behind his back, snapping his neck in weird angles. He couldn’t find any trace of Henry. He was about to warn Richie about it when suddenly he collided into the latter’s backpack. With a surprised grunt and an aching nose, Eddie let go of Richie’s hand and clasped both of his on his face. You could have warned me, dickhead! Eddie thought, but he was too busy panting to find enough oxygen to speak at the moment. He turned around once again just to make sure they were free of danger and lowered one of his hands to grab his backpack straps, an old habit he has.

They stared at each other in the middle of the street. Panting and harsh breathing. Aching legs and nose. They laughed. They laughed so much it started to hurt. They were slowly becoming two bundles of pain. Maybe they could merge together and become a single one. That sounded nice.

There wasn’t a coherent conversation after they stood there like panting idiots. Something along the lines of:

“Should we…?” Richie heaved through his words while pointing a thumb in the direction of which they had come. Should we go back to school? That’s what he meant to ask.

“No.” Eddie said. “Should we…?” He panted heavily, pointing to the other end of the road. Should we go home?

Richie nodded and planted both hands on his knees, curving his body so that he could bend his back in different angles. Man, running with a backpack is harder than it should be.  He straightened himself out again. “Yours or-”

“Mine.” Eddie answered.

It was a silent agreement that they were meant to spend the rest of the day together.

They walked together, there wasn’t one moment that Eddie worried about his lungs. Running felt great, freeing, perhaps. So, when they were approaching the street where his house stood, he did something un-Eddie like. He shoved Richie with his elbow, he might have used more strength than needed. He blamed the adrenaline still running through him. Funny, the adrenaline runs too.  With Richie’s suspicious attention on him, Eddie grinned, but didn’t bother to look in his direction. “I’ll race you to the front door.” And then proceeded to take off, the burning in his legs returning, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

He heard Richie complain behind him, but Eddie knew he had started running too by the sounds of his sneakers hitting the ground.

Eddie rounded the fence of the house next to his and crossed the grass that his mother called “front yard”.  His mother. Eddie’s throat tightened and he stopped abruptly. For what felt like the twentieth time today, Richie and Eddie collapsed against each other. Richie tried to stop, he did, but he was almost catching up to Eddie, and the grass was still wet, still muddy. His feet slipped against Eddie’s and he fell on his butt into the cold surface, something inside the backpack pressed into his ribs.

“Fuck, Eddie!” He groaned on, hands digging into the dirt. “What the hell was that for?”

But Eddie didn’t turn around, he just gaped at the front door and whispered. “My mom, Richie. I can’t be home before school ends.” With that, he faced the boy on the ground, his worried frown deepened at the sight. “Can’t you even stay on your feet for one minute? You’re all dirty!” His whispers were staged, just in case Sonia was in ear-range.

Frustrated, and helplessly mad (although he didn’t want to be) Richie laughed ironically, way too loud for Eddie’s liking. “Excuse me, will you? You stopped out of fucking nowhere, Eds!” He scrambled to his feet, already feeling his pants glued to his legs where the wetness installed itself.

“Lower your voice-”

“Your mom’s not home.” He shrugged while adjusting his clothes into place. Eddie stared with furrowed eyebrows.

“And how do you know that?”

“Her car’s missing.”

Gaping slightly, Eddie snapped his neck to stare at the spot where his mother parks the car, it wasn’t, in fact, there.

Richie passed through Eddie while flicking his forehead. “Dummie. Lend me your shower.” Eddie followed him with his eyes, noticing pieces of grass stuck to Richie’s hair, and his soaked clothes, the backpack too.

“Don’t you dare step a foot in my house!”

-

After the bathroom door closed, Eddie allowed himself to sit on his bed and capture every sound that made its way to him. Richie's barefoot steps on the tiles, the ruffling of clothes against skin, the squeaks that his faucet does every time someone turns it on, the water hitting the bottom of the tub. His mind goes back in time, years ago when both of them had enough innocence (yes, even Richie) to take showers together.

11-year olds would be playing outside, usually with Stan and Bill, and they'd get dirty. Well, Eddie couldn't, or his mother would be upset. She always sounded angry and sad after Eddie came home with stains and messy hair. Eddie didn't want to make her feel that way so, most times, he came home sweaty.

One time, Richie and him went over to his place and played on the streets until his parents allowed. Back when they cared.  Then they had stumbled inside in a fit of giggles, knees and hands dirty, clothes slightly smudged in greys and browns. Eddie didn't care about it.  Richie had asked his mother if Eddie could bath in his house and stay for dinner. Maggie had smiled at the boys and ush them upstairs.

Maybe she didn't realize that Richie would be joining the said shower, Eddie thinks so, years later.

But the boys didn't think too much at the time, they just struggled out of their clothes in chuckles and pushes and got under the water. If memory doesn't fail him, Richie had joked about 'Eddie's pickle', saying it was smaller, but that it was okay because Eddie was small all over and Richie liked him like that.

Remembering this now, while Richie was in next room showering, made Eddie's cheeks crimson and his heart stammer.

He recalls, among those years of innocence, that both of them had asked the same to Sonia one time. Eddie doesn't know if he ever saw his mom freak out like that ever before. At the moment, neither of them could grasp her reasons, they just stood there, mouths gaping like fishes and ears red from being scowled, while she threatened to call Richie's parents.  Now things were different. He supposed that if he went to join Richie right now, something ought to go wrong, even if he recognised a subtle wish to do just so. But then there’s an image on his head of all those solo times Eddie has in his shower, the exact same place where Richie is now, and he groans. Rubbing his face to shake away those images, he feels embarrassed. What is it about Richie that everything involving him leaves Eddie embarrassing himself?

To use his time better, Eddie tidied up the room and searched for the clothes Richie sometimes forgets. He ended up finding some in the back of his closet. He placed them neatly on top of his bed, the footprint was still there.

The kitchen sink was a mess of pilled up dishes from breakfast and his mother’s lunch, so he settled on taking care of that and arranging something for both of them to eat.  Mid way from getting two glasses of orange juice on the table, Richie burst through the kitchen entry, already dressed, with a towel on his hand. Eddie didn’t hear him coming down the stairs, so when Richie asked: “Hey, where’d you want me to leave this?” - he almost spilled one glass on the floor, but managed to salvage it.

Before Eddie could say anything at all, he heard a voice that wasn’t Richie’s.

“I knew it.”

 He faintly recognized his mother’s way of spatting out words in disapproval. Not even settling the glasses down, he turned to lock eyes with Richie, who was torn between glaring at Eddie with huge eyes, and looking at Sonia, who was out of Eddie’s view but certainly not out of his. The way Richie’s throat moved while he dry swallowed didn’t went unnoticed.

“Mrs. Kaspbrak!” He exclaimed, faking amusement. “Long time no see!”

Eddie’s heartbeat was everywhere, in his hands holding the cups for dear life, in his ears, in the back of his head and the sides of his neck.

Almost like a barrier between Eddie and his own mother, stood Richie. The kitchen entry occupied by his body, Sonia by the front door. Richie watched as the woman’s eyes studied his face, maybe his damp hair, then lowered down to the towel in both his hands. In a slow-motion-like movement, Richie watched Mrs. Kaspbrak’s expression turn into one of recognition.

“Did you just shower in my house?!”

Eddie’s breathing stopped for a second, still haven’t laid an eye on her.  He could see Richie’s fists grasp the towel harder and his smile twitch. Suddenly, he feared what may happen in the next seconds.

There was anger in his movements as Richie moved one hand to his own hip and cocked an eyebrow at the woman in front of him. “Ridiculous idea, ma’am!” He pressed down the R’s. “Eddie licked my hair nice and wet-”

She didn’t give him time to finish, horror in her face as she grabbed Richie by the ear, obliging the boy to bent down so as to not get any body part ripped out of him.  Eddie’s eyes widened, finally seeing his mom there to make things real. Richie dropped the towel and grabbed her wrist, hissing in pain and squeezing his eyes.

“Mom, cut it out!” They made eye contact, then, but she didn’t let go.

“We have a lot to discuss, Eddie.” Before he could talk again, Richie was barking out a laugh, a very sarcastic and angry one.

“Listen, lady, I’m trying my best to not lose my shit right now. So, would you kindly let go of my fucking ear?”

“Mom, let him go.” Even Eddie himself was surprised at the bravery in his tone. Mrs. Kaspbrak lifted her head to look at her son in disbelief, nonetheless, she let Richie’s ear alone but pushed him to enter the kitchen properly, following him inside. Richie stumbled with the push but managed to get a grip on the towel before making his way to Eddie’s side.

“So, dryer?” He lifted an eyebrow while pointing, with the soft fabric, to the machine under the kitchen counter.

“Not right now, Richie.”  Richie’s intentions were certainly not comical, Eddie knew it was his coping mechanism but he couldn’t help and turn him down. He stared at his mom again, who was standing in front of him with an unreadable expression. “What do we have to talk about?”

He tried so hard to keep it together, hell, he did. But as soon as a paper bag was pushed to his hands, Eddie knew it was only a matter of seconds for him to lose it. Carefully, and finally, placing the full glasses on the table, Eddie grabbed the bag shakily. He peered inside.

A wave of shock ran his spine when he saw Richie’s lighter inside, along with a pharmaceutic box he too well recognised.

“Mom?” he whimpered. There were tears fogging up his vision. “Care to explain?” Behind him, he could hear Richie walking in circles and trying not to peer over and see for himself.

“Explain it, Eddie?” Aggressively, she tore the paper bag from her son’s hands and turned it upside down, letting its contents fall on the kitchen table. Richie was there in a minute. My lighter. He thought. And then he remembered the sound that took them both by surprise last night.

“You went looking through Eddie’s bedroom?” He spat those words to her, on the corner of his eye, he saw Eddie’s shoulders slump. Neither of them answered him, so he scoffed and started pacing again, not even noticing the other half of the bag’s contents.

Eddie stared at the box until he couldn’t restrain himself from blinking any longer. When he opened his eyes again, it was still there.

“If you give me reasons, Eddie, I will do what I have to. Think I haven’t noticed you coughing around and trying to cover it up? And then what do I find, Eddie?” He didn’t answer, eyes on the ground. “If you think it’s funny to go smoking behind my back, I hope you find this funny too-

“Smoking? Are you serious?” He finally looked up at her in disbelief, voice strained and cheeks stained. “Do you think I’d go around smoking?!”

“I don’t care, Eddie!” Her voice echoed. Eddie sniffled, feeling helpless and ashamed that Richie had to be here while this argument happened. “You’re going to carry your inhaler around again-”

Richie’s mouth fell opened at those words, watching Eddie shake his head frantically from side to side. He was choking up on his tears while trying to speak. “N-no! D-don’t make me!”

But she answered him by shoving the white and blue carton box in his chest, and Eddie took it sheepishly. That’s when Richie snapped.

“Mrs. Kaspbrak,” He approached her carefully. “I don’t think this is reasonable, Eddie doesn’t need it and besides, the lighter is mine not his-”

“Great, then he’ll stop being around you, too. You can start by leaving.”  Then she made her way to the fridge, like nothing had happened, and started taking out various things needed to prepare dinner.  Eddie stood there, listening as Richie’s politeness left his body in a second and started hitting her with words and curses. He stood there, getting angrier and angrier every time his mother had the audacity to attack Richie back, like she was some kind of superior being who had the right to do so.  She’s not, Eddie realises.

She doesn’t have the right to be doing this.

“You’re a worthless prick, woman. I bet you were waiting for your chance to get Eddie under your thumb again!”

“Congrats, boy!” She tossed the tub of butter she took out of the fridge onto the counter. “You’ve got me all figured, a shame you can’t seem to understand your own mother as well.”

With all the strength he could find, although Eddie doesn’t know where it came from, maybe from the adrenaline, he screamed for them to stop while tossing the box onto the wall in front of him. There was a snapping sound once it fell to the floor, and since Eddie wasn’t so sure if it broke, he walked over and stepped on it forcefully while his throat squeezed out grunts of frustration.

Sonia spoke carefully to him, nonetheless threateningly. “Edward-

“I am not asthmatic, and I do not smoke.” He wasn’t lying, but there was still a pang of guilt living in his chest. He sniffled once more, and locked eyes with Richie, who was looking at him like he’d found his hero. “And I won’t certainly stop seeing Richie.”

On his way out of the kitchen, Richie bumped shoulders with Sonia, a childish act, yeah, but damn it if he didn’t want to push her more.  For the next hour, Eddie expected his mom to burst through his bedroom door and make Richie leave, but strangely, she didn’t even make her presence noticeable while Eddie tried to stop crying and Richie apologized for what felt like the millionth time.

“It’s okay.” Eddie told him. “I think she needed a second reminder, you know?”

Richie knew, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty.

By dinner time, Richie had to leave and Eddie went downstairs with him to carry him to the door. Once it was closed, his mother walked closer to him.

“Dinner is ready.”

And when Eddie followed her to the kitchen, ice cold quietness, he took a glance at the spot where his inhaler stood moments ago, it wasn’t laying there anymore. The silence in which they ate felt different this time, as if, somehow, Eddie finally let his mother know who he truly was.

 He hoped that she could take it better this time.

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[termina-fairy-blog]

an open letter for you

I’ve read your story a thousand times I’ve blown through every chapter and I’ve savored every rhyme And I have picked apart the meaning and I’ve looked for all the signs But I only found myself in how your pen bled through the lines I found myself in the accidental ink spots that seeped into the next page And I was in the binding stained with coffee but smelled of lavender and sage I found myself in the worn down corners of the paper from hands that couldn’t help but touch Because while the language is your master, I am just your crutch I found myself in the scratched up vinyl’s you spin on repeat I’m in the tense air their sound cuts through They’re old and skip around a bit, but still they play for you It’s in how your bedroom walls hold your truths but your pillow holds your lies And how your sheets hold my perfume And your ceiling holds our eyes The nightstand holds my teacup, the Darjeeling tea I couldn’t stand to touch Because while it burned my hands to hold, you said it was never hot enough For you. I know I am more than just a canvas for another beings art I’m more than what words you use to describe me or the pages you tear apart You can’t do whatever you want with my name or with my heart but damn it, I wish I knew that from the start You must have caressed my frame with your gaze a hundred times and with your hands a thousand more But I bet you could read this poem as many times as you tried to kiss me and still wouldn’t know who I was writing for You could find it in your mailbox, marked with my perfume and bordered with my lace But you would still drop it to the floor and say, “That’s nice, but what a pretty face You have” I guess I can forgive you as long as you’ll forgive me too, For being someone who would rather be remembered for how she loved than for the love she made to you And please don’t think I blame you, oh God, I could never blame you, I know you have your faults I think the prettiest parts of your story are the words that you crossed out, the pieces you didn’t think anyone would read I especially enjoy the passages that you tried to hide from me And maybe one day I will stop looking for fragments of myself in your broken parts And you will write about me down the road without using stolen art From me While our stories will be written differently, our graves are all the same Inside But writers never die, my dear, so I’ll always keep your name Alive I know I’m not the best with words, but I’ll keep writing just in case you come across my story and realize that you deserve a place To stay And I’m sorry every cup of tea I’ve ever made was cold and had no taste but I would remake it every morning if it meant I would wake up to your face Please stay You’re always welcome in my book