#also fun fact i used to wear the same type of glasses richie wears in the show

[harrenhal]

from dusk till dawn appreciation week: day four - a visual theme or parallel: richie’s glasses + his “humanity”

[bimbopossum]

i know it’s hard to tell (but i think i really like you)

pairing: riche tozier/eddie kaspbrak

warnings: swearing (i think) + a few gross jokes

word count: 3383

summary: In an attempt to fight his feelings for Richie, Eddie makes a list of everything he doesn't like about him. And then, unknowingly, Richie spends a week proving every single one of them wrong.

read on ao3!

“I don’t like Richie,” Eddie says, out loud. He’s alone in his room, and he’s talking to no one in particular. In all honesty, the only person he needs to convince of that fact is himself; no one else would even dare to ask.

“I don’t like Richie,” he says again, louder this time. He stands from his desk chair, and walks to the chalkboard hanging on his wall.

“I don’t like Richie,” he repeats once more. He picks up a piece of chalk and brings it to the board, his hand hovering. He writes.

I don’t like Richie.

It doesn’t feel like enough. He makes a fist and rubs off the words with the side of his hand. He writes again.

WHY I don’t like Richie:

And, well. He makes a list. It comes easily, because frankly, Richie is the worst. He’s crass, and crude, and he’s a boy; he’s the exact opposite of what Eddie would consider “his type.” There’s no way he could ever, ever like anyone like Richie.

1. He’s gross.

Eddie thinks back to the time, the very same day, when Richie ran up to him, tackling him in a bear hug. The gesture was sweet, and Eddie’s first reaction was in the form of his stomach swooping to his feet. That was, until he caught a whiff of the taller boy’s armpit.

“Oh my god, Richie! You stink!” He had yelled, pushing him away.

The sentence on the chalkboard is punctuated with a nod from the small boy who wrote it. Yeah. Richie is gross. He doesn’t even wear deodorant.

2. His jokes.

The worst offense in this category was a few weeks ago, on a class trip to the zoo. Eddie was mesmerized by the elephants. He watched the giant, gentle creatures in awe and therefore, fell for the trap that was Richie’s question.

“Hey Eds, what do you do when you come across an elephant?”

Snapping out of his daze, Eddie turned to the boy.

“Huh?” He said.

The instant regret filled his mind as he saw a smug smile make its way onto Richie’s face.

“Apologize and wipe it off.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, the sound of Eddie’s hand smacking the skin of Richie’s arm, and a cry of “oh my god, that’s not even funny! you’re so fucking gross.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the memory. It’s still a horrible joke, and a completely valid reason to put on his chalkboard.

3. He’s not cute.

Eddie knows it’s harsh, but c’mon. He knows he’s right. His mind fills with gangly limbs, and broken glasses pieced back together with white tape, and hawaiian shirts with colorful shorts that don’t match and big, stinky feet covered in patterned socks that kick him whenever they can and yeah. Richie is not cute. His hair flies around his face and his eyes always look far too big because of his glasses. He’s not cute, even for a boy.

4. He doesn’t take anything seriously.

There’s too many examples for this one. Every time Eddie is sad and Richie makes some comment about fucking his mom, every time Stan is talking about birds and Richie interrupts him to ask “what kind of bird gives the best head,” every time Bill is stuttering and Richie makes fun of him even though it’s clear that he’s struggling. Richie is always toomuchtoomuchtoomuch and notknowingwhentostop.

And that’s why Eddie does not like him.

The next day, the Losers meet up at the arcade, and Eddie’s holding out on the hope that he’ll convince someone to get ice cream with him. He’s the last one to show up, and when Richie spots him heading their way, he immediately barrels toward Eddie to engulf him in another bear hug. Eddie’s chest rushes with blood as the tall boy holds onto him, and he wrinkles his nose in anticipation for the stench of his armpits. But it doesn’t come.

“Are you…” he trails off. Sniff. “Are you wearing deodorant?” Eddie asks, as Richie’s arms return to his side. Richie chuckles.

“I figured it was time I get a new signature scent. Whaddya think?” He asks. He even goes as far to lift his arm and offer the smell to Eddie’s unsuspecting nose. To his own surprise, Eddie actually takes another whiff. His face fills with color.

“Not bad,” he shrugs. Richie slings an arm around his shoulder, and Eddie can’t deny that it’s nice to not have to smell the boy’s B.O. as they walk.

Hours later, when the Losers have all returned home and Eddie and Richie have finished their ice cream (because of course Eddie was able to convince him), the small boy walks up to the chalkboard in his room and bashfully strikes a line through the first point on his list.

He’s gross.

“Hey Eds, wanna hear a joke?” Richie asks, in the same excitable way he always does—as if he’s a child looking for approval from an adult.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, I wanna keep studying, fuckface.”

The textbook on his lap is seemingly being used, but in reality, Eddie doesn’t know a word of what he’s read in the last 10 minutes. He honestly would like to hear a joke, even a horrible Richie joke; anything to distract him from covalent bonds. But he would never tell Richie that.

“C’mon, please? It’s really funny, I promise,” the boy pleads.

“You said that about the cannibal joke last week,” Eddie deadpans.

“That joke was hilarious!”

Eddie takes a deep breath, and immediately regrets even answering Richie’s question in the first place.

“The fact that you still think so is exactly why I don’t want to hear another one.”

“Please, Eds?” He begs, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. Eddie groans.

“God, fine! What is it?”

Richie’s face lights up, and it almost makes it worth the horrible joke Eddie’s about to hear.

“Apparently, every 52 seconds, someone in London is stabbed. Poor bastard.”

Eddie blinks. Then, as if surprising himself, a laugh bubbles out of his throat. He smacks a hand over his mouth, shocked that he actually found one of Richie’s jokes funny. Richie just stares as he laughs, just as surprised that he’s entertained. It’s a really simple joke, and it’s kind of dumb, but. It’s not about dicks or having sex with Sonia Kaspbrak and it’s… a little bit smart, at the same time, too? In a way that Richie never is. And it’s funny. Richie told a genuinely funny joke. As Eddie’s giggles die down, Richie has the most proud look on his face and he doesn’t even look smug about it at all. He just looks happy. And Eddie makes a mental note to laugh at more of his jokes now, even if they suck, if only so he can see that pleased little smile on the boy’s face again.

He also makes a mental note to strike through the second bullet point on his chalkboard when he gets home.

His jokes.

The next day, Eddie goes to meet the Losers in the front lot at school, like he does every other morning. The only person there so far is Ben, and they immediately fall into comfortable conversation. Eddie was always a bit awkward around Ben in the beginning, even though he couldn’t place his finger on why. Now, though, it’s like he’s been a part of the group forever.

They talk for a few minutes, while the others start to show up. Ten minutes pass, and the only person who hasn’t arrived yet is Richie. His conversation with Ben dies down, and he starts picking at a loose thread on his shorts to pass the time. After another moment, he hears a shout from beside him, and feels the weight of a body plopping down on the bench next to him.

“Good morning, Spaghetti!” Richie says. Eddie lazily moves his gaze to the boy sitting next to him, as if to seem unamused, but his breath catches as soon as he sees him.

Richie is just beaming at him, in the way he always does, as if there’s nothing different. Nothing changed, nothing new, nothing to make Eddie’s heart literally jump to his throat at the sight of him.

“You, um…” Eddie breathes. He clears his throat and attempts to make his voice as even as possible. “You got new glasses,” he says, barely above a whisper. No one around them seems to be fazed by this development, but Eddie thinks he could die.

Richie smiles even wider. “I did! What do you think? My prescription changed so I decided to trade the old frames in for a younger model,” he says. He reaches behind his ears and presses on the legs of the glasses, making them move up and down on his face.

These new glasses—they’re thinner, more rounded instead of square. They’re still a bit big for Richie’s face, but in a way that suits his features as opposed to swallowing them. The most drastic change, Eddie thinks, is how much older Richie looks in them. There’s no tape holding them together, and they frame his face in a way that makes his brow look stronger, and his nose a bit thinner. He looks good.

“They’re…cool. I like them,” he chokes out.

And, if all this wasn’t enough kindling for the “torturing Eddie” fire, the first bell rings at this moment, causing Richie to stand from the bench. Eddie catches a good look at what he’s wearing for the first time, and his mouth goes dry. A dark green t-shirt is tucked into a pair of light jeans that sit high on Richie’s waist. The bottoms are cuffed, showing his thin ankles, where a pair of colorful socks peek out of his sneakers. The drastic change from hawaiian shirts and cutoff shorts that fray at the bottom is enough to make Eddie’s knees weak.

Eddie thinks his intention is to ask a question, but when his mouth opens, all that comes out is a choked “clothes?”

Richie looks puzzled for a moment, until he looks down and registers what Eddie is saying.

“Oh! My cousin gave me some of his old clothes he doesn’t wear anymore,” he shrugs. All of the other Losers have left the area, making their way to their first classes, but Eddie stays on the bench for another moment, catching his breath and attempting to collect his thoughts.

Oh my god, he thinks. I was so, so wrong.

He’s not cute.

Eddie doesn’t cry often. You’d think he would—he’s always been kind of sensitive, the kind of boy who doesn’t complain when the class is reading Romeo and Juliet because he secretly really enjoys it. He’s sensitive, but he makes a point of not crying as much as would be expected of him. He’s not weak willed, and he’s not a crybaby. There’s a difference.

But everyone cries sometimes, right?

It was his mom. He came home late from studying with Bev and Sonia got mad. She must have screamed for 20 minutes straight. The loud, shrill tone of her voice combined with the harsh words she was spitting just cut into Eddie like a hot knife—not to mention the mean things she was saying about Bev. When Sonia was done with her attack, and convinced by the look on Eddie’s face that he wouldn’t do such a thing again, she sent him to his room without letting him get a word in. Which was for the best, because no matter how much he wanted to explode at her, and say all the things he’s been wanting to say for years, he knows that if given the chance, he’d freeze. Mouth closed and chest tight, he’d mutter out “I’m sorry, Mommy,” and do as he’s told. He thinks that’s part of why he’s crying.

He can’t be very loud, or his mom will hear, so his face is pressed into a pillow as he sobs. He guesses that this is all the tears he’s held in for however long it’s been, and now that the gates are open it’s hard to stop.

He doesn’t hear the first tap. The second one is a bit louder, enough for the noise to register in his mind but not enough for him to realize someone is trying to get his attention. The third one is a loud rapping, clearly on his window. He snaps his head up to see Richie, leaning his lanky body as far as it will go off of the tree next to his bedroom window. Eddie quickly wipes his face, as if there was any chance in hiding what he was just doing. He scrambles over to the window and opens it.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, his voice thick with tears.

Richie’s brows are furrowed. “Let me in,” he says softly.

Eddie doesn’t have it in him to protest. And besides, the boy is literally about to fall out of the tree. He opens the latch more, to make a space large enough for Richie to fit through without getting squished. He eventually stumbles in, landing on his feet with whatever the opposite of grace is. His eyes are immediately filled with concern.

“What’s wrong, why are you crying?” He asks, putting a hand on Eddie’s arm.

“It was just my mom, it’s whatever,” Eddie sniffs. “Why are you here?”

Richie hesitates. “Bev called. She said you left a binder at her house so she called here and your mom answered…and that someone should check to see if you were okay.”

Eddie cringes. “So my mom yelled at her?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

Richie doesn’t respond, but the silence is answer enough. Eddie feels tears start to burn behind his eyes again, and he squeezes them shut before they can fall. His fists press into the sockets of his eyes, willing himself to not cry in front of Richie. But he takes a deep breath in, and on the exhale, his body lets out a strangled sob against his own will.

He immediately feels Richie’s arms wrap around him, and the light pressure of being pushed towards his bed. As he sits down, he lets himself fall into Richie, shaking and crying as hard as he ever has. The tears are falling freely, now, not being pushed in by his fists or his own mind. And it feels a lot better to cry into Richie’s chest than it did to cry into his pillow. He curls into himself, forming a ball as he’s rocked by the boy holding him. One of Richie’s hands is in his hair, petting his head. The other is rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. There’s a quiet whisper, too. In a hushed voice, Richie is repeating himself over and over.

“Shh,” he says. “It’ll be okay. You’re okay.”

Soon after Eddie registers these words, his tears are slowing down. His hands stop shaking as fiercely, and his breathing evens out just a little bit more. Once his state of mind is regained, he can’t help but feel embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling himself out of Richie’s arms. Richie lets him go, but he keeps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb up and down on the boy’s collarbone absently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his gaze on Eddie’s face even as the other avoids his eye.

Eddie sniffles, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Richie probes.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s nothing, I just-“ he cuts himself off as he feels a lump form in his throat once more. “I really hate my mom sometimes.”

Richie nods sympathetically and pulls Eddie into his chest again. He presses his cheek to the top of Eddie’s curls, and for a moment, they just breathe together. After a few minutes of this, Richie breaks the silence.

“Look, Eds, about your mom,” he says, pulling back to look at Eddie’s face.

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. “I really don’t wanna hear an ‘I fucked your mom’ joke right now, Rich,” he mumbles.

Richie is stunned quiet for just a second. “I wasn’t going to make one.”

Eddie blinks. “Oh.”

“I was just gonna say that I’m sorry, and that she shouldn’t treat you that way. It’s shitty.”

Eddie almost cries again. Not because he’s upset about his mom this time, but because this is Richie. Richie is sitting in front of him, being honest, and genuine, and not making any jokes at Eddie’s expense and holding him when he’s sad and Eddie could just about die. Because god, he likes Richie so, so much. And now, Richie is just staring at him, holding his arm so gently it’s like he thinks he’ll break it if he’s too firm, and Eddie can’t help the words that tumble out of his mouth.

“I wanna show you something,” he says, standing up. He walks across the room, causing Richie to turn his body around completely, facing the chalkboard that had been previously (and conveniently) out of his view.

WHY I don’t like Richie:

1. He’s gross.

2. His jokes.

3. He’s not cute.

4. He doesn’t take anything seriously.

Richie’s eyes scan the words for a few seconds, and he gets up to join Eddie in front of the board.

His expression is unreadable as he stares, and every second that goes by without a word makes Eddie’s heart pound faster and faster.

Richie visibility swallows, and he brings his arms up to cross them in front of his chest.

“Wow, Eds,” he says, a weak smile on his lips. “This is…mean.”

It’s clear that he’s trying to seem unbothered, but it’s also clear that he is very, very bothered. Eddie picks up the piece of chalk underneath it and strikes a line through the last sentence.

He doesn’t take anything seriously.

Richie follows the movement with his eyes. He doesn’t uncross his arms.

“I know,” Eddie says. “I’m sorry.”

Richie just shrugs. “It’s whatever,” he murmurs. “I’m kind of confused. But it’s fine.”

Eddie’s face looks pained, like Richie’s words are physically harmful to him. “I just. I tried so hard to convince myself that I…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely.

“But I was wrong,” he continues, his voice a bit stronger. “That’s why they’re all crossed out. You didn’t even know I made the list but you proved me wrong for every single one.”

Richie’s eyebrows raise minutely, and he uncrosses his arms in exchange for lifting a hand towards the board, in a question.

“Wait, when it says you don’t like me, that means-“

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts him off. “It means.”

Eddie thinks he must look terrified.

Richie turns to make searing eye contact with the boy next to him.

“But…you said you were wrong. So that means-“

“Yeah,” Eddie says, in a bit of a choked laugh. “That means, too.”

The look on Richie’s face is hard to read, but Eddie is hopeful, if only for the fact that Richie is still standing in front of him.

“Eds,” he whimpers. And before Eddie can even think to respond, Richie is pressing forward and closing their mouths together in a kiss. His hands come up to hold Eddie’s cheeks in his palms, and Eddie thinks he might explode.

Under their own volition, Eddie’s arms snake themselves around Richie’s neck, threading his fingers in dark curls as their lips move together. The kiss itself only lasts a few seconds, but when they pull away, Eddie is breathless.

They’re both quiet in the seconds after their lips part, neither knowing quite what to say or how to say it.

But, of course, Richie always knows how to break a silence.

“Would you mind erasing that list?” He says. Eddie laughs, and just nods his head, before untangling his hands from Richie’s hair and moving to grab the rag beside the board. Richie follows him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. He watches as Eddie erases the words on the board, maneuvering the rag around certain areas at the top, so all but 3 words are wiped clean.

        I         like Richie.

[yallreddieforthis]

Impossible Things Ch. 2

Fandom: It Chapter Two, It (2017)

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Rating: Explicit (in later chapters)

Words: 3k

Chapter: 1

Also on AO3

An hour later they’ve moved to Skype, all their living friends in boxes on Richie’s laptop screen. Bev is talking over Bill. Ben is sitting right next to her, on the same screen, just staring. Probably at Eddie, but there’s really no way of telling. And Mike is flipping through the pages of a huge stack of notes. He’s been silent for twenty minutes.

From what Eddie has gathered, they all got out of the house and left his dead body inside, which is fine with him because he kinda did the same thing to Richie. Somehow. And then they all went to the quarry and jumped in.

“That’s extremely unsanitary,” Eddie says immediately. “I can’t believe we swam in there as kids, that water is fucking full of bacteria.”

“I knew it! I knew you’d say that,” says Bev, smiling and resting her head on Ben’s shoulder. She sighs. “You’re really here.”

“Wh-What I don’t understand,” says Bill, “why did you come to LA? You told us you lived in New York.”

“What? No,” says Eddie. “I lived there when I was in like my late teens and then moved out and never looked back. I mean, nothing against New York except that’s where my mom was. But I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen.”

“That can’t be right,” Mike chimes in without looking up from his notes. “When I called you, you were definitely in Manhattan. I have both your home and cell numbers; both are 212 area codes.”

“Uh, no,” Eddie whips out his phone, brandishing it in front of the screen. “This is a 323 number. I’ve lived in West Hollywood for like twenty years now.”

“What about your wife?” Richie asks. Sulky, like an sullen kid.

Eddie bursts out laughing because honestly? That’s fucking hilarious. “Funny, Rich. Real funny,” he says.

No one else laughs.

“What’s funny?” asks Ben. “You told us you… What was her name? Myrtle?”

“Myra. She looks exactly like your mom,” says Richie. “Totally your type.”

“Okay, first of all fuck you Richie, that’s disgusting,” Eddie shakes his head. “Also, remember how I’m gay? Like a hundred percent gay. I literally moved here because I wanted to be around more gay guys. I haven’t so much as kissed a girl since I was sixteen.”

No one looks more shocked about this than Richie, which is crazy because Eddie has not been trying to hide it. In fact, he purposely brought it up at Jade of the Orient because as soon as Richie walked in the room he remembered that he used to be super in love with that guy. How does Richie not remember? They spent the whole rest of the evening flirting...or at least it was flirting on Eddie’s part. Maybe it wasn’t on Richie’s.

“Oh hey, me too,” Mike chimes in, almost absently. “Also I think I found something. This is going to sound weird, but--”

“Oh no, not weird!” says Richie. “This weekend has been so normal.”

“We can handle weird,” Ben adds. “Clearly.”

“Alright,” says Mike. He looks up into their faces. “So I think there was a parallel dimension--”

“A what now?” Eddie says.

“I told you it was weird,” Mike shrugs. “So I think what happened was that… remember when we tried to kill It the first time? Back when we were kids.”

“I do now. Vividly,” says Eddie.

“I think we created a rift. You know, like a dimensional split. And then when we killed It again… I think maybe the dimensions merged back together. Or maybe one of them collapsed. Anyway, whatever happened to the other one… I think you got spit into this dimension, Eddie.”

“I’m sorry, did the Shokopiwah tell you about all this shit too?” asks Richie. “Or did you learn this from Doctor Strange comics?”

“I’ve been studying the metaphysical for 27 years,” says Mike, pulling a book out of his pile and ignoring the sarcasm. “Shit gets weird. Much weirder than this.”

“So like, when Eddie died…” Bill starts.

“That Eddie is really gone,” Ben nods, like none of this seems that crazy to him. Ben never seems to have trouble accepting this shit, he was really fucking easy to convince to stay in Derry. “This Eddie… he’s the Eddie we knew as kids, but not the same Eddie we met up with this weekend?”

“Exactly,” says Mike.

“Are you still a goddamn risk analyst?” Richie demands.

“What the fuck is that?” Eddie asks.

“A career invented before fun,” says Richie. “A real snoregasm.”

“So you’re not a risk analyst?” asks Bill, who looks real confused, like he’s having a hard time following what’s going on. “What do you do?”

“Did you guys even know me as a kid?” Eddie cries. “What do you fucking think I am?”

“I knew it!” says Bev, pointing at the screen. “Didn’t I tell you guys he was a doctor?”

“Ohhh! You did say that,” says Bill.

“Too much goddamn school,” says Eddie. “But I went to nursing school like right out of college. I was a pre-med major. I’ve literally been a nurse my entire adult life. I never even seriously considered anything else. That risk analyst shit sounds fucking ridiculous.”

“Hey, listen,” Bill says, almost like he’s snapping out of a haze. “Richie, can you text me your address? I’m in Sherman Oaks, I can be there in like twenty minutes. I just… I want to see you, Eddie.”

“I want to see you too,” says Eddie, because he does. So badly. It feels really good to just say it and not worry about how it sounds. “I want to see all of you. Last time I saw you… I don’t think anyone but me made it out in the other dimension, or whatever it is, Mikey. I think you all died.”

Richie grabs his hand and squeezes it. Whether he’s trying to be reassuring or convince himself that this is really happening, Eddie isn’t sure.

“I’ll be right there.” Bill logs off. 

Beverly suddenly sits up straight in her seat. She sets the glass of wine she’s been holding on the table.

“No one who dies in Derry ever really dies…” she whispers.

“What?” Ben turns to face her. His arm is around her shoulders.

“When I went to my old apartment,” she says, “I… It was disguised as this old woman, Mrs. Kersh. She told me that no one who dies in Derry ever really dies. It didn’t make any sense then, but maybe…”

“I’m gonna have to do some more research,” says Mike. “I have to--”

“Mikey, no,” says Ben. “Get out of there. It’s enough. You’ve been killing yourself in that God forsaken town for twenty--”

“I did, I did, I swear!” says Mike. “I’m in an Airbnb in Boston. Look.” He pans his camera around. Very cute, very tasteful. Unlike Richie’s dump.

Eddie thinks about Mike, about him sitting alone in Derry with no one who really understood. Living above the library. Taking care of them from afar for almost three decades. Mike has done so much for them; he essentially sacrificed any dreams he might have had, his entire youth… Eddie remembers young Mike, fresh faced and handsome, daydreaming about Florida. And he gave all of that up. For them.

“I don’t need to know what happened, Mike,” Eddie says. “I’ll just. I guess I’ll just pick up from where Other Eddie left off. You’re all here. That’s enough for me.”

“We’ll come out to LA too,” says Bev, hand on Ben’s arm. “Soon, I promise. We… Things are a little complicated right now, but--”

“Complicated how?” Richie asks. He’s still holding Eddie’s hand. “I thought you two drove off into the sunset and are now fucking happily ever after.”

“Yeah, well… I mean, we are. Happy. Very happy,” says Ben. “But…” He glances sideways at Beverly. She smiles.

“I don’t have secrets from any of you,” she says. “My husband--my ex-husband. Tom. I filed for a protective order for the time being. Hopefully it’ll be granted. We have a hearing soon, but it’s a long process. I had him served with divorce papers this morning. My lawyer told us it’d probably be best for me to stay out of state for now, nowhere he might be able to track me down.”

“So where are you?” Eddie asks. He’d seen bruises on her arms when she’d shown up in Derry and he feels really bad for not connecting the dots before now. He guesses he’s probably forgiven because it’s not like there was nothing else going on, but still. What kind of shitty friend doesn’t say something about obvious belt bruising?

“Cape Cod,” says Ben, beaming. “My beach house. Tom doesn’t know about me yet, so we’re good.”

“Jesus Ben, you have a beach house on Cape Cod?” says Richie. “How fucking loaded are you?”

“Ben, you totally don’t have to answer that,” Eddie interjects, but Ben laughs.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have to worry too much about money,” says Bev, “because I’m not going to fight Tom for Rogan and Marsh. He can just have it. I love designing, but it’s time for a fresh start. Who knows? Maybe I’ll start my own line.”

It turns out, as Bev explains, that although she was the one with a real passion for design and a goddamn fine arts degree, Tom really ended up taking total creative control of Rogan and Marsh. Eddie doesn’t know very much about fashion, but he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what Bev means when she says that Tom decided they’d focus exclusively on clothing with “clean lines and modern silhouettes.” Boring, safe, will sell well amongst wealthy white mommy bloggers.

Eddie remembers what Bev used to wear when they were young. She had unique taste. Whimsical, a little edgy. It seemed like she had maybe six or seven pieces of clothing in total, but somehow an endless variety of interesting outfits. It’s kind of fucked up that she ended up churning out like, Ann Taylor separates instead of getting to put her talents to real use.

“Speaking of um, separations,” Mike says, “Eddie, sorry. You do have a wife.”

“There’s literally no way,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I don’t care what dimension or whatever, no way I was straight.”

“No one said that,” says Richie. “Just that you were stupid enough to marry a woman anyway. I Facebook stalked her when we were back in Derry.” Why…?

Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand to pull up Facebook on his phone and types in Myra Kaspbrak and then…

“Oh...my god. I married my mother.”

“Yeah, ya did,” says Richie, nodding. “I kept saying I wanted to fuck your mom but apparently not as much as you did.”

Myra’s Facebook page is not exactly a fountain of useful information, although she is an active Young Living essential oils distributor so she’s clearly a fan of multi-level marketing schemes and junk science, which is a red flag to say in the least.

And sure enough… Married to Edward Kaspbrak. There he is. There’s even a wedding picture with an extremely wide and extremely fake grin plastered on his face. Big yikes.

“Well, I have a great divorce lawyer if you need one,” says Bev.

“Yeah,” says Eddie, scrolling past some posts Myra made in a Homeowners Association group about neighborhood paint color regulations. “Yeah, Bev, can you send me that number?”

What a dumpster fire. It’s so bad he can’t even look away. She hits like every facet of human unpleasantness. Like just a giant ball of traits that Eddie can’t stand. Sanctimoniously Christian. Way too concerned about other people’s decorating schemes. Chronic vagueposting. Belief that you can prevent cancer with lemon juice in water. Minion memes.

How is he even going to go about dumping this lady? He knows nothing about their relationship except that it had to have been a farce. 

How fucking deep in the closet was he? Because if Mike got it right and he’s the same person existing in two different dimensions—which is crazy as shit, although in fairness his bar for crazy shit has been raised pretty fucking high in the last three days—his gay ass was somehow fucking this woman of his own free will.

“What am I even going to tell her?” he wonders aloud.

“Oh that’s easy,” says Richie cheerfully. “Hey Myra, I met up with my friends from middle school and remembered that I’m gay. We’re getting divorced.”

The further Eddie scrolls down her Facebook, the less concerned he is about hurting her feelings, to the point where when she misquotes Marilyn Monroe with that if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best bullshit, he decides then and there that Richie’s suggestion is good enough.

“I have her number, Eddie, if you want to call her,” says Mike.

“Yeah,” says Eddie. “I guess I’m gonna have to. But not tonight, it’s too late. Tomorrow.”

There’s a knock at the door.

“Also, uh,” says Richie, “are we not going to talk about the fact that both Eddie and Mike are gay?” He cranes his neck toward the door. “Hey Bill!” he shouts. “You gay too, man?”

“Am I what?” Bill calls back. Eddie rolls his eyes, then gets up to open the door for Bill.

Bill has his arms around Eddie before he even has a chance to take a breath. He buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder.

Richie blinks at them. “I said are you gay?” 

Bill doesn’t even look up. “No, I’m bi. I did a whole exposé about it last year in Vanity Fair, it was at like all the grocery stores in the country. Why do you ask?”

“Because I think we’re all turning into the Village People.” says Richie. “I call Randy Jones.”

“You would,” says Eddie, hugging Bill back just as fiercely. That was… That means Richie is gay too, right? Or bi or something. He didn’t say it exactly like that but he also didn’t exclude himself from the group. Luckily, Bill gets up the courage to pry before Eddie can overthink it too much.

“Wait so I think I missed something,” he says. “Eddie said he was gay earlier, I’m bi…”

“I’m gay,” Mike pipes up.

“Oh really?” says Bill, disentangling himself from Eddie and looking very extremely interested all of a sudden. “I didn’t know that.”

“I just,” Mike chuckles, “I just kind of felt like we had bigger things to worry about at the time.”

Bill sits on the couch and looks like he’s about to answer, a smile at the corners of his mouth, when Richie butts in by elbowing him in the side.

“Well shit man,” Richie says. “I wish we’d all just started up that dinner by stating our names and who we like to fuck. I spent the whole time fucking terrified someone was going to figure out… Ben, Bev? You got anything to tell us?”

Eddie really wishes he would’ve finished that sentence. Even though like, realistically, he knows what’s coming. Richie likes men. Whether exclusively men or men and others… he has a chance.

“I got nothing,” says Ben with a shrug. “Sorry guys. I’m straight. Bev?”

“I’m bi too, actually,” says Beverly. Ben looks surprised for a split second and then kisses her on the cheek. She smiles at him. “This is the first time I’ve ever said it out loud though. My ex-husband… He-- Let’s just say he wouldn’t have been supportive.”

“Wow,” says Richie. “He sounds like a dick.”

“So does Eddie’s wife,” says Bev.

“Eugh.” Eddie grimaces. “Please don’t call her that. I didn’t marry her. And I’m going to un-marry her as soon as possible.”

Bill’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out and winces, types a reply.

“Uh oh,” says Richie. “Someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I’m guessing your wife wasn’t too happy with you for just taking off, was she?” asks Mike.

“Actually,” says Bill, rubbing the back of his neck, “she was less mad about that and more about how I told her I was moving out as soon as I got back.”

“Oh wait, what?” says Eddie, turning to face him. “You too?”

“Boy do I know the club for you, Bill,” says Richie. “Maybe your lawyer will start giving you a discount for referrals, Bev.”

Eddie smacks him on the arm. “Fuck you, bro.” Richie grins even wider. 

Bill sighs. “I just… I mean, can any of you imagine being married to someone that doesn’t know what you did this past weekend? Who’s never going to understand or even believe you?”

“Absolutely not,” says Eddie.

“But seriously,” Richie adds, “wouldn’t it be funny if you like all had the same divorce lawyer? You could have alimony brunches and shit.”

“I don’t think I really need a lawyer,” says Bill, shaking his head. “We had a pretty airtight prenup. She doesn’t need my money or anything, and I’d obviously give her whatever if she did. It’s not her fault she doesn’t… Anyway, yeah. I don’t really want to go home. Even though I really should keep packing.”

“Well,” says Richie, “as the French day, mi futon es su futon—”

Eddie can’t help himself. “Pretty sure no one says that—”

“Really?” Bill’s face lights up. “Thanks, Rich. I could get a hotel or something but… I don’t know. I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

“I feel that,” says Mike, nodding. 

Bev’s head drops to Ben’s shoulder. “And as much as I hate to get off the phone,” he says, “I think we’re falling asleep over here. Would it be weird to just like stay on Skype until we all fall asleep?”

“I don’t know, is it weird that all I can think about is the next time I get to see all of you?” asks Bill.

“Is it weird that I feel like puking right now listening to you guys?” asks Richie.

[dear-wormwoods]

i know that eddie's first encounter with It and the way It manifests itself as his fear is very telling of him being gay, but what do you think the encounters It had with the other members of the loser's club (like mike with the bird, stan with the dead boys, etc) are indicative of?

Okay Let’s Talk About the Losers’ Fears!

The interesting thing about IT is that, for most kids, the fears IT manifests as are pretty basic. Movie monsters, comic book monsters, vampires, mummies, etc. So not all the Losers have super deep meanings behind their fears, the way Eddie and Beverly do, and I think it definitely reflects the level of contentment they experience in their every day life. Obviously Eddie’s IT experiences are symbolic of his fear of his sexuality and the self-loathing that comes along with that, disguised as a ‘diseases are gross!’ sort of thing because that’s easier to process for a little kid (and because IT needs something physical to take the shape of). We don’t need to rehash that. But as for the others…

Beverly is not afraid of blood, her fear is much deeper than that, blood is just the easiest physical representation for what she really does fear, which is her own womanhood. In one of MANY parallels between Eddie and Bev, both of their fears are based on gender and sexuality, and both fears exist, at least in part, because of their abusive home lives. Bev’s fear takes on the disguise of ‘blood is gross!’ but really it’s about puberty and menstruation, and what that change will mean for her sexually - because her dad never stops talking about how boys look at her, and what her role will be as a woman re: having sex with boys. And this isn’t the first time King has used blood symbolism for a girl’s fear of the sexual unknown - he did it in Carrie too (and lbr if Eddie and Beverly were fused together into one character, it would be Carrie and if Sonia and Alvin were fused into one character, it would be Carrie’s crazy fucking mother).

Next we have Bill, whose fear is pretty self-explanatory. IT always manifests as something Georgie-related for him, but what Bill fears most is not literally Georgie’s corpse, it’s Georgie BLAMING him for his death. Bill feels incredible guilt for what happened to Georgie, and feels responsible because he helped make the paper boat and because he was too sick to go out with Georgie that day and therefore could not protect him (this comes up again and again re: his insistence that Eddie not leave his line of sight like, ever, because he’s projecting his Georgie guilt). Bill actually comes the closest to ‘losing’ to IT because his fear is the most emotional - he almost gives in to the apparition of Georgie basically accusing him of murder, and would have, were it not for the other Losers (particularly Eddie) screeching that it isn’t really Georgie.

Richie’s fears are all based around movie monsters, but they’re a little more symbolic than that because of one small addition: Richie’s name being used repeatedly as a label FOR IT’s manifestations. IT also seems to talk to Richie more, because taunting him is more effective than just existing as a visual. On top of that, IT takes multiple forms for Richie, which is unusual. So we have three (unless I’m forgetting one) - the Crawling Eye, the Werewolf, and Paul Bunyan. The Crawling Eye is a movie monster that really freaked Richie out as a kid to the point where he’d have nightmares about it and wet the bed, and he has a lot of eye-related body horror dreams and it’s pretty gross… dreaming about eyes can symbolize needing to (or refusing to) look inward, and dreaming about something being in/hurting your eyes can symbolize being unable to (or refusing to) confront certain truths, or avoiding emotional intimacy. All of this can easily be applied to Richie, the King of Avoidance, and it’s particularly interesting that the Eddie is the one who injures the Eye, and encourages Richie to fight it too, and that Eddie is mentioned by IT later on in relation to the Eye (the SHOES THING also ties into the Eye whenever it comes up!). So there’s THAT. The Crawling Eye, imo, stands for Richie’s denial and emotional stagnation. 

The Werewolf is also a movie monster, and Richie was very effected by the plight of the teenage werewolf when he watched that movie - so it’s telling that when IT manifests as the werewolf, it is wearing a jacket with Richie’s name stitched into it. I know this has been said over and over, but Richie relates to the werewolf on some level because the werewolf is seen by its peers as a horrible monster, but it’s something it cannot help, and while it presents as ‘normal’ most of the time, when the ‘monster comes out’, it’s instantly ostracized from society. Richie sees himself as a ‘monster’ because he’s consistently treated as annoying, or ‘too much’, or borderline-suicidal to the point where he scares a lot of people off from wanting to get to know him. He feels guilty about being a burden on his parents, he hates that he constantly gets himself into trouble for things he can’t seem to control (undiagnosed and untreated ADHD, most likely), and on top of all that, he’s also hyper-aware of the dangers of ‘looking queer’ in public if he’s caught being affectionate with his male friends. There is a lot going on in Richie’s head that all point to him being very aware that he’s not ‘like everyone else’, but he can’t help it, so Richie sees himself reflected in the Teenage Werewolf… and IT knows that, and tries to use that to ITs advantage. 

FINALLY, there’s the Paul Bunyan statue, which involves a little more reaching to figure out, so bear with me if this sounds insane… Paul Bunyan, in a way, represents Richie as well. Richie is well aware that the statue is an attention-grabber, but it’s also kitschy and stupid looking - he himself describes it as having a ‘cheerful vulgarity’. It’s big and loud, but people hate it and think it’s lame. Richie wants attention, but he’s afraid of being Paul Bunyan - he wants to be GOOD at something, and get attention because of his skill and his humor, not just because he’s loud and ridiculous. He doesn’t want to be talked about as “horrible, garish, and unbelievably gauche”, the way Derry townsfolk talk about Paul. As an adult, Paul turns into the clown and has a literal, casual conversation with Richie, and then eventually turns into Buddy Holly - a musician Richie admired and related to, who died tragically young - only Buddy’s glasses weren’t his usual glasses - they were Richie’s glasses, mended with adhesive tape. So even then, he’s sort of seeing parts of HIMSELF in what IT appears as. SOOO LONG STORY SHORT, Richie is his own worst fear. 

Stan’s encounter with IT, I think, was meant to push the boundaries of what his  mind would accept as ‘real’. Stan’s whole worldview was based on order and a certain expectation of reality being… reality. So IT created a visual as ridiculous as possible, while still maintaining some level of offensive realism (by using corpses of real kids who drowned in the Standpipe) and creating a multi-sensory onslaught that Stan couldn’t deny - music, smells, visuals, etc. ITs goal wasn’t to scare Stan so much as break him, but Stan was able to ground himself in reality with his bird book well enough to escape. But what he takes away from the experience in the end is being offended by what happened. He doesn’t give a shit about being scared, he’s just plain OFFENDED by what he saw. So I think Stan’s kids-in-the-Standpipe experience was meant to just…. totally insult the way he sees the world around him. It’s also one of the coolest visuals in the novel and I will be forever angry that the movie changed his IT experience so completely. 

Ben’s IT encounters are SUPER typical… movie monsters, Halloween costume type of shit, like most of the other Derry kids who became ITs victims. The clown with the balloons floating against the wind, the mummy, the vampire… but unlike Richie, I don’t think there is much deeper meaning to it than just being your run of the mill scary shit, because unlike Richie, Ben doesn’t hate himself. Ben is pretty damn content with his life. He loves his mom, they have a close relationship, he doesn’t have any friends before the Losers but he wasn’t bent out of shape about it… he was fine with being alone, and just being a good student, a quiet bookish kid, and he liked buying candy and eating it in front of the TV with his little bathrobe on. Like, Ben was chill. He was confident in what he liked and what he knew how to do, he was a real ‘you do you’ kid. He wasn’t even THAT upset about being fat until other kids made fun of him for it. So Ben’s just going through life, more comfortable than the other Losers. He’s content with his gender and sexuality, he’s content with his skill set and his interests, he doesn’t care about how others perceive him, he’s adaptable, and he’s not plagued with guilt. So IT doesn’t really have a TON to work with, lmao. Movie monsters are all IT has at ITs disposal when it comes to Ben, and that’s all there is to it. And in general, Ben is one of the least affected by IT… he really doesn’t even seem that afraid of IT, on the whole, but he reacts most strongly to the things that sort of go against the laws of physics (the balloons moving against the wind, the Neibolt House seeming to change shape and size)… but even then, the only real symbolism there is that Ben loves physics and architecture. 

Lastly, Mike’s experience with IT is… interesting. I’ve talked about this a lot with @mikehanlonstan and we can’t really come up with good symbolism for the bird aside from the simple ‘he was attacked by a bird as a baby’ explanation from the novel. Which would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that Mike’s dad… saw the same bird?? Like, what is it with the Hanlons and this weird bird? Who knows, I sure don’t. I was looking for racism symbolism but like… I feel like ‘It’s a bird… like a crow, get it?? Like Jim Crow??” is too lazy even for Stephen King. Also it wasn’t a crow, anyway… it was something that doesn’t exist in the real world, otherwise Stan wouldn’t have been able to get it to go away with his bird facts later on. If anything it just establishes a stronger connection between him and his father, and the long-term connection they both have to IT.

[benji-deeds]

Chapter 5

After his encounter with whatever the fuck that was, Richie raced home.

Luckily, he’d remembered to grab his glasses. Unluckily, they were even more cracked on the nosepiece than when they were at school.

He had to fold them carefully and put them on the front of his shirt, lest they fall off his nose again and break more.

He made it safely home, though he was exceptionally late.

His mother, who’d apparently been sitting on the porch waiting for him, rushed to Richie while he was putting up his bike.

Richie flinched, expecting to be scolded for being so late, as well as for not wearing his glasses. Instead, his mother gave him a quick hug, then pulled back, her hands on his narrow shoulders, “Where have you been?”

He lied through his teeth, trying to avoid eye contact if at all possible. His eyes would give his lie away. “I, uh, sorta got lost; forgot my route from school. Sorry, Mom.”

She pursed her lips, probably deciding on whether or not to believe him. She must have accepted his story as the truth, because she gave him a curt nod, patted him on the back once, and said, “Go on upstairs and get cleaned up, then.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until a sigh of relief escaped him. He bounded up the stairs with as much energy he could muster after all that had happened to him in one single day.

He skipped the shower, because, honestly, standing while the pressure of the water beat down on his head did not sound like fun for someone as tired as he.

His first friend, the ghost, was sitting on his bed. Well, not exactly sitting, Richie knew, he couldn’t truly touch it. Richie’s eyes lingered on the area where Eddie’s barely outlined crossed legs was floating just above the sheets on his bed.

Floating.

That voice echoed in his active mind. You know who floats, Richie? Eddie floats! Yes, he does!

Eddie had been holding his face in his hands, obviously bored with the book he was reading. Richie wondered why Eddie could hold onto the book when he couldn’t touch Richie earlier. “You look like trash.”

Richie gave a little smile, “Best compliment in a while, thanks.” The words were sarcastic, but it didn’t quite show in his tone.

Eddie rolled his eyes, which, Richie noticed, were a darker type of grey than the rest of his pale form. They must have been a really dark colour when he was living. “What happened to you?”

Richie played off the pain in his knuckles and the slight headache that had formed in his temples. He walked with confidence over to his bed, sitting beside the ghost, “Just got the ladies fawning all over me. They roughed each other up so much, fighting over me, y’know? I got secondhand hurt from it.” He flashed Eddie a bright grin.

He could tell Eddie noticed the waver in his smile. “Cut the crap, Tozier.” His hard-pursed lips loosened up a little, his expression softening just a bit, “It was Bowers, wasn’t it? Henry?”

Richie could lie to just about everyone. It didn’t really matter; most of his lies were made for a good reason, anyway. Hell, he’d just lied to his mother not five minutes ago without second thought, but...something about the way this kid was staring him down-stern, but also...comforting…? He couldn’t do it.

“I...Yeah, Henry was part of it, yeah. He roughed me up a little, probably because I’m the new kid.”

Eddie dipped his head down a little, nodding, “Yeah.”

Richie couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth, “But, uh, on my ride home…”

Eddie quirked his head to show he was listening.

“I, uh, I saw this thing. Weird fucker, weirder than seeing you.” He laughed a little, “No offense.” He went back to telling his story, “It was a...werewolf, I think. But, it was also a-”

“A clown?” Eddie’s words were rushed, a bit slurred and higher-pitched than usual.

Richie froze, shifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s once dark eyes, “Yeah.”

Eddie bit his lip, “So, It was a werewolf for you.”

Richie furrowed his brow, “You know this thing?”

Eddie nodded slowly, a strange, contemplative look in his eyes, “Yeah. It was a leper for me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples as if re-seeing whatever this thing was, “It-It changes shape. My friend, Bill, thought It somewhat feasted on fear, and It changed to whatever you fear the most, so that It could make you even more scared of It.”

A few moments passed while Richie was trying to fully comprehend all the information that was being thrown at him.

Richie considered asking Eddie a thousand questions, all dealing with that thing he’d seen, some he thought was way too personal, considering they’d only known each other for a couple of days. He finally settled on one question he thought was safe enough to ask, “You mentioned someone named Bill?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up, in the way one would when recalling an old crush or personal hero, or both. “Yeah. Bill was my first ever friend. I don’t remember much, just certain stand out things, but Bill is one of them. He was always so confident; always knew what to do. He did have a stutter, but other than that he was perf-”

“Does he have, like, suuuper blue eyes, and is, like, really tall?” Richie interrupted Eddie with enthusiasm as he realized they could very well be talking about the same person.

Eddie looked a bit startled, “W-Well, yeah, much taller than me, at least.”

“I know the guy! I met him today at school,” Richie explained, a smile filling up his entire face.

If Eddie had a heartbeat, it’d be pounding against his chest, pulse thundering in his left wrist. “Really? Was everyone else with him?”

Richie had to think back to all of their names, “There was, um, Stan, Ben, a girl named….Bev! Oh, and another guy who doesn’t seem to go to the same school, or something.

“Mike,” Eddie whispered. He seemed to be on the verge of tears, yet he was smiling happily.

At least he’s not thinking about that thing anymore, Richie considered. I don’t want to dig up too much of whatever the fuck just happened. Not yet, anyway.

“Did It do that?” Eddie was looking at the scars, still bleeding, on his knuckles. Richie, for a moment, pondered as to how his mother hadn’t noticed them, but he shook away the thought to the fact that she might have been too distracted asking him where he’d been.

“Yeah. It did.”

Eddie held up a finger, as if to say: Wait a minute. He left to go back to the closet, floating,(there was no better word Richie could think of to describe the action), up to the shelf above the coat rack. Eddie pulled down a First-Aid kit and brought it to the bed.

“Hold out your hands.” Richie did as told, holding his hands out to Eddie, knuckles up. Eddie carefully picked out what he needed from the box. “I, um, I had this first-aid kit back when I lived here. Noone moved it, thankfully.”

Richie just nodded as he watched Eddie slowly pour a bit of alcohol onto a cotton ball, just enough to clean a wound, but not too much, Eddie explained, that’d render the cotton ball useless.

Richie winced a little as the liquid was dabbed onto his open wounds, burning his hands  as it disinfected them.

Eddie then wrapped some bandages around each of his knuckles. Richie noticed Eddie tried his best to always remain contact with the bandages rather than with Richie. He knew it was because of the fact that for whatever the reason, Eddie couldn’t make real contact with him.

When he was done, Eddie put the medical supplies back into the kit’s box and set it to the side.

Richie flexed his hands open and closed, smiling, “Thanks, you’re pretty good at that! Say, can you fix my glasses, too?”

Eddie smiled back a little, “Maybe, I don’t know.” He took the broken glasses from Richie.

Some time passed, spent in comfortable silence as Rich watched Eddie try to fill in the crack on his nosepiece with glue. They were handed back to him, and for the first time since he got home, Richie could see again.

Richie thanked the ghost with another large, ear to ear grin, not knowing any other way to show his appreciation. Eddie didn’t return the smile, though. He seemed to be considering something. What he was thinking about; however, was unclear.

It took Eddie a while to say what was on his mind.

“Hey, um, Richie?” Eddie spoke with a bit of trepidation, his eyes cast downward. The position of his shoulders, held high and pulled together, showed how nervous he seemed to be to say whatever he was going to say.

Richie almost did what he’d usually do with anyone else, be it stranger or friend. That is, give them a friendly side-hug. Until he remembered that any attempt at contact would be lost on the ghost. Instead, Richie just tilted his head, “What’s up, buttercup?”

Could ghosts blush? Because Richie would’ve sworn to the Christ child that Eddie’s translucent cheeks held a dark grey on them after Richie used the not-quite-nickname. “C-Could you, um, maybe tell them about me? I would have myself, but-” "But, you’re stuck in here.” Richie nodded, showing a serious understanding of his friend’s situation, be it a strange one. Richie made an attempt to lighten the mood considerably by doing a British-sounding Voice, “Right-o, good chap! I’ll fix that up for you right away!” To fully show his character, Rich mimed tipping his hat to Eddie, and grinned whole-heartedly. Now he was sure of it. Ghosts could blush.