#give me Georgie’s kid ramblings any day

[incorrect-losers]

Richie: Do you know how babies are born?

Georgie: Tadpoles

The losers: *laugh*

Richie: Tadpoles? Like little tadpoles?

Georgie: Mhm

Richie: Yeah, and that what? Turns into-

Georgie: A baby

Richie: Turns into a baby?

Georgie: It looks like an alien first doesn’t it?

Richie: An alien?

The losers: *laugh*

Richie: How often has mummy been visited by the aliens?

Georgie: Umm one- two times

Richie: Two times?

Richie: Obviously when dad’s out?

Georgie: Yeah

Richie: Yeah

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

BUTTERFLIES

Pairings: George Weasley x Fem!reader Summary: George gets flashbacks of your relationship as he watches you walk down the aisle to marry him Warnings: mention of tears, i think that's it

George's eyes met yours as he stood at the end of the aisle, waiting there for you to reach him as you walked to the music

the butterflies made their appearance in his stomach as he stared at you with pure love and longing

he had waited years for this, and it was finally happening

George couldn't help but remember all the times the butterflies invaded him stomach throughout knowing you before this moment

-

"Fred! George! hurry up, we're late!" Molly yelled at the twins

"we're right behind you mum, and the train doesn't leave for another 3 minutes!" Fred spoke in defense, trailing after Molly.

Molly rushed all of her kids through the wall of the train station.

Fred and George ran through it for the first time with their trolleys, which held their luggage for their first year at Hogwarts

George went through the wall and came out on the other side, slightly losing control of his trolley and bumping into somebody, making them fall

George panicked as he heard them wince in pain

he let go of his trolley and looked down at you on the ground

"I'm really sorry" he apologised, holding his hand out to help you

"it's fine" you huffed, taking the boys hand

"I'm Y/n" you introduced yourself

George felt a flutter inside his heart when you smiled at him sweetly

"George, are you alright?" he asked after telling you his name

"I'll be just fine"

-

"we're so going to make the team, Georgie" Fred smiled as a large group of Gryffindors huddled up for tryouts for Quidditch

"we'll be the best beaters on the team" Fred smirked

Oliver wood started talking about the rules and taking down what positions people wanted to play

"Y/L/N, what are you trying out for?" Wood called, seeing you in amongst the people

"Chaser" you replied

George turned around to see you with the newest broomstick in your hands, standing with Angelina Johnson

"you play quidditch?" George questioned as you caught his stare

"yeah, i do. is that a problem?" you frowned, teasing him

"n- no" he stuttered, feeling the nervous butterflies rise up in his stomach as you glared at him

"i'm just surprised, you didn't strike me as a quidditch type of girl" he went on

"I bet I'm better than you" you laughed, looking him up and down

George only blinked nervously

-

Fred and George rushed through hogsmeade to finally get to the store they've heard all about from their brothers

the twins excitedly walked through the door of Zonko's to look at all the things they dream they could have

George explored the shop, going in a completely different direction from his older twin to find you looking hiccough sweets

"never thought i'd see you in here" George spoke up with a smile

you turned to him and rolled your eyes with a grin

"what can I say, i like the common sweet prank" you grabbed a few and walked closer to him

"although i know you and Fred are the kings of pranks here so, any suggestions on what's good? I need teach a douchebag a lesson for burning my homework" you smirked

George raised his eyebrows "Tristen?" he asked

you nodded your head in reply

"I've always been interesting in tricking somebody but never really acted upon it, this just gives me a reason" you shrugged mischievously

George's 13 year old heart pumped faster in his chest as the butterflies swarmed in his stomach

you couldn't've gotten any better

"well...you could always try some dungbombs, they always do the trick or..."

he went on to have a ramble for about 10 minutes that day, telling you the best way to get Tristen back, and even offered to do it with you

-

George sat on the couch, head in his hands as he thought about Ginny, worrying about her

you had walked in after a long study session for potions when you found him in the common room, looking stressed

"you ok there, George?" you wondered, not knowing what to do

"I'm fine, don't worry" he sighed

Fred had gone to bed, also worrying while George decided to stay up a bit longer

you had heard about what happened to his sister, so you knew he wasn't entirely 'fine'

so you stayed with him, you slowly walked up to the couch and sat next to him

"I'm really sorry about your sister...it'll be ok though, I'm sure she can handle whatever's happening" you started, hoping it would help, even it was a lie. you didn't know it would be ok

George sat frozen, if it were anyone else next to him, he probably wouldn't yelled at them, saying that they had no idea. but he knew you were trying to help

"she'll be ok, George" you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a sad smile even though he wasn't looking at you

"she's lucky to have a brother like you...caring as much as you are" you sighed

that made George finally look up at you

you moved your hand from his shoulder to around his torso, giving him a comforting hug

the way your hands wrapped around him made the butterflies make another appearance, George had been used to them by now, he welcomed them in with a smile as he hugged you back

-

George had grown closer to you, becoming good- if not best friends

you would help with his school work and with his and Fred's pranks

the one problem was that you had a boyfriend that year, but not for long

you came rushing through the common room, tears in your eyes as you ran for the dorms

"hey, Y/n, what's wrong!?" George came to your aid as soon as he saw you

he got up from the couch and pulled you into his arms before you got to the stairs

you cried in his arms "he cheated on me" you murmured

your words made George's blood boil, He never liked that guy, and deep down he knew he would do something to hurt you

he brought you over to the couch and made you tell him what fully happened

"why do the nice ones always turn out to be the assholes?" you wept

"well if they're assholes then they were never the good ones, the good ones are the good ones and the assholes are the assholes" George shrugged, he didn't know what to say

he had never been in a relationship before, mostly because of the way you had always made him feel

"well why can't they all be like you? you're good, great" you sobbed

George cleared his throat, caught off guard by your statement

he let the butterflies fill his stomach as you cried into his chest, telling him how he would be a good boyfriend

-

George stood beside you as the professor told the class about the potion

you, along with many other girls took a step closer, entranced by the smell of the potion.

Amortentia.

George laughed at you when you smiled lazily, your eyes almost almost having pink hearts in them as you breathed the scnet in

what George hadn't expected was to get the very strong scent of you as he finally breathed through his nose

George took a step beck and cleared his throat, looking at you in the corner of his eye as he let the smell fill his nose

the butterflies rose to his stomach and made him feel faint, feeling overwhelmed

you had noticed his faint figure beside you and leaned closer to him

"you alright Georgie?" you whispered

"I'll be just fine, Love"

-

George wandered the halls, trying to find you, to ask you to the Yule Ball, after smelling you in the Amortentia last week, he realised that he needs to ask you out

the feeling he gets when he's around you is too good to lose

he heard your voice behind him and turned around

"george! there you are!" you beamed

"hey! I've been looking for you" he asked, meeting you in the middle of the hallway

"me too, I need to ask you something" you said

"oh, you go first" George spoke quickly, really wanting to ask you, or he'll start to overthink and chicken out

"do you have something to tell me too?" she wondered

"yeah but you go first" George smiled

"well I was just thinking...Justin Thornhill asked me to the ball at breakfast this morning, I don't know why I told you that- right, um. well I said no, obviously. b- because I want to go with you. do you want to go to the ball with me?" you rambled, getting to the question that has been on your tongue for a week

George's eyes went wide and the butterflies piled into his stomach as soon as the question came from your mouth.

you had said what he'd been dying to say

George's heart pumped inside his chest rapidly, he almost thought you could hear it

"yes, t- that's what I was going to ask you!" George grinned happily

it was safe to say the butterflies never left after that, every time he'd see you after that, they would pop in and say hello

the whole night of the ball they stayed there

-

George fiddled with his fingers as he told you his plan on leaving with Fred early to start the shop

you had been dating since the day after the yule ball and he was nervous you wouldn't support it, just like his mum

"that's..great! I'm really proud of you, I know you'll do great" you said, kissing his cheek

"really?" he raised his eyebrows

"of course...the shop will be amazing, I just know it" you nodded, full heartedly supporting him

you had no idea how much that meant for him to hear, that you thought he'd do good, that you supported him

it made the butterflies flutter in his stomach, knowing that you approved of what he's doing

-

George felt the tears coming when you finally reached him, taking his hand and smiling up at him, happy that you would be marrying him

and all these years, he still gets butterflies when you look at him

--------------------------------------------

[stxrrywildflower]

this town {g.w.}

pairing - george weasley x reader

summary - you introduce george to one of your favorite songs

warnings - none

this fic includes the use of modern technology

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

being a muggle-born, you usually spent summers back home with your family.

during that time, you were able to see your friends and extended family as well as do your usual ‘muggle activities’ as you usually called them.

your favorite part of all, however, was finally being able to catch up on all the music released throughout the year. you were almost cut off from the muggle world at hogwarts, and the time off allowed you to finally listen to what you were missing.

in the first few days off of school, you listened to as much music as possible. when you could, you wanted to show fred and george everything.

the three of you were going into your final year at hogwarts. naturally, you wanted to spend more time together; more specifically you and george for obvious reasons.

molly had extended the invite for you to spend the summer at the burrow. harry and hermione were joining the family as well, and she thought it would be sweet to invite you as well. you fit right in with the family, between getting along with everyone right down to making george ‘‘the happiest molly has ever seen him.”

after thoroughly explaining everything they needed to hear, your parents had finally agreed.

george greeted you in the field outside of his family home when you finally arrived, immediately enveloping you in a hug. “i’ve missed you so much sweetheart.”

“it’s been four days george,” you commented, though you weren’t exactly complaining.

“so? can’t i miss my girlfriend?”  he spoke, adding on a hurt tone.

you pulled back first, hand moving up to cup his cheek. “i’m sorry george, i missed you too,” you beamed. he leaned down to kiss you deeply, only stopping moments later from the sound of footsteps.

“hey hey hey,” fred interrupted. “you have all summer to do that.”

you shifted away from george with a light blush on your face, allowing the boys to pick up your bags so you could head inside. “where are your parents?” you asked.

“out getting hermione and harry,” george answered. “so we got the house to ourselves.”

fred gagged in the back. “get your mind out of the gutter fred,” you rolled your eyes. “i don’t think i can after george’s innuendo.”

george finally had enough of your arguing and spoke up again. “since we have no one to criticize us, why don’t we work on those fireworks?”

↓

george snuck into your room almost immediately after dinner that night. he stopped abruptly right before entering, mouth agap and nearly frozen in place.

“close your mouth georgie, you know what molly says about the flies,” you teased.

“what’s that?”

you met george’s eyes, a slight smile forming at how much his expression matched a little kid on christmas.

it was no secret the weasley boys loved any muggle items arthur usually collected. the twins usually tinkered with them for their latest pranks. you never had the heart to tell any of them the true meanings or how they really worked.

“this is a smartphone, my mom let me bring it before school starts up,” you explained, patting the spot beside you on your bed for him to sit. “it’s how we basically communicate in the muggle world. we use it to talk, play games, music,” you rambled off.

“music?” george spoke.

you nodded. “yeah there’s different programs we can use. do you want to here some?”

george settled further on the bed, leaning close to you as you opened up your music service.

“this one is called ‘this town.’ it’s my absolute favorite song,” you added. “really?”

“yeah, it’s always been a dream to dance to this.”

a lightbulb went off in george’s head, though he managed to keep his reaction minimal. you let the song play through your phone speakers, a gentle smile forming right away.

george had a lot of planning to do.

_____

you were back in your room a few nights later. george was tucked firmly in your side, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck so your hand could run through his newly short hair.

“i kinda miss your long hair,” you spoke.

george brought his head up to meet your gaze. “i thought you hated my long locks,” he retaliated.

“i could never.”

“come on,” george tugged, standing up abruptly to pull you from the bed. “let’s go outside.”

“outside? george it’s pouring rain.”

your boyfriend huffed before shifting his facial expression into one you knew would get you. “alright fine,” you soon agreed.

without another word, george grabbed your hand to lead you out of the room and through the hallways. you had to be more quiet as it was fairly late at night and people were already starting to turn in.

“and why are we going outside?”

“it’s a surprise,” george answered. you mentally rolled your eyes, you should have known.

it took you a few minutes to get down to the base floor and george didn’t let a single clue go the entire time.

he stopped by the back door, opening it up and guiding you out by placing his hand on the small of your back.

“you didn’t,” you immediately spoke.

george raised on eyebrow with a grin. “oh i did.”

towards the middle of the field, george had set up a gazebo tent with various string lights twirled around the legs and up into the top. “isn’t that a fire hazard with the rain?”

george stopped dead in his tracks. you looked towards him, awaiting an answer to calm your concerns.

“i’ve already planned for that, we’re fully safe under here,” with that, he placed a gentle kiss to your nose.

you made your way through the field, occasionally jumping in the puddles you passed by. you were incredibly thankful george hadn’t told you to wear shoes.

the two of you finally made it to the tent. the rain poured through the top giving the illusion that the lights were the only thing surrounding you.

“dad helped me set it up,” george explained. “he’s been tinkering with some muggle speakers and finally got them working.”

“speakers? for what?”

george let go of your hand to pull out his wand. with one quick swoosh and a mutter of a spell, music slowly poured out. within just a few seconds, you recognized it as the song you had shown him just a few days before.

“now, may i have this dance?” he extended one hand out.

you bit your lip to hold back a giggle. the whole concept itself wanted to make you cry; dancing in the rain with the person you loved was becoming a dream come true.

you swayed back and forth, focusing on your movements.

george kept one hand on your waist, the other out to the side to interlock with yours. you let your head fall against his chest, focusing on the vibrations of his chest. his lips occasionally fell to place a kiss to your head.

“are you humming?” you inquired.

george let out a light laugh. "i love this song.”

you pressed your head further into his chest to hide your smile.

the rain continued to pour down around the two of you. after awhile, you forgot about it. you were already soaking wet after all.

you recognized the ending of the song begining and frowned. just one nearly four minute song felt like it went by way too fast.

if you were being honest, you didn’t want it to end.

but alas, the chords of the song were soon replaced by the continuous fall of the rain.

neither of you moved from your hold, choosing to savor the time together.

“thank you for this,” you spoke quietly.

george ducked down to press his lips to your temple, cutting through the rain for the simple gesture. “always, love.”

[toomanyfandoms02]

The Journal // George Weasley x Reader

I LOVED THIS REQUEST FROM @rainy-day-gracie OMGGGG it was SO fun to write.

Don't forget that request are open and dialogue prompts are on my page!

Summary - Reader loses her diary and has to go on a search for it.

Word Count - 1.75k

Prompts - "When did you take that!" ~~ "I hid it."

Where was it?

WHERE WAS IT?

Now, I didn't like to refer to my personal notes as a diary, I prefer journal. But the point is, it was missing.

Missing from the small compartment under my bed where I had hid it. Not that I expected anyone to take it, but it calmed my anxiety so I did what I could.

The journal looked just like my sketch book, I did this on purpose so that people wouldn't question why I had it out and was writing in it on occasion. They would just think I'm sketching per usual. But I made sure to keep good track of it, because I truly *did* have very personal information in there, like any journal would. So at this point, I'm frantically running around asking my dorm mates if they had seen it. First asking Hermione and Parvarti because they knew of the book. Then asking Ginny Weasley and Sophie Roper.

They had all claimed to have not seen it.

So I rushed down to the common room. Checking the side tables, under the couch, on the fireplace mantle. But it was useless, I *know* I closed it in the compartment 2 days ago. I remember it distinctly because I had written a rather private thing in it that day, and I wanted to stop thinking about how it made me feel.

*Potions, one of my least favorite classes for a few reasons. (Maybe because we had it with the snooty Slytherins or maybe because Severus Snape taught the wretched class, who's to say.) But there was one thing that made the class shine for me despite the things I hated about it.*

*George Weasley.*

*Somehow we had managed to be partners for this potion by random. Much to Snapes disliking. But he had to let it go since the picking was truly random.*

*"Today we will be making the Babbling Beverage, does anyone know what this potion does?" Snape asked in his usual monotone voice. A slytherins hand shot up from the back, explaining that it makes you speak uncontrollable nonsense. George leaned across the table to me.*

*"Guess it wouldn't change much for you then, huh?" He laughed, leaning back into his seat with a shit-eating grin.*

*And that's what sparked me to write in my journal. I felt I had to do it immediately, so I did. I whipped it from my bag and held it in my left hand, not laying it on the table where he could see.*

*"What are you writing?" He asked, trying to peak at it.*

*"I'm drawing you Bimbo!" I laughed but that's not even close to what I was doing.*

**I really thought this was only the stuff you could read about, this feeling. A laugh has never brought louder music to my ears, and that smile, I feel like I've never seen him smile like that. He never fails to bring a shining moment to my day. I hope that I make him feel this way sometimes. The tightness in my chest, the way my heart feels like it's having palpitations because its beating so damn fast. Or the way I think he's just so perfect. I sound like such a teenager gosh.**

*I never used names in the thing just in case someone ever got a hold of it.*

*"Why don't you ever let me see your drawings?" He pouted, grabbing at the book and nearly having a hold of it. I snatched it from him quickly.*

*"Because I'm still learning and I don't like them very much." I lied, holding the book to my chest.*

*"I bet they look fine." He muttered with another pout before going to grab ingredients.*

After I decided there was no use in panicking, I took some deep breaths. I had to get to Potions soon, I could talk to George about this and vent to him about the stress I was under at the moment. I grabbed my Potions book from my side table and headed that way.

To keep me distracted by what I felt like were prying eyes in the corridors, (which no one was probably looking at me, that's paranoia for you) I flipped through my sketch book. I flipped through it all the way to the potions door. But one step in and I had nearly dropped it.

George sat, tipping his chair back with what I was positive was *my* journal. He looked deep in thought, his right index finger dragging down one of the pages to read it. I recovered my sketches and stomped over to him, alerting him of my presence. He stood from the seat, holding the book from my reach.

"When did you take that?!" I tried to express my concern quietly so no one would but in on the convo, my arms crossed over my chest.

"Technically I didn't take it." He replied in a cocky manner. "Sophie got it for me."

"But I hid it! That damn girl, I knew she was being suspicious. Give it back, now Weasley, I'm not playing." I held my hand out for it.

"Not until you tell me who you fancy." My face paled, he had read some of it that little snot. That made me quite scared, I did not want him knowing that.

"George it's just ramblings that I come up with, like short stories."

"These sound pretty realistic to me." For a second there his face seemed hurt, but I will have to look over it considering the situation I'm in currently. He brought it to his eye level, still to where I couldn't reach it, and flipped through pages to find one where I write something lovey. "How about, 'He made me laugh so hard I nearly choked today, how does he do it? Do girls seriously not see the charm in this man? I sure do.'" He flipped more, reaching a sufficient page clearly.

"Or, or this one. 'I like him so much I want to be part of his family. Have you ever liked someone so much you *want* to meet their family. I want to be a Weasley-'"

You've got to be kidding. You've **got** to be kidding.

I must have gotten so caught up with writing it that I just let a name slip. Why would I do that. My hand was clasped over my mouth firmly and George was still holding it eye level, seeming to read it silently. I sat in my seat and put my head on the table so I didn't have to watch anymore.

I figured this would happen this way, it wouldn't be me directly telling him. But I thought I would cry, because the thought if it happening made me cry. But I was actually just scared and embarrassed. Scared of rejection and embarrassed that it happened like this.

I heard the book lay next to me softly on the table and the seat across from me scoot out.

"I'm going to get the ingredients for today." He said quietly. I could see his feet walk away from my view under the table. My head was brought up, grabbing the journal and shoving it into my bag shamefully. He came back with small jars and measuring spoons.

"I didn't mean for her to grab your diary you know." He confessed, not looking me in the eye. "I was trying to get her to grab your sketch book. I wanted to see your sketches. But I'm guessing the books look the same so she grabbed the wrong one. I'm sorry for reading it, that was personal." He was fiddling with his hands, his key sign of nervousness, I could tell he meant his apology.

"Its okay, I would have done the same thing if I had yours." I chuckled, trying to relieve the tension in the air. That brought a smile to his face, finally looking me in the eye.

"So, do you have a crush on Fred?" He asked, his face cringing slightly.

He's kidding right? Surely he's not that dumb. My eyebrows furrowed probably as far as they could.

"What?" Was all I could get out. I could not believe this idiot right now.

"Well I hope it's not Ron, that would be a little weird I think, and surely it's not me."

"Yes it is!" I protested back pressingly.

"Its Ron?!" His face was horrified now.

"No you dimwit! It's you! Merlin are you dumb! Georgie you're all I write about in here nearly, look." I pulled the book out again, flipping to a random page. "I taught him how to braid today, he told me he didn't know how and I told him I was perfect to practice on. He's actually quite good at it, I think he knew how to braid. For a moment there he was just playing with my hair and I thought that I might just blackout, it was a dream." It was from a night in the common room. "Or, more proof. 'The boy was sitting across from me on the couch in front of the fireplace today. It was perfect to draw, or at least try. The sketch is kind if shit but I can tell its him and now it think I'll look at it every day because I loved that moment.'"

George's face looked so happy. It was another one of those smiles that drove me mad, but I guess everything about him drove me mad, didn't it?

"You really feel that way about me?"

"Of course I do. I thought it was obvious. And I'm sorry to spring it on you like this."

"Well I certainly was too much of a wuss to do it myself." He said with a nervous smile.

"You mean, you feel the same way?" There's absolutely no way.

"Well of course." He said, as if it was the most casual and obvious thing in the world. "Do you see me act the way I do around you with anyone else. Braiding anyone else's hair, trying to stay calm and collected and seem cool around anyone else."

"Well that's because we're best friends."

"But is that the case for either of us?" And he was right. We only acted this way around eachother because we were hopelessly pining for one another, without even knowing it. And it was consistently working.

"Well aren't we just the perfect pair." I said with a giggle, pouring ingredients in the cauldron for the first time in 10 minutes.

"Are we a pair now?" He asked with a cheesy smile.

"Is this your way of asking me out Weasley?"

"Maybe."

"Then yes, we *are* a pair."

[mysweetgeo]

Do You Want to Know a Secret ?

George Harrison x Female Reader

Summary: Reader and George have been best friends since they were kids, but when The Beatles got big, they were forced apart. What happens when George returns for a couple weeks wanting their friendship to return to normal?

March 1964

“George?” You said in disbelief as you replied to the voice through the phone, questioning just about everything as you couldn’t believe it was actually him.

“‘S me love, I know it’s been quite a while-“ he began but you’d cut him off.

“No kidding, its only been what? A year? Almost two? Y’know just because you get all famous doesn’t mean you get to forget about your family and friends back home. Surprised you even remembered my number to call, d’you even remember my name?” You said in a sarcastic tone.

He laughed a little, “Of course I do, just haven’t had time with tours and such, they give us one phone call every couple of days when we’re overseas and you know as well as I that if I called you over my mum she’d have my neck,” he rambled, almost as if that was an excuse for not talking to you for years on end.

“Well you could’ve at least told her to say hello for you, they’re here every Saturday for dinner,” you mumbled, a little hurt that he hadn’t even bothered to do that.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, love, but I wanted to tell you that we’re off for a couple weeks now. Wanted to see you, if you’re up for it at least,” he said in a soft voice.

You had to try to keep yourself from smiling, you were supposed to be upset with him. After all this was the first you’d heard from him in just shy of two years. “Well what’s so special about me?” You mumbled.

“You’re my best mate, been friends for half me life ‘n you mean the world to me. What d’you mean ‘what’s so special about you’?” He answered quickly.

“Best mates,” you murmured, “didn’t realize best mates didn’t talk for two years and were still best mates.”

“Please,” he all but whined. he sounded so desperate, and you knew you couldn’t say no to him, after all you’d missed him too.

“Fine,” you said, giving in, “You’re not allowed to leave me hanging for another two years though, Harrison!”

You could hear his sigh of relief, like he’d been holding his breath, “Never again, love.”

You smiled again, “So when should I expect to see you then?”

“Was hoping you’d say yes so I could take you for dinner tonight,” he replied.

“Oh? A dinner date with one of the most famous people in all of England? Won’t all your gals be upset to see that?” you joked.

He scoffed, “As if any of them even hold a candle to you.”

You felt the familiar stirring in your stomach and weren’t quite sure what to say.

“Is that a yes?” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Of course Georgie, what time should I expect you?”

“Does half six work for you?” he asked.

“Hm, let me consult my very busy schedule,” you heard him let out a laugh, “that should work for me.”

You could hear his smile in his voice as he answered, “Wonderful, I’ll pick you up then.”

You smiled again, “I’m glad you’re back, George.”

“Me too, love, me too.”

[soft--dragon]

Dreamon

Alrighty boys, here it is! Angsty time >:)

Word Count: 2,767

Warnings: just cursing, a little violence, and emotional manipulation

George had never been claustrophobic, something he was grateful for, but standing in a box that had three walls of obsidian, and the other wall being made of lava, it felt somewhat hard to breathe. He was almost backed up to one side of the room, his eyes locked to the other sole occupant. Dream's mask covered his whole face, his hair longer than George had ever seen it, was tied back in a messy bun. His clothing hadn't changed, it was just dirty and the iconic, beloved hoodie had seen better days. 

Something was really wrong. 

No matter what, Dream had always taken care of that hoodie. Regardless of the circumstances, that one piece of clothing had always stayed in perfect condition. George already had a suspicion, for everything that had happened. And he was praying it was both right and wrong. 

"Dreamon," he said shortly. "How long have you been in control?"

The man chuckled, but it wasn't Dream. "What are you talking about George?" He asked softly, his voice warm and radiating the same friendly energy Dream always had. 

George clenched his fist, his teeth gritting as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop it” he hissed, “I know you’re not him so you can give up the façade Dreamon, I know my best friend, he isn’t you.”

Dream watched him for a long moment before his posture slumped slightly, his shoulders rolling back. “Well then, I’m impressed Georgie, when did you figure this out?” It’s voice was dark and radiated gravitas, filling the small cell though it was barely raising its voice.

Ice pooled into George’s stomach, his heart dropping in but he forced himself to not show anything. “It took awhile” he replied coolly, “but it makes sense. Dream would never do any of those things you made him do. Exiling a child, blowing up L’manberg? No, Dream wouldn’t have ever done that, that level of manipulation isn’t possible for him.”

Dream’s head tilted down, watching George with a side eye before he smiled slightly. "Are you afraid of him George?" he asked, soft and sweet. 

The way it made Dream say his name made the older man take a step back. "What are you talking about? I’m not afraid of Dream-” 

"Yes you are."

It had moved Dream in front of him.  "You're terrified." It reached out Dream's hand to gently push some hair from George's eyes. The contact made George flinch, smacking the hand away as he took a quick step back. 

"I'm not," he insisted, voice on the verge of shaking despite his efforts to control it. "I'm not afraid of him."

It made Dream cock his head to the side, akin to the curiosity of a puppy. "Then...me?" 

George was itching for a weapon, anything to put distance between himself and that monster. "Yes" he admitted darkly, "but I'm not scared for me, I'm scared for Dream, you're torturing him."

"Torturing?" The demon laughed, and used Dream's laugh to do so. It sounded so, so wrong.  "He chose me George."

Anger pulsed through George's veins, his rage bubbling deep within him. "You're possessing him against his will!" He snarled. "You've been possessing him for months! I know my best friend! He's not the twisted psychopath you've turned him into!" 

"Really?" It purred. "Dream is many, many things George, he was always a psychopath, I just helped him embrace it." 

George's hands curled into tight fists, gritting his teeth. "He's my best friend" he repeated, "he isn't like this."  

"Think back George" it said coyly, "to every manhunt, every brilliant scheme, every stick of dynamite he set off." 

George shook his head, his eyes locked the floor. "He isn't a psychopath...he isn't-"

A hand rested in his hair, gently carding through the locks. "He is" it murmured, "he's insane George."

George grasped Dream's wrist tightly, but couldn't find it in him to push the hand away. "Stop..."

It grasped his chin gently, tilting his head up to meet it's gaze. "I would never lie to you, George." 

Oh god. Dream had said that to him years ago. A promise to his loyalty- 

"Then prove it to me" George bit out, doing everything in his power to not flinch at the contact. 

It looked at George for a long moment. "You want to see how twisted he's actually become?" 

George swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them, glaring at the demon with eyes of fire. "Yes," he stated firmly. "Take off the mask, show me." 

Dream sighed but stepped back and reached behind his head. With a sharp click, the mask slipped off his face and fell with a crack against the floor. Dream's eyes were glowing green, illuminated in the dim lighting of the prison. They bore into George's brown eyes, making him want to run. They were wild, nothing like the eyes he knew Dream had. But then Dream blinked twice and his eyes dulled to their regular color. He gave a short cry then stumbled backwards, gasping and coughing harshly. 

"Dream?" George outstretched his hand cautiously, he didn't want to take any chances. The demon might be tricking him-

Dream's gaze snapped up to George and recognition dawned in the younger's eyes. "G-George" he gasped and tried to step forwards but his knees gave out underneath him and he collapsed onto the floor.  

"Dream shit-" George bolted forwards, sliding onto his knees, not even caring that he had ripped the fabric as he tried to help the boy up. 

Dream held his hands tightly in a shaking grip, his eyes were filled with terror. "George- George I'm sorry- I couldn't stop him- h-he made me- I'm sorry-" he whispered in a rush, trembles breaking out across his whole body. "He forced me to do those things- I can't get him out of my head- George I need help- please help me-" 

George's eyes filled with tears. Dream sounded so goddamn afraid. 

"Dream" he murmured, bringing the taller man into his arms, pressing his cheek to the fluffy hair. 

Dream curled into his chest, sobbing roughly. His hands gripped the back of his shirt like if he were to let go even marginally, George would disappear.  "George please get him out of my head- I want him to leave- I c-can't-"

George rocked him gently, rubbing circles on his back. "I've got you" he whispered, "I've got you Dream." 

Dream hiccupped, gripping George's shirt tighter. "I'm sorry..." He whimpered, his voice cracking.

"You don't have to apologize" George whispered, glaring at the mask that lay on the floor a few meters away. "It's not your fault-"

"Yes it is!" Dream cried, "I let him possess me George! I didn't know what he would do but I should've said no! He- h-he-" Dream keened, gripping George's shirt. "He used me..." 

George wanted to destroy that mask, obliterate it until there was nothing left. But it was indestructible, everyone knew that. He mentally cursed Dreamon with every foul word he knew, Dream shouldn’t have to suffer for that monster’s entertainment. 

Dream’s quiet, broken voice whispered out; "...How...how many people did he hurt?" 

George’s throat went dry at the question. "A few" he murmured. 

Dream’s hands tightened on the back of his shirt, tugging slightly as he hissed; "Don't lie to me George, please don't, not about this."

George clenched his eyes shut, heart breaking even more at Dream’s wrecked, desperate voice. "...Tommy's practically traumatized" George mumbled. "No one trusts you, not anymore...he hurt all of them Dream."

"Tommy's traumatized...?" Dream whispered, horrified. "Shit what did he do to him?"

George shook his head. "I barely know half of it, the kid's fucked up bad, Sam and Puffy are taking care of him though." 

"Thank god" Dream mumbled, "they're good people, they'll look after him." 

George hesitated, running a hand over dream’s back again . "Can...can I ask you something?"

"You know you can ask me anything." There was the Dream he knew, genuinely kind-hearted and not the twisted pretense Dreamon had. 

George tried to figure out the best way to say it. “Do you...see what he does? Can you see out of your eyes when he's possessing you?"

Dream visibly winced, curling further into George’s chest. 

George quickly rushed to reassure the boy. "You don't have to answer, I know you don't like talking about it-"

"I see fragments" Dream cut across George's apologetic rambling, his voice low and tired. "It's like I'm seeing flashes of the outside world while I'm stuck in a box."

"That...sounds horrible."

"I got used to it after the first few weeks" Dream hugged George a little bit tighter subconsciously. "The most recurring visions were explosions, TNT going off in varying quantities, I remember Tommy being there for the majority of them." 

George nodded, squeezing Dream gently. 

"He let me see more sometimes, it was like he was taunting me, knowing I couldn't do anything to escape. I saw you, and Sapnap, and Bad. But he only let me see you guys when you were angry or upset. He knows how much I care about you all, it was a way of him letting me know he was in control. He let me know I couldn't help you guys...that I was trapped." 

George's heart broke. Gods, how long had it been since that thing had actually let Dream be free of it's grip. 

"I'm so sorry Dream" he whispered, "I should've done something."

"Please don't blame yourself," Dream begged him quietly. “Dreamon is my problem.”

"And you're my friend" George argued, pushing Dream back a little to look him in the eyes. "Whenever I had a problem, you always helped me, whether I asked for it or not."

George's vision swam as tears budded in the edges of his eyes. He took in a shaky breath, gripping Dream's shoulders. "I’m going to find a way to free you, I swear, I’ll get Sapnap, and Karl, and Quackity, we’ll get him out- Dream I promise you."

Dream stared at George, eyes widening. "George I-" He suddenly choked, hands shooting up to grip at his hair. 

George startled at the sudden outburst. "Dream are you okay-?"

"Fuck- no not again-" Dream whimpered, pushing George away, "-a few more minutes, please, I can't go back- I can’t-"

George swung round to look at the mask. The eyes were glowing green. "Dream you have to fight him" George looked back at his friend, trying to take the boy's hands from his hair. 

"I c-can't- George" Dream looked up at him with eyes full of tears and fear. "I'm sorry..." 

He suddenly twisted away from George and slammed his fists into the floor, letting out a choked cry. Panic gripped George as he scrambled up, clenching his fists into his hair.  

"Fuck fuck fuck!" George turned to the lava wall quickly, rushing as close to it as he dared. "SAM!" He screamed. "SAM! DREAM NEEDS HELP! SAM-!" 

A hand locked around his throat, cutting off his desperate yells and making him choke. He was lifted a few centimeters off the floor, his legs kicking out at the air dangerously close to singeing himself on the lava.

A low chuckle made George’s heart drop. "Aww Georgie." 

Oh gods no. 

"You really do care about that psychopath don't you?" 

"Not- a- psychopath-" George bit out through short breaths, "he's my friend-" 

He was lowered a bit and he felt Dream's chin rest on his shoulder. 

"He's mine now George" it growled, his hand squeezing George’s throat tighter causing gasp for air to grow more desperate. "He's my puppet, and there's nothing you can do to save him." 

It threw George across the cell. The man struck the wall with such force his breath was completely knocked out of him. He slid down to the floor, head pounding and pain scorching across his back. His breaths were wheezy and his throat burned every time he tried to inhale, tears stung his eyes painfully. What made it even worse was that he couldn't even move. 

Dream went over to his mask, picking it up and sliding it over his face. George briefly caught the illuminated green eyes watching him coyly. 

It made Dream wave at George then he stepped towards the lava wall. "SAM!" He called. "GEORGE WANTS TO LEAVE NOW!"

"N-No Dream-" George rasped, his voice barely able to be heard. His throat was on fucking fire. 

The lava walls were lowering rapidly, having already started after George's previous yells. Dream strolled over to George, grabbing his arm roughly and dragging him towards the lava. 

"You- c-can't keep- him under f-forever" George tried to sound strong but with a shaking voice that was barely a whisper and laced with pain and fear, it only made Dream chuckle. 

"Oh? Who's gonna stop me George? You? Sapnap? Bad?"

Talking was scorching his throat, overwhelming but he tried to push out his threat. "W-We all will- I'll get everyone on the server- to fight you-" 

Dreamon laughed. "Now that is funny, if I remember correctly, you said that no one trusts Dream anymore, and even if you did somehow manage to convince everyone to fight me, you'd only kill Dream. He's on his last life George, and I live within an indestructible mask."

He dropped George by the lowering wall of lava. "Now you run along home, and don't worry, I'll take very good care of Dream." 

George wanted to punch that mask right between the eyes. But he was still struggling to move, let alone breathe, his throat felt like sandpaper. 

"You're a monster" he wheezed, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Dream chuckled again, shifting away. "Of course I am George, I thought that was obvious." He raised his voice a bit, waving to the man on the other side of the lava lake. “Samuel! I think George needs some help getting back over!”

George turned his gaze to Sam who was holding his trident readily, eyes locked to Dream. “Stay on the wall Dream!” he ordered sharply. 

Dream raised his hands, “I know, I know.”

The platform approached the cell, Sam on top of it and looking more than ready to fight should he need to. He stepped off, holding a hand out to George who could barely raise his own to take it. Concern filled Sam’s eyes as he gently hauled George up, the worry amplifying at George’s small whimper when Sam pulled the boy to his side. The pair stepped onto the platform, being carried to the other side of the lava lake. Dream waved lazily as the lava sank again, hiding the man from view. 

“George what happened?” Sam turned the younger to face him, taking in the boy’s red throat and developing bruises. 

George’s eyes filled with tears as he vehemently shook his head. “D-Dream-” his voice broke and he whimpered at the pain shooting through his throat. 

Sam bit his lip behind the gas mask. “Shhh, don’t talk, I’ll find a potion to help with your throat-”

George wrapped his arms around Sam, pushing his face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry” he whimpered. “I- I just need a minute-”

Sam’s tough exterior cracked right down the middle. Screw being the warden, George needed him right now. He held the boy close, cradling his head and running a hand up and down the boy’s back, feeling slight bumps from developing bruises. 

“You can tell me later, rest your throat for now George” he murmured, “take as much time as you need.”

George’s lower lip trembled and he held Sam tight, sobs wracking his shoulders and making his throat sear with pain. They stood in front of the lava for far longer than a minute, George crying into Sam’s chest and the warden holding him tenderly. 

Dreamon smiled to himself within the cell, hearing Dream yell and cry out at him for attacking George. 

“You see what happens when you ask for help Dream?” He asked quietly, “people you care about get hurt, do them a favour and stay quiet, maybe then you won’t be such an inconvenience to them all.”

Dream’s fiery spirit dimmed, shrinking back at the Dreamon’s words. You're wrong he whispered, voice borderline desperate.

“You know I’m not” Dreamon purred, “They all get so annoyed with your issues Dream, this is one of them, how much do you think they’re willing to put up with?”

Dream’s spirit faded again. George said….

“He lied,” Dreamon murmured, soft and reassuring. “I’m the only one who cares about you Dream.”

The spirit flickered and recessed, soft whimpers echoing in the headspace. Dreamon smirked. “Don’t worry Dream, I won’t leave you.”

[thatsarcasticgemini]

Poltergeist boyfriend

Bill Denbrough x Stanley Uris

When his parents told him that they were moving, Bill expected a new house or a futuristic apartment, but instead he got an old and rusty house. So there he was, big box full of books in hands, looking the house up and down with a sour look in his usually bright eyes. He looked at the window of the left upstairs bedroom, where he saw a figure looking at him. He looked around to find hid mom, but the figure was gone when he looked back. Stupid old house, stupid long road, stupid heavy box. Georgie, on the other hand was more than happy to go inside, running around the porch and urging everyone to move faster. Bill went inside and asked his mom to see his bedroom. She pointed the medium one upstairs, the same room where he saw that figure.

The next day he went to his new highschool. There, he met Eddie, Richie, Ben and Bev. He hit it off with Bev, but there was never gonna be anything between them, as Bev was dating Ben and Bill was very gay. The school was ok: the teachers were kind, the halls were clean and bullying was taken very seriously. Plus it was only five minutes away from home, which meant that Bill could get there in time to say bye to his parents before they left for work. For lunch he had mashed potatoes with chiken, his favourite. While he was eating, he heard a loud thud coming from his bedroom. Licking his fingers of grease, he went upstairs, ready to yell at Georgie for going in his bedroom. But the bedroom was empty. The only thing out of place was the picture of him and Mike, his old friend for the other town. When he picked it up he could swear he saw the same figure behind him in the glass. Placing the picture back, he ran downstairs to finish his meal. Little did he know, that would be the first of many encounters with the supernatural being.

Things started getting weirder and weirder over the next a few weeks. Wednesdays were Alphabet Soup days for the Denbroughs, but they got strange for Bill. Everytime he'd pick a spoon of letters, they would always spell things like: youre cute, i like u, i love u. He'd come home to see drawings of him and a boy on his desk. He blamed Georgie at first, but the young boy denied everything. All the drawings showed Bill either hugging or kissing this curly haired boy. He even saw this boy in his dreams, either looking out the window or playing the piano in the living room. Whenever Bill would open his english notebook he'd be met by short love poems, always signed S.U. But the worse happened when he brought people over.

The first time someone came over, it was boy named Jake, who was Bill's project partner. He only stayed in Bill's bedroom for five minutes, while Bill was making tea, when he cursed loudly and ran out of the house calling Bill nuts. Bill chased after him, confused and hurt, but looking to his bedroom window from the front yard, he saw the curly haired boy dissapear behind the curtains. This happened to everyone who came over to Bill's. It even happened to Eddie. The boy left after 30 minutes, saying someone was watching him and throwing stuff at his head. Bill was desperate, to the point where he begged Beverly to help him. Bev was a witch, so she was more than happy to help him figure the problem out. Her best guess was that a spirit that was bound to the house had taken a liking in Bill and was trying to chase potential partners away.

The plan was for Bill to hold hands with Bev, pretend to be dating so the spirit would give her its worst. That was exactly what happened, but Bev stood her ground. She ignored the yelling in her ear, the things thrown at her and the very scray ghost following her. At some point, Bill saw the ghost and warned Beverly that it was a diffrent one. The usual ghost was a boy with light curly hair and kind brown eyes. Beverly said that this scary ghost was a shape the boy was taking to scare her away. After a couple hours, Bev pulled Bill into the living room.

"Bill, I have to leave. Here you go. Inside this box there’s a ouija board. You have to paly alone, so that the poltergeist will have to join you. I also wrote you instructions on a paper I taped on the back of the box. This being really really likes you, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m just worried I might anger it by staying longer. You’ll be fine.” and with that she left. Bill took the board and the planchette to his bedroom. Sitting down he read the mantra Bev gave him outloud and looked around.

“I’m alone, supernatural being, so you have to join me. Please join me.” With that, Bill lifted his head to see the curtains move. He was a little freaked out, but he calmed himself down. The scary ghost emerged form the other side of the room, looking around with wild eyes. It passed Bill by, yelling and ran downstairs. Bill was thanking God that neither Bev, nor his parents or Georgie were home to see the scene unfold. The door behind him opened again and Bill saw the boy coming in the room and sitting on the floor, oposite of where he sat. The supernatural being was in its regular form, probably calming down after seeing Bev was gone. It put its hand on the planchette moving it around to spell “Hi Bill”. 

“Hi! Can you please tell me your name?”   

“Stanley Uris. My family lived here 45 years ago.”

“But you’re supposed to be alive today.”

“I am, but I was killed in an accident at school. Two kids locked me in the boiler room as a prank. A teacher found me dead 12 days later. I was burried in the back yard of this house.”

“Why do you harass my friends? Why do you give me poems and drawing?”

“Cause I like you and I dunno how to express it. I chase people away cause I’m afraid you’ll like them more cause they’re alive. Was that girl your girlfriend?”

“She is a friend, I’m gay. I did that to make you respond.”

“I would’ve responded either way. You have nice eyes. And I like your drawings. You’re cute when you are focused.”

“You’re cute now. Is there any way I can make you be alive, sort of. Like in Beetlejuice?”

“I am dead. What’s Beetlejuice?”

“A musical about a demon. If someone said his name three times, he could be touched and seen, it was almost like he was real again.”

“I am not a demon, but I get it. You can make me real, sort of real. By allowing me to come into your world at will. You need black salt and moon water. Your witch friend has them for sure. You also need a picture of me. You can find one in the attic. You can do it tomorrow. I’ll guide you.” and with that, Stan moved the planchette to goodbye and went back to the window, where he vanished. Bill instantly called Bev and asked her for black salt and moonwater. Bev was happy to help again.

     The next day, right after Georgie left to meet up with his friends, Bill dashed to the attic and looked in all the furniture until he found a picture of Stan. It was a picture of him playing the piano. Bill took it, ran to his room to get the board, took the salt and water from his backpack and ran to his bedroom. Stanley responded in less than a second.

“You got everything?”

“Yes, but you need to tell me what to do with them.”

“You need to go to the backyard and take 27 small steps from the back door forward. You’ll be somewhat above my body. You need to sprinkle salt around yourself in a circle, emerge the photo in moonwater and put it in front of your feet. Put some more salt on the picture and say this: I, Bill Denbrough, allow Stanley Uris to come back into this world at free will. I will be the only one to see him. He’ll step in the land of the living and come out of it whenever he wants. That should do it. I’ll be watching you.”

“Will I be able to touch you that way?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be able to leave the house?”

“Yes. I’ll also be able to return to land of the dead if I’ll feel like it.”

“Cool. Ok. Let’s do it.” And with that Bill went in the backyard and did exactly as Stanley had instructed him. At first it seemed like nothing happened, so Bill decided to go back inside. Once inside, he felt a hand on his shoulder while going up the stairs. Turning around he came face to face with Stanley.

“Hi, Bill! Wow you have soft skin. I have soft skin. Your clothes look nice. Mine are kinda old. Your hair is so soft as well. Mine is curlier then yours I don’t really like it that much. What do you think? Is my hair that bad?” Stanley started rambling. Bill just looked at him with wide eyes. He was real. Bill took a step forward, throwing himself in Stanley’s arms. Stanley didn’t respond at first, but hugged back in the end. It was going to be one hell of a ride, teaching Stanley how to be human again, how would his parent’s react, showing Stanley the modern world, but he was ready. After all, Bill would do anything for love.

Hello, Erica here! I just wanted to thank @bi-teen-angst for the headcannons posted their account. Sorry for the bad grammar and for the fact that I am 1 year late with this. I wish everyone the best.

[thestarsaroundyourscars]

hello darling💖i would like to formally request reddie at the other's place + first date for the kissing prompts pretty please! love youuuu :')

Yes, of course. Anything for you, Di. 

Read on AO3

"I swear Stan, the universe is conspiring against me!" Richie cried into the phone, throwing his head back against his pillow.

Stan let out a snort. "Did the universe force you to climb a tree while you were drunk?" 

"No, Bev did!" Richie argued, rolling his eyes. "The universe made me fall down and fracture my fucking ankle." He was glaring at it, where it was propped up on a bunch of pillows. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Physically? No. They gave me some good drugs at the hospital." He said and it was true, he hadn't felt any pain since it happened⎯ when he had landed on it, heard a crack and felt like flames were spreading from his ankle all the way up to his knee. "Emotionally? Yes. I am in pain, I had to cancel my first date with Eddie." 

Stan's tone softened. "I'm sure he doesn't mind. He's been waiting for you to make a move for years, he can wait until you're out of bed rest in⎯ what, three days?" 

"Five." 

"You can always make it up to him." 

"Yeah, I guess." Richie said but he was still pouting, feeling sorry for himself⎯ not because of his ankle, he kind of sought that out when he didn't back out from Bev's dare, he felt bad that he had to miss his date with Eddie, just as he finally gathered up the courage to ask him out a few days ago, while the two of them were studying in the library. 

They agreed to go out today, on a Saturday and Richie had spent the past week wishing the day would come sooner. On Friday, Bev had invited him to a party where both of them got drunk and stupid and then the night had ended with a trip to the ER, his ankle on a brace and his ass restricted to his bed for the next five days, which ruined his plans to woo Eddie with a movie and a romantic dinner. 

Richie called him today and after Eddie yelled at him for not telling him about what happened sooner and drilled him with questions (Did you need surgery? Are you taking your meds? Is your leg elevated? Is someone taking care of you?), he told Richie not to worry about their date and focus on getting better. 

As soon as Eddie hung up, Richie had called Stan to complain. 

"Do you think this is a sign from the universe?"

"A sign that you're an idiot?"

"Fuck you, Staniel." Richie said with a laugh. Just then, there was a knock on his apartment door and Richie covered his phone with his hand to yell, "Bill! The door!" 

"Get it yourself!" Bill, his roommate yelled back, followed by a, "Oh shit, you can't. Don't worry, I got it!

Richie snorted, turning his attention back to the phone. Whoever it was at the door, was probably here for Bill anyways. "I meant, a sign that Eddie and I shouldn't go on this date. That this is a mistake and it could totally ruin our friendship and then⎯"

"Richie, it's Eddie!" Bill yelled, cutting off his rambling.

Richie perked up at the mention of Eddie's name before his eyebrows creased, wondering what he could be doing here. 

Maybe he also thought that this was a mistake and he was here to tell Richie that he regretted saying yes to the date, that he didn't want to go out with him anymore⎯

"Richie, I can hear you overthinking through the phone. Stop being an idiot." Stan said, voice softer than his words. Richie sighed, he was right. Stan was always right. Not that he would ever tell him that. "Now, stop talking to me and talk to Eddie instead." 

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Stan the man." 

"Anytime, Rich." 

And with that he hung up, just as there was a knock on his bedroom door. "Come in."

Eddie's face popped in and Richie's heart fluttered, mouth immediately twisting into a smile. 

"Hey Rich." Eddie said, returning the smile.

"Eds, what are you doing here?" 

"Well, after you called earlier I started thinking⎯"

Richie's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. He could hear Stan's voice in his head, telling him to calm the fuck down but it was hard to listen to it. "Oh fuck, you don't want to do it anymore, do you? You're here to tell me that you don't want us to go on a date, ever."

Eddie's face scrunched up. He closed the door and moved closer to the bed. "What are you talking about? I figured that since you couldn’t go to the date, I'd bring the date to you." He held up his backpack. 

Richie blinked up at him, eyes darting between the bag and Eddie's face. "What?" 

"Yeah, I made some sandwiches and I brought juice and I raided Mike's candy stash for some chocolates⎯ you know, the ones you like, with the caramel filling." Eddie said as he started pulling out the items from the bag and dumping them on the bed. Richie was staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, having a hard time believing Eddie would go through all the trouble for him. "And I figured we could watch something on your laptop or something."

"Why?"

"Why?" Eddie echoed with a frown. "Why what?" 

"Why would you do all that?" 

This time it was Eddie giving him a dumbfounded expression. "Are you being this obtuse on purpose?" Richie shrugged, shaking his head. "I wanted us to have our date. I wanted to see you." He said, blushing slightly. 

"I wanted to see you too. I always want to see you, Eds." Richie said, smiling at him like a lovestruck idiot.

"So,” Eddie said, smiling back. “Is that a yes on the sandwiches and the movie?"

"Fuck yes." 

"Then scoot over, asshole." Eddie said, fondly. Richie moved to make space for him, careful not to jostle his ankle much. 

Eddie sat down next to him, his back against the headboard and their shoulders touching. He handed him a sandwich, tucked in a little Ziploc bag with a napkin inside, as well as a bottle of juice, which⎯ cute. 

Richie took a bite, sighing happily at how good it was. Eddie rolled his eyes with a snort. "Don't make a big deal, it's just a sandwich." 

"It's delicious, Eds." Richie said with a wink. "Just like you." 

"Shut up." Eddie shot back but his words lacked heat and he was smiling. 

"I gotta say Eds, this isn't exactly how I envisioned our perfect first date." Richie said after taking another bite.  

Eddie snorted, nudging Richie. "Are you kidding?" He smirked at him. "Do you know how hard I've had to work to get a cute boy in bed before?" 

Richie gave a startled gasp, twisting his head as best as he could to give Eddie a lopsided grin. "Aww Eds, you think I'm cute?" 

Eddie rolled his eyes, but Richie couldn't help but notice the way the tips of his ears turned red. "Shut up and drink your juice."

Richie nodded, taking a sip. "For the record, I also think you're cute."

"I know, you say it all the time."

"Well, it's the truth." 

Eddie bit down on his lip to keep his smile from growing and Richie couldn’t drag his eyes away from his mouth. He also couldn’t help but lean in and kiss Eddie. 

He could tell that he had taken him by surprise and just as Richie was about to pull back and apologize for rushing things, Eddie grabbed his chin and kissed him back. 

"I'm really glad you came over, Eds." Richie said when they broke apart after a while.

"Yeah, me too." Eddie said, grabbing Richie's arm and throwing it over his shoulders, tucking himself against his side. "Now, let's pick a movie."

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh @yes-dillman-yes @richietoaster @beepbeeprichiellc @its-stranger-than-you-think @lemonaayyee @losers-gotta-stick-together @tinyarmedtrex @richiefuckfacetozier @sam-i-am2468 @stylesmelon  @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @constantreaderfool @hammockrichie  @jesuschristsupruvestar @mirandonsky @reddie4diaster @alargedepresso @purplepoisonedgem @pan-ini @reddie-to-cry @reddieforlove @trashmouthnick @multi-fandom-wby @wheezyeds @nancynwheeler @reddieslashgeneralhorror @madi-personal @reddie-tozibrak @lover-mouth @atownofeggs @that-weird-girls-blog @appojoos @castielwinovak @a-gay-treee @twoidiotsinl0ve @fcngirltrxsh @spirited-marvel @typewrxter @rebecca-the-queen @juhavs @thegoshdiddlydangdoor @soooobr @purebloodqueen  (if you want to be added, let me know!)

[s-oulpunk]

kaspbrough: eddie’s late to class and his long time crush bill suddenly decides it’s a good day to spill his milkshake all over that cute angry boy in his calc class

Anon I LOVED writing this, it ended up being so soft🥺

-----

Eddie Kaspbrak is a good student.  He turns all his homework in on time, he gets straight A’s, and, most importantly, he’s not late.  Ever.  Sure, he misses a lot of school, but that’s hardly his fault.  Mama says he’s sick, and if he has to do his homework from the hospital bed, then that’s exactly what he’ll do.

But, back to the point.  Eddie’s never late.  He takes extra measure to ensure it.  Three alarms, clothes picked out the night before, bike ready to go in the garage.

Except for today.

Today he sleeps through his alarms.

Today he loses his socks halfway through getting dressed.

Today his bike has a flat tire.

So now he’s running to school, already fifteen minutes late, and barely halfway there.  He’s not supposed to be running, he knows that.  He knows if his mother ever found out, he’d be stuck in the hospital all weekend.

But he also knows he’s not supposed to be late.  Besides, it feels kind of good to run.  It’s not something he usually gets to experience.  And he’s going so fast.  He doesn’t think he’s ever gone this fast without his bike.  Scratch that, he’s never gone this fast in his life.

Mama doesn’t let him ride at a pace faster than a walk, and she’s always the slowest car on the road whenever they take a trip to the local hospital or grocery store.

But when he runs, he can feel the wind scratch against his face and the pavement disappear beneath his feet.  It’s exhilarating.

At least, it’s exhilarating until he turns the corner into the school parking lot and runs smack dab into another student.  And not just any student.

“Fff-Fuck, are you alright?”

Baseball star Bill Denbrough.

Bill Denbrough, who won the game three weeks in a row.

Bill Denbrough, who Eddie’s been in love with since the sixth grade.

Bill Denbrough, who’s staring down at him because Eddie’s currently laying flat on his back, sharp gravel digging into his back, as he wonders why his torso is suddenly freezing.

“Holy shit, I’m so ss-suh-sorry.”

Turns out, he’s freezing because Bill’s double chocolate chip milkshake is currently all over him.  Eddie frowns at the sticky mess as he sits up, his frown quickly turning into a grimace when the milkshake starts to drip down his stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” Bill continues to ramble. “I dd-duh-didn’t see you coming.  Are you oh-okay?  I’m sorry about yuh-your shirt.  Will it wash out?  Oh, fuck.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie grumbles, ignoring the hand Bill offers as he stumbles to his feet. “Jesus, who drinks a milkshake at eight in the morning?”

Bill flushes red. “Is there a time limit to when I can enjoy a mm-muh-milkshake?”

“Yes!” Eddie snaps. “You shouldn’t drink it at all, do you have any idea how unhealthy it is for you?”

Bill shrugs. “It’s milk.”

“It’s...It is not just milk!” Eddie yelps, gaping openly.

“Look,” Bill says, and Eddie supposes maybe he should feel a little bad for snapping at the guy, “I’m really sorry about your shirt.  If I can - Oh!  You can have my jj-juh-jacket if you want?  It’s not the same, but it’ll help cover some of the stains!”

“What - No, that’s okay,” Eddie says, but Bill’s shoving the jacket into his hands before he can even finish the sentence. “I can just wear my gym shirt.”

Bill pulls a face. “That’s gross.  It’s all ss-swuh-sweaty and stuff.”

“Well I washed it!  Do you not wash your gym clothes!”

“I’ll get it from you in calculus!” Bill says.  And Eddie can’t argue, because he’s already disappeared halfway across the parking lot.

-

Wearing Bill’s jacket is - and Eddie would never admit this - very exciting.

Bill’s relatively short, but the jacket’s still a little big on Eddie.  It’s a dark maroon color, per school colors, and has Bill’s last name in big, bold letters across the back.  Eddie can feel the stares from his peers throughout the day, can hear the whispers behind his back.  It puts him on edge, but Bill’s jacket - despite being the source of the attention - acts as a sort of force field.  As if nothing can hurt him while he has it on.

Eddie sits at the front in every single class.  Bill usually sits somewhere in the middle, somewhere he can pay attention without drawing too much attention to himself.  But today, Bill plops himself down right next to Eddie and grins at him expectantly.

“Thank you for the jacket,” Eddie says softly.

“You’re welcome,” Bill says. “Sorry I sp-spilled my milkshake on you.”

Eddie ducks his head, suddenly all-too-fascinated by the empty pages of his notebook. “Yeah, well, sorry I was a dick to you.”

Bill smiles softly. “That’s okay,” he says, which only makes Eddie feel worse.  Why is he so nice? “I would buh-be mad too.”

Cautiously, Eddie glances back up.  When he’s sure it’s safe, when all he can see is Bill’s blinding grin, he turns to face him completely.

“I can buy you another milkshake,” he offers.

If possible, Bill grins wider, “Like a dd-duh-date?”

Eddie balks. “No!  No, not - not like that.  Just - Just as an apology.  Because I - I spilled your milkshake.  Remember?”

“Oh.  I - Uh - Yeah.  Th-That’s okay, dude.  It’s, ll-luh-like, three bucks.  I can - Just - Don’t worry about it.”

Bill doesn’t talk to him for the rest of class.

-

That Friday, Bill has a baseball game.  Eddie knows because he has one every week.  Every week, Eddie tries to convince his mom to let him go.  Every week, the answer is emphatically no.

But this week is going to be different.  Eddie has to be there.  Because Bill had asked him exactly what Eddie had been dreaming he would ask for years, and what did Eddie do?  He fucked it up.  And now he has to find a way to un-fuck it up.

He waits, practically vibrating with nerves, until his mom falls asleep.  By the time she does, Eddie doesn’t even know if the game is still going.  But he has to try, he’ll be damned if he misses his chance.  So he pulls on his shoes, hops out his bedroom window, and runs.

Luckily, when he gets there, the game is not over.  At least, Eddie doesn’t think it is.  He doesn’t know anything about baseball - his mother was never big on sports - but there are still players on the field.  In fact, Bill’s currently up to bat.

Eddie lingers awkwardly by the bleachers.  Should he cheer?  Should he sit down?  He has no idea what the protocol for baseball is.

The pitcher throws the ball.  Bill swings.

No contact, strike one.

Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet as Bill gets back into position.

C’mon, Bill, he finds himself thinking. I know you can do it.

The pitcher throws the ball again.

Bill misses, strike three.

Even in the dark, Eddie can see Bill starting to get frustrated.

You can do it, Eddie thinks. Don’t give up.

The pitcher throws the ball a third, and final, time.

Bill hits it with a thunk and, before Eddie can even comprehend what’s happening, he’s racing through the bases.

His peers in the bleachers go crazy, shrieking and cheering, but Eddie’s shocked silent.  He’s heard about this moment over and over again, but seeing it is entirely different.  Simply watching him is intoxicating.  Eddie can go fast, but Bill’s faster.

Seeing Bill so in his element, Eddie can see why the school fawns over him.

Bill’s heading towards home base now, and it’s pure speed that’s going to get him there.  The ball is being passed through the players, getting scarily close to the catcher, at an alarmingly fast rate.

Eddie nearly shrieks when Bill suddenly drops to the ground, but then he’s sliding through the dirt and landing back at home base merely moments before the ball is thrown to the catcher.

Eddie can only assume they’ve won after that, because everyone starts screaming and Bill’s receiving hugs and claps on the back from his teammates.  A kid bolts past Eddie, racing straight into Bill’s arms, and Bill squeezes him tight, as if he's his lifeline.

He looks so happy, Eddie nearly turns around and goes home.  But then they make eye contact and Eddie knows there’s no turning back now.  Still, his nerves grow a little bit stronger with each step Bill takes towards him.

“Hey,” Eddie says, wincing at how shaky his voice sounds.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bill says. “I didn’t know you ww-wuh-were coming.”

“Eddie,” the kids repeats in a high pitched, nasally voice.  Eddie doesn’t have to hear much more to know the kid’s not his biggest fan at the moment.

“Georgie,” Bill hisses. “Stop th-that.” Georgie huffs. “Can wuh-we have a minute?”

Georgie stares pointedly at Eddie. “That milkshake better be for him,” he says, before disappearing back into the thick of the crowd.

“Sorry about him,” Bill says. “He just started jj-juh-junior high.  You know how it is.”

Eddie laughs, but it’s more out of nerves than anything else, because he doesn’t know how it is.  He didn’t have friends in middle school, and his mother would be damned if he became anything less than her perfect little boy because of something as silly as puberty.

“This - Uh - This is for you, actually,” Eddie says, holding the milkshake out awkwardly.

“Oh.” Bill looks so touched, Eddie kind of wants to laugh. “Thank you, yuh-you didn’t have to do that.”

Eddie shrugs. “It’s just a milkshake.”

“Still,” Bill says as he gently takes it from Eddie’s outstretched hand, “That’s sweet.”

Eddie’s thankful it’s dark, because his face is bright red. “It’s nothing really.  You - Um - you did great out there.”

Bill lights up, as if he didn’t have the whole school screaming for him. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you!”

“I also - Um - I also wanted to ask if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?”

Bill beams around the milkshake straw. “Seriously?”

Eddie nods furiously. “And - And I’m sorry, for saying no at first.  You scared me.”

Bill barks out a laugh. “I scared yy-yuh-you?”

“Yes, shut up!  Now what’s your answer!”

“Yes!” Bill grins. “Yes, I would love to!”

[himbowelsh]

luz/toye nightmare?

a little fall of meme can hardly hurt me now  ( accepting )

George isn’t woken up by his own dreams this time, or even his restless sleeping habits. Tonight, he’s stirred from his sleep by a sudden, very pressing need for air.

It takes a minute to remember exactly where the hell he is, and who the hell he's pressed up against. Unfortunately, that’s a minute he doesn’t have. By the time his half-asleep brain has recognized the muscle-bound arm locked around him as Joe’s, his ribs are already creaking dangerously under the pressure.

Crushed to death by Joe Toye’s biceps. There are worse ways to go out, but George really didn’t want it to end like this.

“Joe...  hey, Joe.” If his lungs weren’t being compressed, he’d be able to get the words out a lot louder. As it is, they’re a hoarse echo in the silence, more a wheeze than a whisper. George tries squirming, digging his arm into Joe’s stomach. His pare feet knock against Joe’s thighs, as if this could somehow jar him into wakefulness. “Buddy, wake up, you’re  ---”

Behind him, Joe grunts. His grip suddenly becomes crushing.

“Jesus---” Now that’s a goddamn murder attempt. Suddenly struck with the panicked certainty that if Joe doesn’t let go now, he won’t be getting out of bed in the morning, George begins to thrash. “Dammit, Joe, let go! Joe! Wake up!”

Maybe it’s love for George that pulls Joe from his sleep...  or the elbow which finds his abdomen, impacting like a rocket launcher. Joe jolts upright with a yell, and George is sent sprawling, nearly over the edge of the bed. 

He’s still cursing and trying to regain his balance when the sound of harsh breathing hits his ears. At first, George doesn’t connect it with anything but the fierce soreness in his own ribcage… but when he looks up, a complaint already on his lips, he’s startled to see Joe doubled over. His hands are fisted in the blankets as though determined to tear them to shreds, and his broad shoulders heave, ragged gasps through lungs not able to sustain them. Joe’s shaking, George realizes with a jolt. He’s trembling like a kid in the dark… and after a moment, the hoarse noises cutting into his gasps could almost sound like sobs.

“Jesus,” he mutters, and crawls without hesitation across the bed. “Joe — hey. What’s going on?”

Joe makes an aborted effort to speak. It ends in a hoarse noise and another violent shudder. Okay, then, that’s off the table. George shuffles a bit closer, chancing a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. When Joe doesn’t pull away, his grip grows surer, a more tangible weight. Joe doesn’t lean into it, but he doesn’t pull away, so George takes it as a victory.

“Alright,” he mutters, stroking gentle circles into the broad plain of Joe’s shoulders. His voice is soft, gentle in a way that only Joe ever gets to hear. It doesn’t tremble, no matter how uncertain George might be feeling. The thing is... whenever George is upset, Joe always knows just how to soothe him. He’ll pull him close, pressing George’s ear against his chest as his gravelly voice rumbles through. Sometimes he’ll sing, one of the old Irish songs he loves so much, and that will be enough to lure George from his own distress into the soft comfort of sleep. When the tables are turned  ---  when Joe’s the one falling to pieces, and George is watching him shatter  ---  well, Christ, he’s not sure what to do. He just isn’t sure.

“Alright,” he says again, running his hand down Joe’s spine. At the touch, Joe shudders...  and if George is good at any damn thing, it’s running his mouth, so he falls back on what he knows. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re doin’ just fine, Joe. We’re at home, okay? Safe here. We ain’t over there anymore.”

Neither of them have to wonder where ‘over there’ is.

Joe’s nightmares tend to be predictable. George’s scatter, running all over the place, tossing in things that couldn’t possibly have happened in real life; there are alligators in Bastogne, maybe, or a hatchet-wielding mime chasing him through Hitler’s Eagles Nest. Even in his dreams, George somehow turns the worst memories into a joke. (The darkest memories, the ones he can’t think of without convulsing from the inside-out, hide away at the very back of his mind, forcibly suppressed during the daytime. It’s the only way he keeps himself smiling, keeps himself sane. They don’t rear their heads often, but when they do, George is out of it for days.) Joe doesn’t throw in anything. He remembers things the way they happened, and maybe that’s worse.

After a moment, George draws closer, wrapping both arms around Joe’s shoulders now. If he didn’t insist, Joe might try to pull away...  but at this insistent comfort, he breaks instead. Joe’s tear-stained face presses into George’s chest, arms locking around his waist and squeezing desperately. Suddenly, their situations are reversed. It’s a little surreal...  but all the times Joe’s held George gives him the strength to do is now, and the determination to do it right.

“I’m here, Joe. I’m here.” He presses the words into the crown of his head. “Not going anywhere.”

Joe shudders, forcing a ragged exhale out against George’s chest. “You gotta stay, Georgie.”

“Where would I go, huh? I’m right here.” George cups the back of his head, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Gotta try harder then that to get rid of me.”

“You ---”

Joe can’t finish. He cuts off with another whimper, pressing further into George’s chest like he’s ashamed. If there’s one thing Joe can’t bear, it’s letting others see him cry; if he does, then he trusts you more than anything, but even George has only seen it a few times. This is...  something else.

“You don’t gotta say it,” he soothes. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Just a dream, ‘s all.”

“You died.”

George’s throat suddenly closes up; his stomach plunges to his toes. There it is, then. With a rough exhale, he holds Joe a little closer, patting his back like a congested baby as Joe slowly gathers himself. When he’s finally able to pull away, enough to look George in the eye, it’s like a stab to George’s gut. His eyes are black, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks; he’s never looked so vulnerable before. Never looked so...  so goddamn scared, not even lying there in the snow, blown half to hell.

“It wasn’t me who got hit...  it was you, and it...  just blew you away, George. You  ---  you were looking up at me, but there wasn’t much of you left, and...  I was holding you so tight, trying to put you back together, but you just, you, you ---” Joe’s ramble breaks off in a sob.

George’s own breath catches in his throat. On reflex, he pulls Joe even tighter, pressing his lips to the side of Joe’s head and staying there. A hand wipes the wetness from Joe’s cheek, while the other keeps massaging into his back, like that alone can ground him in the moment.  “Only a dream,” George says again, and feels Joe nod shakily.

It’s a long couple of moments before Joe’s able to speak again. By then, his sobbing has mostly died off. He’s gone limp and heavy in the embrace, pretty much using George as a pillow...  but George isn’t about to complain.

“Don’t leave me,” Joe murmurs. George sighs, low and long, into the night.

“You don’t even have to say that, Joe,” he replies. “No way I ever would.”

[princecupcakee]

Park Bench | Reddie

Read on AO3

Rating: E

Pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 2,969

Chapter: 5/8

Past Chapters: Chapter 1 (AO3), Chapter 2 (AO3), Chapter 3 (AO3), Chapter 4 (AO3)

Next Chapter: 

Summary: Recently divorced and ‘incapable of love’, Eddie Kaspbrak moves to Los Angeles for work and a small, small hope of a fresh start. Broken up and never dated again, Richie Tozier tries to get back into love with help from his love of music. Quickly meeting eyes and one concert later, they think that maybe love isn’t that bad. So they try it one more time.

Chapter 5: Richie Tozier And Eddie Kaspbrak Get A Turtle, Richie Tozier Plans A Proposal, Richie Tozier Goes Viral

Tags/Warnings: Angst / Unhappy Ending / theres only one sex scene but this is explicit anyway / Bisexual Richie Tozier / Gay Eddie Kaspbrak / Post-Divorce / Implied/Referenced Cheating / Inspired By Remembering Sunday (All Time Low) / Inspired by The Book Ninja by Ali Berg / Implied/Referenced Child Abuse / Implied/Referenced Abuse / Implied/Referenced Manipulation

Tag-list: @richietoaster​, @s-s-georgie​, @mikeuris​​, @gazebobullshit​, @that-weird-girls-blog​, @tozierking​​, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @s-onora​, @bellarosewrites​, @lermanslogan​, @ambitiousskychild​, @ghostnebula​, @vanillaredvelvet​, 

(Ask if you wanna be on the tag-list!!)

Chapter 5

Richie Tozier And Eddie Kaspbrak Get A Turtle

“Look, if you don’t get me the papers before the end of this week, we will lose this client… yes, I know. I have a meeting with them at the end of this week…yes, I need them tomorrow, Karen… yes. Yes, thank you.” Eddie sighed and threw his head back on the couch. His last few days have been absolutely hectic, with one of their biggest clients yet, he’s barely been able to get a break.

“Eds!” Richie called, opening the door, “I’m back! Where are you?”  He had gone out to see Walter and Maddison for a few hours while his parents were busy with his sister. He didn’t ask for more details.

“Yeah! I’m here!” Eddie tiredly calls.

Richie smiled weakened when he saw Eddie tiredly sprawled across the couch, “I got a gift for you.”

“What is it?” Eddie smiles, pulling his head back up.

Richie takes his hands away from behind his back and holds… a turtle. Richie’s eyes wide and bright, “look! I went to this restaurant across the street —don’t ask why— and found this little guy in a cage! It was ridiculous! I told them if I could have it and they just let me.”

“Why… why would you get me a turtle?” Eddie irritatedly asked.

“I thought-“

“Are you stupid? Richie, what are we supposed to do with a turtle? How are we supposed to take care of it?”

“We can go to the pet shop and-“

“Neither of us know how to take care of a turtle. Are you sure its even safe? W-we could get, like, Salmonella or something!”

“Eds.” Richie strictly said, his face showing no sign of anger, “it’ll be fun though. We can take care of it together, we can go to the pet store and get stuff- I’ll wash my hands after touching it every time.”

Eddie looked at the turtle skeptically, “fine,” he finally said. Richie’s smile came back and sat down beside Eddie who slightly moved away after. Ignoring the movement, Richie asks him, “what do we name it? We can name it, like, Pennywise.”

“What? No! That sounds horrible! That sounds like a- a fucking horror movie character or something!”

“That the name of the killer clown that you thought broke into Ben and Bev’s house and tried to kill you?” Richie snickered.

“Fuck you,” Eddie hisses with no real anger.

“Well, what names do you have?”

“Uh, I don’t know… Maturin.”

Richie gave him a look, “Okay, thats no better than mine!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, no, no, you know what? Hold on,” Richie rambles, taking his phone from his pocket. Quickly typing something, Eddie gets a notification from his phone. Thinking its Karen (finally) giving him the papers early, he sighs and opens his phone. Karen is still definitely late with giving him the paperwork, but now Richie has created a group chat. Eddie was already fearful of what would come.

The Family - Ben Marsh, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Stan Uris, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak

Stan: What the fuck is it this time, Richie.

Bev: Stan be nice

Richie: Yeah stan be nice

Richie could hear Eddie snicker beside him.

Richie: but anyway, me and Eddie are dads and we need a name for our child

Bev: how did this motherfucker get a kid

Bev: I thought it would be stan and patty first

Eddie: How did you get Mike and Bill’s numbers?

Richie: Nothing.

Stan: He’s lying, he never uses punctuation.

“Shit,” Richie murmured.

“How are you this bad at hiding things?”

Mike: He asked us what your favourite food was so he would know where to take you out on a date, Eddie.

Richie: nO

Richie waited for Eddie’s reaction, he assumed that Eddie wasn’t uncomfortable, seeing as there was a blush on his face.

Stan: Wait a minute. Mike Hanlon? Like, ‘first-ever-school-day-was-college’ Mike Hanlon?

Mike: Thats how you remember me?

“They know each other?” Richie says from beside Eddie.

“I think they were exes.”

“Really?”

“Thats what I remember” Eddie shrugged looking back down on his phone. He knew it was pretty stupid to be texting in a group chat while they sat together, but they did need that name. (Thats what Eddie tried to tell himself, if the true reason isn't obvious enough.)

Stan: Holy shit. Dude hey how’ve you been?

Mike: Pretty good actually.

Richie: GUYS WE’RE NAMING MY CHILD

Richie: HELLO!! PAY ATTENTION

Mike: I’m staying in LA for a while since they needed more people in this branch.

Mike: Thats also why Eddie and my boyfriend are here too.

Stan: Good for you, man. I’m assuming your boyfriend is Bill Denbrough because thats the only name I’m not familiar with.

Ben: You’re familiar with Eddie’s?

Richie: GUYS

Stan: Richie doesn’t know how to shut up.

Richie: DO YOU NOT CARE THAT I HAVE A CHILD NOW

“Richie, how are you still this annoying over text?”

“You love it.”

“I really don’t,” he laughs and shakes his head. He does.

Bev: Richie, if you did have a child I would know immediately.

Mike: Yeah it is :)

Richie: DAMN HETS LISTEN TO ME

Mike: not hetero

Bill: I’m not straight either

Richie: DAMN PEOPLE LISTEN TO ME

Stan: I’ve generally had enough.

Bev: Alright, Losers (not you Ben and Mike) we’re all getting lunch. Bring your ‘child’, Richie. We’ll name him there.

Richie Tozier changed the chat name to ‘The Losers’ Club’

With Bev sending the address of the restaurant “Our friends confuse me,” Eddie says shutting his phone.

~~~

“Meet my child!” Richie says loudly, earning a few looks from the others in the restaurant. He takes a seat in between Stan and Eddie grinning widely and presenting the currently unnamed turtle.

“Its-its a fucking turtle,” Stan says critically.

“His name is Penny-“

“No its not,” Eddie smiles as he cuts him off.

“What names do you guys have?” Ben asks politely, trying to bring back the lightness of the table before the two had walked in.

“Pennywise.”

“Maturin.”

The table spun with an agreement to Eddie’s name over Richie’s choice as Richie pouts in his seat. A waitress came to check for their orders, a confused look on her face once seeing the turtle perfectly still in Richie’s hands.

“Richie that name sounds like a child’s nightmare,” Bev jokes once the waitress has gone. Richie sticks his tongue out to her childishly.

“Maturin it is then?” Eddie laughs triumphantly.

“Where did you even get that name?” Richie asks bitterly. The rest of the group just laughs.

Eddie loved this. He really did. Everyone talking and enjoying and Eddie finally feeling like he hasn’t done anything wrong. They felt like family. The few people who he could talk to without causing any pain or problem. The few people who would let him be himself without having to feel like he was in a cage. He didn’t want to lose any of this. And from the smile on Richie’s face, he doesn’t think he will.

Richie Tozier Plans A Proposal

Some people would think he was crazy. He thought he was crazy.  They were dating for just slightly more than three months and he was already planning, the date, the time, the place of when he would ask Eddie to marry him. ‘Old habits die hard’ Richie guesses as he sits alone in his bed, writing down the perfect ideas for asking Eddie.

Yeah, he rushed it with Connor, but even he knew that it wouldn’t last. That doesn’t really add up to his actions after the break up. But this was Eddie. Eddie loves him, right? He’s said so; that alone shows he isn’t anything like Connor. He couldn’t be wrong anymore, he didn’t want to have to latch on to Stan as he did before. He was nuisance while living at the Uris’, he admits that he knows he doesn’t have all the reason for it. He basically asked for it when he said, after what was supposed to be a one-night-stand, that he was dating Connor. That was on him.

But Eddie walked out of a concert with him, a stranger at the time, and let him walk him home after remembering that Connor left him at the same concert ground with the same band playing to have another one night stand with a girl. He went to one of his shows after knowing close to nothing about him other than his name when he was late to the first date he would’ve had since his horrible break up.  He went to have breakfast with him at 5 in the morning when he cried about never being loved again the night before. He sat with him in the pouring rain after realising that he was in love. That he was in love, not that he was in love again.

He turns from his back to his stomach, reaching out for his phone. He debates on whether or not to call Bev or Stan, ‘both those bitches are married,’ he thinks. And calls both of them.

“What the fuck do you want I’m trying to make dinner,” Stan says tiredly, his voice sounding distant and the sound of crackling filling the empty parts on his end.

“Whats up, Rich?” Bev says nicely, shuffling.

“I, uh,” he didn’t think it would be that hard to say.

“Spit it out, Tozier, I might fuck up my pesto.”

“Oh shit, you got pesto? Uris Pesto is the best! Can I come over?” Richie says enthusiastically.

“No. Talk, Richie,” Stan says quickly. Beverly laughs in the background.

“I wanna ask Eddie to marry me,” Richie says softly, after a beat of silence.

“Thats it? You interrupted my cooking for this shit?”

“Its serious, man!”

Beverly sighs, “Richie, Eddie loves you. This is all on you though. If you think both of you are ready, then go for it. If you’re just… scared, then, I don’t think you should.”

“I-I’m not scared,” he says to himself more than them.

“You just love him?”

“Yeah.”

“He really isn’t like anyone else, huh?” Bev laughs.

“He really isn’t,” Richie smiles to himself.

“Then do it,” Stan says simply, “if you love him enough to marry him, to ask him to marry you, then that must be something, right?”

“Thanks,” Richie says, fondly, “help me buy the ring soon?"

“Of course, Richie. Now, when, where, and how?” Beverly giggles.

~~~

His notebook opens on the coffee table, leftovers, and a cup of coffee, he attempted to plan. A restaurant didn’t seem interesting to him, a casual proposal in their house wasn’t really fun, their house maybe? The bench. He grinned and jotted down the plan.

Richie Tozier Goes Viral

“Eds, where’s my charger?” Richie asked walking out their room.

“We’ve been dating for, what, four months? How do you still not know where I put our chargers?”

“You clean things too often, I specifically remember leaving it on the floor of  my side of the bed.”

“Your blind ass would’ve stepped on it when you woke up. Your charger is in the drawer,” Eddie said and continued to eat his cereal. Richie kissed his hair and walked back to their room.

Eddie sighed. He loves Richie, he really does, but- “Eds, look at this,” Richie said excitedly almost tripping on his legs as he walked over to Eddie. Richie instinctively wrapped his arm around Eddie and showed his phone screen.

It took Eddie a moment to register what Richie was showing him, but when his thoughts hit him again he grinned, “holy shit, Rich! This is amazing!” Richie’s screen presented a video, Richie’s latest stand-up, posted online; millions of views.

“I know! And that’s not all of it,” Richie said taking his phone back to him and began to tap around, “Look!” Eddie carefully read the text on the screen, asking him to do a professional show, his grin somehow widening.

“Richie!”

“I know! And so many people are asking to be my agent and shit, and- oh fuck, baby, you gotta help me out with all this shit,” he rambles excitedly, hand gestures to try to emphasise whatever point he was trying to get across.

“Of course!” Eddie laughed to slightly lessen his energy as he stood up and kissed Richie. Richie gladly kissed back, lifting Eddie off the ground for a few seconds.

“I love you,” Richie said, forehead against Eddie’s. Richie’s phone rang loudly from his hand and they both looked at the screen and saw ‘Mrs. Molly Ringwald’

“Really?” Eddie asks sarcastically as he pulls the phone from Richie’s hands. He kisses him on the cheek and answers the call on speaker. “Hey, Bev.”

“Oh my god, did you hear about Richie! Is he asleep? I swear the little shit will be late to your own wedding-“

“I’m right here, Bev!” Richie says loudly into the phone.

“Oh. Sorry. But anyway, you heard the news! I’m so proud of you, Rich!”

“Thank you!”

“We heard the news from Bill! He has all these Hollywood connections from his books —honestly don’t know why he won’t just do that instead, no offence Eddie— and he said that you might be getting a… professional show, is it?”

“Yeah! Bill’s a writer?”

“He has some books and actually gets some good money out of it," Eddie muttered the next part,” he might get more if he wrote better endings.”

“Okay anyway, so proud of you, Rich!” Beverly congratulates again after laughing.

~~~

So as they sit in Richie’s small apartment sofa, with his hands on Eddie’s waist and Eddie’s fingers curled around in Richie’s tangled hair, he lets himself enjoy it. Richie’s arms roam under Eddie’s shirt; one hand pressed on his back and the other rubbing circles around his nipple. Eddie lets out little moans, that surge of energy through him that he didn’t even think was possible.  “Are you okay?” Richie asks.

Eddie was confused at first, still needing Richie to touch him. He noticed the pounding in his chest after a few seconds mumbling a breathy ‘I’m fine,’ and goes back to kissing Richie. Of course, a few seconds later he realises why. ‘Push them away, Kaspbrak.’

Richie lightly tugs at the bottom of Eddie shirt, Eddie quickly getting the message and raising his arms up. Richie instantly pushes Eddie’s back onto the sofa after taking his shirt off; his hands tracing every part of Eddie’s bare chest.

Eddie remembers the feeling, of being touched like this, not with Myra. Being touched in a house that wasn’t his and a bed that he wasn’t supposed to be on. But Eddie loved every second of it. Sure there was the guilt, the guilt of having a wife back home thinking he’s out late for work or out with a friend, but the feeling of it was just so good. Eddie thinks he should stop using the word ‘good’ so much but it seemed to be the only way he could describe this odd sensation in words.

Richie was pulling off his pants little by little, struggling to get them off and still keep his mouth around Eddie’s chest. The moment Richie got them off he instantly moved down to Eddie’s legs. Spreading and licking and biting at the inner side of Eddie’s thighs until they left deep marks on Eddie’s skin while his dick would twitch. “Richie take your clothes off,” he mumbled pulling at Richie’s hair in between moans.

“I’m not as pretty as you, baby, but okay,” he laughed, pulling his shirt off and kissing Eddie roughly. Eddie wanted tot protest about Richie’s statement but Eddie pulled Richie by his hair instead. Richie wanted to make a joke about it but was quickly distracted by Eddie grinding against his leg that was in between Eddie’s thighs. Richie bit down on Eddie’s neck, “don’t move, I got it,” he whispered in his ear.

Richie licked at the front of Eddie’s underwear; Eddie bucking his hips up. “I told you, don’t move,” Richie said again, pulling down Eddie’s underwear. Eddie felt cold, but Richie spreading his legs further, and his tongue teased at Eddie’s hole as he whines. Richie giggles slightly pushing his tongue in and gripping at Eddie’s thighs. His thumbs softly rub at the inner side of his thighs, feeling little bumps on the places he had sunk his teeth into only minutes earlier, he pushed his tongue in and out of Eddie’s hole. Richie pushed one finger in first, slowly adding more digits as his tongue kept moving. His tongue and fingers alternated like that for a while, at the same time he was getting hard from the noises Eddie makes.

“Richie!” Eddie shouted. Smirking, Richie aimed for his prostate over and over as Eddie’s moans grew louder and louder. Eddie’s hands had moved down to his dick, moving has a hand at a quick pace. One last strong push from Richie’s tongue or fingers (Eddie was too busy to tell) Eddie shrieked and let out more than he has in a while. Most of it had gotten on Richie’s hair some trailing down his face. “Fuck,” Eddie throws his head back against the sofa as Richie moves up to his chest again. Head resting on Eddie’s chest and kissing his nipple, his hands quickly move down to his own dick and moved. Eddie smiled, holding Richie’s face in his hands and kissing his lips. Richie pulled away and moaned as he came.  “Holy shit,” Richie mumbled forehead resting against Eddie’s as he laughed, “Wow. Been a long fucking time.”

“I know,” Eddie agreed. Despite the anxious feeling bubbling up inside him. Richie didn’t ask.

[the-sweetest-dragon]

A Summer Like Never Before

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

Fandom: It

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

Ships: Eventual Reddie, Benverly, Stan x Patty

Word Count: 1379

Warnings: Out of character behavior

AN:  It’s Thursday my dudes!  I hope everyone is enjoying these chapters because I’m really enjoying writing them.  Updates every Thursday, let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

Tags: @just-another-shipper-01 @nerdsarebetter @audder17 @sapphic-bottlexap @mmarclac

Chapter One  Chapter Two  

____________________________________________

Chapter Three

Beverly Marsh has had enough of Richie Tozier’s silly crush on their friend Eddie Kaspbrak.  Currently, he’s blasting “Eddie My Love” for the third time today.  What’s worse is that he’s slow dancing with a container of mustard like it was his lost love.  

“Richie could you please fill the damn mustards and stop pretending it’s Eddie.”  Bev stands at the long counter, marrying ketchups while the diner was slow.  Richie had done… well, nothing but dance around with Mustard-Eddie and refill the ice machine.  

Richie pouts at her words and sets down his mustard boyfriend.  The song finally changes into some 90’s music that Richie can’t dance to.

“Must you ruin all my fun?  First I can’t make mom jokes at work and now I can’t-” Richie suddenly cuts off and rushes to fix his hair.  Bev looks over at the door and grins.  His favorite customer is walking towards the door, Ben Hanscome in tow.

Bev watches as Eddie opens the door and waves at them.  Bev glances towards Richie; his eyes are crinkled shut by the force of his smile.  Then, she turns her attention to Eddie, who’s explaining something to Ben.  She can tell by his hand movements that Ben doesn’t necessarily agree.  

Richie waltzes over to their booth while Bev shakes her head.  That boy had it bad; he hated waiting on people their own age but he always made an exception for Eddie. 

Bev moves on to refill the salt and pepper shakers, and to listen in on their conversation.  

“- can I get ya?” asks Richie in a Southern accent.  Eddie heaves a sigh before ordering his usual.  “Good choice, Eddie Spaghetti.”  Richie grins, knowing that Eddie hates that nickname, and, like clockwork, Eddie rushes to to tell him so.

“I hate when you call me that!” Eddie glares at him, but Bev can see him trying to hide a smile.  Ben chuckles and orders after him.  Richie races off to put in their order to the cook that night, a man called Chuck.  

Bev continues to put salt into the correct containers, not really thinking about much other than how much she hates being here some days.  Sure, the tips were usually pretty good, but they were paid less than minimum wage and the customers were downright awful some days.  There was an old lady who came in near the beginning of summer that thought Richie was hitting on her grandson and called him some not very nice words.  Richie hid in the freezer until they left.  

Bev sighs softly and puts her salt back in it’s correct place.  As she’s walking back to the counter, an older man reaches out and grabs her wrist.  She stops immediately.

“Can I help you with something sir?”  She had been told off for being rude to the customers too many times to let her anger show.  Bev doesn’t try to loosen the man’s grip either; better her wrist than her ass.  

The old man licks his lips and looks her up and down.  Bev stands a bit straighter, refusing to back down from his stare.  

“Just needed a closer look atcha.  Quite the looker if I do say so myself.  What’s an ass like your’s doing in a place like this?”

Bev hears both Eddie and Ben get up, rearing for a fight.  Bev holds up her other hand to make them wait.

“Let go of my arm or things will start to get sticky around here.”  She hears Richie come out from the kitchen and take in the scene before them.  He also waits for her to handle things before jumping in.  The old man’s eyes flicker to the boys behind her.  

“Whatcha gonna do?  Have your boyfriends beat me up?  I knew you were a slut but I didn’t realize you had so many.”  The old man laughs and Bev’s anger flares up.  She lowers her other hand and the boys rush in.  

Before any of them could reach the old man, Bev has him by the balls.  Someone lets out a soft ouch and she hears Richie apologize to someone.  The hand around her wrist is immediately gone and a scared look settles on the man’s face. Bev raises an eyebrow and smiles.  

“Apologize.”  She tightens her grip on his manly bits and he lets out a squeak.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”  Bev smiles.

“Good, now leave and don’t come back to this diner or I will call the cops.”  Bev leans in closer, and whispers, “You shouldn’t have been worried about the boys.  I can handle myself.”  She lets him go and the man rushes out of the diner.  

Bev turns around and sees Ben with a bloody nose and Eddie shaking his head at Richie.  

“What the hell happened?  I turn my back for two minutes and you guys get hurt?”  

“Richie hit me in the fucking nose trying to get to you,” Ben says softly.  Bev sighs and looks at Richie.  He’s red from the roots of his hair to where his uniform sits on his neck.  

“I didn’t mean to,” he says softly.  “Plus your face hurt my elbow.”  Richie lifts up his sleeve and there was a small bruise forming right above his elbow.  

Bev rubs the space inbetween her eyebrows.  Sometimes it’s like she’s their mother, always fixing them up.  She grabs Ben’s hand, ignoring the blush that creeps up his neck.

“I’m taking Ben to the back to get him cleaned up.  Eddie, you’re in charge.”

Eddie turns a self satisfied smile towards Richie, who’s pouting about not being in charge while Bev’s gone.  

“But he doesn’t even work here!” Richie protests.

“Shut up Trashmouth and do as I say.  I’m the boss now.”  And with that, Bev walks Ben back to where they keep their first aid kit and sits him down in a back booth.  

Bev softly touches his nose, trying to tell if it was broken or not before noticing that the bleeding had stopped.  She wiped up the nearly dried blood with a soft towel.  Ben winces once and Bev pulls away.  

“Well, the good news is that I don’t think the Trashmouth broke your nose.  It’s not bruising much either, so you should be okay.  The blood has stopped as well.”  Bev smiles and turns away to put the towel down next to the first aid kit next to her.  She can hear Eddie speaking very quickly but he’s drowned out by ‘Eddie My Love’ playing once again.  That’s gonna be difficult to explain.  

“Hey, Bev?”  She turns back to him.

“Yeah, Ben?”

She waits, watching Ben struggle to spit whatever he wanted to say out.  It gives her a chance to look at him, really look at him.  Ben is no longer chubby; he still held on to a bit of baby fat but he had started lifting weights at the beginning of high school and it was really paying off.  Working at the lumberyard had helped a lot too.  He wasn’t buff per say, but he had workable muscle from years of lifting heavy wood.  Ben had recently gotten his blonde hair cut as well, making him look a bit older.  Overall, he was becoming a very good looking man.

“I was wondering if you’d want to go out sometime?”

“Oh, with all the Loser’s?” Bev tilts her head to one side, somewhat confused by the question.

“No, I mean just us.  Maybe dinner?  Or a movie?”  Bev’s brain stops in it’s tracks.  She hasn’t been on a date since the breakup.  Sure, she’d gotten offers but she thought it was too soon.  But last week she had seen Bill out with Audra Phillips, a cheerleader a year younger than them.  Obviously he had moved on, why shouldn’t she?

“- if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, I was just curious -”

Bev, interrupting his rambling, says “You know what, I’d love to.  What time were you thinking?”  Ben opens and closes his mouth several times before his face breaks into a huge smile.  

“I was thinking I could pick you up at your aunt’s place and we could go to that new Italian place on Third Street?  Around 6?”  Bev smiles.

“Sounds like a date, New Kid.”

[ridetobeatthedevil]

i read your tags on that one discourse post and i agree so much..i really wish the movies wouldve showed the exceptionalness of the losers club and the Shining and stuff. is there anything else you'd change about the movies if you could?

ah i’m glad you agree! hmm so let’s see:

1. yeah like i said, i definitely Hate the fact that the adult losers were made to fight and yell at mike instead of just agreeing to come together and do what they had to do like in the book. and i Hate that they weren’t portrayed as the predestined ones that had been handpicked to defeat the stupid clown

2. i’d bring mike’s wonderful parents back, but that one has been talked to death lol. why delete one of the two (2) good parents? why do the drug addict thing?? 

3. adult eddie was...not the best. i’m not one of those people who’s super mad about it and tbh i don’t think most of it is ransone’s fault, but i didn’t like that eddie was portrayed as being timid. is eddie scared? yes. is eddie small? yes. is there a level of regression that he experiences when he comes back to derry that makes him act kind of childish? yes. but eddie kaspbrak was never, never timid. eddie wasn’t the reckless, impulsive kind of brave like bill, but he was the kind of brave that was stronger than his terror, the kind of brave that acts despite fear, the kind of brave that thinks “not this time...not if my friends need me!” that eddie, real eddie, would’ve been right there with bill to help save richie from spiderstan and we all know it

4. mike should’ve had 1) a memory when they were looking for their tokens and 2) an individual situation with pennywise in the lair, just like the other five. i understand that the movie was already hella long but make it just seven minutes longer! don’t shortchange the dude that the entire movie revolves around! the same dude that got shortchanged last time too! that being said i am so so so grateful that muschietti deviated from the book and didn’t have mike almost get murdered by bowers and spend the final fight in the hospital. i was P I S S E D about that when i read it for the first time. no amount of saving him through the power of Loser Love could remedy the fact that only five went down into the sewers, STEPHEN.

5. wish we coulda seen some of the canonical love for my boy bill! there’s an awful lot of people exasperated at him in the movies which is fair, but those kids (and later adults) loved the absolute shit out of him and i wish we could’ve seen that with more than just bev and mike

6. justice for the parallel between georgie kissing bill’s cheek before dying and then 27 years later bill kissing mike’s cheek before they all split and forgot each other forever!!!!! woulda been good. woulda been wonderful.

that’s all i can think of right now! BUT i am a sucker for the movies and i love them a lot so now i’m gonna tell you all the changes that i LOVED! which i realize is way more than you asked for, but i feel like rambling today so i’m gonna do it anyway:

1. like i said, mike in the final fight. thank you andres!

2. having a tame little bill/bev kiss instead of any gross ass cheating. and i liked the way they nodded at that “closing the circle between the past and present” thing from the book by having the adult kiss perfectly parallel the kid kiss, including bev curling her hands into fists and then putting one palm on bill’s cheek where she had smeared blood 27 years before. that was perfect 

3. stan actually being around all the time! anyone who’s read the book knows that stephen would legit forget about stan every 150 pages or so and just have him.........not be there. he’d just be gone for no reason with no mention of his name (cocaine is a hell of a drug, kids). so i loved that stan was just as Present as everyone else in the movies and that one scene he got in IT 2017 where he gets separated from the losers and is screaming in terror while they all tell him how much they love him and that they’d never leave him was just...beautiful. it might be my fav movie scene of all

4. not having the ritual of chüd in IT 2017 was a good call. i’ve said over and over that IT is not an adaptable book and one of the reasons is because it’s so interwoven as the narrative switches back and forth between 1958 and 1985 at the drop of a hat. it gets even more interwoven as they get to the final fight, going from the kid fight to the adult fight sometimes even at the rate of a paragraph at a time. both chüds happen at the same time which you couldn’t do in a movie, so i’m glad they just bypassed chüd in IT 2017 and left it to be the big Final Fight when they were adults. i know lots of people hate the way muschietti did the ritual but like.....how the fuck was he supposed to portray some metaphysical, tongue-biting, it’s-all-happening-in-our-heads-as-we-get-pulled-out-to-the-edges-of-the-universe, cocaine-laced melee that really could only exist on paper? give him a break...he did his best lmao

5. confirming that richie is gay!!!! like we been knew but it was cool that they made the subtext into actual text...not a lot of book-to-movie adaptations do that

6. most of what they did with richie tbh. he was a bit of a mess in the book (like don’t get me wrong, he was mostly a pretty good friend and i like him but the racism...whew. beep beep richie, indeed) and i like how they remade him in the movie. he went from being offensive to just annoying and it was perfect lol

7. this isn’t one of the changes i like better than the book, per se, but it’s a change i’ve seen people complain about that i’m actually 100% okay with: i’m totally fine with bill having lied to georgie about being sick. this is both because i’m an ANGSTY BITCH and bill is my favorite so adding to his trauma and guilt complex speaks to me (sorry bill), and because it really and truly cuts to the heart of the issue: that bill is a good fucking big brother. two things can exist at once, that bill lied to georgie and that he was a good brother. having mcavoy!bill tell jaeden!bill that just because he didn’t want to play on a rainy day one time, it doesn’t mean he’s a bad person or a bad brother (”and it never did!”) is just. wow. that’s exactly the kind of absolution i wanted for bill and i’m totally fine with it!  

8. HAVING THEM ALL REMEMBER EACH OTHER! GOD BLESS. i knew they’d make that change and yet i still wept over it like the fucking baby that i am

umm yeah sorry i think i’m done now. this is SOOOO much more than what you asked for, but apparently i have Thoughts today. thank u.

[deafwestnewsies]

stop and stare

The Losers must keep living after the summer of ‘58. Living and breathing the air that was stolen from the victims of that horrible monster. 

richie x eddie, bill x stan

read it also on my ao3 and ff.net!

This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us

It's time to make our move, I'm shakin' off the rust

There were whispers now. Whispers that Eddie just couldn’t seem to shake. 

As he walked through the pharmacy aisles, searching for the bandaids with the little prong things on the end that wouldn’t fall off when he moved his elbows, he heard the first whispers. “That little Kaspbrak boy. Over there. So tragic, what he did to his mother.” Eddie’s back stiffened at the other woman’s titters as the pair of old ladies walked away from the cough syrups. Not even knowing who they were, he glared at their backs until they strolled into the next aisle. Swiping whatever bandages were in front of him and stowing them in his front pocket, Eddie stormed out of the store and into the alley behind it. 

Bill’s expectant gaze met him first as he held out his hand. Eddie put the box of gauze down and stood near the wall, almost leaning, but not willing to risk the germ exposure. Everyone watched with bated breath as Bill’s steady hands cleaned out the gash in Mike’s arm and began dressing the wound. His strong hiss of pain made Eddie jump and cover his eyes, making him feel four years old again. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, covering his face from the scene and murmuring It’ll be okay, Eds. He’ll be okay. Not having the willpower to correct the boy on the juvenile nickname, Eddie relaxed slightly into Richie’s chest and tried not to wince at the wimpers coming from Mike.  

Henry Bowers might’ve been gone, but that did not mean there were other gruesome bullies waiting anxiously to take his place. Bullies who were just as mean (because when there wasn’t a maniac clown to deal with, there were tenth graders) and just as vicious (because Derry was cruel that way) and just as armed. This time it meant waiting for Mike on the path he always took into town with a barrage of insults and a serrated blade. When he retold the tale later, clutching his bleeding arm and staining his work boots, Mike said that they called him names that even Mike wasn’t really allowed to say, that they had heard he was one of the crazy kids who claimed they were attacked by a demon. If you want something to be scared of, boy, we’ll give it to you. Ain’t no monster under your bed. They had whispered it, right before slashing his arm wide open. 

That was the latest town gossip, and the whispers that seemed to invade every moment of Eddie’s waking life. A group of seven kids emerged from the decaying house on Neibolt street, bloody yet victorious, when eight had entered. They would tell anyone who would listen that they fought off a killer clown, the same that had killed Betty Ripsom and ripped off Georgie’s arm and left him for dead. Instead of believing the children, everyone made snide remarks about the poor Bowers, both father and son dying under mysterious and inexplicable circumstances. Of course, the initial blame was handed directly to the Loser’s Club, but as the investigation went on they found that the blood on their clothes belonged only to each other and the fingerprints on the knife used to kill Detective Bowers didn’t have a match. They still spent a night in jail. One cold, dark night with only one another to keep warm. 

So no, it wasn’t a surprise when Mike came staggering up to the Aladdin, where they had all planned to meet. Each of them had been attacked at different times, some getting it worse than others, (people liked to pick on the color of Mike’s skin, the way Eddie blushed when he walked into the boy’s locker room, Ben’s size. The list could go on.) and every time, they banded together and stood as a united front. There would always be a small voice in the back of their minds, however. The same that played in Eddie’s as he clung to Richie, trying to be strong for Mike’s sake. Maybe this town is as sick of us as we are of them. 

I've got my heart set on anywhere but here

I'm staring down myself, counting up the years

Richie began making the plans absentmindedly, mostly as a way of escape during boring classes and sleepless nights. As soon as he turned eighteen, he would turn on his heels and run from Derry, run from all of the monsters who lived here, run from the clown and his parents and everyone who had ever called him useless. He didn’t quite know where he would run to, but the maps in his mind always led somewhere bright, where it didn’t rain quite as often and he could wear his shorts during the winter time. 

At sixteen, he realized that his daydreams could all be tracked with some scraps of paper, red yarn, and a bulletin board, so he began doing exactly that. Behind a poster on his wall, Richie began sketching out the Great American Roadtrip (Richie Tozier Edition). First, he would work on making sure the truck he had inherited was reliable enough to drive across the country. 

He began working part time in the town’s auto shop, picking up spare pieces wherever he could and making some half-hearted tips. The only reason Mr. Kurtz, the head mechanic, had hired the boy was that for the most part, he lived oblivious to any town gossip. All of Richie’s coworkers avoided him like the plague and tried to whisper warnings to Kurtz when he first began the job. Staring curiously at the gangly boy who kept his head down and did all of his work in a prompt fashion, the man waved all of the rumors away. “Leave the boy be,” he’d respond. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a tale to tell.” 

With a decent engine and enough money to make it wherever he was planning on going, Richie began looking for work that he could do while he was out there. He wasn’t half bad at the whole mechanic thing, and once he was nearing eighteen he began to consider it very seriously. Richie, ever the trashmouth, could still make whole crowds hysterical with a well-timed joke and a fake voice or two, but he didn’t dare tell anyone that he almost wished he could do that for a living. Maybe that was why he finally settled on Los Angeles, a place that people would speak of in hushed voices and stars in their eyes. It was seemingly perfect, except for one minor detail. 

It was dirty. Not that that bothered Richie, of course, he once had a record of not showering for three weeks and two days. No, this would bother someone else, someone who had always been in the back of his mind, someone who Richie just couldn’t imagine living without so he put him on this metaphorical trip, right alongside him. Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier had done everything together since the beginning of time, and now Richie was going to ask him to do one more thing that would change their life completely. So Richie set off to do the final thing on his checklist: Ask Eddie to throw his entire life away and be reckless, for the first time in his tiny, asthmatic life. 

The knock on the Kaspbrak’s door seemed too loud, too forceful, and he winced when Sonya, Eddie’s evil hag of a mother, answered the door. “Hey-y-y-y, Mrs. K. Eddie ‘round?” Her frown was enough to tell him exactly where Eddie was (down at the Barrens) and how she felt about it. (She hated it.) “See ya later Sonya!” Richie shouted as he turned and began running in the right direction. Her grumbling was lost on deaf ears as he could only hear the wind whistling through his hair and the sun beating down. 

By the time he arrived, Richie was sweaty and completely out of breath. He wasn’t sure why he had run, maybe it was just the feeling in his chest that if he didn’t ask Eddie right now he’d explode. So when he saw Eddie peacefully reading a book on top of a blanket and slathered in sunscreen, Richie also couldn’t explain the way his heart fell into his feet. 

“Richie?” Eddie called, book sliding to the floor. He smiled so warmly at Richie that he had to remind himself to move his feet, lift them off the ground, one by one. 

He settled on the ground next to him. “Hey Eds. I’ve got somethi-” 

“Don’t call me Eds.” 

The sentence that Eddie had said before, maybe a thousand times over, made Richie’s throat ache with familiarity. Suddenly he felt twelve again, with glasses too big for his face and feelings that he would never be allowed to talk about with anyone. “Eds. Please listen to me.” Eddie made a displeased noise, but leaned his chin in his hands and gazed up at Richie with wide, expectant eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” He began, nervously pushing at the bridge of his glasses. “That I can’t stay here. Derry, I mean. There’s just too much shit to remember and now that we’re older and everyone still manages to hate us- and I hate them, I think. I don’t wanna ever spend another moment here if I don’t have to. So uh, I’m leaving. Four days, to be exact.” 

Eddie’s eyes kept widening, kept growing at a pace that was almost worrisome. “Four days?” He whispered. “Four days and you leave me? How could you, Rich! We swore we would never-” 

“I want you to come with me.” Richie cut his rambling off. 

“No. Absolutely not.” Eddie said it with an air of finality that made Richie almost unwilling to fight back. 

“Eds…” He almost whispered. 

They were so close, their noses only inches apart and staggered breathing intertwining. Eddie turned away suddenly, looking at a spot that was somewhere over the creek. “Don’t call me Eds. I’m not moving away with you, Tozier. My whole life is here. My college is here. My mom is here. It’s selfish of you to even think I’d go.” 

He felt his heart splinter into a million pieces. “Okay.” Richie said dumbly. “Thank you for giving me my answer.” Eddie’s sniff filled the air, and Richie realized he wasn’t the only one on the brink of tears. “Eddie?” The smaller boy’s head turned slightly, still not making full eye contact. “Please tell me one more thing. Did you ever… did you ever-” He cut himself off before he let his trashmouth be the death of him again. The insinuation was enough. Eddie understood. 

It was a bold move, but one Richie had to make before he left for good. 

Eddie’s eyes swept over the creek one last time as a perfect tear rolled down his cheek. “No,” he whispered softly. “I don’t think I did.” 

Richie left four days early on the Great American Roadtrip (Richie Tozier Edition). He was set on anywhere but here, but he left his heart in a diddly little town in Maine, on a creekbed. 

Steady hands just take the wheel

Every glance is killing me

His knuckles were turning white with force as he gripped the leather steering wheel, trying desperately not to crash the car. The nerves of driving back into his hometown were practically choking him, ghosts of the past reaching down into his throat and cutting off all circulation until he had to pull over to the side of the road. Gulps of air came flooding in as Ben stared at his surroundings. 

It was a bright, sunny day, unusual for the middle of April, and he was parked right underneath a cheery sign that read Welcome to Derry! The irony was enough to make him laugh, but it escaped as more of a wheeze, and Ben hit his head on the steering wheel. Truth be told, he really couldn’t pinpoint the reason he was so nervous to be back in Derry. Life was halfway terrible when he was a kid, but that was because of childhood bullies that would sneer awful remarks at him on the playground. Surely they had all grown up, right? No one would call him fatso or loser when he walked past the shops in town, even though the storekeepers were the same as his middle school tormentors. Ben knew that he could walk through town and name the baker, the town drunk, the new ninth grade science teacher, because no one left Derry. No one left, no one came. 

Benjamin Hanscom was what most would call an anomaly, because he got to escape the fate of a childhood growing up in Derry. Ben, a beautiful redhead named Beverly, (January embers, Ben thought in the back of his mind. What did that mean?) and someone he could only remember as Richie the Trashmouth. These were the kids who actually made it out of the small town. There was a postcard tucked under his bed in a box of junk addressed to a house in Connecticut. Ben had moved there was he was fifteen, four years after- Ben couldn’t quite remember what that was after. Four years after something important happened. Something that made receiving the postcard fill his stomach with dread. 

December 12th, 1965

Ben! We’ve missed you! Wish you would write more, Stan thinks you’re pulling a Bev on us and never looking back. I told him that you’d never forget about your old panty waists back in Derry. Stan says hi, by the way. Yes. Hello Ben. Miss you. So do Eddie and Mike. And that’s what I’m writing to you about! Guess who made it out! The trashmouth himself! Richie upped and left for California two days ago without telling any of us. For some reason I can’t find it in me to be mad at him because I’m so damn proud he made it out. Eddie’s real bummed though. Only speaks when he needs to and always leaves early. But it’s fine though. Richie’s like you and Bev, he’ll really make it now! Maybe he’ll go the rest of his life without seeing It. Sorry, not a funny joke. Stan’s laughing a little bit, though. And that means it was probably not a great joke. We miss you, Ben. Please try to write. We sent you some stuff to inspire your inevitable poems of your life and times here in the shithole. 

Losers forever, 

Bill Denbrough

Ben pulled the box from his backseat now, the strange urge that had him bring it with him now telling him to rifle through. A small, leather bound notebook with the title Derry’s Unofficial History by Mike Hanlon. There was nothing else written, just an ominous page written by a boy he didn’t remember. A green bouncy ball. Handful of arcade tokens. A bridge built with toothpicks. One bottle cap off of a cheap brand of vodka. Shoelaces tied into a noose. A book of town history. Finally, another postcard, splattered in something red, smelled vaguely cherry-like, and written in handwriting Ben would never be able to recognize. 

Your hair is winter fire. 

January embers, 

My heart burns there too. 

(Really takes ya back, huh Ben?) 

Back to what, though? Ben had read this poem a million times over and still, nothing ever rang a bell. It was like having a kernel of popcorn stuck in your gums or a phantom rock in your shoe. Always in the back of his mind and never seeing the light of day. 

Giving the poem one last glance and then tossing the box to the side, Ben slowly started the car again. He drove past the sign and into the main center of town, just a row of damp store fronts with sad, dull signs advertising the different sales. All of a sudden Ben couldn’t quite remember what he was here to accomplish, why he had left his comfortable life to visit the place he grew up. Nostalgia wasn’t the answer since there was nothing to reminisce about, just a handful of vague emotions that left him feeling uneasy. 

Thinking he should just turn around and go home, Ben began to pull a U-turn when he saw a man standing on the corner of the street. He had a vendors cart with him, but there was no description as to what he was selling, just a bunch of red balloons tied to the handle. Ben couldn’t quite see his face since the balloons swaying in the nonexistent breeze covered him up. As he turned around and drove back up the street, he glanced in his rearview mirror once more. The balloons were gone. The man locked eyes with Ben and leered, for just a second, long enough to make his blood run cold. His smile was terribly wide, lips stretching over his teeth in an inhumane way and pulling the flesh to be shiny and tight. Black holes stood where eyes normally did. Big orange puff balls suddenly decorated the man’s apron. When Ben whipped around in his seat to get a better look, there was nothing left. Just a single red balloon, floating up, up, up. 

Time to make one last appeal

For the life I live

No one said a single word. If they even tried, Stan shut them down. “Shut up.” He’d say, even if Richie began thinking of a joke. There was no room for laughter in a holding cell. 

They had been arrested and Stan was trying to figure out a way of telling his father without being murdered before he was bar mitzvah-ed. Well, more murdered than the crazy fucking killer clown had tried to accomplish before Richie clobbered him over the head with a baseball bat and they all just started screaming and throwing things and at some point Stan definitley ran him through with an iron rod. But that was nothing compared to Mr. Uris and a good reason to yell. No, the true horror awaited him when he got home tonight. He could already see his mustache trembling with anger, the red creeping up the sides of his neck. 

Stan took a deep breath and clenched his fists, feeling the crescent of his nails bite into the soft skin on his palms. This was momentary distraction from the monster headache he currently had, courtesy of the painting lady. A shudder ran through him as he thought about the woman who wasn’t truly a woman, just an evil twist of a face that had skittered at him, like a cockroach. 

“Guys?” He called out, the panic settling in. “Guys, where’d you go?” No response. The quiet hung in the air, heavy, only penetrated by random drops of water. Stan swept the flashlight around, trying to figure out which pothole he had just emerged from, when a piercing giggle erupted out of nowhere. “Hello?!” His voice more frantic, more desperate for Richie to just be fucking with him in a bad moment, for Bev to start breaking out in her normal peals of laughter and reveal that she had been okay this whole time. The laughter was more of an echo this time, sending chills down his spine. It was an echo… but it was closer. Closer. Closer. 

Behind him!

Like the sound of his mother’s drumming nails when she was irritated with him, the lady in the painting flew at him. Stan jerked backward only to hit the wall, knocking the wind out of him, rendering him useless for a second. That was all she needed. Her smile widened as rows of teeth, dank and dripping with gray water, flashed in the quickly dimming beam of his flashlight. He screamed, screamed with terror and hope that Bill would come flying out to save the day, but her jaws stretched and suddenly he could only feel unimaginable pain. Her teeth bit into his skin and he had given up screaming, and now was writhing around, which made her clench down harder on the sides of his face. Stan was giving into the darkness that crept into the sides of his vision when a loud clang rang through the sewers and he heard a bewildered “What the fuck is that thing?” 

The woman leeched off into the darkness before Stan could register what had happened, and suddenly there was a crowd of people surrounding him. Stan! Stan, are you okay? Stan please say something! S-S-S-Stan! Stan’s eyes flew open at the sound of Bill’s voice and he immediately began screaming again. “You left me!” He scrambled backward and hit the wall again. “You all left me and you swore you wouldn’t!” Hot tears ran into the wounds, causing them to sting. When did he start crying? Still pushing back at them, accusing them of things beyond their control, Stan began growing hysterical. “You left me! You left me! You

‘ve left me no choice, laddies.” Mr. Nell said, causing Stan to jump back into the present. “I hafta call your parents ta come getcha in the mornin’.” Nobody but Richie was bold enough to groan at this statement, and he only did after the policeman was out of sight. Stan knew he was in for it once he got home. He might’ve almost died three hours ago, but he was definitely never going to see his twelfth birthday. 

Leaning his head against the wall, Stan tried to close his eyes and ignore the pounding in his head. Some shuffling noises were made as Eddie curled into Richie, buried himself in the fabric of his t-shirt and Richie threw an arm around the smaller boy. Beverly made no noise while tipping her head onto Ben’s shoulder and squeezing Mike’s arm, and both boys smiled softly in response. For a moment, Bill stayed completely still, but then reached for Stan’s hand. Stan jerked his eyes back open to only find Bill staring at him with the inevitable question in his eyes- Are you okay? Lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard, Stan closed his eyes again. 

In the morning he wasn’t only berated for coming out of the Neibolt street house half alive, but also that the Uris couple found their son lying cheek to cheek with that no-good Denbrough boy, fast asleep with their limbs entangled together. He got an earful, but Stanley didn’t mind much. He felt much braver than he ever had before. 

Stop and stare

I think I'm moving but I go nowhere

Beverly Marsh was almost fourteen years old and she was trying desperately to remember the name of the boy with bug-eyed glasses. It began as a joke she was trying to tell to Ella, another freshman who kept her head down and avoided the popular girls at all costs. “Tangled up there, lass?” Beverly had remarked when Ella came out of the bathroom stall with her skirt caught in her underwear. The girl laughed and asked what accent that was supposed to be, and Beverly began to answer when she caught herself short. “Well… it’s called the Scottish Cop.” She said slowly. “This boy… he used to do it all the time… even straight to a policeman’s face.” Ella then laughed once more and led them both out of the bathroom, a place they never willingly spent more time if they didn’t have to. (Another feeling Beverly couldn’t quite place- restrooms made her nervous. Like she was helpless.) 

Spending the rest of the school day thinking it over, she still didn’t have a name when she pulled her bike up to her aunt’s back door. A quick hello and a dash up the stairs led Beverly onto the floor of her bedroom, thinking about her life in Derry. 

She was born in Derry, Maine. Raised in a house with light blue shutters and a broken living room window. Inside lived Beverly and Al Marsh, a sweet child with cherub cheeks and a father who liked to beat his daughter senseless whenever he had the opportunity. Al had died in that house too, but from what? A lot of dying was happening, Beverly could remember that much. That’s why she was sent to Portland. Her father… but who else? Who else had died- G-G-Georgie. Georgie Denbrough. Little brother of Big Bill Denbrough, a tall boy who had a stutter but also a sweet dimple and layers of freckles that Beverly suddenly remembered being incredibly charmed by. Bill was the leader of the ragtag group of kids that followed him around on his heels and took heed of every word he stuttered out, and Beverly was no different. Like a puppy and it’s owner, Beverly saw stars when she looked at Bill. 

That was a long time ago. She was tougher now, she didn’t let any boys tell her what to do or when to do it. Not that the boys she had loved back in Derry were mean, they were just in charge. Beverly was the captain of her own destiny now. 

However, there were days when a sickly feeling would crawl up the back of her neck and make her turn around fast, for one second, to find nothing but a breeze behind her. There were days when walking into a bathroom meant going straight to the toilet to throw up, because the sight of white-tiled walls made her inexplicably nauseous. There were days when she would cross to the other side of the street to avoid a storm drain with an open grate. There were days when Beverly Marsh did not feel in control at all, and she wished that Bill Denbrough was there to tell her what to do. 

He was back in Derry, however, and sent her postcards every once and awhile to remind her. They were never waxing letters of love and longing, (although she had one of those too, but it stayed in the back of her closet and in the back of her mind) but instead cheerful reminders to write to her old pals back in Derry. She had tried once, but after crying in frustration when she couldn’t figure out the name of the place they used to spend all of their time, that dusty forest with the great big cliff drop off, the letter went into her wastepaper basket. Beverly now kept the postcards in a plastic pencil case box at the top of her closet. 

They now sat scattered around her as she tried to figure out the kid’s name. Bill’s letters mentioned Stan the Man, Trashmouth, Eddie, Benny Boy, and Mike, but Beverly couldn’t decipher the differences between all of them. It was like they were characters in a book she had read long ago, all blending together to make a ball of personality- Someone hated taking their shirt off when they swam, another kept an inhaler glued to his hand, one worked on a farm and brought them all apples when the season was right. Bill was the only one that stood out in her mind, but that was because he had always stood out. He was first the boy with the dead brother. He then became the leader of the group. Bill never wore glasses, though, this much she could remember. 

Giving up after a last ditch skim through the letters, Beverly lied down on her bed and curled up into a ball. Perhaps it was for the better that she couldn’t quite remember Derry. After all, she had left her father there, and that was definitely for good. 

In the morning, Beverly had forgotten all about the conundrum of the boy with the bug-eyed glasses and ate her toast and jam in complete peace. After kissing her aunt on the cheek and grabbing her brown bagged lunch, she mounted her bike (an old, rickety thing that glinted in the sun and caused her aunt to worry when she made a sharp turn around the corner of the neighborhood) and lifted her fist in the air, crowing with triumph, “Heigh ho, Silver away!” 

Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared

But I've become what I can't be

He dropped to the floor, clutching his ears and trembling. The bang of the gun was too much for him to handle, even though it had been ten years since he had a reason to actually fear it. Staring the sheep right in the eyes to mirror the eye contact Henry had held with him before attempting to blow his brains out was a bitter pill for Mike to swallow. 

One he often choked on. 

The farmhand, a younger boy named Thomas, tried to hide the sigh that escaped as Mike took a deep breath, calming the tremors that ran through his body. He didn’t chastise him for the disrespect, because he knew he would’ve done the same thing if he was fifteen and working for a crazy man. “Do you mind finishing up here?” Mike asked. The boy nodded and picked up the abandoned gun, hanging it off of the shelf and slung the sheep around his shoulders. Mike’s stomach turned with the sight of blood dripping from it’s head, the one he had just put a bullet through, and pushed through the barn doors. 

Dropping to his knees and taking in deep gulps of breath, Mike let the heat of the sun beat down on his back. The memories of that day were too vivid in his mind. Things were never truly the same afterwards, he knew it, the Losers Club knew it, even his parents understood that there was a change in their boy. He was no longer the delicate yet strong boy they had raised. He no longer wanted to explore all of the unbeaten paths of Derry. Mike had lost the spark of curiosity that made so many people love him. Each member of the club had reached a level of adulthood that no eleven year old should be able to understand. 

They handled it in their own ways. Beverly, for starters, moved away. Completely. It wasn’t really her choice, but she wasn’t arguing. She had told them all once, in a hushed voice at one of Bill Denbrough’s sleepovers, that she heard noises in her house still. Dripping water pipes. Child-like whispers. Faint circus music. Beverly Marsh left Derry with a skip in her step and a promise to write them all at least once a month with a review of the latest horror movie in theaters. (They never heard from her again. Bill kept sending letters, however. They would gather around and write it together, jutting in with their own handwriting and stories of things they thought she would like. Mike always wrote lengthy descriptions of the butterfly migrations. Bill would sign each one with Losers Forever.) 

Bill began to write. He was always good at english and he came up with the best lies to get them out of scrapes, but this was something different. Pages and pages of horror stories began surfacing, dropped off at their doors with varying notes. (“Is this something to actually be scared of?” “Can you check my grammar?” Mike was always asked to see if the story was historically accurate, to see if pilgrims would’ve been in Utah during November, 1650, or something of that nature.) The group never acknowledged it, but the stories became increasingly real, increasingly familiar, until they just had a specific recount of the day at the Neibolt house and they all gathered together and cried, as thirteen year olds are wont to do. 

As if nothing ever happened, Stanley Uris would refuse to talk about anything that had occurred. He began spending less time with the group as well, and they all hated to see the strained look on Bill’s face when any of them questioned where Stan was. Sometimes they saw him riding his bike around town, or birdwatching in the park, and none of them really said anything about it. Stan was affected in a different way that day, because he had to face the monster alone. When they made a promise to come back and fight if It ever resurfaced, Stan’s hand shook when he held out the broken coke bottle. He was with them until he wasn’t. 

Richie and Eddie became RichieandEddie and no one was brave enough to bring it up. Not brave, there was no bravery in that sort of confrontation, but no one was willing to take away something that made them happy. They each had their thing, and they happened to be each others. So if cuddling so tightly you couldn’t distinguish who was who during movies nights, Richie comforting Eddie alone during his panic attacks, them spending more time together than with the Losers made them happy, what else could they do except stand there and think Thank God we are safe and we have one another?

Ben and Mike began spending more time together as well. They both migrated toward the library and found solace in the quiet stacks of books, arming themselves with knowledge and words instead of weapons and fire. It began subconsciously, showing up at the same time because they had wordlessly made a schedule, sharing a table and putting each other’s books away as a favor. Then one day Mike wasn’t there because of some chores and Ben called his house breathlessly wondering if Mike was okay and if he could speak to him, please? Suddenly showing up was a lot more purposeful now, Ben bringing two sleeves of Necco Wafers, Mike having enough paper for both of them to take notes. Library days became Mike’s favorite because he knew that he wouldn’t have to face the world for a while, and he had a great pal beside him. 

This is where Mike found himself drifting to, ten years later. Benjamin Hanscom had left Derry when they were fifteen years old, but Mike still loved the library and the peace it brought him. The rattle of his beat-up Ford slowed to a stop outside of the Derry City Library and Mike suddenly didn’t feel as nauseous as he once did. Greeting the librarian with a quick smile, he took his spot at the table he had occupied for so many years and cracked open whatever book was lying on the end. A tale of princesses and knights in shining armor. 

The lazy afternoon light filtered in as time went on, and Mike looked up. The clock on the wall told him it was definitely time for him to head home. As he put the book back, something etched into the surface of the table caught his eye. Result of a day where Ben and Mike tried to convince the others to meet at the library, Richie had taken out his pen knife and carved LOSERS FOREVER BITCH into their sacred reading table. Ben had almost cried when he saw it and Mike threatened to punch him before Bill had stepped in and calmed everyone down. Mike knew that it was Eddie who had snuck back in and scratched out the ‘BITCH,’ risking the chance that he would be teased mercilessly. He grazed the carving lightly, remembering fondly of the moments where he felt invincible standing next to the rest of his friends. He felt a surge of protection even seeing it, feeling guarded by the ghosts of the Losers Club. And by God, isn’t that what Mike wanted? To feel safe again, even if for one day? 

Stop and stare

You start to wonder why you're here not there

The top button of his shirt was making his neck itch something fierce. He wasn’t quite sure why he had to wear it so tightly around his neck, but the striped tie he also had held it up fastidiously. The itch, in the end, did not matter. Because when you’re attending your little brother’s funeral, trivial things like the top button of your shirt seemed to be important for only seconds at a time. 

Technically, the funeral had already passed. Bill had spent the morning in the local church, holding his mother’s hand as she cried. He had been strangely stoic for a just-turned eleven year old boy, but maybe it was to show his father that he was a man, that he was strong enough to be his son. It didn’t matter. Zach and Sharon Denbrough cried through the entire service, and their adventurous (alive) son sat between them, unblinking. On the way home Sharon accidentally caught Bill’s eye in the mirror and for the first time in his young life, she did not smile back. 

Bill’s top button was itching him as he sat in the middle of the upstairs hallway listening to the people that were gathered downstairs. A low murmur crept up from the crowd, people apologizing to his parents while trying to mask their secret relief that it wasn’t their own child’s funeral and eating crudites. For a while Bill had stood with them, but he got antsy and his dad tapped him on the back, relieving him of the duty. Not really sure where he wanted to be, (not his room because he could see Georgie’s bed and Georgie’s toys and Georgie’s things but there wasn’t a Georgie anymore) Bill slid down the wall and hid from the rest of the people. 

He untied the tie around his neck with clumsy fingers, just pulling at the knot until it came loose, and then unbuttoned the itchy culprit of a top button. Just as he sighed with relief, pairs of footsteps came bounding up the stairs and almost stepped right on top of him. “Hole-lee shit!” Richie exclaimed. “I faouwnd ‘im, boys!” For an inexplicable reason, hearing Richie’s terrible Cowboy Joe voice relaxed Bill just a bit more, and looking into the eyes of his best friends made him release all of the tension in his small, eleven year old shoulders. 

Eddie and Stan looked impeccable, as if anything else was to be expected of them. Both in little suit jackets that were broken out for special occasions, like Sabbath when Stan’s Bubbe came to dinner or Christmas when Eddie was dragged by the ear to church for an incredibly boring amount of time. Richie was in a clean pair of jeans and a button-up, since his parents did not believe in buying such an expensive item of clothing for a growing boy. The trio looked very nice, but they also looked out of place, as if their very faces told the story that they should not be dressed in their nicest clothes on a Thursday afternoon. The slump in their shoulders and pity in their eyes said I should be playing in the sunshine, not mourning the loss of my best friend’s little brother. However, there they stood. At the feet of the boy with the dead brother. 

“H-H-Hey guys.” Bill said quietly, smiling half-heartedly up at them. They all crowded down with him and wordlessly wrapped their arms around each other, making Bill the center of their small universe. He said nothing, just let them pat him slightly and make comforting noises for a second before slinging an arm around Stan. A small sniffle escaped from him, and the boys all let go for a second. They settled in the middle of the hallway, a tight circle with their knees overlapping each other. Eddie was wrapped up in Richie’s side, and Bill didn’t let go of Stan. 

They still sat in silence and watched Bill fight back tears, tears that he wasn’t allowed to shed in front of his father, tears that he would probably get made fun of by Richie for later, but tears that suddenly spilled over when Stan carefully bumped his forehead against Bill’s. The small act of sincerity reminded Bill that he would never be able to feel Georgie’s small hand grasp for his when they were crossing the street, and now he was a blubbering mess. He didn’t dare try to say anything because he knew his stuttering would be terrible, but the other boys seemed to understand everything he was feeling. So Bill just cried, and his best friends held him while he did. 

Later, Bill sat on his bed, his feet dangling off of the edge, staring at his closed door. Eddie was brushing his teeth, Richie looking through his meager record collection, and Stan sat next to him, reading from a book about birds. “Hoopoe is a national bird of Israel and one of the birds that were considered sacred in-” 

“I-I-I-I wis-sh-sh it had b-b-been me.” Bill cut Stan off. The soft slap of a record hitting the floor came from Richie. “H-He d-d-d-didn’t deserve t-to d-d-die. Sh-Sh-Should’ve b-b-been m-m-m-me.” The Big Book of Birds closed with a thump. “I s-s-sent hi-him out th-th-there with-thout anyo-o-ne.” Stan reached for his hand, but Bill drew it away with a suddenness that made Stan jump. “D-D-Don’t p-p-pity me. I-I-it’s t-t-true, and I-I-I c-c-can’t take it b-b-back.” 

Bill jumped off the bed and flung open his bedroom door. He stared at Georgie’s bed with a hard look in his eye and then made the decision that he would never close the door again, because he deserved to be reminded of the thing he had done, and he wanted to make things fair. Georgie had died because of him and Bill was going to make himself pay. 

And you'd give anything to get what's fair

But fair ain't what you really need

This isn’t fucking fair, Bill thought. My friends are going to die because of me, and that just isn’t fair. The clown had him by the throat, his breath hot and rancid and making Bill feel slightly dizzy. “As I feed on your fear.” It finished, giving that wide, maniacal grin. “Or.” He tried turning his head to look at the thing, but it tightened its grip, the talons biting into his flesh. “You'll just leave us be. I'm taking him, only him. And then I'll have my long rest and you will all live to grow old and drive and lead happy lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.” 

Bill’s shoulders fell with relief. His friends could live, really live, have long lives where they got to do more than build a dam in the Barrens or watch crappy horror movies all day long. All he had to do was convince them to leave. Their spouts of protest suggested otherwise, but he knew that they would go if he told them to. He was Big Bill after all. Always the one to make the decisions. “Leave,” he commanded. The room went quiet for a moment, because that’s what the world seemed to do when Bill Denbrough spoke. All of creation paused just to hear him speak. “I’m the one who dragged you all into this. Go!” 

Like deer in headlights, his friends stared at him as they tried to make their decision. After a pregnant moment of silence, Richie took a step forward. “Sorry, Bill.” He shook his head. “I told you, Bill. I fucking told you, I don't want to die…” Bill took a deep breath. Richie was going to lead them all out of the sewers, Richie was going to save their lives, Richie was going to leave him to die. And Bill wasn’t even angry about it. “It's your fault. You punched me in the face, you made me walk through shitty water, you brought me to a fucking crackhead-house. And now… I'm gonna have to kill this fucking clown!” Before Bill could react, Richie swung his bat with the power of God himself. “Welcome to the Loser’s Club, asshole!” 

A flurry of pipes being thrown and children grabbing onto his back and Bill being released from it’s terrible grasp then commenced. He immediately joined in on the fight and they all fought back, harder and harder until it took the form of a man none of them had seen before. Except Beverly. 

The man had asked a question Bill did not understand, called her a name he had not heard before, when Beverly screamed a terrible and ugly scream and rammed an iron rod down his throat. They all watched as it flung itself down the larger sewer hole and stood together, beaten and bruised, but alive. 

In the quiet, Bill came to a decision. Maybe his life wasn’t fair. If it was fair, Georgie would be almost seven by now and starting the second grade. If it was fair, he would be able to sit with his parents and feel the love and light his home used to carry. If it was fair, Stan would look at him just like Beverly did. His life wasn’t fair, but he tried his hardest to make it right. Bill fought for Georgie, for his parents, for his friends. Fair wasn’t what he needed. Bill needed things to be just. 

hello this is really fucking long jesus @ me. anyways pls leave a comment and i will show up outside of your window at midnight with a boombox to serenade you

[writeyourownlifestory]

Lights Up

Chapters: 5/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife​ Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @ghostnebula, @madidraw @madi-main, @gazebobullshit, @thoughtfullyyoungduck​, @airbenderking

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

Chapters one, two, three, four

Still Into You - Paramore 

I should be over all the butterflies but I'm into you, I'm into you And even baby our worst nights I'm into you, I'm into you Let 'em wonder how we got this far, 'Cause I don't really need to wonder at all Yeah, after all this time I'm still into you

Richie went back home with more than half of his questions unasked but full of hope. Hope that Eddie wanted to see him again. Hope that Eddie wanted to answer his questions. It felt weird, but good, to have him back.

Fuck, his therapist would surely have a stroke right now if he knew that the progress they had made went right down the drain. Oh fuck it, he paid him big time so he could do with what he learned whatever he liked.

And what did he do to distract himself from Eddie? Well, edit Dr. K’s interview all night. It was still weird, not separating Dr. K from Eddie. They were so different but at the same time, he couldn’t deny it. Under the eyeliner and dark clothes, there was still that guy with a soft smile he thought he would never see again. The boy that haunted his dreams night after night.

Fuck.

He was spiraling down again, wasn’t he? Maybe he needed to call his therapist and book an appointment after all these years. First thing in the morning.

He fell asleep around four on top of his computer, without even realizing it, so when he heard the doorbell rang, he was surprised he wasn’t in his bed. Confused and still half asleep, he went to answer. Whoever it was, he was going to have to bear with his bad breath, messy hair and pajamas, which consisted of a pair pickle rick pajama bottoms -yes, he was a thirty-year-old man, thank you-  and an old Trashmouth shirt, his first one (and he was proud that it still fits.) Thank god Eddie wasn’t there to see that.

But Richie’s life was a mess and he left his luck forgotten in his mother’s womb, so when he opened the door, there he was, dressed as simply as the day before, but with a cap and glasses on, Eddie, a.k.a. Dr. K, in all his glory.

“I was in the neighborhood.” The man said with a smirk, lowering his glasses down to squint at the wrinkled shirt Richie was wearing. “Is that mine?”

“What? No, it’s mine.” Richie told him outright.

“I meant my band, dumbass.” Eddie chuckled.

Richie had halfway forgotten he was even wearing the thing, mostly because he had so many graphic tees and band shirts that they all got mixed up whenever he’d pull something on to sleep in. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What’s up, dude?” He asked, his voice heavy as he tried to come off as casual as possible.

“Told you. I was in the neighborhood.” Eddie mentioned with a shrug. “Mind if I come in?”

Richie always imagined this sort of thing. Well, kind of. He didn’t expect a rockstar to just show up on his doorstep. If anything, they’d meet at a stage door or a bar and he’d go back to the millionaires home, but instead, he was here. Wanting to come into his shitty apartment. It felt like something that came right out of a fanfic site.

Except this wasn’t just some rockstar. This was fucking Eddie.

Eddie who used to babble on and on about how dirty Richie’s carpet was, and how he never made his bed, and always left his clothes on the food. And honestly, it was the same shit except Richie had hardwood floors that could honestly use a polishing.

Regardless though, it wasn’t like Richie could tell him no.

So he stepped aside and allowed him to enter his apartment, wishing he had been given a heads up so he could have gotten dressed and clean up. However, Richie didn’t always get what he wanted in life. If he did, he wouldn’t be the miserable bastard he was today.

Eddie entered the home, looking around casually before turning back to Richie, finally removing the cap and sunglasses.

“If you wanted to blend in, you should have worn the polo and track shorts. Could have looked like every other dad in Whole Foods.” Richie mentioned to him, going to lean against the island, once again hoping to pull off the casual look.

“You shop at Whole Foods?” Eddie asked with a raised brow.

Richie didn’t reply. He shopped. Sometimes. Mostly ate out, because he could afford it, and anything he had at home was microwavable. And there was nothing wrong with that, at least to him.

“So um, what’s with the haircut?” He asked instead.

Eddie laughed shortly, caught off guard. “What?”

“You cut your hair. You used to have like, all the flowy locks and shit,” Richie gestured to his hair, which wasn’t that long or flowy but was a lot longer Eddie’s newest hair cut. It was similar to what he used to wear when they were kids, back when Eddie’s mom was in charge of how he wore his style.

“Oh. Just wanted something different.” He admitted. “New album. New me, right?” Eddie paused, raising a brow to Richie. “Is it bad?”

“What? No! No, no.” Richie shook his head quickly. “It looks great! Amazing, honestly. I mean, you went from looking like a seventies twink to like, a modern twunk.”

“What the actual fuck is a twunk?”

“A twinky hunk. Or hunky twink. You’re small but strong. Like . . . a bossy bottom.”

“Did you just call me a bottom?” Eddie asked, sounding more amused than offended.

“Are you? Wait, are you...are you still into...you know.”

“Richie, I write songs about fucking men, are you seriously asking me if I’m still gay?”

Richie paused, shifting from one leg to the other. He rubbed his hands together nervously, unable to what to say. He didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth or anything else. “I mean. I don’t know. Still trying to find out the difference between Dr. K and Edward Kaspbrak.”

“I think I’m trying to find out the differences too,” Eddie admitted somberly, going to lean across from Richie. “But, for a starter, whether it’s Eddie or Dr. K. We’re both gay. You of all people should know that.”

“Kids do stupid things when they’re, well, kids.” Richie shrugged.

“Hiding inside the standpipe was stupid,” Eddie told him carefully. “Going down to the quarry or jumping off the edge into that disgusting water was stupid. What we did wasn’t stupid, Rich.”

Richie didn’t know if he wanted to talk about it. They should. They had to. How could they not? They went from strangers to friends, to best friends, to boyfriends, and then to strangers again so quickly that even after all these years Richie was still dealing with the whiplash.

They didn’t do anything more than a kiss. Fuck, they didn’t even fully makeout. They were fucking thirteen years old. The first time Richie even talked about touching his dick, Eddie called him gross and made him double wash his hands before hanging out.

They were young, but they knew what they wanted and they knew the world wouldn’t fully understand them. They were alone together in this big, dark, scary place, but that was fine. Richie was okay because he knew he wasn’t suffering in silence. He had Eddie and Eddie had him.

And then they have pulled apart and Richie didn’t know how to cope. He had to pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars for a therapist just to be able to say ‘I’m gay’ out loud.

And now here he was, talking about the sexuality of his favorite rockstar, with his favorite rockstar, who also happens to be or at least was, his favorite person too.

What a clusterfuck. People should write a book about it. Maybe make it a soap opera.

“What about you?” Eddie asked with a raised brow. “Did you switch sides in the past few years?”

“I met a girl at one of your concerts and threw up on her when she touched my dick,” Richie admitted in a blunt ramble. “Safe to say, I’m into dudes.”

It wasn’t the worst night of his life. Close, but he’d give that to any time in High school, but overall, the night he attempted to hook up with a girl wasn’t the most shining moment in Richie’s existence. He already knew that he enjoyed guys, but he thought if he could convince himself that he also liked girls that he’d be okay. That he could get away with not having to pretend.

College-Richie wasn’t the brightest, all right?

He drank and got turned on by watching the lead singer of this new punk rock band and let some girl flirt with him. They made their way into the bathroom and made out, which wasn’t terrible despite the stickiness of her lip gloss and the sweet smell of her perfume giving him a headache.

Her breasts were soft and that was pretty off-putting, but he ignored it cause his dick was hard. And then she pushed her skinny fingers into his jeans and wrapped them around his dick and suddenly Richie turned into Linda Blair all over her.

She wasn’t horrible about it. Like, she didn’t scream or anything. She just walked away from him and that was fine. It was better that way.

Richie went back to his dorm and screamed into his pillow, falling asleep to the first Trashmouth album.

“Oh buddy,” Eddie whispered. The way that you’d say when you realize how pathetic something is, but you don’t want to make the person feel even worse about themselves.

“It’s fine,” Richie said, squinting his eyes shut. He hadn’t grabbed his glasses and the world was just a bit fuzzy. “I’m fine now. Gay as a three dollar bill and all that shit.”

“I think it’s ‘queer as a three dollar bill.’” Eddie mentioned to him.

“Regardless, it’s what I am. In and out of Maine.”

“I won’t tour there,” Eddie said suddenly. “Wasn’t exactly ideal. The label tried to make me go but I refused to go on. I guess I got a rep for being a diva or whatever, but I won’t go back to that place.”

“You never told me how you go out,” Richie mentioned.

“Right.” Eddie sighed. “I guess you’ve earned my tragic backstory.”

“I was there for it asshole. At least partly.” He straightened and stretched, scratching at his five o'clock shadows. “Lemme get dressed. Get my glasses. We can talk.”

“You should keep the shirt on. It looks good on you.”

“Glad to know you still like being on top of me, Eds.” Richie fired back, making his way into his bedroom.

He returned not long after; actual clothes on this time around. Jeans and a plain tee shirt. Nothing fancy or anything with Eddie’s face on it. He had his glasses on this time around, though he partially wished he didn’t.

When he walked back out, Eddie was standing in the corner, looking at the shrine that Richie had made to all the celebrities that had changed his life. Dr. K, of course, was at the forefront and now he was here, staring at it.

“Oh fuck.”

“It’s nice,” Eddie told him, his eyes remaining on the picture. “I’m honored.”

“Listen. Lemme just get this out right now. I went through some dark shit and your music, I don’t know if it’s just you or the whole band, but it helped me a lot, okay?” Richie rushed to explain; he just wanted Eddie to stay and not run out scared that he was just another crazed fan who wanted to keep a lock of his hair in a book or something.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Rich.” Eddie interrupted him carefully. “It’s . . . well, the band is good. They’re great guys, but I did the writing. I . . . I ended up becoming a star by accident, I guess.” Eddie admitted, moving deeper into the room and going to sit on the couch. “I was at school and took up music as an elective. I took up the guitar because it always seemed interesting. A buddy of mine had a band. I invited me to go and play with them for a while. After one show he got too drunk to go on and I ended up being the lead singer and guitarist. Some big wig for the music industry ended up being there. He likes my style and asked me to play with this group of guys who needed a singer and that’s that.”

“I always thought you had a nice voice,” Richie mentioned going to sit across from him, knees bent as he leaned against the arm of the couch. “Then again, singing along to Whitney in your bedroom and selling out Madison Square Garden isn't the same thing.”

“This break up. It’s not a breakup, with Trashmouth.” Eddie admitted gently. “Those guys are like brothers to me. But they have wives and families and shit. We’ve been doing this for almost ten years nonstop. They’ve missed a lot. They wanna take a break and I respect that.”

“You don’t wanna take a break?”

Eddie shrugged easily. “I’m not married. I don’t have kids. Shit, I don’t even have a dog. I think if I took a break I might lose my mind with boredom.”

“You could get a dog,” Richie suggested.

“I’d love to but seeing as I am homeless at the moment.”

“ Homeless! ?” Richie spits out. “Dude, you’re worth millions, how the fuck are you homeless?”

“My place is being worked on. Being demolished. Hated the way it looked so I’m having it remade, though the contractor I am dealing with is a real dickhead.”

“Is that why you’re at the fancy-schmancy hotel?” Richie asked with a raised brow.

“Beverly’s place is too small and I still have a penthouse in New York, but we’re recording here in LA so it’s not like I can go back and forth.”

“We have a guy that we featured in the magazine a year ago that might be able to help you out. He’s an architect and we sort of put his name on the map so he owes us one. I could give him a call for you.”

“You don’t have to do that Rich,” Eddie waved him off.

“Well call it even after that time you stole that comic book from Keenes for me,” Richie mentioned, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.

He texted Bill, requesting the number of Ben Hanscom as well as mentioning he needed an extension on the expośe on Dr. K, going to snap a pic of him on the couch to send to Bill as proof that he wasn’t lazing off.

“You sure you don’t want me to sign that for you?” Eddie asked with a playful smirk, gesturing to the picture of him on the wall.

“Of fuck off,” Richie scoffed as he finished writing the text.

“You could sell it! Make good money out of it,” Eddie suggested with a shrug.

“Okay, keep talking, Eds,” Richie smirked. “But no. It was your first magazine spread and now it has a hell of a lot more value knowing it’s you. My little Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie groaned and threw his head back in fake frustration. “Jesus, I was enjoying living without those annoying nicknames of yours, Trashmouth.”

“You know, every time I remember you named your band after me, I get reminded that you owe me royalties. How curious, huh?” Richie teased him with a slight smirk. “No, but really, I wouldn’t sell it for anything.”

“I’m glad you like it. The shoot was a nightmare. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” Eddie admitted with a shrug. “That was when I first got into the whole Dr. K persona and I was trying to work out the kinks of it all.”

“Oooh, Dr. K has kinks, huh? Sexy.”

Eddie hummed, saying no more. “I should probably get going.” He mentioned, at last, making a movement that seemed like he was forcing himself up.

Richie followed him to the door, going to lean against the frame after he opened it. “It’s so surreal, you know? Having you back here.”

He never imagined having Eddie back into his life, let alone having him in his life in the form of his idol.

“Well, I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Eddie told him, that boyish smile and the glimmer in his eyes doing wonderful things to Richie’s heart, stomach, and well, dick.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Richie mentioned, watching as Eddie pulled the baseball cap back onto his head and shoved the sunglasses back onto his face. Back to the disguise to keep him from the people on the street.

Richie didn’t live in a super busy neighborhood, though it was better to be safe than sorry. Richie offered a lame wave as Eddie walked off, leaving him alone in his apartment again.

[veganmikehanlon]

10 and 25 for hanbrough if you please! otherwise any pairing will do ♥

you know that thing where u can’t even search ur own blog for something you /literally/ tagged? this was something like…idk something but it reminded me of something i already wrote so i Really have no reason for not posting it sooner other than procrastination being my middle name so anyways, this:

Mike doesn’t mean to start writing a sex scene while sitting in a Starbucks, but he’d tried writing at home, well it’s just his parents house now, and his mom kept walking in trying to talk to him. So he left the old farmhouse and drove into his newly modernized hometown of good ol’ Derry, Maine.

It’d started with a piece of his story inspiring a memory from his own sex life. Something he’d done forever ago with an ex. Secretly, in a tent. Surrounded by friends. Not their most shining moment but it was hot and applicable to his current story.

He’s in the middle of writing about tongues sliding together when his eyes are drawn to the sound of the shop door opening. He almost chokes when he sees who it is walking in. Well, daydream about sex with your ex and he shall appear. Mike ducks behind his things to hide because he’s panicking.

Mike watches Bill walk to the counter, he observes the broad lines of his shoulders move under familiar flannel; and how the end of his short blond french braid, mostly held together by multi-colored bobby-pins, brushes the collar in a physical reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He walks through the room with the same gentle confidence that he always had, and it still draws the same admiring gazes from those around him. Mike’s eyes flicker between Bill and his computer screen, the incriminating words screaming at him, and then he catches sight of Bills’ smile and the perfect adjective pops into his head.

Just like that he’s writing again, more caught up in his story than he’s been in the last 30 minutes. Words stream from his fingertips and a scene unfolds, bits and pieces of Mike’s past slipping through, and just as he’s writing a description of how exciting it is to make someone moan as loud as you can make them laugh, he’s interrupted.

“Hi,” a soft voice calls, startling Mike from his head making him jump and hit his knees against the table, a move that almost sends his coffee toppling, but two pairs of hands shoot out to catch the wobbling cup. Bills’ hand settles warmly over Mike’s before he draws it back with an awkward chuckle.

A shiver runs through Mike as Bill’s fingers brush over his knuckles, and he looks up at the man before him with wide eyes. “Hi,” he squeaks, this entire situation sending him careening out of his comfort zone. Bill clears his throat before speaking (an old habit) “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a wince.

Mike chuckles nervously, his voice coming out a bit high and strained, “it’s okay I was just, um, writing.” This might be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. But Bill looks excited and he falls into the chair opposite Mike, setting his coffee and a notebook down on the open space.

“You’re writing?” He asks, a smile spreading across his face, and Mike has to smile back because oh yeah, they’d once shared everything with each other and Bill knows all about Mikes’ commitment-phobia to writing.

Mike quickly switches programs, an attempt at putting the niggling guilt in his chest away. “Yeah, just this story for this thing,” he answers vaguely, and they pause for an awkward second before Bill starts to ramble. “I’ve been working on drawing (a sentence that makes Mike proud too), I’m in a portrait class right now at school, and I came here to people watch and I saw you, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I practiced drawing you?”

Mike gasps softly in surprise at the request, “uh, what? You want to draw me?” The words fall from his mouth without his input, any functional part of his brain currently caught in a dumpster fire, set by this stupid story that is making an already uncomfortable situation of running into an ex just that much worse!

And then Bill is talking again, “well my art style has changed and I thought it’d be cool to get a comparison, you  know, a then and now? It’s cool if you don’t want me to, no biggie, just thought I’d ask, but actually? Never mind,” he starts gathering his things into his arms, “sorry for bothering you, it was nice seeing you, bye!”

He starts to get up but stops when Mike bursts out laughing, his cheeks reddening, and he stays frozen uncomfortably. And Mike doesn’t mean to, but seeing Bill so obviously out of his comfort zone has him cracking up, the situation making him feel hysterical, and he can’t quite stop the laughter bubbling out.

Mike manages enough words to get Bill to settle back down. “Hey man it’s cool, it’s good seeing you too, you know me, I love to help.” Bill settles back into the seat and flips his sketchbook open with an eye roll. Mike can’t help but tease him, he starts shifting through different dramatic poses, making Bill laugh loudly. A hand behind his head, his bicep bulging, Thinking Man pose, his smile barely suppressed-

And Mike ends his display by lewdly flicking his tongue between his fingers. “Jesus Mike!” Bill sputters out between laughs and Mike raises his hands in an innocent gesture, his own laughs ringing out through the space between them. “Sorry, I’m done!” He surrenders with an amused snort.

Bill sticks his tongue out childishly at him and flips the pages of his notebook to a blank page, “just go back to what you were doing weirdo,” he says softly and Mike lets out another laugh before following his directions. Well, not exactly since he’d literally been writing about his and Bill’s sex life. Oops.

He fucks around on his computer for a bit, opening and closing a few homework assignments (yeah right like he’d be able to concentrate right now), editing bits and pieces in other stories, he even plays a couple rounds of solitaire. But his attention is scattered after three lattes (that’s 2…4…6 espresso shots) and the adrenaline rushing through him from Bill sitting across from him drawing him which requires Bill to look at him with his blue as fuck eyes-

“Hey you wanna go somewhere?” The question bursts from Mike and he cringes at the abruptness. “Wait, you’re drawing, never mind,” Mike amends with a shake of his head. But Bill just flips his book closed with a simple “yep,” and starts chugging the last bit of his coffee.

Mike packs up quickly and, swinging his backpack over his shoulders, follows Bill out of the shop.

“Holy shit, is that Silver?” Mike exclaims incredulously when they walk outside. Bill laughs and leads the way to the old bike where it’s locked up by the building. “Yeah, Georgie didn’t wanna give up the car, so I’m stuck with her.” Bill explains. Mike runs a hand over the handlebars with a small smile, “seems smaller than she used to,” he comments, nostalgia rushing through him. Bill hums in agreement, “easier to handle too,” he comments steadily belaying the nervous shake in his next words, “and still big e-e-enough to ruh-ride double.”

Mike grins excitedly, “why Mr. Denbrough, are you going to show me a good time around town?” Bill’s face lights up with a wide grin and giggling, he unlocks his bike quickly, “it’d be my puh-pleasure, Mr. Hanlon.” They drop their things in Mike’s truck before racing recklessly out of the parking lot, Bill pedaling frantically and Mike hanging on tight to his waist, praying he doesn’t go flying off the back of the bike.

It’s weird spending all day with an ex, but they’d been best friends for just as long as they dated, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. They ride through the streets of Derry just like when they were kids, taking turns too fast and speeding over bumps. Mike’s teeth click together but it barely registers over the barrage of other sensations. The softness of Bill’s waist under his hands, the warmth between his back and Mike’s chest, the soft blond hairs flying into his face where they come loose from the braid and bobby pins.

It’s a lot of old and new sensations that has Mike’s head spinning.

They ride until Bill complains of shin splints, his face red and a little sweaty. Mike totally doesn’t think of licking the sweat from his brow because that would be weird. They ride back to Starbucks and load Silver into Mike’s truck. They sit in the cab, unsure where to go from here. They decide to live out the nostalgia further, and head to the barrens.

“Can you help me get all these out?” Bill asks gesturing to the many bobby-pins in his hair. Mike pats the spot on the truck bed next to him and Bill sighs a “thank you” as he sits with his back turned to him. Mike begins to gently pull the clips from his hair, doing his best not to pull knowing full well Bill is tender-headed.

He brushes the hair out with his fingers as it’s freed in sections until all the pins are out and Bill’s hair is a wild mane framing his face. Bill had shifted to face him when Mike got to the sections held back in the front, and Mike watches his face carefully. His eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in contentment. He’s always liked having his hair played with, no doubt part of the inspiration to grow it out.

Mike finds himself fiddling with the ends of his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face. He’s too distracted watching the soft strands fall through his fingers to notice Bills’ eyes have opened to watch him.

They used to lay in bed together, Bill on Mike’s chest, while Mike would drag a hand through Bill’s hair while they cooled down. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would lay in silence, just letting themselves feel the moment.

Lost in his thoughts Mike doesn’t notice Bill moving his face slowly closer, or how his hand has ceased it’s ministrations running through soft blond hair to rest gently on his cheek, he doesn’t realize he’s guiding Bill’s lips to his own until they’re barely a breath apart. And then soft lips land on his and awareness comes crashing over him.

They both freeze for a second, they’re mouths held stiff against the other, and then Mike opens his mouth slightly to pull Bills’ bottom lip in between his. And with that Bill is pushing forward and Mike unfolds his legs so he can slot in-between his knees. They kiss desperately, mouths moving together hot and slick. Mike moans softly at the feeling.

And then he’s pushing away because holy shit, “did you-“ he pants and Bill moves to kiss his neck at the interruption, unwilling to stop whatever this is. Mike is totally okay with that but, “you didn’t eat meat today did you?”

Bill stops his traveling lips, body going stiff in the not fun way. It may have been something they used to argue about when they were dating, Mike thought it was gross to kiss Bill after he’d eaten meat, and Bill didn’t get what the big deal was. Mike thinks maybe he ruined the moment but then Bill is grinding his hips down into him and he drag his lips up Mike’s neck to his ear, making him keen at the sensations, his own hips stuttering to meet the boy’s above him.

“Not yet,” Bill whispers grinding down into the v of Mike’s hips harshly, drawing a groan from the man that quickly turns into laughter. Throwing his head back Mike giggles loud and uncontrollably. “Seriously?” He laughs breathlessly, Bill sucking a mark on his neck. He pulls back to look into Mike’s eyes. “Seriously. Your nagging finally got through my thick skull.” Bill says with an eye roll followed by a wink.

“Wow, fuck, that was such a fucking turn on.” Mike says drawing Bill closer with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him passionately.