#speaking of beverly i almost wish they ended with them two instead

[diesoonandsuffer]

finally watched the first duty (after knowing the plot of it since like march? and reading multiple fics about the nova squadron) and WOW what a bummer. i know we’re going to see wesley so infrequently after this so the ending note of “yeah you’ve disappointed everyone and now you have to stay an extra year in this school where you will have a horrid reputation” is. WHEW. and then they just walk away and the episode ends lmfao. like oh ok bye wesley good luck i guess cause the show’s MOVIN ON!!!!!

[oskarwing]

I really wanna talk about the parent child relationships in Midnight Mass

I’m not sure if I’m good at writing this sorta Meta but here goes nothing. Very many spoilers follow.

Let’s start with the adults: 

First we have Erin who suffered so much at the hands of her mother and later because of her mother’s abuse. We don’t get much detailed info on Peggy Greene but from what we can gather she was a lot like Beverly Keane, who seemed to idolize her (though that probably got easier for her after Peggy was gone), in her self-righteous over-pious manner. She just happened to be Beverly with an alcohol problem and a daughter who she could take all her anger at life for not working out her way for God loving her just the same as everybody else out. The dove scene is really such a good scene. But Erin was stronger than her mother, stronger than the abuse that was about to repeat itself and when she found out that she would have a child of her own she left and tried her best to give her kid a better life than the one she had. And she found the strength I think with the help of the same God her mother most likely used as legitimation for her abuse (don’t get me wrong I believe it was Erin’s own strength but she also clearly found something in religion that helped her gather it) and it helped her to carve out a path for herself and her unborn child.  

Sarah’s relationship to her parents is such an interesting one because we get to see the end of it. The man who she believed to be her father has been dead for a long while and her mother is suffering through the late stages of dementia. And Sarah showed up for it. As a doctor she most likely knew what would be happening as soon as Mildred started to show the first symptombs but she wasn’t going to leave her mother. That kind of care for an elderly parent shows something that is proven in Mildred’s character time and time again: She is a very devoted parent and the love between mother and daughter flows both ways in every scene they are in together, after the birth of her daughter her world turned around Sarah and she loved her with all she had. There are a few scenes that show that Mildred’s understanding of the duty she felt towards her family came from the old values of her time. She wouldn’t have taken off with John and their child not for a lack of love but because in those times, in catholism still at least where I’m from, you can’t just marry a priest. You can’t just have a child with a priest eventhough you’re married and then fuck off with him. As a woman, as a wife and mother you have to stand with your husband, stand with your child and you have to stop running after fantasies I’m sure Mildred had. I’m saying this all from her perspective btw, I don’t necessarily think running away with John, in the way he wished to, would have been good for Sarah but honesty might have been and her old fashioned values were also what kept her from being truly honest with her daughter.  To John on the other hand Sarah is a fantasy, a dream he couldn’t reach. His daughter, his baby, so close and yet so far away getting to watch her grow into an adult but never being able to really be her father as in her Dad instead of her priest. And it’s painful to him, he clearly loved Mildred, loved Sarah but he was also kinda selfish in his love that in the end took Sarah away. At first he isolated his child by starring at her giving her the creeps and the feeling that she had done something wrong that he knew she was gay and dissaproved and then he took it upon himself to ‘cure’ Mildred in the same way he was. Sarah wanted to take care of her mother wanted to be there for her in those final months and John decided it was up to him to give Mildred a youth potion to make it so she’d never die. And with that he took away from Sarah what is without doubt a hard but for many people a very important last part of the relationship between child and parent. John was a complicated man and would maybe have been a great Dad he certainly showed a lot of fatherly love for his altar boys but he couldn’t have the family in the way he fantasized about and in the end it was that fantasy that made him act the way he did.   

Riley Flynn causes his parents a lot of pain. Him killing that girl in the beginning, his alcoholism, him simply not liking the place, the home they build for themselves through hard work causes the Annie and Ed so much pain and financial loss and you can see how tired they are, how much guilt they feel for failing their son. Ed calls out his own guilt and says that he doesn’t belive it could be Annie’s fault because ‘your mother’s a saint’ but what I truly love about Annie and Ed Flynn is that they both aren’t saints. As a mother Annie is very much overprotective and suffocating, wanting to keep her children on crocket island and hating the notion that they might leave her, even though she is kind and sweet and loving. And while Ed seems rather checked out as a father but he is the more honest parent, never talking down to Riley and telling him as it is, telling him about the pain he caused him while also admitting to the guilt he feels. The Flynns are flawed people even in their religious practice (I think the way Annie speaks about Ali showing up at church when Hassan seemed to be nothing but nice to her spoke very loudly to the fact that Annie is rather misguided sometimes) but they are good people at the core of it and their parenting might have been part of Riley’s way into alcoholism but it wasn’t only them. There were things they couldn’t change and things they had no influence over like his heart being broken by Erin running away, the sort of people he went out on parties with and so many other things...  Yes, they may have shaped their son in a way that made him vulnerable to addiction and the party scene of the stock and tech market and brought him to the point where he killed a child but it doesn’t happen through parenting alone and they also shaped him in the good ways. Him not losing himself when Pruitt changes him, him being brave enough to warn Erin, him standing up for what he believes in those things were also shaped by Ed and Annie. They are one of the best example of flawed but good hearted Christians I have seen in recent media and their portrayal was one of the most heartbreaking ones. 

Now the kids: 

Let’s start with Leeza. Little Leeza Scarborough who before it comes to her wonder gets treated with pity and overprotectiveness from her parents and the island community at large. Leeza was injured by Joe Collie transforming him into the island’s villain and her into the ever present victim.  What happened to her is without a doubt horrible and I understand why Wade and Dolly started to become these overprotective parents, why they were so easily sucked in to John’s and Bev’s scheme. Their little girl was almost taken from them eventhough Wade is the mayor, one of the most powerful people on the island he had no influence over what happened to Leeza even was the one who took her out that day and what followed the accident was as we can gather from their conversation with Sarah a lot of pain and financial burden though they say they would have done it all over for Leeza. In fact a lot of places in crockett island are wheelchair accesible and I am sure that Wade as mayor made it so (I can’t really imagine that a small place like the island was very inclusive though I may be wrong).  After Leeza is healed they don’t want to question in don’t want to think about what might have been the cause for it. In fact they stop questioning anything after that point, after Leeza walks again they are completely vulnerable to Bev’s manipulation and them letting that happen, them just going along with everything, Wade protecting John after he kills Joe long after Leeza forgave him and with her forgiveness send Joe on a better path is what in the end makes them lose her. Because Leeza isn’t that little victim who needs pity and help, she is a strong minded, strong willed young woman with a lot of wit who similar to Erin finds strength in her faith but in a way that isn’t devotion without question and when the Easter vigil is held she doesn’t follow her parents eventhough she loves them deeply. She forgives them I think, because that’s what Leeza’s character is about in it’s core but her parents were two of the instigators behind what happened on the island, without Wade’s protection John and Bev couldn’t have come as far as they did and they put their trust in them because they loved their daughter so much they didn’t stop to question if maybe what made Leeza walk again was also a bad thing. 

Ali and Hassan don’t have it easy and I as a white person really can’t speak much on the racism and religious discrimination they face.  I can say this I think: The first line spoken about Ali before we even really get to look at him is “You didn’t invite Aladin” and already sets us up for what both of them know: They are the outsiders. Not only because they just moved to the island but also because in their faith they are different from their peers and religion can often be a community building event for people before it is anything else. Ali starts balming his father a little for that, for not trying to fit in more with the community, for moving after his mother’s death and then not trying to be closer to the people around them and for the pain all the pain the two of them went through before Crockett island. It isn’t oly peer pressure though of course that brings Ali to St Patrick’s. Sure, Ali wanted to be part of the community but also desperately wanted to believe that there was a devine power who could if he just did it (it meaning faith) the right way he might find a way to avoid the pain of his parents. Hassan knew that and he warned him that that wasn’t how it worked. Hassan was a protective Dad and maybe he overdid it from time to time but his worries were never without reason, his need to keep his son safe from a world that hated him for a crime that happened when he wasn’t even born yet never unfounded and him wanting to make sure his kid kept the memory of his mother alive never anything but the wish of a griefing man and loving father. In the end when they pray together there is peace in them. They face their ends with the dignity Ali’s mother would have wished for and they face it as father and son. While Beverly the true religious terrorist of the story burns away without it. 

Warren is the youngest Flynn and it is never directly stated yet omnipresent that his coming of age happens in the shadow of his older brother’s mistake.  Annie warns him away from drinking when he goes out he in fact doesn’t drink. He never drinks because of what his brother did.  Warren would have been 12 when Riley killed that girl and so he would have seen and felt what his brother’s actions did to his parents fully without being yet old enough to maybe see the nuance.  Annie and Ed probably try to right the wrong they believe to have done in parenting Riley with Warren and that’s a lot for a kid. I do think it’s pretty usual that parents of multiple children especially when there’s a larger age gap try to do better with the younger children, but that isn’t fair is it?  Warren is his own person not a second chance to do it over.  And yet seemingly he does what is asked of him. He’s alter boy, he’s charming and helpful and sweet, he doesn’t drink (even when he does smoke pot) and he helps his father where he can with his work.  But in the end he feels guilty because he thinks he wasn’t enough and says at that last dinner he would have been different if he had known he wouldn’t see his family again. But Leeza is right they know and they love him and Warren deserved to not be perfect all the time. 

Littlefoot saved Erin and Erin payed her back with all the love she had. She was never born but she gave her mother the strength and willpower to leave.  In her speech to Joe Leeza said he reached through time and took things from her she didn’t even know she had yet.When Erin left her husband she reached through time and saved Littlefoot from a childhood like hers and when John gave Erin the angel’s vampire’s blood he reached through time and took away her child, a child who would have been loved and cared for. A child with an amazing mother and probably a great step-dad.  Littlefoot’s story is tragic because she never got one. 

[nobody7102]

We Are Here

Paring: Eddie Kaspbrak x reader

Warnings: Slight abuse(physical and sexual), swearing, attempted suicide, fluff, bad spelling.

Word count: 2284 words

Request by @artlovingbre​

Prompt: I was wondering if you can do an Eddie Kaspbark x reader when they are at the hotel and Eddie was cleaning up after the leaper part at the pharmacy and the reader is in her room looking for something and Henry is in her room instead of Eddie’s and he tried to force himself on her and Richie, Eddie, Ben, and Benverly saves her. And Eddie comforts her in the end.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to post this, I’ve been a little busy with school but I’m proud that I finally have this done. I altered it a little bit from the request, I hope you enjoy!

     The water of the shower could be heard through the thin walls of the hotel, and the smell of vomit wafted in the air though there was no vomit in Y/N’s room, there was however vomit in Eddie’s room next door. 

     Y/N had been lucky in getting her token, yes her quest for it was horrifying due to nearly getting trapped by your own mind. 

     That damn flower, your token had been in the form of a bundle of bloodroot. Given to you by your personal living hell Henry Bowers, after the losers club disbanded in 1989 Bowers had for some reason taken an interest in you, and thus for the last few weeks of summer you were his personal indentured servant. Doing whatever he wanted you to do, but the line in the sand held up when it came to anything illegal and sexual. He never got more than a makeout.

     In Derry the flower was only found near the river, so that’s where you went. From the other Loser’s standpoint they would have thought that Bowers was the challenge Pennywize made that you had to get past in order to get your token. But it was yourself.

     You watched yourself emerge from the river, and almost was pulled into the river itself. When she had gotten back from the river Eddie had met her outside of the hotel doors taking in each other's shaken state, and upon entering Beverly, Ben, Bill, and Mike could be found in the lounge all faces covered with terror as Richie stormed up to his room. No one bothered to ask why you smelled like a wet dog or why Eddie was covered in vomit simply because they knew getting a token was like going through hell.

      What the others didn’t know was that Eddie was the only one who knew about what happened between Y/N and Bowers that summer and he made sure to let you get away from everyone else first knowing you’d be shaken up the worst of the two. Eddie was her rock, and the only girl in Derry that Mrs. Kaspbrak trusted to be alone with her little Eddie-kins. When Y/N wasn’t with Bowers when the losers temporarily disbanded, she was with Eddie calming him over his health worries, him helping her deal with Henry, the two just worked together. And everyone of the losers knew it..

     So here there Y/N sat, water dripping from Y/H/C hair as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. 

     Walking along the bank Y/N watched were the sand met the grass and a tree, that was were she’d find her token. 

     “You know you’ll just end up going back to him” The voice sounded familiar but she couldn’t pinpoint who it was. Nonetheless she continued to walk. 

      “You’ve been his and always will be. Did you really think you could get rid of him by leaving” Looking to the water there stood Y/N, but not Y/N….. another Y/N. Dripping water, lips blue and skin sunk in and her hand outstretched to the Y/N standing on the sandbank.

     Moving to sit father back on the bed Y/N retreated under the blankets, burrowing into them. Closing her eyes and thinking of being back at her apartment ...being wrapped up in a blanket on the couch with Eddie reading a book or just talking. 

     You two were a bit more lucky than the rest of the losers. After you all went off to college and forgot your horrid childhood in Derry, you and Eddie had the luck of meeting at a college party. Since then you and he had been inseparable. He helped you through your time looking for a job and an apartment. You helped him through his divorce with Myra, and long story short you two had already kind of reconnected, became roommates, and needless to say when you and Eddie both got the call from Mike about coming back to Derry, both of you were absolutely terrified. 

     Feeling a shift in weight on the bed, with her eyes still closes Y/N rolled into her side feeling a hand rest on her face. 

     “Eddie?....could you maybe dry off from your shower then do that.”

     “That freak wishes he was me”

     The hand went to your throat and your eyes shot open. Ladies and Gentlemen the one and only Henry Fucking Bowers. 

     “Miss me baby?” A shit eating grin came upon him. 

     Running of the water filled the air as the Y/N from the watery grave stood at the edge of the bank holding a hand out to Y/N. 

     “You know he won’t go away. He will never go away.”

     “...N-no..” she forced herself to speak, “he is locked away, he is in the mental facility….he….he is gone.” 

     “We both know that’s a lie Y/N” water dripped down her face “...and we both know how this’ll end… He will never be gone…..you know what we have to do, do what Mom did. What Stan did… you know its what we have to do.” the watery Y/N backed away submerging herself into the water once again before her head disappeared below the water.

     Y/N slowly made her way over to the water and began to walk in, she knew she shouldn’t but… the memories that came flooding back…. Memories that not even Eddie or derry knew of.

      In his other hand he held a knife gliding it along her cheek “Because I missed you” he dragged it closer to her mouth “I want you to know that I forgive you for that summer baby…..and if you scream” he leaned down to her ear “I’ll do what I should have done 27 years ago.” licking the shell of her ear Bowers slowly moved himself to stand and moved the knife to her abdomen. 

      Looking to the night stand he noticed the flowers

     “I want you to strip baby.... Just like the old days”

     “I didn’t give you jack shit in the old days.” Y/N spat sitting up.

     “Thats what you think baby. But if I rem-” a knock came to the door, “You keep your fucken mouth suck you whore.” digging the knife further into her abdomen but not enough to draw blood. Another knock came. 

     “Y/N, we were all gonna order a pizza.” 

     It was Bev, regardless of what he heard Bowers kept all his attention on Y/N. mumble came from the hall as the conversation about food for the night continued.

     “What did she say?” Ben, he was wise enough to know that Y/N would say something if they interrupted her sleep… he remembered that right?

     “I don’t know, she hasn’t said anything” 

     “She’s probably asleep.”

     No! Come on Ben she yelled at you for waking her up one time after she gave you a warning.

     “Fuckers why haven’t we ordered pizza, is Eddie being picky about having to share?”

     Richie, finally someone who would barge into her room. 

      “Eddie Spaghetti! We are having pizza get over it!” he banded on Eddie’s door, 

     “Fuck-face I have no issue with pizza, they’re waiting for Y/N”

     “Oh...has she given you a warning?”

     Bowers glared daggers at Y/N mouthing “what warning?”

     “This!” she quickly backed away from the knife, grabbing the lamp off of the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Throwing it at him.

     By now everyone outside had heard the lamp being thrown, and shouts of concern filled the air as they rammed the door. 

     “You little whore!” Henry shouted nearly avoiding the lamp. Charging over to the other side of the bed Y/N scrambled trying to get to the bathroom. Catching her arm, Bowers yanked her backwards as the door finally was forced open. 

     Holding the knife back to her abdomen he turned her towards the losers. 

      “Move and the bitch dies.” 

     Bev, Ben and Richie all slowly put their hands up but Eddie tried to make his way over to Y/N and Bowers. 

     “Take one more step and see what happens! I dare you!”

     Water up to her shoulders, tears streaming down her face thoughts flowed through her head and the thought of Eddie… she hadn’t told him how she felt… that she loved him, that she had loved him since childhood, that she fell in love with him again after they had met in college, that coming back to Derry had made all those feelings stronger. Forcing her feet to move back towards land Y/N Felt hands on her shoulders as a force shoved her head below the water. 

     Arms flailing about as the water became a muck with bubbles and dirt she tried forcing herself upwards but the force held her in the same spot. Suddenly everything started to go dark her flailing became weaker and her eyes slowly started to shut. 

     “Eddie plea-”

     “Not another word out of you!” The knife went back into her side, this time drawing a little blood. “Look at all of you, weak. Pathetic.” 

     “Have you seen yourself? You still have that same fucken mullet, it been like fifty yea-”

 “SHUT UP! Shut up germ freak, or your little whore here dies.” 

     If looks could kill Eddie would have just committed over-kill. Fist forming, eyes wide, yet his feet didn’t move knowing the risk of that could happen.

     “Here’s what we’re gonna do fucktards, All of you are gonna go into the next room, and I’m gonna take what’s mine and go back to the barnes. If any of you try anything I will gut her right here righ no-” CLANK! 

     Henry’s grip on Y/N loosened she bolted over to Eddie collapsing into his arms tears streaming down her face..

      Henry had fallen to the ground unconscious as Bill stood over him, the back lid of the toilet in his hands. 

     “Woah Big Bill! How the fuck did you get into the bathroom?!” Richie slowly staggered over to Bowers and Bill, taking the knife out of Bower’s hand. 

     “T-turns out c-limbing in a win-w-window isn’t that h-h-hard.” he dropped the porcelain lid.

     Feeling the weight leave her shoulders she felt someone pull her up from the water. Hearing a voice she thought been dead.

     “Come on Y/N, You know Eddie’s gonna kick your ass. It’s not your time! You’re not meant to be here yet!”

     Groaning feeling the rocks of the sandbank the voice continued. 

     “That’s it Y/N, wake up! You still have to get the flower. Come on I believe in you! Besides you need to tell Eddie, we both know you need to tell him.”

     “Stan?..” Slowly opening her eyes she glanced around before sitting up.

     She was alone. Yet she knew Stan had been there… she felt his presence, had…..had he saved her?

     Seated on the couch in front of the fireplace of the hotel Y/N and Eddie sat next to one and other, Eddie had wrapped a blanket around Y/N he continued a conversation will her trying to take her mind off of what had just happened. This wasn’t the first time Eddie’s had to distract Y/N from having a panic attack, but this was the first time it was after a life or death situation so the steaks were a little higher. 

     “So you think Stan saved you?”

     “I swear to god it was his voice Eddie…..and he…… he pulled me from the water” Y/N had pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “.... he told me it wasn’t my time, and that I-....” she stopped herself taking a breath debating whether she truly wanted to open this door.

     “Hey. You know you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to… we’ve known and lived together long enough for you to know that I’m not gonna push you to say anything.” he took her hand in his. 

     “I know…. But if I don't say this now I don’t think I’ll ever do it… and god I need to say this.” Y/N let out a sigh moving to more face Eddie, squeezing his hand a bit.

     “Eddie… we both know that the relationship that we had as kids was a bit…..”

     “Different” he chimed in chuckling

     She smiled “Yes. Different…. I don’t know if its because we just spent too much time together as kids or because you were there for me when Bowers was my living hell…” she paused taking a breath. “Eddie…. I-......I loved you, I have science middle school and i don’t know how I forgot but after we found each other again in college…. Everything, all of my feelings for you were amplified. And coming back here” she looked at their intertwined hands “It was like opening the floodgates. And Stan was right… I needed to tell you this..” 

     “Oh thank god” Eddie let out a sign squeezing Y/N’s hand back “....Stan would always tell me in high school ‘come on man just tell Y/N how you feel’.... And I never thought anything would happen from it…. Looks like I was wrong… and like you said coming back just heightened everything…...then when I saw Bowers I-...I was terrified, but we’re here and he is gone, far far gone, and I swear to you Y/N I won’t ever let that happen… but we are here and…..and that’s enough right now because I love you and that’s all that matters.”

     Y/N looked up form their hands seeing the smiling Kaspbrak. Moving closer to him she rested her head on Eddie’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her waist. A soft humm came from the two as he kissed her forehead, not long after that the two passed out on the couch in front of the fire. And they were there. Together in their own little bubble for the time being.

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop - Epilogue

Read on AO3

Summary:

Richie doesn’t think words do any justice to how much you can love someone. But he’ll worry about that later. For now, they stare at the sky.

Wednesday 02.06.1993

(Epilogue)

  The thing about Richie and Eddie is that both of them are touch-starved and attention seekers. Those traits go hand in hand. Or hand in hand, hands in hair, lips on lips and lips on necks.

It’s only been a few days and, so far, every spare time they have is spent with one of them all over the other, which isn’t really different from the way it used to be before but, well. It’s also a hundred times better.

“Rich-” Turns out it’s awfully hard to compete against Richie’s lips. “Rich,” A peck.  “-I’m serious.” Eddie says, breathless, against Richie’s close-mouthed kisses. God, kisses. They can kiss now. Of course they’re still doing it between four walls, away from the world for obvious reasons. But to Eddie, it tastes like the greatest amount of freedom he ever got to experience in his life.

“Stop pushing me away when all I want to do is shower you in honey.”

“What?”

“Look at that, the cutest boy on earth…” Richie speaks more to himself than anything, with half lidded eyes that drip of infatuation while he looks down at Eddie’s face.

“What are you even-?”

Richie moves in again with puckered lips, and Eddie pushes him away in embarrassment from all the sudden affection. “Stop that! I’m serious,” but he really isn’t, “we’re gonna be late.”

With a huff, Richie falls back on his side of the bed. “But I want to hold you all day and I can’t, Eds. Do you know how hard it is for me to not just- koala you in school? I literally wanna hold onto you and never let go.”

It takes every bit of Eddie’s self-control not to feed Richie’s amusement with his overall shyness. He’s been practising a lot of things lately, like trying not to melt with every word that comes from Richie’s mouth, perfecting his kissing techniques (although Richie claims Eddie’s already better than him) and also trying not to get hard every time they make out on Richie’s bed. On top of that, he’s been spending a lot of time staring, because he can. Staring at greasy hair, bony wrists, a lovely overbite, and so on.

Letting himself fall on top of Richie’s frame, Eddie hides an awkward noise against the boy’s shirt. “Quit it with those- those things you say…”

Richie stays silent for a while before mumbling into Eddie’s hair. “…I love it when you get all flustered.”

Despite all these new additions to his daily life, there are some things a person learns after so many years by Richie’s side. Eddie knows that sometimes he has to let certain comments go by without a response, otherwise, they’d still be stuck in an argument from kindergarten. So, he ditches Richie’s obvious try at making him even more embarrassed.

“You know what I love? Ben. And, in case you forgot, his birthday party starts in two hours and you have to go meet the others and help while I go get him, like we all agreed to and oh my god-”

Richie is about to ask ‘What’s wrong?’ when he notices that Eddie is looking at the clock on his bedside table.

“Oh my god, Richie, how long have we been here? We have like an hour!”

“You know what they say. You lose track of time when you’re making out with a hottie.” With both hands locked behind his head, Richie stares while Eddie hurries to put his shoes back on.

“No one fucking says that- get up you dipshit, we’re super late!” Eddie says as he glances back at him.

With a lovely pout, Richie finally gives in and starts looking for his shoes. “Ah Spaghetti, baby, relax. I’m in charge of setting up the table and bringing the couch outside. Can take care of that in a minute, just the same amount of time it takes me to get your mom to-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.”

    Plans turn out to be less easier than that. As soon as Richie jumps over the fence of Mike’s farm, which was totally unnecessary because one of the gates is a few steps away, he sees Bev storming over to him, and she looks a little angry.

“I can’t believe you’re late, one full hour. It’s Ben’s birthday!” She glares at him harshly.

Richie flinches and wrings his hands together. “Wish I had an acceptable excuse, oh wait… I do.” And then a smile lights up his whole face against his commands. It’s stupid, but Richie feels his cheeks heating up and rushes to cover them up with both hands, groaning shamelessly into his palms at the same time. Beverly drops the pout and snickers at him. The audacity. “Shut up, Marsh.” He whines.

“Oh boy, you’re so smitten.” Richie can practically hear the cocky grin on her voice. He sees it’s there, in fact, as he lets his hands fall at his sides.

“I hate you.”

He ended up giving her the update, without any details, because she knows all the events and stuff about his life. And maybe because he would burst if he didn’t talk about it to, at least, one person.

“You better not hate me. I put up with your lovesickness so I deserve to enjoy the honeymoon phase just as much as you do.”

Richie throws his head back at the same time as he crosses his arms. “Dude, stop giving me a hard time and just tell me what kind of punishment I have for being late.”

Bev rolls her eyes. “Do not call me a dude, dude. And I’m sorry, just messing with you.” She runs a hand through his hair to mess it up even further. “The water balloons are waiting for you by the faucet.” Then, she pats his arm way harder than needed and heads off to the picnic table, which she ended setting up herself along with Stan since Richie was, indeed, busier.

“Love you, too!” He screams after her and waves at Stan, Mike and Bill. Bill gives him the bird and Richie laughs so hard he almost walks straight into the barn’s closed doors.

He rolls the couch outside, trying to make it look easier than it actually is. Turns out couches on wheels don’t work well with grass. He’s tempted to throw himself on top of it after it’s settled on the right place by the temporary hammocks Mike set up in the trees, but instead he drags his feet to the outdoors faucet and stares at the pile of water guns and water balloon packs and tries not to miss Eddie so much.

It’s only been half an hour, but that’s half an hour too long. Now that he has something’s he’s been longing for years, now that he can be with the person he loves so much all the time, a simple trip to the bathroom feels too far away.

With a sigh, he settles down on the grass and starts filling up the plastic guns with water, feeling the back of his neck getting warmer and warmer as time passes. The voices of the others become white noise for Richie’s thoughts and he doesn’t hold memory of opening up the balloons’ package, nor filling up the first 12, knotting each of them, and throwing them in the empty bucket by his side. He’s too lost thinking about the last three days and too stuck on stealing glances at the dirt road to be aware of anything, that’s why he’s completely caught off guard when a water spray hits the side of his face.

“What the-?!” He screeches and turns around to find Stan looking smug with a water gun in his hand. “That’s a dirty move, Stanley, I’m just the poor guy who got stuck with the most boring part of water fights.”

“And I’m just the poor guy who got stuck with your part of the work because you decided to show up an hour later.” Richie really wants to throw a water balloon at him, but those little fuckers take up too much time to fill up to go to waste so soon.

“Jeez I get it, you old people. Richie’s late! Yeah, okay now how about a little bit of concern as to why I was late? What if I fell off my bike or almost got run over by a car?”

“We all know what held you up, Trashmouth. Now work faster or we won’t be ready by the time Ben arrives.”

At a lack of words, Richie’s mouth drops and he makes to get up and throw a water balloon straight to Stan’s face, but the other boy is quicker than him and uses his gun again, spraying Richie’s glasses and running off to help Mike set up the game stations. Richie feels out of breath just from a simple sentence. We all know what held you up, Trashmouth.

It’s only been a few days, but Richie is sure his life will end the day Eddie walks out of it. So, if Eddie’s not ready to share this part of his life with his friends yet, Richie will respect that. Which is why Stan’s comment makes him uneasy. What if someone makes a comment like that while Eddie is around? What if they tease them, not with real meanness, of course, and that makes Eddie uncomfortable? What if it’s all too much to handle for him? What if, what if, what if-

“You need to work faster than that.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake. Stop trying to make my heart stop.” He jumps a little in his seat and finds Beverly sitting down on the grass by his side. She’s already working on filling up more balloons. Richie stares at her for a while to catch his breath before joining her, the bucket filling up way quicker that way.

He clears his throat. “So, Stan knows?”

“Stan knows what?”

“Stan knows.” It’s all he says.

“I don’t know if Stan knows, but I think we all know.” She glances at him. ��To some extent.”

Richie doesn’t know how to answer, so he doesn’t. His finger gets caught up while he tries to knot one of the balloons. He watches the skin turn red before pulling it out. He grabs another from the package.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bev asks after a while of working in silence.

“Thought I needed a brain to have those.”

“Rich-”

He doesn’t let her finish. Grabs the closest water gun and sprays her in the arm. Bev hisses at the temperature contrast and stares at him with her mouth open in shock.

“You did not-” And because he’s a real asshole, he tries to hit her in the nose and ends up giving her a mouthful of water.

“Oh, shit.” It’s impossible to hold in the laughter, so he just crumbles, shaking and falling down to the grass on his back. Needless to say this spurs on a water fight between them, Bev wasting no time in reaching for one of cheap plastic guns and aiming it back at Richie.

They’re in the midst of getting up to escape each other’s aim when the fight is interrupted.

“Hey! Stop wasting ammo!”

Richie’s neck never cracked so loud before. He looks over and there he is, by Ben’s side.

“Ben! Happy birthday!” Bev exclaims and runs to hug him. Richie watches them from the corner of his eye while a staring contest begins between him and a shorter fella.

“You already wished me a happy birthday four times in school, Bev” Ben says with a laugh at the same time as Richie walks up to Eddie, who is looking at him with big eyes, pink cheeks, and a lip between his teeth.

“Hey.” Eddie says, soft and quiet.

“Hey yourself, Eds.” And it takes every bit of self-restrain not to grab his hand and kiss it. He steals a glance at the lovebirds a few steps away, sucking face enthusiastically. “That could be us right now.” He nudges Eddie with his elbow.

He expects more of a spluttering mess of words and cute blushing Eddie. “Who knows, maybe one day.” What he gets instead is a spluttering mess of words and stupidly red Richie.

His chin drops and he peers down at the boy at his side, who is pointedly avoiding looking back at him.

“Don’t get too excited, just trying to play your game.” Eddie mumbles between them.

“My game?”

“You know, you saying dumb stuff that makes me nervous.”

Richie doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “I think you get nervous just by me being there, I don’t even need to talk.”

That really makes Eddie blush, but he’s thankfully saved by the others approaching and dragging Ben around to see all the games they planned. Really playful things like tug of war, three legged racing, water fights, and so on. It was a way of keeping everyone moving, sweating, and entertained.

Thankfully, the hours go by without any suggestive comments or questions from the others and Richie forgets about his initial worries. They have fun, play all the games and get covered in grass stains during their three legged race tournaments. Then they rest by the sofa and the hammocks, eat a bunch of crap from Mike’s big picnic table turned into a food station and go back to playing like kids. Running around playing tag, catching their breaths in hiding spots, and wasting all the water balloons in less than 5 minutes. Most of the water guns end up breaking mid-fight, which leads Bill and Richie to use the garden hose and successfully drenching everyone in a blink of an eye. Mike wasn't pleased about it.

Later, they watch the sunset over the wheat fields of the farm and sing Ben a happy birthday under the golden light. Bev takes out a polaroid camera, Mike brings a homemade cake from the house, and Bill tries to play Richie’s guitar that was still stored in the barn. They ask him to play something for them, but Richie declines, so they go acappella and sing the wrong keys together. Richie lies down in one of the hammocks and feels wave after wave of happiness take over his body. It’s such an incredible feeling to be a part of something real, something so amazing as friendship and love.

He watches Bill lying on the ground and messing up the entire song by pretending to know how to play guitar. Looks at Stan, already changed into clean clothes and sitting on the couch, trying to make Bill stop, saying he’s ruining the song even though he himself refused to sing. Mike is sitting next to him on the couch, but backwards. Head hanging off of it and legs up in the air. Bev is down on the grass and leaning against the same tree Richie’s hammock is hanging off of. Ben is laying against her chest, cheeks so pink and smile so big Richie can’t fight off his own at the sight. They’re singing loudly and badly on purpose, laughing every few words.

When his eyes fall on Eddie, Richie realizes that the boy was already looking at him, probably for quite some time now if the soft expression on his face means anything. His head is resting on Mike’s chest, legs laying over the armrest, and he’s staring at Richie has if he had found all the answers to his questions. Richie doesn’t deserve it, he knows. But he decides to push those ugly thoughts away, he has something beautiful and worthy of stealing his attention, someone worth smiling for.

Their locked eyes swim and search from afar while the sky gets darker and the night takes over. The failed bonfire would be useful now, but the old school lanterns shared between them are enough to keep track of each other’s glowing gazes. They don’t seem to remember subtleness, but they’re just staring and their friends are singing, laughing and remembering past stories in the background.

Eddie struggles when he tries to get up, flinching at the necessary sit-up to leave the couch. All of them will be glued to their beds tomorrow with all the exercise they got today. Richie makes extra space in the hammock and helps Eddie get on it, back glued to his chest and a hug from behind. Eddie’s head falls in the space above Richie’s shoulder. And they observe their friends together in silence.

“Did you ever write a song about me?” Eddie speaks against the skin of Richie’s neck after some time. It brings out goose bumps and shivers, although that could also be from their damp clothes against the night air.

“I’ve tried.” Richie admits. He hugs Eddie’s body closer against his. “Never feels good enough.”

“I’m sure I’d love it, anyway.” Eddie tells him.

Richie chuckles and gets lost in his thoughts for a minute before talking again. “Maybe one day I’ll get it right.”

“Maybe.” Eddie agrees. “Will you play it for me?” He looks up at Richie with big eyes.

“Of course I will, Spaghetti.”

“I’ll be waiting, then.” After that, Eddie shuffles until he finds a comfortable position, the hammock sways from one side to the other as they sing along to whatever’s song they’re currently trying to play.

  It’ll take a while until Richie figures out how to write a song about Eddie. For so long he’s tried to put his emotions onto paper, but every attempt feels wrong, every try feels far from reality. He doesn’t think words do any justice to how much you can love someone.

And later, he ends up following a different path.

Instead of trying to listen to his own brain, his own version of the story, Richie listens to Eddie’s. He lets him talk and cry for hours, holds him close. Hears about every struggle and battle Eddie fought alone. Struggles and battles he didn’t recognize as such, for he was so lost he couldn’t even understand his own feelings. How he’d cry without proper reasons, feel guilty over stares, pray he wouldn’t end up in hell, apologize to an empty bedroom on the nights he couldn’t sleep.

It seems to Richie that writing about Eddie doesn’t have to mean he’ll write about the way he feels for him. It can go many different ways. And the first way it goes ends up being double-sided, for which sentence tells two different stories: his and Eddie’s. And that’s the only way it feels right.

But he’ll worry about that later. For now, they stare at the sky.

  I used to get on my knees And I'd pray for love To come find me someday For love to come meet me my way Your love hit like a brick to the face

And when I put up a fight You put me back in my place I thought I wasn't cut out for this race

You know how I feel You don't need a song But just in case

You're my lover boy, My “stay in bed under the cover” boy, My “only you and no other” boy, My face is red come smother me, boy.

Cause you’re my lover boy C’mon and meet my mother, boy You made me a little tougher, boy My life was black and white But now I see colour, boy

I used to fight things about me That were wrong, to me But then you came along And showed me Showed me where I was wrong So thank you 'Cause now I'm where I belong

You own my heart, You own my heart and it's no one else’s I fall apart And when I fall apart I'm no one else’s You own my heart You own my heart like no one else’s

Always yours

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perma taglist:  @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie  @reddieforlove @madi-personal  @cheekaspbrak  @fuck-the-sushi

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

you knew i was gonna do this. congrats on the 1k! "I’m only crying ‘cause I never dreamed it’d take this long" dealers choice on pairing. ;)

on this midnight street

summary: reddie prom fic! that’s itpairing: reddieword count: 2,645warnings: light angst with a happy ending I promise! Enjoy! 

AO3 Link 

* * * * * 

“Richie for the last time, you’ll never know what his answer will be unless you just…ask him.” Stan snapped, closing his locker and turning to face his best friend who was picking at his nails. “Also will you stop that? How many times do I have to tell you?”

Richie looked up at Stan, an apologetic look on his face as he brought his fingers down and away from his mouth, “Sorry Staniel, you know I can’t help it when I get nervous.”

Stan just rolled his eyes and picked his satchel from the floor, sending Richie one last look. Richie tried to smile in response, but deep down he knew that Stan was right. If he didn’t pluck up the courage and ask Eddie, then he would never really know what his answer would have been. This way, if he is rejected, then at least he knows where he stands. 

“I’ll ask him,” Richie muttered after a moment, causing Stan to stop and whip his head around, his eyes wide in shock this time. “When I see him, I’ll ask him.”

Before Stan could reply, however, Beverly rounded the corner and clocked the two boys. She made a beeline towards them and grinned, stopping right in front of Richie. “What’re you two talking about?” She asked, looking between them.

Richie spluttered and shook his head, “Nothing! Nothing, we were just talking about…birds! Yeah, birds!” He could feel Stan’s glare on him, but he had panicked!

“Birds?” Bev questioned, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Richie thought for sure that she was going to call him out on his bullshit, but instead she just shrugged. “Alright. Are we still hanging out at Mike’s tonight?”

Just like that, Richie was out of the hot seat and he breathed a sigh of relief as Stan and Bev picked up a conversation of what movie they were going to watch that night at Mike’s. Richie’s thoughts however were buzzing with something completely different. He wasn’t sure when he was going to see Eddie next, so he had to think fast. How the hell was he going to ask Eddie Kaspbrak to prom?

He had barely finished the thought when the very person he was thinking about came rushing around the corner, heading straight for them. He felt Stan nudge his side with his elbow, a reminder, and Richie’s throat went dry. As soon as Eddie stopped in front of him, his cheeks flushed and a wide smile on his face, Richie stammered over his words. “H-Heya Eds!”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie bantered back, a smile still on his lips, bouncing back and forth on his heels. It was almost like….he had received some good news. “Guess what?”

Bev wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulled him close to her side as she smiled at him, “What’s got you so excited, Eddie?” She asked and Eddie bit down on his lip.

“Okay so, you know Liam from my History class?” He started and everyone, including Richie, nodded their heads. Of course Richie knew about Liam. He was quite popular and he sat next to Eddie in History. He was also a common topic, as Liam was quite the…flirt. “We were in class today and he was being really weird, and then just before the bell rang I asked him if he was okay and…he asked me to prom! Can you guys believe that? Liam asked me to prom!”

As Eddie continued to talk, explaining the ins and outs of his ‘promposal’ Richie blocked everything out. His head was spinning and it felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Stan had been right. He had been too slow, and Eddie had been snatched up with someone who was, in Richie’s opinion, completely unworthy. 

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice broke through his thoughts and Richie blinked, focusing on Eddie. “You okay there Trashmouth? You’re awfully quiet?”

Richie managed out a chuckle and he ruffled Eddie’s perfect hair with his hand, ignoring Eddie’s squawk. “OF course, Eddie Spaghetti. Everything is just fine.” In normal Richie Tozier fashion, he plastered on a smile, avoiding Stan’s gaze. To everyone else, he was fine, but inside he was screaming. 

* * * * *

The week in the run up to prom was the hardest week that Richie had ever had to endure. Bev helped Eddie with his outfit, getting the colours from Liam so they could somewhat match. Everyone was excited and there was a happy buzz within the group. Even though Richie was anything but happy, he pretended, as the last thing he wanted to do was put a damper on his friends evening.

“I still think you should say something,” Stan muttered as they stood in line for lunch. Richie scoffed and looked at his friend, moving his tray up the line. 

“Prom is tonight, Stan. I missed my chance,” Richie replied, running a hand through his hair. 

Stan didn’t look convinced, “Richie, we all know that Liam is an ass, and that if you were to ask Eddie to go with you instead, he would say yes in a heartbeat!”

Richie just shook his head, “I’m not going to take that risk. You saw how happy he was Stan, I can’t- I can’t take that away from him. It might actually make him hate me.”

They didn’t speak about prom for the rest of the day, or even that night when Stan was getting ready at Richie’s place. Against Richie’s better wishes, his mom hovered in the doorway, snapping pictures on her digital camera.

“Smile, boys!” Maggie grinned, snapping another picture. Stan turned around then to appease her, and forced Richie to do the same. “Come on, it’s your senior prom!”

Richie sighed and plastered on his best fake smile, only to please his mother. He let her take as many pictures as she wanted before Went called from downstairs to let them know it was time to go. They were meeting the other losers there as they were all coming separately. Ben with Bev, Bill with Audra and Mike was being dropped off by his parents so he could go with Stan. Eddie was being picked up by Liam and Richie, well, Richie was going stag. 

By the time they arrived, the music was already blaring from inside and Richie could feel his brain hammering against skull but he powered through. He waved as his dad drove off and both he and Stan made their way to the door, where Mike was patiently waiting for them. 

“Hey!” Mike grinned, stepping towards Stan and wrapping his arms around him, giving him a soft kiss in greeting. “You look amazing,” he murmured and Stan flushed. 

Richie faked a gagging noise before grinning at the two boys, “You two are gross, and I love you.” He looked towards the doors. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

The hall was beautifully decorated, Richie had to give credit to the prom committee as they had done a spectacular job. However, he barely got the chance to appreciate it when Bill and Ben both pushed him back towards the door, their eyes wide. “Just- come out here for a sec Richie,” Ben muttered but Richie managed to shake them both off. 

“What the hell, you guys? What’s going on?” He was not in the mood for any of his friends weird shit tonight, and this was definitely some weird shit. “Come on, let me at least grab some punch first.”

He pushed past them and made his way to the punch table, looking around the gym all to try and find out what his friends didn’t want him to see. He was about to give up, when he saw it, or more to the point…saw him. Liam was sitting at the table with all the cheerleaders, two girls hanging off of his arm and laughing. 

Eddie was nowhere to be seen. 

Unadulterated rage filled up in Richie and he ditched the punch, making his way over to the cheerleader table with a purpose. The closer he got to the scumbag, the angrier he became. “Hey, asshole!”

Liam looked up as Richie snapped at him, his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face, “What the fuck to do want Tozier?” A few of the girls giggled, staring at him as though he was scum. Richie couldn’t care less though, his mind was focused on Liam. 

“Was Eddie a joke to you? What the fuck did you hope to gain from asking him to prom and then fucking ditching him? What the fuck?” Richie was so angry, he was sure steam was coming out of his ears. Instead of replying to him, Liam just laughed that little bit harder, that god awful smirk still plastered on his ugly fucking face.

“Calm down Tozier, it’s just a little fun-” Before Liam could finish his sentence, Richie gripped onto his shirt and pulled him out of his seat. “Wow what the fuck!”

Richie didn’t answer with words, instead he pulled his hand into a fist and hurled it right into Liam’s face. A crack sounded out and Richie winced at the pain in his hand but felt satisfied when he saw the blood pour from Liam’s nose. “That’s for fucking over, Eddie.”

Suddenly there was a hand grasping his shoulder and Richie turned around to come face to face with the school principal, who looked less than pleased. As he was pulled out of the hall, he sent his friends an apologetic glance. He hoped they enjoyed their prom, but he had somewhere else he needed to be. 

“We’ll be having a serious conversation about your behaviour on Monday, Mr Tozier,” The principal snapped as they reached the entrance. “My office, 9am.”

Richie just nodded, shrugging as he stepped out into the car parking lot, “Yeah yeah, sure thing sir.”

As the principal walked back into the school, Richie inhaled sharply before he broke out into a run, making his way straight for the Kaspbrak house. He was out of breath after only a few seconds, but he powered through, needing to make sure Eddie was alright. 

He was just glad he didn’t live too far from the school.

* * * * *

Richie was gasping for air by the time he reached Eddie’s street and as he stopped just a few feet away from his house, the sight almost broke his heart. 

Eddie was sitting on the porch, all dressed up in the outfit Bev had helped him choose, his head ducked down and his shoulder sagged. It was clear that he was being stubborn, not wanting to admit that Liam wasn’t coming to collect him. From where Richie was standing, Eddie wouldn’t be able to see him, but he was able to see him, as well as the front window where Frank Kaspbrak was looking out. 

Just then, Frank looked over in his direction and his eyes lit up in a knowing expression. He nodded his head towards Eddie and Richie just nodded, moving closer and into Eddie’s line of sight. He cleared his throat and Eddie looked up, his eyes red from tears. 

“R-Richie? What-?” Eddie started but Richie interrupted him.

“I punched Liam in the face. He- he’s a piece of shit and I’m sure I’m going to be suspended on Monday but…I couldn’t let him get away with that, Eds. No chance.” Richie explained and he watched as Eddie’s eyes lit up a little. 

He wiped his eyes and stood up off the porch step, taking a few steps towards Richie, “You punched Liam for me?” He asked.

Richie snorted and ran a hand through his already messed up curls. “I’d have done way more than punch him for you, Eds.”

A silence settled between them, neither of them quite knowing what to say, that is until Eddie finally spoke up, “Thanks,” he whispered. “You didn’t have to do that for me but…thanks.”

“No, no I did,” Richie shook his head. “I did Eds because…because this is all my fault. If I had just…plucked up the courage and asked you to prom when it was announced, instead of being such a- a coward-” He stopped, collecting his thoughts. “I was going to ask you to the prom. I…I wanted to ask you.” Eddie was quiet and upon closer inspection, Richie realised he was crying. “Eds- I-”

Eddie shook his head, a smile taking over his face. “I-I’m only crying because I never…I never dreamed it would take this long for us to get our shit together. I- I was waiting for you to ask me but…you never did so I accepted Liam’s offer. I should have known better.”

Richie shook his head once more and stepped forward, reaching for Eddie’s hands and taking them in his own. “You shouldn’t…what Liam did was a dick move and he deserved that broken nose I gave him.”

“You broke his nose?” Eddie asked, his eyes light and a bigger smile on his face. 

“Hell yeah, there was a crack and then so much blood. I can’t wait to see that fuckers ruined face on Monday. That is, if I’m not suspended.” Richie chuckled and Eddie squeezed his hand. 

Eddie ran his thumb over Richie’s knuckles as they held hands and Richie felt his cheeks heat up. “This is better than any prom anyway…I bet it was loud and sweaty.”

Richie chuckled and nodded his head, swallowing thickly, “Yeah, you’d be right about that.” He paused and looked behind him to see Frank grinning from his window. “Eds…would you like to dance?”

“Richie, there’s no music,” Eddie laughed, but Richie had already had an answer for that, all thanks to Eddie’s dad. He put his thumbs up and Frank opened the window, music filtering through into the street. This caused Eddie to turn his head around, his cheeks flushed when he saw his dad.

“Dance with me?” Richie asked again, holding out his hand and this time, Eddie couldn’t say no. He slipped his hand into Richie’s and let him lead them in a slow dance, the music to David Gray’s ‘This Years Love’ playing through the speakers. 

When ya kiss me on that midnight street

Sweep me off my feet

Singing, “ain’t this life so sweet?”

This year’s love had better last

This year’s love had better last

Eddie had his head resting on Richie’s chest as they swayed back and forth and Richie had the biggest grin on his face. He never ever thought that this would have been possible, yet here he was.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice caught him off guard and he looked down, sucking in a breath at how close they were. 

He reached up, tucking some of Eddie’s blond hair behind his ear, “Yeah Eds?” His voice a soft murmur. He was expecting Eddie to tell him not to call him that, but he didn’t, instead Eddie just smiled. 

“I really like you,” Eddie breathed. “Like…really really like you.”

Richie almost choked, his eyes filling up with tears, “Fuck I- I really like you too Eds. Like…a whole lot. I have done for…well since we were fourteen.”

Eddie smiled brighter than he had ever seen him smile before. Richie was waiting for him to say something, but Eddie just moved forward, pushing up on his toes and pressing their lips together in a soft, sweet first kiss. The kiss didn’t last long, with Eddie pulling away faster than Richie had wished he had, but it was still a kiss. 

“I hope you know this means we’re boyfriends now,” Richie grinned and Eddie just rolled his head, resting their foreheads together as the song came to a close from inside the house.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Trashmouth.”

* * * * *

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-trashmouth   @fucking-reddie @strange-reddie-loser @eds-kas @propertyofthelosersclub @its-stranger-than-you-think @yes-dillman-yes @totaltozier @reddietofall @reddietofight @reddie-to-fight   @reddie-eddie-spaghettie @bitchbrak @reddieways @maximusfraker @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @thejadeazalea @reddie-eddie-spaghetti @halfway-happy353 @ellomello16 @liliemm @tinyarmedtrex @cacti-cool @inthebreadbinwrites @kat-ships-everything @takeourpure @lo-v-ers @mrs-vh @studpuffin @aizeninlefox @reddie-for-anything  @trashmouthtozierr @richietoizer   @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @mars-14 @reddiesetandgo @marsisaplanetyall @xandertheundead @sedanleystanley @hawkinsbabe @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones @reddiesetandgo @ripeddiekaspbrak @captainbartholomew @purplepoisonedgem @reddie-to-cryy @pink-psychic @violetreddie @fuzzylogik @queen-sock

[throwinggrapesoffthebalcony]

Literary Essay: THE LOVE DESTROYING THE PIECE

It brings back memories when realizing why I’d removed this material from How to grow roses in the past. This is the poetic tone that was breaking the thread of the main narrative, and why I’d struggled with it previously while trying to merge the pieces. I think the appeal, or the temptation, is to write an elaborate, ‘unfinished feeling’ novel; which doesn’t always result in a better novel. More elaborate works own the reader, while simpler works might be something a reader can more easily hold to their heart; when the last pages are read and the book is closed. This material - that I wrote while immersed in the love, under the title black holes and revelations - deserves life without being broken by any other narrative, or literary obsession. How to grow roses is life, removed from all that destroys me, while black holes and revelations is all that destroys me.

Does it fulfill you, this life of events that you live? From one event to another, is it happiness?

Sexual events and conversation are my formal occasions, like a rush to create a collage of experiences to blot you out; like bodies and hair and faces and legs and arms floating on the surface of the pool and I’m trying to stay under, while I’m still taken by the shimmering gaps coming down through. There is no escape from you. I’ll hold my breath forever if I have to.

Why was I always so quiet when she mentioned you or your parents or anything about you? No line for your strangeness. Should I have taken a number the first time that I saw your face. It’s too late. But I know it’s just about the options on that other plane. I will always be slightly confused and lost without you. And so I’m walking through this perfect neighborhood again like a lost child, sniffing at the base of perfumes to keep me from falling apart. And despite its worldwide acclaim, I have to admit it isn’t as beautiful as that neighborhood in the salt air with the breeze coming off the water, with the thought of you near. I can sit for an hour, drinking a glass of wine so still, that they don’t begin to fall. Two little puddles sitting there in each of my eyes that don’t evaporate or fall.

Whispering to the landscaping. Mental anguish is a greater burden than the physical sense. Like working with concrete, clothes bleached by the lime. Xxx telling me not to bother to look nice for this. Or mowing the neighbors lawns, afraid the whole time that a pretty girl might pass by and see me doing that. And there is something that is lacking, even when they let you experience them in every way, there’s something lingering in their imperial eyes, a futile thread embroidered in the bigger tapestry - not of your kind. Hey! I’ve got some royal blood of my own. But it’s a cry too late for that. Out at sea and looking towards the shore, for a glimmer of your blue jeep. You’re all alone and waiting for me to come in. You’ve got a beach towel spread out for us that says love. The currents there, that so frequently had me alone and drifted off. A hurricane, a little fun, and I’m miles and miles down the coast. Feeling at times like just letting it take me, from that little wooden house and the misery. Drifting past.

But what’s in brackets remains guarded. Easy to write, impossible to show. 

And how can you miss something so much that you never had. What is it that one is missing, when one does not know what they’re missing?

…I look over towards the bed and think what if you were really there sleeping close right now. Let me kiss each of them. My doll, my love, open them like two little butterflies. And you look at me in that way that I’ve always prayed. The very thought leads me on. I can’t bear to close my eyes again and see you there. When I fall into bed as if onto you and close them they become the shape of yours. And now it’s completely back and I’m crashing out to the thoughts of you again. There are the pieces of you about this bedroom, as I’m crashing out to the thoughts of you again. And like a desperate voice drifting off, I’m still speaking to you. I’ll put on that expression of self control that I used to put on when you were mentioned by friends: a face, casual, distant, unconcerned and strong, while the mention of you with another boy took me under like nothing else ever could. Allison talking about someone we knew who’d been visiting you at your house and I wanted to go and vomit in her bathroom. Oh my god. Going and sitting on the lid of the toilet with my legs crossed, leaned over with my own hand going through my hair, while her and Kelly’s voices go on about college plans. And I even know what it’s like to be taken under by the rip-currents of a hurricane; held under, pressed against the sandbar until you’re sure you’ll never live to take another breath. And I was there saying under my breath again, What the fuck? It was like a cruel joke. What strangeness. What unlikeliness.

As if that one particular face never existed. Those eyes. The way your mouth spoke. And my heart was taken like a child takes a toy off a shelf. Like a glass heart off a mantle. And I couldn’t say a word. I couldn’t scream to wake up this girl, this woman, to make sure nothing was broken. And it’s as if I’m still watching you from a distance, through the glass panes of french doors and you’re on a couch, sitting there in this beautiful environment with a glass heart in your hand. As if you’re just almost seeing how special it is. And the phone rings.

Even if I were to end up with a woman as wonderful as Barbara, it would degrade even that in time. There’s no fortunate circumstance to withstand it. A house to survive a storm. And who would even want to live in a house like that with me. That is the beauty of a relationship, that neither has to worry that the other is looking off to someone else. Whether practical thoughts about someone you could be with or something that’s not possible. 

Your phone number that I’ve acquired, sits by like a dare. Like a risk. To go on thinking that maybe it could happen is survival, an even keel. You’ll cut me short and I’ll burn. Why are you calling me and what do you want? That’s what I fear the most. I want to call you from some beautiful place, as if I were at some acceptable elevation, somehow on your plane. As if that’s all there was to it. Then a conversation would take place. A conversation between two people who are somehow apart of each other’s lives. And then I could go on. I’m trapped here instead, feeling myself becoming the worst part of this Hollywood scene. Escaping into less glamorous parts of the woods, trying to feel like I’m still part of a neighborhood, and not a transient area of those trying to feel like they exist. I’m so fortunate, but your eyes left me feeling like all those who aren’t. It’s a secret that your eyes left me feeling like I don’t exist. And I know it’s not purely you that had the power to do that, but it was the combination of you and your rejection of so much love. Like the perfect storm that I can’t outrun. I can’t wish it away. And the universe is so mysterious like that. While people tell me that the world is at my feet, my heads fallen into pieces. From that period of time in that neighborhood, I haven’t been free. I can’t see the world without this tint, this pattern. Corridors and hallways and courtyards destroy me. Windows, fucking windows. They’re not what they should be to me. And every other girl is a dead end. 

I head this way towards Beverly Hills and Brentwood and then to the ocean. I stop along the sidewalk for a minute. Those funny little tendrils have mysteriously appeared from a hedge that looks to have just been sheared clean, maybe yesterday or as early as this morning. I stop and make believe that it’s the manifestation of your love reaching out for me. I feel over this beautiful bright new little jasmine tendril, perfect skin, in the air reaching out to wrap itself around something. If I stood here long enough, still enough, waiting, it would intwine. Nature has become something else to me, and I’m always looking for signs in it that you love me, that you’re thinking about me too. To save myself. And I don’t know if it’s childish or insane, that I feel it that way, that for a moment I really do feel like this foliage is you thinking about me. The modern world will laugh and tell me, that it’s just a hedge, it’s just a tendril, it’s just a young girl that looks like you, it’s just a twinkling star. That other world that I’m thinking about doesn’t exist anymore. In this one everything means something else and reminds me of something or someone else in that one. I haven’t seen you in years and I rub over these new little leaves as if no time at all has passed. 

Wherever it flutters, is where I’ll be found. I’m chasing the butterfly of love, deeper into it when I should be forgetting. It’s fluttering around the memory of you. I’m still chasing it down. Up the Malibu coast. Beautiful butterfly, I say, I let go! I give myself up to fate and the tide if it really wasn’t meant to be. It shows itself and I run after it again without looking. It lands on the memory of you at the naval air station in a pair of aviator sunglasses, on that afternoon when I thought to myself at the Naval Air Station, that’s my wife sitting close by. Just a matter of time. A world of people. Like that life, with the blue angels glimmering by in array. And I was looking at you in those aviator sunglasses, looking up and away. You are a beautiful sight. The glare, the glimmer, the twinkle in my eye. xxx.

Love intwined is a paradise. Living in one, feeling nothing. I can only comment on it, like commenting on a painting. I’m the one that doesn’t feel this place. I’m the one that doesn’t feel anything. The past is greater than the future. It’s greater than the present. Screaming out your name is like sex in itself.

With no closure it keeps you in circles. And I lay down sometimes in some beautiful place, on the sand with the sea-breeze or in a garden and I feel the weight of love and I don’t want to get up again. After crying there is this stillness. And you’re just gone from waiting and all the games in this place called Hollywood. I don’t want to encounter the world anymore. Laying there through sunset and twilight, then staring up at the stars until finally getting up. I don’t want to die to this love of you. I don’t want to be non-viable, a flawed lover, a beautiful body but with half a heart for someone else. But I keep trying. Sex means more to me because I’m trying to save myself with it. The beauty of women means more to me because amongst them, there’s some chance of escape. I approach this beautiful girl dressed so beautifully with this look in my eyes. Love in the escape of love. It’s a serious look. There’s no way around me. The dress goes up. And I hold her there like that with her arms above her head and wrists together, looking over this figure and smelling this girl. And it scares her and she loves it, that I’m not cautious at all as she lets it happen with this boy that she’s never seen before. Oh my god what are you doing? An open window with the wind coming in. Morning. At least tell me where you work. It doesn’t matter anymore.

And I can’t forget. And it is a moment as if I’ve never reached for a phone before, as if calling from this phone and this esteemed environment would make a difference and somehow create an impression over the phone lines of a boy who might have something now to offer. I've had it shivering in my hand. She doesn't answer. After the beep, I only leave the ambient sound of that sunny room in a hotel before softly setting the phone down. A vacuous message hoping somehow, she’d hear this love, crackling through distance and time. I’m sweating and not even sure what in the hell I would have said to you. I say it to this beautiful air. Xxx I love you.

My punishment is the elegant hell of your indifference and aversion. And it’s a place where words mean nothing. Where we go about in silence with you not loving me. And I live forever with you in that house near the water without a word, trying to convince you in a waking dream to love me, to take a walk with me to the water. To lean against me and hold me from the breeze. I won’t hate anyone. I’m in too much the daze of this heavenly place. Have you ever had anyone see that aura of yours? Feel that from you. Dying with love to the sound of your laughter. Hold it off until it’s gone. Until there’s no life left in our light. It’s love like a radiating heart, and isn’t it like any fruit that forms then falls to the ground and eventually shrivels away. Closing my eyes beneath this lime tree tightly. They flutter off amongst the branches. One is me, the other is you. I take her hand, because nothing I’m writing about you can save me. As beautiful as that vision of you in a wedding dress is. I wasn’t the groom.

They haven’t fired me but changed the schedule around on me. There’s not enough of me left to argue about it. Just a little more disorientation. And if I thought humiliation by candle light was such a terrible thing, I would try the stark sunlight. Squinting on the way at this time of the late morning. The light’s so contrary to the way that I'm feeling; like morning sickness. But if anything, I must admit that the outdoor patio is really beautiful during the day. And all of a sudden it wasn’t an annoyance, but was almost like perfect timing, as if I was fated to work this shift, when there she was! In a way. Heaven sent! Sitting so mannerly, like a sight that I needed so badly. What a beautiful child. While waiting on her I'm a Prince to her every need. My pleasure through two courses. She’s only eaten a little piece of her cake, leaving the best part. I peak out at her. For a moment I feel pathetic but alive with my heart beating this way. I have that feeling again almost completely, like when you were near me, and it brings me to tears. She looks so much like you, my god. And the greatest signs come without the purposeful intrusions of man. Nature can be much more insightful and excruciating at times. Beautiful little girl sitting in such brilliant sunlight, don’t look at me please. Oh that precious face! An overlay of yours. Like cellophane. If you only knew. Darling do you know what it means to me? The cut of your eyes, of your mouth. I don’t know what her mother must think, when I can't help myself and I lean over and kiss the shiny hair on the top of her head. And thankfully there's what seems like an understanding look from her mother - so strangely as if she understands everything, brushing the little girl's hair back and smiling like part of the compliment, the universal love. And she should. And horribly, I'm wanting so badly to say to this little girl what I'd wanted to say to you. As if now was the chance. I’ve lost you in a life before. Let's not do this again! But it would be too strange for me to say those things to a nine or ten year old girl. And it would be too strange for me to beg them to come back again soon and to forever request me as their loving waiter! And if I could I’d take her home, and raise her, as if she were ours. It has me sweeping it up while watching them leave. It's fallen into a thousand pieces. What's missed that precious mouth, missed the plate, missed the table, missed everything but the floor. I hold that piece that’s left, trembling on a porcelain plate. Wanting to run out and speak to her one more time. I hold it between my fingers, this piece, the end, with white icing and a little lavender flower on it. Sweetness. So I’m not dead quite yet! Even while the scent of that little girls hair has me flat on the mauve carpet with my arms stretched out and staring at the ceiling with plenty of afternoon light left.

A poster of this little girl with a piece of cake in front of her and a big smile on her face, is all that I would ever need to decorate my room. And now it’s brought on an even greater flood. It’s washed me right back through those low stone Hewit gates.

Late that afternoon, you’ve never seen a happier writer, no white out. I paint my nails with it. Oblivious with the thought that another face like yours might be found.

This storm is so damn frustrating. Cursed. And it’s hard for me not to compare love. It’s like a tide line along the seawall and it hasn’t reached that point again, that all time record high again. I feel the tide of other girls rising, lapping at it like that green salt water in the wind, but it doesn’t happen and I always remain on the surface, the love and sex with other woman unable to sink me entirely or raise me to that previous love. There is that place with your name on it, exposed on a higher step on the seawall. While just the thought of the love I want from you so badly is drowning me. It washes over Ocean Drive. And any attempt at a relationship will fail again, predictably. Here it comes. Like a tidal surge. Like a sudden and unseen front. It comes through the screen windows of the apartment and takes me over. And I can smell that place. High school hallways. The salt water. You next to me. Contentment. My doll. I feel like these depths are running out of light. And I’m too young to live the rest of my life in the twilight hours. Forgive what I say about you at moments of weakness, at moments of desperation, when I think I can cast you out of my heart with words of denigration. Forgive that I’ve bathed my face and neck in holy water on a hot summer day, alone, on my way to the alter in a quiet and empty church to say such horrible things about you. I pray the Virgin Mary doesn’t think I’m speaking of her while trying to get over you. But of course this house is all knowing and would never be confused.

As memories begin to sprawl again and grow, one scene leads to the before and after and you’re there again at sea level in that sprawl of streets in the salty windy air. But it was clear that what was in the brackets wasn’t going to lead me to any kind of success here, at least not of the gilded kind. 

I’m not here with some clear and lucid understanding of the industry and studio system, but moving through all of it like a drunk boy from one pretty face to another, from one pretty place to another at the mercy of the haziness of thinking about you. 

And that’s not only where the relationships become uncertain, but also where the writing splits in two. It starts to ruin the life above the surface, the moments you’re granted that might not be with her. Writing how you feel is so difficult because of that. Because according to most people, you’re not supposed to feel like this. It is a show of weakness. Something’s wrong with you. It’s a flaw of masculinity that you can’t get her off your mind, and at the same time an offense to any other girl or woman who can’t take her off your mind. So it’s continually split while you’re hidden. Like this beautiful curd that has to be skimmed off of everything I write. Or like the pulp from the wine. Or like myself from my other self; that self loyal to you. I can say things in the brackets that I couldn’t mention otherwise. I suppose people use them for different reasons and find them in different ways, to keep things in or to keep things out. I couldn’t even say her name outside of them, even while I was desperate to bail this heart out of her. I felt like I was quietly wanting her so badly again amongst those streets. A few people knew how I felt. In high school you don’t trust just anyone to your vulnerabilities. And the friends that you’re with all the time, know it. They want to know what that sick look on my face is, when I’ve seen you with that other boy again. The most that they could do was mention when they’d seen you and what you might have said, in a loving way, giving me a glimpse. Although I knew it was just rubbing it in. They want to see me quiver, it’s all in good fun. I would just fall back, thinking, oh please don’t do this to me. But please, what else did she say, what was she wearing? Listening to every precious word about you. If I can’t have the first hand, then the second will have to do. Is it the shape of your face? Like a previous face in a previous life that I’d adored? Was it the cuddly warmth of your body that I felt when you were close? This energy in phase with mine. But a love, out of phase. Have I been chasing you for a thousand years, is that why it was so lighting quick into my blood when I first saw you. Amazing how a confident boy was all of a sudden turned to jello. Love at first sight. Like picking myself up from a high school hallway dream after that. Unbroken by the bell. Do you know what you’ve done? Maybe even without knowing it, you’ve destroyed every relationship that I’ve ever had since then. And it kills me, what reaction you might have at hearing me say, I love you. To look into those eyes, waiting. Like waiting for the final results. No reply. Wasn’t I beautiful?

Dallas is where your family moved on to. I was so sad when my mother told me that. Off to another world, one glamorous enough for you. So I flew a little higher up to live for a while. Not as high as that, so you were still way up there. With my toes at the northern, Austin city limits. I almost got all the way up there one time to look for you. But I only got as far as Temple. And I met this young blonde cheerleader there. And that’s a whole other funny story. I’m safe here with the thoughts of you. Somehow there’s a chance for you here. I feel like I’m somewhere.

But I still want to lay it at your door. I remember when we were still there and I wanted to write something and place it at your door in place of the errant knocks, but I wasn’t in that stage of life to do that. Spiral notebooks and attempts. It wasn’t all pared down yet. It was Corpus Christi and included all the people and faces that were there. And I don’t know if it was closer to what it felt like or not. I read through some of it and it’s just what happened. And being from there, there’s always the temptation to write it just as it was, to write a simple and heartfelt version. I start into something like that but then I don’t think that’s enough. As if to say, that’s nice, but not a nice enough ring for the girl that I love. Always feeling like I could never write anything more important than what I lay at your door. Confusion. Seeking perfection. I don’t even know what I’m expecting to come of it. Maybe it’s just for myself, just another attempt to free myself from it. And I’m looking over these scenes, these situations that I tried to express. With the names of all these other girls. And if there’s no freedom forward, then maybe if I delve further into the past, before I met you. And I spend a little time with those passages and it feels good. You’re not even in the picture yet. Like reversing the reel. A girl in a little yellow convertible Triumph, has my attention for a little while. And then I’m feeling like I could write an entire picture about Nicole. There’s an afternoon with some girl named Devin packing to go off to college. There’s a beautiful blonde girl named Jill that smells like suntan lotion. Then there’s going down Ocean Drive with Kevin Robinson, behind you, with you looking out the back window of your parents luxury car. And there’s the sound of his Porsche clattering and that feeling that I had at the sight of your face.

Freedom in the writing, isn’t freedom at all. Being able to write your name and not want to hide the way I feel, might feel like a breakthrough in the writing, but in reality has me right back where I was. Trapped in those streets. Progression in the work is not progression in life.

It’s stasis. Love is stasis.

And I don’t pick up the phone. She’s not you.

I’ve done as much as I can do to get rid of this love. And I’m sorry that I love love so much. I do want to just move through life with a half-numb practical mind or in drunkenness where everything is just a consideration. They are the lucky ones, never at the mercy of love. There are all these varieties of love. But you really touched my heart, for better or for worse, in a very different way than any other. And it’s this potent excruciating feeling of love without intimacy. And I crave it, just to throw my arms around you and hold you. Writing about us in a foreign land are the most comfortable pieces that I write; removed from that place and everyone that we knew. There are no bridges there, one thought doesn’t lead to the next like they should. Something’s broken, something’s burned. But here there is this atmosphere to hold it together, this aether, this talcum powdered air. And the faces, bodies, places, perfumes, every drop of it, is like a brilliant displacement to a perfect and faultless amnesia.

And when I work on it, what Barbara had asked keeps crossing my mind. What is it about? And if I can’t answer that question I shouldn’t be writing it. I don’t know what I’m trying to get to or what I’m trying to get at. What is it that I want to accomplish with it? Why have I used this opportunity as just another opportunity to speak to you instead of trying to make it here? What is it about? It’s about being in love with a girl that you can’t have, that just goes on like this horrible nightmare. And because it did’t come back my way, should I just pretend like it’s gone. Working on this labor of love while it dies inside of me. Does it turn to poison after so many years? How well does love keep? It’s still as fresh as a new born baby. I’m still shivering, thinking about that big round dial patio thermometer that looks like a clock under that green corrugated fiberglass roof, when a norther’s blown in and you can write things on the glass. And I’m standing there staring out the sliding glass doors again. So close, I could walk there even in this frigid weather without a coat on. I would survive, if only not left shivering at your door. That was never opened for this burning heart of mine. Melting down in the dead of winter on your esteemed steps. Perhaps there’s no one home, perhaps you love the sight of a boy freezing to death. At least be kind enough to throw me out an arctic sweater. Love and no arctic sweater. Forever like two frozen lovers.

That afternoon with the heavenly white thunderous, cumulus clouds billowing into the summer sky over the bay, high up into the atmosphere. I’m coming around that arch, coming to confess my love or to beg and the sweet breeze is blowing and I’m ready. I’m ready to make a fool of myself. I’m just going to grab you and kiss you. Then I see your cars next to each other. I was gazing, nearly transfixed, stopping like a dumb animal in risk of peril. Love is moving you in that direction and you arrived at that beautiful scene. And it might as well be a picture. But pictures don’t hurt this much. I should have gone to the door, interrupting that summertime interlude. Your two cars like two lovers in the sun. I should have cared less about my survival, or losing my cool. Only you can’t fight for love. There’s no war for it. There’s no place to invade for it. It must come by its own volition. And it’s so beautiful that nature’s created something so fragile and illusive, that makes it hurt so much more when it chooses not to land. And my arm and hand is outstretched and poised, waiting, trembling at the choice. Like watching the diminishing sight of a butterfly fluttering around into the blinding glare of the garden. Until I realize it’s not meant to be. But I can’t feel that way and I go further into the garden. It was a glorious avoidance that I still can’t understand. Don’t ever say why you didn’t love me, please. I’m sure there are reasons upon reasons. It’s what no other girl has been able to understand and it’s nothing that I could ever expect them to. You’re supposed to be there completely for someone else when you’re together. Someone unreachable has left me unreachable. I’ll let it ring. It’s not you. 

Alone tonight at my discretion. A woman told me that it’s like lying, a lie of omission. That I didn’t mention that there was someone I felt like that about. And it’s true that you on my mind is lying to every woman that I’m with. I’ll see one of them tonight anyway. Barbara’s away and I go through these numbers that I’ve collected at the restaurant as if in a panic and it’s getting late. It’s wonderful, but it’s not that moment of decision at that precious age. Your decision not to. It’s not that moment of denial in the past that you put me on the cross with. Forever trapped in that pattern of streets. My writing is every variation of how it might have turned out. You opened the door and made love to me. I can write the truth in the disco version. I wanted you pregnant not even out of high school. I wanted everything that could be done between two people. Sitting there one night in that park, then a smile with a turn of the head with the wishful thinking of you pregnant in a cheerleading outfit. I was lost even then, a romantic amongst those going through the motions and looking forward to future plans. I saw what I wanted too early on. It would have been nice to have stayed who I was the day before I met you.

The sound of the clock goes on ticking on my expression of what it would feel like if you were here right now, and how wonderful that would be. It’s gotten late. And this ticking clock reminds me of that old Roman numeraled clock on the kitchen wall that was like the metronome of hell. Laying there in my childhood bedroom, with my arms like a summer field dreamer, but looking up at the cracks on the ceiling like another map, always about to fall in on me. Shotguns under bed and the boxes of shells like potpourri finely scenting my bedroom. Oil based paint in the kitchen hardened in the worst of ways, amazingly un-chipped by all the years of dishes thrown against the walls. They don’t make paint like they used to. It was when you could still die eating paint chips. They were like olive green lead walls. A wall splattered with food, and no one had wandered back in that night to clean it up. And when standing there in the kitchen in the near darkness, I thought about you and how beautiful you are and how close you were, and that you were only streets away. You were so close! Then I was counting you like sheep again, that never brought me any rest. You’re coming over my bed again. On a few occasions when I thought it could happen, I set the phone on the bed next to me praying you’d call me back. I laid there fingering that spiraled cord. I laid there with the thoughts of you laying next to everyone. Is that weird of me to have imagined you with other boys, and what you were like with them? The positions. I go quietly out the back sliding glass door in the middle of the night just to get as close to you as I possibly can. It’s windy, you know the air, and I go across the path of what I can’t have. Looking down your street as I pass it by, orbiting a little closer to the object of my affection. Did you ever feel the waves emanating from the flesh of a boy that loves you so much? Did you ever feel me walking through your dream while you slept. Did I love you too much from that little house to the sea?  I’m not supposed to love someone this much! No one is supposed to love someone this much. There are no buildings or rooms or clocks in love. My eyes looking into your eyes didn’t leave you with anything? Nothing at all? And I know that silence can be as horrible as violence. Not to have you, not to be speaking with you was worse than violence, I swear. When I was in that house, in that little house growing up, in all the yelling and screaming and violence, I found peace in thinking about you. I hesitate as I pass your bending street, like the top arch of a heart. That way, for perfection and rejection! And sweetie I would have kept knocking on that door if it didn’t hurt so damn much. It never opened. So then, to feel nothing is perfection. It’s what I’m working on. It’s survival. Then an ocean drive, desperate weather, desperate words, cries for armageddon. There is no sea here! There is no ocean here. Just this black hole! Thank god, is that the end coming? A ghost jet plane coming into the naval air station with lights ablaze. No, come this way. Here’s your target, come and zero in on me. With spine against a palm I wanted the entire place destroyed. That black bay laughing as I cried, ‘If I can’t have you then no one can!’ It doesn’t work that way. And life keeps going on like the sound of water dripping in the sink, the clock ticking like a frigid metronome. Without you I’m lost in the woods. It’s cold. It’s later than I thought. I go out walking again in the middle of the night; here, not there.

And I reach the edge in the writing, where I reach the edge of how well I ever knew you. And I try to go on and go into that vague terrain a little bit further but it’s useless. I want so badly to write these scenes between you and me, with more conversation, with time spent together, with lovemaking. Limitations, limitations. I’m a fucking waiter; in the highest echelons of this craft, thinking about a girl who denied me any real time with her. How humorously cruel can nature be? That’s not a question for you. That’s a question for the universe.

What I’d taken Barbara before was so boring. It was a rosy picture, with not a mention of love, or obsession, with not a mention of violence; not in life or in thoughts. No house full of fights. No accidents. No mistakes. It was like the description of a coastal town, as if out of an encyclopedia that lasts forever because it’s merely the description of a pretty little place, not tied to anyone’s feelings, a pretty little sparkling city by the sea, without love, without hurt, without confusion. And who wants to read a diary about a miserable tiny wooden house with the wind blowing over all sides of it and paragraphs about fishing, about drum and redfish and speckled trout. And how my mother would prepare them, fresh in the skillet. And the worst part of delving back into it is delving back into it, still breathing in the air of that small wooden house, the smell of termite eaten wood and gunpowder. We no longer went hunting, if only because my father had somehow become soft hearted and said that he couldn’t pull the trigger on the fuzzy little creatures anymore: a buck had looked him in the eyes before dying. Before it was easy for him. A seven millimeter magnum on a high blind, under a Texas blue sky. Out of the scope, you can hardly even see it. It’s a long walk after to find it. But the weapons and ammunition persisted in dusty zippered bags through the years, cleaned and oiled once in a while, looking down the spiral with daylight at the end of it in my bedroom.

I remember looking into his eyes. And I couldn’t tell him that I loved you. And I couldn’t tell him that I was so proud, that at least it had been one of us; in this little area of wooden houses. I wished he’d married you and she hadn’t gone off into an open world again. I don’t know who they are? I can’t feel a part of it at all. And weren’t we all so anxious to get away completely from that place.

Every walk is amazing. I don’t know why I saw you and felt like there was no other. Like food coloring into a glass of water. Sitting there and watching my mother bake on a holiday and holding it over like an eye dropper. And you watch how it slowly spreads into the water and becomes inseparable, tainted. Always wondering if I’m tainted or fortunate to have this feeling of love. Is it a gift or a burden? I’ve spoken to others who’ve gone through life, having been in love, but never really really in love. Should I be jealous of that? I met you at Ray High School in the hallway. I knew something had happened to me when I staggered home. Not knowing if that feeling was sickness or happiness or joy. What just happened to me? Don’t let this be happening. Then I didn’t see you. That was such a lonely summer. So close but not in the same circles. Praying they’d converge in that strange place. How could I lose you in such a small town, only streets away. Those precious moments when I thought it was possible, I still turn in them. And somehow who we all chose and who we ended up with and who we tried, was all laughable to me. As if I could see too much in the future. Don’t you know that that one will be fat and bald in ten years. Don’t you know that one’s a babbling idiot. Don’t you know who it is that really loves you? Drinking and friends mouths left open at my mouth denigrating someone you were seeing. And I never mention that it’s because they’re dating you. Just that I hate that person as an individual, as a human being for some reason. I’m sure they suspect why.

And somehow here, in this world of the studio system, I can keep it alive. They can broadcast me up there on the hill. The dream story of my life. 

In the mirror, it’s a quiet confrontation of the body, face, mouth, eyes, teeth - not with a Hollywood setting, but with the circumstances of my own life. Thinking back to high school and that little bathroom, rubbing that Obsession gel through my hair and practicing that line in the mirror. That line that means everything and means nothing. Will you marry me? I’m that boy in the mirror again in that little bathroom by the den, still in love with you. Is there some chance that you would ever need this face and body and love? Should I just let go and be devoured by time? I’m lost and tired of looking for you in all these other faces. Like letting go of that mirror with ornate gold frame in the living room that I would gaze at myself in before exiting the screen door. A mirror that was like something palatial in our little wooden house. I didn’t feel like I was owed you. But just that I love you so much. It’s just a thought that goes hand in hand with every look at myself in a mirror. How could I be so lucky in love, but not with you? That face, that voice, that heart, the one I wanted. Quiet desperation. Is it too late to smile onto you? A girl you love, and even nature itself wouldn’t give a damn whether you live or die. Every glance, every view is already like a freeze frame that you’ve moved on from. A place already empty of you and anything that you were feeling. 

I’ve made the past a palace, like this magnificent scene of eating with my mother at the Crystal Confectionary, with something strangely profound about the light coming down. Meaning as well as she always means. She so humble and never wants to ruffle the feathers of perception. She doesn’t understand yet, that I’ve seen a greater vision of my life. And I’m trying to explain to her, that I’m like a cicada. I was born many lives before. Not wanting to, but asking, have you seen Jewels lately? Hoping there’s some mention of you, some mention of your life or what you might be up to. I think she knew I loved you. I think everybody did. Everybody had that look on their face looking at me when your name was brought up. And you can’t hide it. Always asking about your grandmother. Have you seen Jewels? Have you seen Jewels? Have you seen Jewels? A mother wants for her son what her son desires, with her heart so closely connected to the expressions on her son’s face. She was always too humble and polite to say anything negative. Always so calm with never a temper, such strange blood. And it’s not a mother’s place to tell her son that he can’t have someone that he loves, because of this reason, or that reason. Life goes on, just as it’s gone on before. Don’t speak to me like a child. This lunch is over! Oh mother, do you know where we’re from? Living a charade in this town, playing dumb. Take notice of nature, would you please. Shake off some of your modesty. I’ll let my blood take hold elsewhere. Dozens of races set into three boxes. Laughable. Let’s go shopping for fabric again. I’ll have to look through a thousand bolts of fabric. I’ll have to sit down and find the perfect Simplicity pattern. It’s either you look at the truth or you look away mom. I want to make a dress for her. I haven’t talked to my mother for months on end, but I’ll have to call her to find out how your grandmother spells her name sometime. You know it’s funny. My mother was always talking to her little old ladies while she did their hair about her son, how proud she was of me, and I always wondered if she ever mentioned me to your grandmother and if your grandmother ever mentioned me to you. I’ll never forget that movement of my mother, with one hand guarding the face of the old woman, and with the other spraying Tresemmé over some fresh hairdo. And the farther into fall the prettier it becomes. I remember as a child looking over those wigs, one that was silvery blue with big shiny curls on it, always thinking they were so beautiful, like works of art. And maybe I won’t have you until then. And I wonder if I’ll ever be able to say that I don’t want it now. Will that be possible to do someday. It would be interesting to see what would happen, if I had a wife and family someday and you came walking through the door, and you said that you couldn’t live without me. Better yet, you just come in and kiss me. I’m so curious as to what I’d do. And I’m not curious as a writer, I’m curious as a human being. And it’s a daylight revelation, when I find myself looking through this work that no one in the world should ever see, in which I’m this animal at the periphery of your life. Not of your ilk, even when I could never even figure out what your ilk was. Climbing up onto the aluminum carport and then up onto that little gray tar shingled roof, standing there looking that way towards the bay as if trying to see your house from there. Wanting to jump off your roof down into your pool. I’m dumbstruck in the sunlight, as if still in that breeze, as if every achilles, as if every bitter humiliation is laid out on full display. Asking myself, why is it so embarrassing to have loved someone who didn’t love me back? So there’s this annoying struggle between the revelation of my life and a disco version. And more of a temptation because Barbara was someone I felt like I could trust to tell everything to. Sex has us feeling so close so fast. And I’m always unsure if that’s self deception or not. It’s the most intimate thing that two people can do together. Then it’s divulging almost everything over a couple of glasses of wine. But it’s very different when you’re speaking to someone than writing it down. Speaking isn’t admitting to how you feel. It’s like talking about some restaurant that didn’t appeal to you and you’re never going back there. When you write it, you have to look at it. And you have to look at it again and again. It’s pared down to a classical sense, to love and the rejection of love. Well that plays been done, how many times? So it’s thrown out and I’m running to the disco. It’s much easier to write. And everyone has a wood paneled den to remember.

I don’t want to love you anymore. I want the chance to fall out of love with you. I want to be free of this feeling. I think I hear someone calling to me. I turn into the wind, there is no one there. It is this love that I’m consumed by. The wind and every memory of how it all got away. Like a moment, where after I was diverging from myself. I’m separated from you.

Although I miss the clouds. And of my entire life there, it is the impression of you that embodies the place. It’s like I was born again from the womb of your disdain for me. You are the port. When you appeared, my fate was sealed for sure.  

Is it humiliation and embarrassment to love someone who doesn’t love you? I spend days on that concept. Pretending to save face, while the love is there in you. The tendrils and the vines and the thorns and roses emanating from inside you. And you go about like this with it just under the skin. Time is passing and I’m panicked in a calm sort of way. I can’t emulate the expressions of your face so perfectly anymore. And the memory of your voice that was like an adoration slowly sucking the life out of me has become slightly washed out by the voices of girls that sounded like you, off by so many degrees. Any of your attributes and I’ve been like a bee to honey. Stay just like that honey. From that angle you’d think… I remember hearing about you at some company picnic in a sundress, and even that second hand sighting of you brought such joy into my heart. Isn’t one tapestry as good as any other? Saying to yourself, well then any girl in a sundress will do. And you try to trick yourself into believing that.

The movements don’t make any sense. Everything breaks down to it. A love letter just becomes the ramblings of a boy on Hoffman street. That for you was only a lesser easement on the way home. The glimpse of your car streaking by was like a bullet. Didn’t you ever stop to think about the fate of the quickest way home? That burning streak left through my mind. We were meant to be. But was it always such a straight and easy shot through my heart? Didn’t you see the balconies and bell tower in the sky over my little wooden house with a flag waving for you. Did you ever notice the Christmas lights I left up half the year, hoping that you’d finally come in. Such a touching streak of a car, kept me feeling like there was some pursuit. My head turning with the instincts of a canine through a bay window. Have you ever seen a dog chase a car down the street to the bloodiest of paws? Well I sort of felt that way when I saw you go by. Slow that car and let me jump in. I promise not to drool.

And how can I just walk along so blasé, where it’s like picking the most beautiful place to suffer. There’s no time to dwell on a hummingbird in some war-torn place. But there’s time here to do that. To think that everything is a sign. To think that everything means something else. That everything is about love or disgrace. And how can you be there during the hours that you’re not? How to become a transcendental ghost to satisfy the calling and the calling. While the faces gather and the conversations and laughter take place without you. What it must be that is being said. My ears are burning. But my mother did her grandmother’s hair, how I would have loved to have braided Natalie’s. Those eyes falling closed with the tenderness. I remember looking at your face and listening to your voice that I loved so much, trying to get some trace of what had occurred during all the unseen hours, wanting to be part of your life. And when these young beautiful rich mothers come in with their daughters that look just like them, and I watch them sit and fix their hair that way. It’s like a breakdown just under the surface of this waiter’s calm. I bring a little ribbon. I want so badly to be part of their lives. But I’m the periphery. If someone isn’t part of your life, they aren’t part of your life, it’s that simple. It becomes fantasy. I’ve never been to Italy. I’m writing pages and pages about us in Italy. But it’s like this consciousness of a past life. I was there before and I know the love is real. 

I avoid it (spiral notebook) for a few days and I know when I open it again it will leave me salty and shivering in that breeze of indifference again with a rosy pink carnation wilting in my hand waiting for you to want me too. I’d put it away into the clear plastic container like something that can be preserved for a lifetime. Hidden in refrigerator in the back little room, so my parents wouldn’t ask me what it was for. Bought on a whim at H.E.B.’s after a day of surfing. And I’d thought, I’m going to pin this on you. I’m going to walk over and knock and you’re going to open the door and I’m going to pin this on you even if you’re in a t-shirt or sweatshirt. The rest of our life, a coronation of love. And maybe because it’s where you were heading, I always picture you in a sorority girl’s sweatshirt all the time, with the Greek insignia on it. I don’t know if you even wear those. You’re precious to me. It becomes - in the wishful heart of a boy in love - a new reality of time, discontinuity, disco, like waiting for something now to end or fall into ruins. And I’ve been asked, where’d you get your patience? It’s absolute shock and the slow burn of love. That’s all it is. Not being able to go on with your life for one reason or another. The heart in stasis is patience. There’s no secret. You can’t fake it. I’m a product of the continuity of my life. Like layers upon layers of circumstances. And you become. They try every explanation. But it’s not a miracle and it’s not evil and it’s not un-human. It’s just someone with a ghost, someone without their soulmate that keeps walking along, looking around for another flower that makes him forget. And you’d think, that in a garden like this it wouldn’t be so hard to find.

It’s a sunny day on the island. And it’s just about the currents. The currents in the sweeping clouds. The currents in the water. I remember days when the wind was blowing so hard and the currents were moving so fast along the beach when you’d have to paddle so hard just to stay in one place. And you can’t let go of that place where you paddled out, or you don’t want to. And you’re looking towards the shore and you’re paddling and paddling. And your blue jeep is sitting there and you’re laying out on this towel beside it. And I can’t get a wave in and I’m drifting and I’m fighting the currents, paddling and paddling. And the windshield of your blue jeep is there glimmering. It’s like this strange dream where all I have to do is catch a wave in to you, but I can’t. And I just can’t. And there’s the exhaustion, and this droning love that just won’t stop. And suddenly it’s like it does something to me. And I can’t write anymore. And I’m just staring down at that scene as if looking from high above with the currents carrying me away from you. Sweeping me down that coast away from you in some strange twilight. And I know that I’m going to put it all away for a while again, and try to live life.

Love. Masochism. Self flagellation. Craft. Denial. It’s not a way out of it, paper and ink and typewriter. Taking the batteries out of the fire alarm. It leaves a soot mark on the bathtub porcelain. I ignore the banging at the screen door. That draft didn’t work; curling up and burning like rose petals.

Breaking Love

-Alan Augustine

[ncityislove]

More

➳Genre: smut

➳Pairing: Stoner!Mark x Reader

➳Word Count: 4k+

You meet Mark at one of your parents’ boring dinner parties and when Mark shows you his stash of weed things get heated in more ways than one.

Requested? lol naw but y’all nasties wanted it anyways

Your heels echoed on the wooden floors of the over-sized dining room as you sauntered over to the open bar, ordering a shot of Hennessy. Your parents dragged you to yet another one of their friends' gathering to "make more connections" as they had put it. You were out of school on summer break but you wished you had taken up those extra classes because then you'd have an excuse not to be here.

The bartender placed your glass in front of you and you downed it in the blink of an eye, ordering another just as your mom approached you.

"Ah, there you are! Come along, dear, I want to introduce you to someone," she said, grabbing your wrist.

As if there was someone here you hadn't already introduced me to, you thought, rolling your eyes. Your mom lead you across the crowded room to a secluded area where your father was standing in his freshly ironed blue button down and matching tie, his jacket draped over his arm.

"Oh! Speaking of the devil--this is my daughter, y/n!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with the small family standing before you.

"Oh, she's gorgeous! Isn't she gorgeous, honey?" asked a woman wearing too much makeup.

"She sure is. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!" the man next to her boomed and everyone burst into laughter.

"Stop it, Todd! I'm married!" your mom giggled. "And so are you!" Everyone laughed again and you tried not to gag. It was obvious your mom didn't want to be here just as much as you and it was shameful how badly you wanted to laugh. Your mom was never very good at pretending and it showed now more than ever.

"Hey, Mom? The maid said you wanted to see me," said a young looking man dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His voice matched his face perfectly, soft yet deep at the same time.

Suddenly, the night had become much more interesting.

His parents seemed repulsed by his attire but you, on the other hand, thought it suited him very well. His joggers hung low on his hips and his baggy t-shirt was loose but not loose enough that you couldn't see his toned figure underneath. His hair was a mess but it surprisingly didn't make him look any less handsome. You couldn't help but imagine how soft the tufts of hair would feel between fingers as you tugged at the strands begging him for more.

"Mark, sweetheart, you couldn't have put something nice on before you came down?!" his mom shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized although he seemed like he didn't really mean it.

"It's alright, Beverly. My son, Doyoung, is the exact same way," your father chuckled.

You sighed, wishing it was your brother who was standing here instead of you but unfortunately he had a better excuse than you for not being able to make it. He was in Paris "studying" for his law degree for another year but you knew he was probably just messing around with some French girl in that big fancy penthouse your father bought him.

"Then you must understand how embarrassing this is," his father sighed. "Well, this is my son, Mark. He's in college right now but he came back home for an internship at the company! Isn't that right, son?"

Mark nodded, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours briefly then flitting away, his ears turning red.

"Now that I think about it, you two are the same age!" said Beverly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mark looked up at you in surprise, his big amber eyes looking even larger as he gaped at you. You smiled at him, eyeing him from head to toe as you licked your lips. You didn't mean to be so obvious but you couldn't deny how cute he looked when he blushed.

"Oh that is!" your mom cheered. "Maybe they'll become good friends!"

"That would be great! It's too bad Mark's got so much work to do right now," said Tom.

"Yes, it truly is a shame," you agreed, everyone turning to look at you.

"R-really?" your mom stuttered, surprised at you for showing interest in the conversation for once. "I mean—it really is a shame."

Mark cleared his throat. "Well, I can take a break and stay a while...that is if you'd like me to," he trailed off, glancing at you.

"I'd like that," you said, grinning innocently as filthy thoughts ran through your mind.

This was exactly what you needed. A cute boy to toy with until you can go home and finally finish the last season of The Vampire Diaries. The show was cheesy and the characters got on your nerves but you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you never finished it.

"Is that okay?" he asked his dad who looked hesitant.

"If it's only for a bit then what harm could it do?" he said waving his glass of wine in the air.

"I'll just go change then," Mark said stepping back.

"Marvelous!" his mother remarked, as she took a polite sip from her glass.

Your dad patted you on the shoulder, showing his gratitude towards your sudden act of kindness towards him but what he didn't know was you weren't doing this for him, it was for you. If your parents were going to force you to go to every boring party for the next three months you needed something to entertain yourself. Or rather someone.

Mark came down the elegant spiraled staircase in a crisp black button-down tucked into his slacks with a rather expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist. His hair looked tamed this time, slicked back in a way that resembled his father's. Although he looked absolutely drool-worthy all dressed up, you much preferred him messy-haired and wearing sweats.

You met him at the bottom of the steps, not even trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"I never got your name," he said, offering his arm out to you.

"Y/n," you replied, linking your elbow to his. "Let's head to the bar, I need a drink."

Mark nodded, as he escorted you to the open bar at the end of the corridor.

"Two shots of vodka, please," you called out.

"Ah, none for me, sir. I don't drink," interjected Mark.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry?"

Mark smiled. "I'm not much of a drinker. I always regret it in the morning and it tastes awful."

You laughed at his explanation, finding it cute. Mark was different than all of the other kids you met through your parents. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to get wasted at these boring affairs and you were one of them.

"I'll still take those two shots," you said.

The bartender nodded, setting two shot glasses in front of you and you threw your head back, finishing them in seconds. Mark watched you with amusement in his eyes as you gently placed the glasses back onto the counter.

"So if you don't drink," you began. "then what the hell do you to deal with...all of this?"

"All of this?" he questioned.

"You know...everything. These parties, the fancy suits and all that."

"I know what you meant," Mark chuckled. "I don't have to be intoxicated to have fun."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I'm not buying that."

Mark smirked, looking down then back at you, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

You propped a knee onto the bar stool, leaning closer to him, not caring that you were wearing a dress. "Then what do you do?"

Mark cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't I show you?"

You blinked at the large hand being offered to you, curiosity getting the best of you as you placed your palm on top of his. Mark look satisfied as he laced his fingers between yours, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His house was big but not as big as yours. The hallway was spacious, decorated with art pieces that must've cost thousands. The band music faded more and more until the only sound left was the click-clack of your heels.

His room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. It was black and white themed with a modern renaissance inspired wallpaper with just as much art hanging on it as in the hall. His desk was the only part of the room that looked messy, papers and folders thrown everywhere, even some littering the floor around it. But the bed. The bed was what really made the room so beautiful. It was huge. The bedposts were made out of a beautiful oak wood and almost as high as the ceiling! The comforter was draped beautifully over the bed and with perfectly fluffed pillows placed on top.

"Nice room," you said, sitting on the chair by the bookshelf.

"Thanks," said Mark as he opened his closet door, disappearing for a few moments.

You got up, wandering around his room, pausing at the wall of trophies and medals next to the fireplace. Most of them were from years ago, but there were a few a golfing trophies with this year's date on them.

"Ready to have some fun?" Mark asked, startling you as he emerged from the closet.

"Sure, why not," you retorted, walking to his bed where he was sitting with a small wooden box in his lap.

"You're not gonna pull out a gun on me are you?" you asked, eyeing the box.

"Just sit down and watch," Mark said half-chuckling.

You plopped down next to him on the bed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the lid of the box, revealing something you hadn't been expecting at all.

"Weed?"

"Yep. Weed," he said pulling out a lighter from the bottom of the box.

"You don't look like the stoner kind," you said, scooting further back on the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, lighting up a blunt.

You hummed, watching as he put the object to his lips, inhaling then blowing out a puff of white. Mark let out a content sigh before offering the blunt to you.

You took it from him, taking a hit then passing it back.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" You asked, already beginning to feel lighter.

"Nah, my parents already know." Mark took another hit, holding his breath for a beat before exhaling.

"My parents would lose their shit if they found out their precious daughter was up here smoking pot with you."

"I bet your parents probably smoke too," Mark mused.

You let out a surprised laugh. The idea of your parents getting high on marijuana out of all things was absolutely hilarious to you.

"Please, they won't even have more than three glasses of wine."

"That's what they want you to think," Mark sing-songed and you giggled.

Mark laid down next to you, giving you a lazy smile.

"What?" You asked, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips.

"You're just really pretty, that's all," he said, his voice sounding confident but the blush on his cheeks evident as he looked away.

"You're really pretty too, Mark," you said, trying not to smile as you took another hit from the blunt.

Mark crinkled his nose at you, snatching the brown object from your fingers. "You're totally high right now."

You looked shocked as you snatched it right back, your lips turned downwards. He was way off base—there was no way your tolerance was that low. And if it was? It was none of his business how much weed you could smoke, anyways.

"What? No way, I'm not high yet."

Mark shook his head, a teasing smile on his face. "If you say so."

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder. "I do say so."

"Oh yeah?" Mark stood up, towering over you with a smug grin, blowing out a white cloud of smoke at your face. "And I say, you're much better at handling your liquor than a measly blunt. I mean, you've only had like three hits? It's barely halfway done yet."

You wanted to smack that grin right off of his face right then and there. Nothing irked you more than a man who challenged you. What you say is law and if you say you're not high (although you may have been a teensy bit) then you weren't.

To other people, it might seem like you were over-reacting but who could blame you? You always got what you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted it. No limits. No one to tell you 'no' when you really needed to hear it the most.

"I don't like to be teased, Mark."

"Really? Because I think you look cute when you get all worked up."

You squinted your eyes at him. The poor boy. He didn't realize what he was in for. "Where was that shy, blushing boy I met earlier? I wanna talk to him."

Mark's eyebrows raised at your comment. "I don't know what you're talking about, love, but I'm all ears to listen to whatever you have to say."

You stared at him for a second, sitting completely still and Mark grew uneasy. "Um, was that too much? Sorry, if I got the wrong vibe but I just figured—"

"Kiss me," you said, your voice calm.

Mark's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "W-what?"

You tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, dragging his body down to level your faces. "Kiss me, Mark."

Mark looked at you with wild eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, encouraging him as he slowly inched forward, finally, his lips meeting yours. It was awkward at first, your lips moving at different paces but you didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of...endearing.

His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, your legs wrapping around him on their own as Mark emitted a soft groan. Your hands moved from his face down to the expensive belt on his pants, undoing it with haste.

Mark broke the kiss, startled by your urgent hands. "What are you doing?" he asked, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"Is this not okay?" you asked, your fingers pausing at the latch of the belt.

"N-no—I mean yes! Yes!" Mark stuttered, his cheeks glowing red again.

The tingling that surged through your body at the sight of the flushing boy before you took you by surprise. Every time Mark blushed it made you want to do things to him. You craved to see those naive big brown eyes of his rolling to the back of his head from pleasure. You wanted to hear him pleading for you. Begging you to make him feel good after he couldn't take your teasing any longer.

Once you successfully removed his belt, you wrapped it around his wrists, careful not to irritate his skin.

"What's this?" Mark asked, looking uncertain.

You brought your lips back to his briefly for a chaste kiss. "Teaching you a lesson. The first thing to know about me is I don't do well with any kind of disagreements."

Mark looked down at his bound wrists before glancing back up at you. "Are you doing this because I was teasing you?" he asked, his tone too playful for your liking. "You know I'm right."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with you in the bed, your leg lifting over his body so that you were sitting right over his crotch, roughly braying your hips. Mark cursed under his breath.

You leaned over him, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, "If you keep up this tough guy act of yours, this won't end well for you,"

Mark shuddered underneath you as your cool breath caressed his ears. You took the forgotten blunt, which was shrinking in size by the second, from the ashtray next to the bed, putting it up to his lips. Mark's eyes didn't waver from yours as he filled his lungs to its capacity, the butt of the blunt glowing a dangerous red. Your lips connected to his as he blew the smoke into your mouth. You released the white clouds from your mouth, making sure to blow it back into his face as he did earlier.

"You're gonna be good for me now, won't you, Mark?"

Mark nodded, his eyes wide.

"Why do you look so nervous," you giggled, your mind starting to feel hazy.

Mark's lips parted, his eyes adverting yours abashedly. "I just...I never did anything like this before."

You pulled his arms over his head so that you could lay on top of him without his hands sitting between your bodies awkwardly. "If you start to feel uncomfortable just say so and I'll stop. Although, I didn't think you'd turn out to be so vanilla."

"Hey! I'm not vanil—"

"That's enough, Mark," you cut him off by stuffing the blunt between his lips. "Good boys don't talk back.

Mark could only blink at you, unable to respond without the blunt falling out and burning a hole in his expensive sheets.

"Perfect," you said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth skin underneath. You began your assault on his neck, nipping and sucking without caring if it left any marks behind. Mark groaned, extending his neck to you as your hand slipped under his half-undone shirt, your fingers dancing over the firm muscle. His body responded to your touch, his back lifting off of the mattress slightly, chasing your fleeting hands.

"Patience," you muttered as you sat up on the back of your legs. You unfastened the hatch of his slacks, pulling the loose clothing down to his ankles. Mark looked down at you, trying his best to take a hit from the blunt without dropping it. You chuckled, helping him take a drag from it before putting it out in the ashtray, discarding it for now. Mark whined, protesting your actions and you rolled your eyes covering his mouth with the palm of your hands.

"Didn't I tell you good boys don't talk?" You asked, your other hand reaching down to palm him through his boxers, his cock hardening immediately. Mark's eyes closed as he let out a soft grunt from underneath your hand, lighting a spark in your core.

You licked your lips, humming as you teased his member, squeezing him through the thin material. Mark let out a muffled noise you couldn't make out.

"What is it, baby?" you asked, removing your hand.

"Please..." he begged.

You cocked your head curiously at him. "Please...what? Tell me and I might give it to you,"

Mark's tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, his cheeks rosy. "Your mouth--your hands--anything. Please, I don't think I can wait, I need you."

You core reacted, clenching around nothing. "Is that what you really want?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his jaw. Mark said yes, trying his best to keep his composure. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not yet, baby."

Mark huffed, his chest dejecting with a small pout in his lips as he struggled against his restraints. "Undo this so I can fuck you, goddamnit."

"Bad boy," You clicked your tongue as you hiked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips. Mark ogled at the newly revealed skin, a look of longing imprinted on his face.

You peeled off your panties, balling them up and stuffing them inside his mouth, shivering as the cold air hit your slick core. Mark looked absolutely helpless as he grunted, staring at your exposed heat, his eyes dark as the night sky just outside of the window. Your hands returned back to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband this time. His dick jumped in your hands as you teased the head, smearing his arousal as a lubricant. You gave him a squeeze for good measure and Mark jolted in response.

You bit your lip, pumping his dick slowly, deciding to torture him a little more. You knew what you were doing was unfair but he was just so fun to play with, you couldn't help yourself. Mark's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to stop himself from bucking up into your hands, knowing you would take your hands away altogether.

"Does that feel good? Do you want me to go faster?"

Mark nodded his head vigorously and you complied, feeling a little guilty for teasing him too long. You pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach. Maybe you were super horny but it may just have been the prettiest sight you've ever seen in your entire life.

Your face hovered over his writhing member, your breath tickling his skin as a silver pool of liquid fell from your mouth into your hand. Mark's breathing picked up as you massaged your hand over his length in a single twisting motion. You watched intently as his expression morphed into one of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunching cutely.

Your tongue swiped over your teeth as an idea popped into your head.

"I wonder...should I untie you?"

Mark nodded again.

"I don't know..." you said, pretending to think about it.

Mark mumbled something unintelligible as he waved his restrained hands at you, whining.

"I don't think you deserve it. I'm afraid you might do something and then I'll have to punish you."

Mark huffed, giving you a pleading look as he wiggled his fingers at you.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, unbuckling the belt.

The first thing Mark did once his hands were free was reach under your dress and grab your ass. You gasped in shock, slapping his hands off of you.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" you asked but received no response, as his mouth was still full of your underwear.

"I thought you would've taken that out first," you mused, pulling the lace from his mouth.

Mark licked his dry lips as you brought your face close to his.

"So tell me," you whispered. "Isn't this much better than those lame ass vanilla girls?"

His lips parted to respond but he couldn't find his voice to speak so he nodded instead.

"I bet they just laid down and made you do all the work, didn't they?" Your hands trailed down his stomach. "That's no fun, is it? Hmm?"

"No," Mark answered, his breath hitching in the back of his throat when your slick folds rubbed against his length.

You nipped your teeth at his collarbone receiving a hiss from Mark. "Unzip me," you commanded.

You could've sworn you heard him say 'thank you' as he yanked your zipper down your back, eagerly ripping it off of your body so that you were only left in your bra. You told him to unhook your bra next as you sank down on him, filling yourself up to the brim. Mark complied with fumbling fingers and after a few failed attempts he finally got off, his hands flying to your chest as soon as the garment was discarded.

You decided to let the action slide, the feeling of his hands on you better than you ever imagined. You raised up your hips only to slam yourself back down on him, a moan escaping your lips. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm.

Mark pushed your back down so that you were face to face and encased your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a heated kiss. He let out a broken moan, his mouth parting from yours briefly before kissing you again.

"Faster," Mark groaned, his lips swollen from kissing.

"Manners," You hissed, biting down harshly on his jaw.

"P-please?" He begged, his face flushing again. "Please, I'm so close."

You slammed hips down harder, ignoring the stinging in your thighs. Mark's moans mingled with yours as you pushed each other towards your climaxes.

"F-fuck," he husked, his hips meeting yours as he thrust up into you. Your hands clutched his shoulders, the skin turning white under your fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure washing over your body, your legs turning to jelly.

You called out his name as you came, Mark gripping your hips as he continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own in the process. Mark rubbed his thumb on your clit in tight circles causing you to cry out as you threw you head into the crew of his neck, your fingernails raking down his chest. Mark cursed when you clenched around him, his hips snapping up into yours with vigor as he neared his climax. His skin smacked against the bottom of your ass, a loud slapping noise filling the room.

You came again, letting out a strangled moan of ecstasy pulling Mark over the edge with you as spurts of warm cum filled you up. The two of you stayed there for a few moments to catch your breath, basking in your post-orgasm state.

You were the first one to move, rolling off of him after carefully pulling out his softening member.

"I never told you, you could cum inside me," you complained.

Mark turned to you, pulling you into his arms with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I should've asked."

"Do you always cum inside girls' without permission?"

"I've always used a condom so I never really needed it," he responded, lips resting on the back of your shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad to know there won't be any chances of me catching any STD's from you," you laughed.

Mark traced circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb. "Haha. Very funny. Shouldn't we get back to the party before our parents notice we're gone?"

You sat up, with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two of you got cleaned up and dressed as quickly as possible which took longer than it normally would considering you both were as high as a kite and your legs kept giving out every five seconds.

"Can I get a kiss, before we go back?" Mark asked, grabbing onto your elbow.

You smirked, bringing his face to yours. "What's the magic word?"

Mark never failed to blush at your requests but nonetheless played along. "Please?"

You barely gave him time to finish before your lips crashed onto his, your fingers gripping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on your lower back, pushing you further into him.

When you pulled away, his lips chased after yours and you found yourself smiling at how adorable he was.

"Should I get more weed for next time?" he asked, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Next time?" You repeated.

"Oh, don't tell me there won't be a next time," he pouted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"I'll think about it," was the last thing you said before pulling away to go downstairs, only for Mark to follow behind you on the back of your heels like a lost puppy.

[zacharybosch]

Playing Dead - chapter 7 (final)

here we are, at the end of the road. it's been real.

optional end credits music: The Big Unknown by Sade, or The Spoils by Massive Attack

chapter 1: tumblr / ao3

chapter 2: tumblr / ao3

chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

chapter 4: tumblr / ao3

chapter 5: tumblr / ao3

chapter 6: tumblr / ao3

read chapter 7 of Playing Dead below or on ao3!

Bev found sleeping on a train to be near impossible, despite the exhaustion she felt in every bone and muscle of her body. Miriam seemed to have no such troubles, but perhaps it was just that she’d pushed herself to the limit and had no option but to immediately pass out in their little cabin. The carriage rocked back and forth as the train hurtled along the tracks and through the night, and coupled with the frantic whir of Bev’s thoughts, she knew that she was not going to get any rest.

She got up and went to sit in the tiny chair by the window. They would be arriving in Avignon tomorrow. Miriam had identified it as one of a few likely stopping points for Will and Hannibal on their race out of Italy. Bev didn’t know how she had come to this conclusion, and she didn’t want to know. It was as if they’d never left home, Miriam with her nose buried in her laptop and Bev stuck on the outside looking in. She no longer had the strength to try and talk Miriam out of it. She knew in her heart that they were breaking apart at the seams. All she could do was sit and wait to see if they would make it to Avignon in one piece.

It quickly became too much to be shut up in the tiny cabin with only her own anxious thoughts for company, so Bev left the cabin as quietly as she could and headed for the back of the train. There was a small balcony there, open to the air and deserted at this hour, and Bev breathed deeply as she stepped out onto it. The tendrils of her hair were immediately picked up by the wind, and for a long moment she just stood there, eyes closed, letting the coolness of the night sink into her skin.

The door behind her clicked gently, and then Will was standing with her on the balcony.

Bev waited for the cold, sick feeling to arrive, or the boiling anger, or the impetus to fight or flee. But there was nothing left for her to feel beyond the hollowness of exhaustion.

“Have you come to kill us?” she asked.

“I thought about it,” Will said. “I was of two minds walking through the train. Trying to decide if it would be a kindness.”

“Did you come to a conclusion?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to die, Beverly?” There was no threat in Will’s voice, just a quiet curiosity. It was almost worse, somehow.

“No, I-- I don’t want to die. But sometimes I wish I was already dead.”

“I’ll take it away, if you ask me to.”

Bev turned from Will to lean her elbows against the railing, and stared out into the dark. “Why didn’t you do it when Miriam first asked? You could’ve saved us all so much pain.”

Will moved to lean next her, careful inches between them. “I thought she was my friend, and she thought I was a particularly clever pet. I felt betrayed by her. But I suppose I wasn’t thinking too clearly about a lot of things at that point in time.”

“Almost sounds like human feelings,” Bev said, with a humourless half-smile.

“Almost,” Will agreed.

They stood in silence for a while, side by side, as the train bore them on through the night. Bev wondered how she had never noticed before that Will looked so profoundly un-human. It was easy to blend him in with everyone else when he was in a crowd, when she could subconsciously take their human characteristics and apply them to Will, give him warm skin and a breathing chest and reflexive little twitches. Now, on the balcony in the middle of the night, he looked like a marble statue that had been standing out there for centuries.

“I really hoped this could be it, you know. That clean break that Miriam kept talking about. She was so deep inside her own head, suffocating… If we could just cut through all the bullshit and let her breathe again…” Bev picked at a slim splinter of wood on the railing, and flicked it out into the night. “Guess I misjudged.”

“I’ve found that clean breaks rarely live up to the hopes of the people pursuing them. No matter how brutally you cut it out, you will always carry a piece of trauma with you. Miriam did a good job of pretending like she was past it.”

“I wish she hadn’t,” Bev said. “How did Hannibal react? When you first told him what you are.”

Will stared at the train tracks, at the bright flash of metal quickly disappearing into the dark. “He blinked, twice. Then he just accepted it.”

“Must’ve been nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Beverly was silent for a long while. She was lovely in the moonlight, her dark hair tangling in the wind and her skin touched with the blue glow of the stars. Will could see it easily enough, what could’ve been were he the human that Beverly had believed in: a friendship, stuttering at first but becoming more comfortable by the day; pancakes and bacon at an early-morning diner, case files spread over the table, black coffee and black humour to help wake them up; cookouts in the summertime, and maybe a drunken kiss, once, twice, but nothing would really come of it, and he would encourage her to pursue Miriam because he knows they would be good together.

But it was someone else’s life. Impossible to hold on to, unthinkable to have.

“Is there any way forward?” Beverly asked.

“You could let us stay dead. We would disappear into the world somewhere, and we wouldn’t try to find you. We could avoid America entirely, until you’ve both passed on from this life. It can be easy.”

“It’s never easy.”

“No, it’s not.” Will covered Beverly’s hand with his own. It was the first time they’d ever touched, and she flinched. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“You and Hannibal have sucked so much of the joy out of my life. You take and take from everyone around you whether you mean to or not. Your presence is like a black hole. I feel so hollow.” She turned her hand in Will’s grip, and clasped his fingers with her own. “Make it stop now. Please.”

Will drew Beverly into his arms. He had given up apologising a long time ago, and couldn’t fathom it now as something that he might ever reasonably do again, but he understood in that moment what moved people to apologise over and over as they repeated the same mistakes throughout their lives. For such short-lived creatures, words were important; the world was so harsh, and humans were so tender and small. There was no time between birth and death for them to thicken their skin. Apologies were all they had.

They remained there, on the dark little balcony at the back of the train, for a long time. Eventually Bev took Will’s hand again, and led him back inside the train.

In the cabin, Miriam stirred in her sleep, the spill of her hair shifting pale across the pillow. Will perched gently on the edge of her bunk, and laid a cool hand on her cheek.

“Miriam,” he whispered, soft as anything.

She made a small irritated noise, and her brow creased slightly, and then her eyes fluttered halfway open. “Will?” she said, still mostly asleep.

“Yes. You’re having a dream, Miriam. Can you open your eyes further?”

“I don’t… I’m asleep…”

“Yes, you are. But you can open your eyes. Try it.” Miriam’s eyelids were heavy and kept falling shut, until eventually she managed to open them and keep them open. Her eyes were unfocused and wandering, but then Will delicately tilted her head and caught her gaze with his own, and her eyes didn’t stray any further. “That’s good. You’re still asleep, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Miriam said, and her voice was small and far away.

“I’ve come to say goodbye. And… to say thank you, for taking care of me, in the best way you were able. Keep your eyes on me, now.”

Will leaned very close to Miriam’s face, speaking softly against her skin for what felt like an eternity. And then it was done, and her eyes drifted closed, and she turned beneath the sheets and slept on.

Will turned to Bev, who was sitting on the tiny armchair that was the only other seat in the cabin. She’d raised the blind to gaze out of the small window at the dark rushing trees, not wanting to see Will do whatever it was that he had to do.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and Bev just nodded. Will came to stand before her, and tilted her head just as he had with Miriam.

“Will it hurt?” Bev asked, and felt immediately foolish for doing so.

Will smiled. “No. There’s no pain, and it will be over very quickly.” He knelt down, so his eyeline was level with Beverly’s, and then began to speak in a low, hypnotic tone. “You’re on a train, Beverly, heading out of Italy. You’re on holiday with your girlfriend. You both work so hard, and you needed a break…”

Quietly, carefully, Will rewrote Beverly’s life.

There was a brief disturbance in the air, as if someone had suddenly left the room, and Bev looked up from her aimless gaze through the window. She hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to sleep on a train, the constant rocking and rumbling of the wheels jolting her awake so many times throughout the night. Miriam seemed to have no problem with it; she was sound asleep, fingers curling in contentment against the sheets.

Bev sighed and got up to cross the small cabin. If she was going to be awake, she might as well be awake in bed instead of awake in a small and not-particularly-comfortable chair. She climbed carefully beneath the sheets of the narrow bunk, and drew Miriam close with an arm around her waist. They would arrive in Avignon tomorrow. Bev thought of the ancient city streets she wanted to walk down, the lazy flow of the Rhône glittering in the sunlight, and the café where they might stop and drink wine at lunchtime. It was a good thought, and she found herself smiling as she slipped imperceptibly into sleep.

***

Several carriages along, Will returned to his own cabin.

“It’s done?” Hannibal asked. He was sitting in almost exactly the same position that Beverly had been, in the tiny chair by the tiny window, moonlight spilling across his face just as it had spilled across hers.

“It’s done,” Will said.

“Then we’re free to move onwards as we see fit.”

“For the most part. I think it would be prudent to avoid America for a while.”

Hannibal smiled, eyes and teeth flashing in the dark. “As you say. We have all the time in the world, after all.”

[derryhawkins]

what did you say?

summary: there are five times richie says those three little words to the love of his life, but it takes six for eddie to actually hear him and say it back. warnings: none?? i think word count: 7.4k a/n: this is set within canon so get ready for a tad bit of pain & angst. i’d put a spoiler warning for it ch2 but i haven’t seen it yet & idk how the final battle actually goes down so,, yeah. also this is the longest thing i’ve written under nine hours & sorry for any typos! x

i.

It wasn’t necessarily out of the blue for anyone in the Losers Club to say three special words to one another. They were a group of best friends who fought a demonic entity together – they almost died. After the oath, and once things settled back normal other than a few nightmares they had once in a while, the group of seven told each other ‘I love you’ more often than not, probably everyday if one were to count how often.

And of course Richie said it to Eddie – if anything, he said it to the smaller boy the most. It had started out as the Tozier boy joking around long before they fought a clown in the sewers, but, eventually as time went on, that changed. Richie wanted to say he didn’t know when it changed, because he knew the exact moment it did: with Bill, Beverly, Eddie and himself in that godforsaken house, the clown coming towards them, Eddie’s arm broken, everyone yelling but Richie shouting the loudest to get Eddie to look at him. Because – fuck. Fuck, Richie couldn’t lose Eds. His Eds. A boy he’s had a crush on for what seems like forever now. It had been in that terrifying moment that Richie realized with an equally terrifying realization that he loved Eddie fucking Kaspbrak. And, with time, he started saying those words to him less after everything ended. Not drastically so – he didn’t want to make it obvious.

But those three little words, the meaning of them more like, had shifted into something more, and saying them not in that way felt wrong.

It was some day random Saturday afternoon. The seven of them were lounging at the quarry, soaking up the warm sun the best they could with autumn just around the corner. Mike was with Bill in the water, and Beverly was nearby on a rock smoking a cigarette, Ben not too far away as he tried to get a radio to work so they weren’t in complete silence. Stan attempted to help, but between getting frustrated that they couldn’t get it to work and Bev’s cig smoke, he soon ventured into the water with Bill and Mike. Richie and Eddie were sitting on a towel together, both in swim trunks and the heat of the sun was making their shoulders turn the slightest bit pink, but as they ate some snacks Stan and Bev brought along, neither particularly cared just yet.

“Hey!” Richie exclaimed suddenly and turned to Eddie. “Lets stuff our faces and say something and see if the other can guess what we’re saying!”

Eddie made a face of pure disgust. “Ew, why would- that- how did you come up with that?! That sounds so fucking disgusting, Rich, oh my god, I don’t wanna see half eaten food in your germy mouth!”

“How can it be germy if your mom kisses it?”

“Richie, I swear!”

Richie busted out laughing. “C’mon, Eds!” He pleaded and stuck out his bottom lip, leaning towards the boy. “Please?”

“Get your face away from me!” Eddie grunted and put his hand on the side of Richie’s face, pushing him away, and Richie grinned some more, hoping the pink on his cheeks would come off as a sunburn or something. “Your stupid puppy eyes don’t work on me, fucker, not anymore!”

“You’re so lame.”

“I’m lame?!”

They went back and forth as they ate a couple more snacks. Occasionally, Stan shouted at them to shut up, and Bev once in a while egged Richie on, earning a death glare from Eddie as Richie, Ben, and Beverly laughed. Finally, Ben got the radio to work and turned it up load enough for everyone to hear. It wasn’t long after that when Mike came over and forcibly dragged the two outs away from the snacks, claiming they were going to eat all of it they didn’t leave right then.

At some point, they all got in the water. For a while they played together – chicken, splash attacks, fake drowning, sharks – but eventually they all drifted to do their own thing. Mike and Bill were racing one another and Ben was timing it. Beverly was seeing how far she could swim below the surface and for how long she could do it, but Stan stayed close by her in case something went wrong, and Eddie was floating on his back, basking in the sun some more. Richie was just swimming around randomly, annoying his friends when he felt like it, and talking everyone’s ears off even if they weren’t listening, but in all honesty he was mostly just speaking to Eddie.

Richie stopped swimming and splashing around for a second, eyes landing on Eddie. It was a blurry sight – he left his glasses in the grass so he wouldn’t lose them in the water – but it was sharp enough for him to see who it was. He squinted to make the sight better, wiping water from his eyes, and a fond smile formed on his lips. He sunk down to hide it with the water in case any of the losers were watching. The sounds of Mike and Bill shouting as they raced faded out, same with Ben’s enthusiastic yells as he cheered both boys on. Stan’s laugh mixed with Beverly’s became background noise. The birds chirping simply became nonexistent. Eddie was just floating. He looked decently relaxed, a content smile on his features. Brunet hair floating in the water and stuck to his forehead, and from what Richie could see, the other boy’s eyes were closed.

A garble of words and bubbles came up as Richie spoke. It took Eddie out of his relaxed state and he looked at Richie with quizzical eyes. “What the fuck was that, Trashmouth?”

Squinty eyes turned wide. He pushed himself above water. “Um- I like blue! Like the sky, and water, and the bra your mom wears when we-.”

“Beep beep, Richie!” A chorus of six voices sounded, paired with Eddie splashing Richie.

The boy laughed. He backed away once Eddie splashed him, thinking instead of voicing the words he had said underwater that Eddie thankfully didn’t understand.

I love you.

ii.

“If I knew you were going to be even more annoying, I would’ve fucking threw that joint in the trash – or better, not have come along at all! But no you and Bev just had to get high for the first time and bring me along in case any serious and bad shit happened- will you stop laying on me?! You’re not a pet, Richie!” Eddie went on, mouth moving a mile per second it seemed like, complaint after complaint escaping him.

He had been studying for end of semester finals like his other two friends should be doing, but the redhead and the trashmouth wanted to try getting high for the first time at fifteen. Ben was sick with the flu, and was only just now on the road to recovery, so he had been out of the question when the two wanted a friend to supervise them in case it somehow all went to shit. Bill claimed he always studied better alone, and Mike, as much as he wanted to join the two on their high journey, declined because he needed to help his granddad with something. Stanley at first had agreed but backed out last minute when he realized he hadn’t done a single thing for an important essay due in three days. So, it had been down to Eddie, who wanted to say no it all, but figured it would get him away from his mom for some time.

The boy now wished he had walked away when he had the chance.

While Bev was munching away on some chips as she looked at a fashion magazine, occasionally speaking so deep and meaningful that even Eddie had to remind himself he was perfectly sober. Hopefully. Could you get high from second hand weed smoke? He wondered if it were possible, considering they were confined in Richie’s bedroom, the boy’s parents out of town for work. But hopefully that wasn’t the case.

Once the weed had started kicking in for Richie, it was if a switch had been flipped. He wasn’t talking as much as he usually was. He hadn’t completely shut up, but he had gotten quieter the more he got high. And clingier, too. At first he had cuddled Beverly and told her he loved her. She didn’t mind until she had to run off to pee, and that was when Richie moved onto Eddie, causing the boy’s endless complaints because he was unable to study, let alone move. He was on Richie’s bed, study notes, papers, and books all around him until Richie not so neatly pushed some away and crawled into Eddie’s lap. Usually, Eddie could care less. He loved cuddles. But he needed to pass this one class in particular and Richie’s high-clinginess was preventing that.

“I should’ve gone with Stan,” Eddie said. “Fucking Stan, at least he would be letting me study!”

“Calm your tits, Eddie, the science exam still isn’t until next Friday,” Bev told, waving a hand dismissively as she flipped a page of the magazine.

“You promised I’d be able to study!”

“I did, yeah.”

“Meanwhile, I didn’t,” Richie said, sounding proud of himself. 

Eddie smacked him on the back of the head, muttering a few cuss words, and leaned back on his hands, Richie almost full on koala-ing him. Richie’s arms were wrapped around his torso and his head was nestled in the crook of Eddie’s neck, both legs on one side of Eddie in a bit of an awkward angle. Richie started talking again about one thing or another, but Eddie just tuned him out and let his head fall back, eyes staring at the ceiling. He gave up on complaining. It wasn’t getting anywhere and he didn’t want to annoy Bev too much with how unhappy he is about the situation.

“---ove spaghetti.”

Eddie blinked and looked at Richie. Well, Richie’s hair. “Spaghetti?” He repeated, confused.

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I love Spaghetti.”

The shorter boy snorted and half-heartedly rolled his eyes. “I know you like spaghetti, Richie, you brought it as your lunch for a solid week last month,” he said. “But I’m not making you any, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s ten thirty at night.” Eddie added the last bit after glancing at the digital clock by Richie’s bed, and he heard Bev make a sound at the back of her throat, agreeing with Eddie.

“No. That’s not-,” he stopped himself and let out a sigh. Eddie tensed and hunched his shoulders, the breath of air causing chill bumps to form all over his body. “My Spaghetti, dumbass. My Eddie Spaghetti. Eds Spagheds. Spaghetti Man. I love you.”

Eddie blinked. He looked to the ceiling, then to Beverly who had sat up from her position in Richie’s bean bag. Her blue eyes were stuck on the two. Then finally, Eddie looked down at Richie again. He let out a little laugh. “Dude, you’re such a sap when high!” Eddie exclaimed in amusement. “First Bev, now me, who’s next? Stan? You gonna call him, or what?” He giggled some more at the thought of Richie calling Stan up so late just to say ‘I love you’.

Richie scoffed and shifted his weight. “I dunno. No,” he mumbled. “I really do love you, Eds.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but a smile tugged on his lips, ignoring the feeling of his face becoming just the slightest bit warm. He then laid back; his arms were getting tired from holding both his weight and Richie’s, and seeing as he wasn’t going to get any studying done, he let Richie full on cuddle him. “Whatever, Tozier,” he whispered.

They ended up falling asleep like that: cuddled into one another with Eddie’s study papers strewn around them, and Bev had fallen asleep in the bean bag. When Richie woke up the following morning, he was extremely yet pleasantly surprised to find Eddie fast asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together. Richie slipped his glasses on after grabbing them from their spot beside his head, and wrapped his arms tighter around Eddie, soaking in the blissful moment the best he could.

iii.

Richie Tozier believed he truly fucked up. And it wasn’t the type of fuck up that he could easily fix with a joke or a Voice, or anything of the sort. In a high daze he had confessed to Eddie Kaspbrak that he loved him, and it wasn’t masked as a joke. He didn’t mean to - well, he did but he didn’t - and he has learned he has even less of a filter when high, and that’s saying something considering he barely has one when sober. After that blissful morning, the dawning realization of it all hit him full force later that afternoon when he was home alone trying to get the smell of weed out of his room. 

Fifteen year old Richie Tozier had called Beverly, insisted she come back over, and he spilled the beans the moment she stepped into his house with a puzzled look. It had taken over two hours for Bev to calm the boy down. She insisted Eddie most likely brushed it off as nothing more than Richie being Richie, and insisted that even she took it that way considering he had continuously told her, “I love you,” as they cuddled minutes before then. It calmed him down, somewhat. But that paranoia of Eddie knowing when Richie doesn’t want him to know just yet was still there. Even after exams were over and they were spending Christmas break together, it was still there.

So, he did what any logical fifteen year old would do at the time.

He just stopped saying those words. To Eddie. No one else. If anything, he probably amplified the mention of those three little words to his best friends, excluding the literal love of his life. Other than those times Richie would say, “I love you guys,” he never said them to Eddie specifically. And it stayed that way for a while. A year and a half, specifically.

During that time, Mike had actually questioned him, a bit taken back by the amount of times the Tozier boy had shouted those words at him within a week. Richie had easily explained that he just had a lot of love in his heart at the time. And he said the same thing when Stan confronted him. When Ben asked, Richie had simply asked in reply, “Can I not tell my best friends I love them?” Bill gave him odd looks once in a while but never said anything, chalking it up to be Richie just being his odd self. And Beverly never asked or confronted him because she knew why.

At some point, he made a game: whenever he felt the urge to just blurt, “I love you,” to his best friend, he would instead just tell one of the other Losers, or stated that he loved the tree they were passing or a candle he saw in a window of a store.

“That’s a nice ice cream parlor, I love it there.”

“We know, Richie, we’ve been there a thousand times.”

“I love that cake your mom made the other day, Stan!”

“I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Love your new hair cut, Bev!”

“I got it cut a month ago?”

“Still looks good! Ain’t I right, Ben? C’mon, agree with me!”

Those days turned into months, and those months turned into a year, and then a few more months went by and then it was a year and a half since that grand idea of his came to be, and Richie truly believed everything was going well. Those words hadn’t slipped from his mouth for a good bit of time, and he was honestly proud of himself.

Until a furious Eddie barged into his room one afternoon after school.

“You lanky piece of fucking shit!”

Richie shrieked when the door flung open, and fell off of his bed into a heap on the floor with a blanket, a text book, some papers and his walkman. He scrambled to stand up, only to trip a few times over the blanket tangled at his ankles, and the wire of his walkman got tangled around his neck and arms. He struggled to get out of both, tossing them to side the harshly once he freed himself. He straightened himself posture wise but his wild and messy hair stayed the same, as did his crooked glasses. A smile formed on his blushing face as he looked at Eddie.

“Eddie, my man! What a nice surprise-.”

“I fucking hate you,” Eddie seethed as he stepped farther into the room, marching over to Richie. The smile Richie wore fell instantly. “You are such a dickhead, did you know that?”

Richie held his hands up as Eddie poked his chest. “Whoa, hey, what’s- huh?” He was thoroughly confused, to say the least. And, a little bit scared. Eddie may be shorter than most guys their age, but he packed a good punch and was the feistiest out of all the Losers. Richie used to just laugh when Eddie got mad, claiming such a short boy could never be intimating. Now, years later, Eddie was taller and more well built though he still looked awkward being a teen and all, but he had more a bit more muscle than when he was six and a better choice of fowl words as well. Richie had no choice but to admit Eddie could be intimidating.

Eddie scoffed harshly. “Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m getting on about!” He yelled. 

“No, I don’t!” Richie yelled back. Both of his parents were home, but he didn’t care and it seemed as if Eddie didn’t either. The teen only hoped neither came up to check on all the yelling, and he was honestly surprised they didn’t with Eddie furiously stomping in.

“Jesus, Rich, I know you do! I also know you don’t wanna be my friend anymore! You hate me.”

“The fuck I do. Who fucking said that?”

“No one, but they don’t have to say anything!”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You don’t tell me you love me! You’re always saying it to the others in some way or another, and it wasn’t until I was studying with Ben and Stan when I realized. They took a break and talked about how you’re always saying ‘I love you’ to them, and then I’m sitting there feeling like completely fucking shit because you stopped saying that to me! You used to say it all the time when we were kids, and after...that summer, you said it less, but I didn’t think anything of it, but now you’ve completely stopped! You could’ve just said you don’t wanna be friends anymore with me rather than just drifting away. We don’t even fucking hang out one on one anymore!”

Oh, shit. Richie’s fucked up. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he lowered his hands. “Eds, that- that’s not...” He trailed off, unable to find any words that would make the situation better. He felt his gut churn with guilt as he noticed that Eddie was crying. The tears started to fall mid-way through his rant and he hadn’t made an effort to calm down and stop them.

Eddie sniffled and wiped the tears on his cheeks away. “Look-.”

Richie bent down and wrapped his arms tightly around Eddie’s waist, and picked him up. “I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Rich, get off!”

“No!” Richie squeezed his eyes shut and held onto Eddie tighter, the shorter boy doing his best to get out of Richie’s grasp. “No, Eddie, okay, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m a dumbass, I wasn’t thinking straight at all, you have every right to hate me but I could never hate you. Okay?”

Eddie stopped fighting. “...What?”

Richie continued, “I just thought you got tired of it, y’know? Annoyed and all. You never really said it back when I did say it to you, so I thought you didn’t want to hear it, so I stopped. You’re my best friend and I’m sorry for hurting your feelings, I didn’t meaning to, I just wasn’t using my brain. I do love you, please believe me.”

Silence fell over them. No one spoke for the next few minutes, and at some point Richie set Eddie back down and let go, taking a step back to give him space. He picked at his nails as he waited for Eddie to say something, avoiding eye contact.

Eddie sucked in a breath of air and let it out. “You’re a dick.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah.”

“But I don’t hate you, either. I mean, I probably should, but...” He trailed off and shrugged.

Richie looked up with a wide smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really, I don’t think I could hate you even if I tried,” Eddie admitted, a smile of his own forming.

Richie went to say something, but a knock on the door frame kept him from doing so. The two teens looked over to see Maggie Tozier standing there. The woman looked the slightest bit concerned as she stared back at them. “Everything okay in here?”

Eddie nodded, cheeks a bit pink, as Richie answered, “Yeah, just some mixed signals, Mags.”

Maggie gave her son a look.

Richie sighed. “Sorry, sorry. Mom.” He smiled, and so did she.

“Your father’s making spaghetti, by the way,” she told him. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes. Eddie, you’re free to join -- always will be.”

Eddie shook his head. “No, it’s fine-.”

“What? No, you’re staying,” Richie protested. “My Eddie Spaghetti eating spaghetti! It’s oddly poetic.”

Eddie made a face. “It’s weird.”

“So, you’re staying?”

“...Yes.”

“Yay!”

iv.

"You’re learning...Russian?” Mike asked hesitantly.

Richie nodded, holding the Russian dictionary like it was his pride and joy. “Yep! Latin’s too hard, Spanish is too basic, French is too...uh, French, and I couldn’t think of anything else, so Russian it is, Mikey! Care to join me?”

“Uh... Not this time, no.”

Richie beamed. “Perfect.”

Mike snorted out a laugh as he started to walk away. “You’re a weird one, Rich.”

“You love me, though!”

“Debatable!”

They laughed, and Richie reopened the book he had closed, going back to studying how to say ‘I love you’ in Russian. Of course, he was going to teach himself a few other things, but that was the main goal. The reason he chose Russian and none of the others was because it’s the least likely one where Eddie might too easily piece everything together. French would be the logical route to go considering that’s an elective he’s currently taking at school, but so is Eddie, so that completely rules it out. Then the others are taking Spanish. So, if he wanted everything to not come to light so suddenly, he had to go with something no one else knew, either.

“Hey, I can help you with that if you want. It’s hard.”

Richie’s stomach dropped. But he forced a smile as he looked up. Stan stood there, the sun shining behind him as if he were an angel. Right then, Richie thought he was the devil. “Stan the Man! Why aren’t you with Mike and Ben over there?” Richie asked. He pointed over to the large rocks the other two boys were on as they looked at a bird book Stan had brought along with him. For a split second, Richie glanced over to where Beverly, Bill, and Eddie were as they sat under a tree for shade, and then quickly looked back up to Stan, forcing another smile.

“Offering my help for once in your lame life,” Stan answered. “Really, it’s not that easy to learn. The Russians have a completely different alphabet than us.”

“No, thanks, I got it.”

“Richard.”

“Stanley.”

“Stop being difficult.”

“Do you even know me? I’m difficult every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year!”

An unpleased look came over Stan’s face and before Richie knew it, Stan was forcibly hoisting the dark haired boy to his feet. “Rich and I are going for sno-cones! Give us your money if you want one!” He kept a firm grip on Richie’s elbow and turned to face him as their friends fished for money. “We’re talking. No funny business, got it?”

Richie nodded quickly. His heart was hammering in his chest from nerves, and he could feel his hands start to sweat -- and it wasn’t from the Spring heat. Stan must have noticed something, because his look softened and his grip loosened.

“It’s nothing bad, Rich,” he assured in a whisper as the other five started hurrying to them. “I promise.”

Richie could only nod again as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Then, they were grabbing money from their friends, and soon enough walking away from the barrens and to Richie’s new but beat down truck parked at the road. Stan took the money and stuffed it in one of his pockets, and then took the book from Richie as they got in the truck. His hands were shaking and he felt as if he was about to puke or pass out. Stan and him...they were close, almost as close as brothers, and if Richie had to make a list of his favorite people, the Jew would be directly under Eddie, maybe tied with Beverly.

Stan was someone Richie could have serious conversations with when he was tired of being the annoying and funny guy. For years, it’s been like this. Despite how often Stan says, “I hate you, Richie,” it wasn’t true in the slightest, and sure he got annoyed more often than not, but they were still as thick as thieves. Which was why Richie was a jittery mess. Stan didn’t have to say a word. Richie knew Stan knew; he didn’t know how, but he did, and that terrified the dark haired boy to no end. Because out of all the things that could make Stan hate Richie for real, it’s the fact he likes boys.

“Rich, pull over, you’re already going twenty over the speed limit, and I don’t want you to crash while we talk,” Stan said.

Richie nodded for a third time. “Y-Yeah. Um, g-good idea, Stan.”

Stan smirked. “Leave the stuttering to Bill.”

Richie cracked a smile but it went away as fast as it came, and then put the truck in park. He didn’t move, though. He stayed facing forward and his hands gripped the wheel tightly. “How long have you known?” Richie asked.

“That you love Eddie? I dunno... A while,” Stan admitted. “I don’t think the others know-.”

“Bev does.”

“Okay. I don’t think the boys know,” Stan corrected. “I’m just observant. Plus, we’ve grown up together, Richie. If I had to pick a specific moment, it would be sometime in sophomore year. We all went to the arcade one weekend. Eddie got absolutely pissed at one of the employees and screamed at him. We almost got kicked out! But the entire time you looked...fond. Proud, even. We almost got kicked out of your favorite place in the world but you didn’t care because it was Eddie. That’s love. You would’ve reacted differently it had been anyone else.”

Richie half-smiled. He remembered that day. “So... You don’t hate me? Find me disgusting?” Slowly, he looked to his friend.

Stan rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I find you disgusting because you’ve worn that shirt for the third day in a row. Not because you like boys.”

Relief flooded through Richie.

Then, “How long have you loved him, anyway?”

“Since we were twelve.”

“We’re seventeen.”

“Yup.”

“That’s five years!”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit.”

Richie sucked in a deep breath and then let it out. “Yeah...” He paused. “I thought it was nothing, honestly, at first. Then we almost died, and then the feeling never went away and...here we are. I want to tell him, but not now, but I can’t hold it in much longer either, so that’s where the Russian comes in.”

Stan nodded, motioned for Richie to start driving again, and thought for a moment. “Lucky for you that’s the one phrase I do know in Russian.”

A grin formed on Richie’s lips as he drove. “Perfect.”

He didn’t learn the phrase within one day like he wanted. Stan decided to make Richie learn the entire alphabet for the Russian language first, a few basic words, and then he would teach Richie the phrase. It took a few days to do the first part, and then another couple for the next. By the time the next weekend rolled around, Richie had the entire alphabet memorized and could say hello, bye, fuck, and I love you in Russian all thanks to Stan. Richie didn’t have the guts to say it that weekend, but waited until Monday when he had to drive Eddie to school that morning.

“Hey, Eds?” Richie spoke halfway through the drive.

Half-asleep Eddie hummed. “Yeah, Rich?”

“Я люблю тебя.”

Silence. Then, “I have no idea what the fuck you just said,” Eddie paused as he yawned. “But that’s pretty cool, Rich. Ya lebyuh te-blah blah to you too.”

“You totally just butchered that.”

“Fuck off.”

v.

The Losers Club were officially high school graduates. Mike actually graduated earlier than everyone since he was homeschooled, but now that didn’t matter. The summer of freedom started out fine, perfect even. They had more fun than any of them could imagine, and none of them wanted it to end. Unfortunately, college was a thing for most everyone involved, and soon the Losers would be leaving Derry to tackle their adult lives. Soon -- meaning one more night. The summer flew by faster than any of them believed. It was as if one moment they were taking a picture with their caps and gowns on, and the next they were about to leave their small town and best friends. 

It was why they were getting together one last time the night before they left. Drinks were involved. The sucky radio Ben always had to fix was playing some song. The stars were out. The only thing lighting up the barrens were a few flashlights they laid out around them. Richie sat on a rock by the shallow lake, back facing it as his eyes were glued to Eddie. A beer was held in one hand and the other had a half burnt cigarette. It had gone out a while ago, Richie too stuck in place to relight it.

Eddie had a cup of something alcoholic in his hand, his fourth one of the night, and he was shout-singing along to the song that was playing with Ben and Mike, dancing too. He was happy and carefree and glowing under the lights of the flashlights and stars, and with each passing moment Richie could feel his heart just swell with love as he watched the other boy. Richie took another swig of the beer and smiled as Eddie and Ben clung to one another as they dramatically sang the next lyrics, putting Mike into a laughing fit.

“You gotta tell him,” Bev said as she walked up. She sat beside Richie and took the cigarette, relighting it. After, she offered it back but Richie declined. “Rich, sweetie... You have to.”

Richie motioned towards Eddie, still smiling albeit it was a sad one now, and turned to face Beverly. “Look at him,” he said, and she did. “He’s having the best time of his life over there! I can’t ruin that.”

Bev gave him a sad look. “You won’t.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s been fine the way it is-.”

“He kissed a girl as a dare four months ago, and you sobbed in your pillow for the rest of the weekend.”

“I was being overly dramatic. You know how I am! Besides, I still got his mom, don’t I?” It was a lame attempt at a joke. A failed one, too. Because Bev neither laughed or reprimanded him. He sighed and took the last gulp of beer. 

“You have to tell him,” she repeated. “We’re going to be busy because of college, and we’re not exactly going to the same one.”

Richie pursed his lips. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. “We made plans to meet up every weekend if we can. Our universities aren’t too far away.”

“Rich-.”

“Bev,” he interrupted her, pleading, “Just stop. Okay? I’ll tell him when I want to.”

She looked at her best friend, studied him. Then, she nodded solemnly. “Alright,” she whispered.

The next few minutes were spent with the two sitting on the rock as Beverly finished the cigarette. Neither spoke after that and it wasn’t until Bill ran up to drag them tot he others when they left their spot. Richie grabbed another beer after throwing the empty bottle into the trash bag Stan brought for, well, trash. Richie made a few jokes of putting himself in it considering they call him Trashmouth, and Mike at picked him up and acted as if he was going to do just that.

“Put that fucker where he belongs!” Eddie shouted, grinning.

“At least put him in recycling,” Ben said.

“He doesn’t deserve to be recycled,” Stan teased.

All the while, Richie was laughing in Mike’s arms, a few drops of his beer getting on the both of them. Mike eventually set him down and put an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “Nah, I’d never throw out the Trashmouth,” Mike said. He smirked and backed away, feigning a look of disgust as he waved a hand around. “Only because you stink too much!”

Richie gave a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not the one who works on a farm!”

“Oh, he’s g-g-got you there,” Bill laughed.

“Which makes it worse,” Bev joined in.

“Trash the Trashmouth, okay, ha ha, very funny!”

“You started it, Rich,” Eddie reminded him with a slight slur as he walked up to him.

Richie rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I know.” Subconsciously he put an arm on Eddie’s shoulders, and then he looked down at him, a bit surprised to already find Eddie’s eyes on him. Richie’s eyes lowered to the shirt Eddie was wearing and lifted a brow, smiling knowingly, trying not to react to the arm resting against his back and the hand messing with his own shirt. “Love your shirt, Eds.”

“Of course you do. You gave it to me a few years ago, I’m actually surprised in genuinely fits me well.”

“A little oversized but you’re still cute, cute, cute!” Richie snaked his arm further around Eddie’s shoulders and neck, and pinched the other’s cheek. “But, may I remind you, I never gave it to you. You stole it.”

“...No, I don’t think I did.”

“You did.”

“Nope.”

“I literally watched you take it from my closet.”

“It was a dream.”

Richie scoffed. He gave in, “Alright, fine.”

Eddie grinned, proud of himself.

The next few moments they just stood there. Beverly’s words flooded Richie’s mind as he looked down at Eddie. For a solid minute, he had an inward battle with himself about what to do, but as Eddie laughed at something Stan said to Ben, the winner of that inner battle was clear. 

Richie tightened his grip around Eddie’s shoulders for a split second to get his attention. “Hey. Eds, can I tell you something?” Now or never, Tozier, he told himself, you can do it. You gotta. This has been six years in the making so just fucking do it.

“You know you can, Rich. C’mon, tell me.”

Now or never, you piece of shit.

“We’re going to be busy because of college.”

Я люблю тебя.

Muffled confession under water.

“I don’t think I could hate you even if I tried.”

“Eddie, I-.”

“Guys!” Mike shouted in excitement and turned up the volume. “Listen!” A familiar tune met Richie’s ears. It was the song all of them loved to jam out to, one they vowed to never not dance along to no matter where they were. Eddie was quick to leave Richie’s side to join the others, not hearing the last part of what Richie had to say.

“-love you.” Shit.

+ i.

Richie could cry- no. No, he was crying. Tears steadily streamed down his face, mixing with the dirt and mud and blood from the final fight with It. They should be celebrating. They should be happy. They should be basking in the glory of finally having that piece of shit defeated after 27 years. But that wasn’t the case. Eddie got stabbed and it didn’t look good at all. Richie rid himself of his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Eddie’s eyes were shutting, head lulling.

“No, no nonono,” Richie muttered through some tears. He patted Eddie’s face to stir him awake enough to open his eyes; a sound left Eddie’s throat and Richie didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing as Eddie shut his eyes again. “Not you. C’mon, please not you, I can’t lose you. You’re too important to me. Eds. Eds! Eddie, hey, stay awake for me, alright? I can’t lose you- I can’t- fuck, I love you so much, please, I’m so in love with you. Don’t die on me, please.”

“Richie,” Beverly spoke from her spot, equally as dirty as the rest of them. “Sweetie, I don’t think...” She trailed off, unable to finish her own sentence.

Ben moved forward quickly. He bent down and watched Eddie closely for a second. “He’s still breathing,” he whispered. Frantically, he started pulling off his belt.

“Guys, the house is falling apart!” Mike shouted at them.

“He’s still breathing!” Ben shouted back. 

He gently pushed Richie away to put the belt around Eddie, securing Richie’s jacket tightly over the wound. Mike was then walking over, and so was Bill. The sounds of the house falling down filled their ears as they picked Eddie up. Richie had his shoulders, Ben stayed by his abdomen to make sure the belt stayed, and Mike had his feet. Bill made sure they didn’t need any help before looking to their redheaded woman.

“Bev, go ahead and go! Make sure Stan knows we’re coming back and tell him about Eddie!” Bill yelled.

Beverly nodded and ran off, and Bill led the rest of them through everything. It was hard and more than a few times did they think they were about to be crushed by everything, but they made it out just in time. They didn’t stop there. They carried Eddie to Richie’s very new truck and set him in the bed of it, Stan in the driver’s seat, the engine already running. Beverly was in the passenger’s seat, and Bill and Ben got in the back while Richie and Mike stayed with Eddie. To everyone’s surprise, Stan sped down the Derry roads as fast as he could but also as safely as he could. 

“Rich...” Eddie croaked out.

Richie bent down further and smiled through the tears, hand clutching Eddie’s. He did his best to ignore much he looked like death. “We’re getting you to a hospital,” he said. “Hang on, okay?”

“I gotta...’ell y’somethin’.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You keep those fucking words in you mouth, Eddie. Tell me when you aren’t bleeding from a stab wound.”

“He’s losing a lot of blood, man,” Mike whispered, as if trying to say something.

Richie looked at Mike, glaring, and blinked back more tears that wanted to fall.

“Rich, I...” Eddie trailed off. Then, the grip on Richie’s hand weakened and Eddie’s eyes shut completely as his head lulled to the side for a second time.

“No. Shit. Fuck, Stan!”

“His pulse is weak-.”

“Mike, I love you, but shut the fuck!”

Mike, instead of arguing, nodded and hit the back window of the truck. Bill opened it. “Hurry up!”

“I’m already speeding!” Stan shouted from the inside.

“Speed faster!” Bev yelled. He did.

“Two more miles!” Ben told them.

“I just called, there’ll be someone waiting for us,” Bill said.

One minute later, Richie’s truck was zooming into the parking lot of the hospital and coming to a surprisingly steady halt by the entrance to the emergency room. Doctors and paramedics came rushing out instantly, taking Eddie away, the losers following them inside as far as they would let them. Richie stood at the double doors and stared through the window. He sucked in a deep breath. Then, he found the nearest trashcan and puked.

It seemed as if the next couple of hours went by slowly on purpose, taunting Richie and the others. During those hours, Richie scrubbed Eddie’s blood off of hands while sobbing in the men’s bathroom, and when he came back out to the waiting room he got tackled in a group hug which just caused him to cry some more. Stan shed a few tears and Ben wiped away a few that slipped out. Mike and Bill were refusing to cry just yet, while Beverly started to but stopped, telling herself and the boys that Eddie was still alive. The amount of tears increased when the doctor came in and told them that Eddie miraculously made it, but he wasn’t awake just yet.

They visited Eddie as much as they could. Someone was always in the room at all times, waiting for their favorite fireball to wake up. Richie stayed there the most. He only left to clean up and change clothes. He didn’t want Eddie out of his sight too much, not after what happened.

It was the morning of the second day when Eddie finally woke up.

“Wake up, fuckface,” Eddie said at noticing Richie, the man sleeping in a chair beside the bed, head using Eddie’s legs as a pillow.

Richie sat up almost instantly. His eyes were wide with joy at first until he realized he had no glasses on, and suddenly he was squinting to see Eddie better. He fumbled around for his glasses and slipped them on once he found them, and his smile grew ten times at seeing the other man clearly. “Eddie!” He exclaimed happily, and koala-ed him the best he could without causing any more harm or pain. He was laughing, then he was crying. “Shit, I thought I’d lost you.”

Eddie placed a comforting hand in Richie’s hair, and he closed his eyes as he rested his cheek on Richie’s head. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m okay now, though... Hey, Rich?”

“Hm?”

“Я люблю тебя.”

Richie froze. He slowly moved away and sat back in the chair, staring at Eddie with pure shock. “What did you say?”

Eddie smiled. “I think you know.”

Richie blinked. He was stunned. He ran a hand through his hair and slumped back. “I thought you didn’t know what that meant?”

“I didn’t. But, uh, that’s the first thing I remembered when I got back here. I asked Siri what it meant.”

With lowered brows, Richie’s jaw dropped. “Siri told you that I loved you before I fucking got to properly? What the fuck!?”

Eddie busted out laughing, holding his side with the stitches. “Oh- fuck, this priceless!”

“I’m killing Siri.”

“Aw, no, babe! Don’t, she helps me with driving,” Eddie said, nearly pouting.

Richie snorted, almost completely missing the term of endearment. “I’ve been in love you since we were fucking twelve, and a piece of shit technology tells you before I get the chance. Unbelievable!”

“I mean... You could tell me now.”

“Tell you what- oh. Oh.” He scooted closer to the bed and leaned forward. For a moment, he thought about making a joke about his mother, but decided against it, even though it would have been hilarious. He smiled, taking one of Eddie’s hands. Nerves coursed through him, but he fought against them. He wasn’t a terrified teenager anymore. “Eddie -- my Eds Spagheds -- I love you. I always have, and I always will.”

Eddie beamed at him. “I love you, too.”

If Richie’s grin could grow anymore, it would. And maybe it did.

Because in front of him was the love of his life alive, saying he loved him back.

Richie then leaned all the way forward and kissed Eddie, and Eddie kissed back. Bill barged in then, ready to announce that breakfast had arrived, but stopped himself at seeing Richie and Eddie. He froze, stared, and then backed up, smiling slowly as he shut the door. He turned to the other losers, who looked confused. 

“Well,” Bill said. “It took a little over two fucking decades but they’re finally together.”

[trashcanmarvelfan]

Second Chances - A Benverly Post- IT: Chapter Two Fanfic

Summary: After everything is over, Ben finally asks Beverly about the bruises he noticed on her arm the night they arrived back in town.

Warnings: 2 uses of the F-bomb (if you've seen the movie you guys know Richie has a mouth like a sailor so that's not too bad, all things considering) and non-graphic allusions to spousal abuse. Bonus Reddie feels, although Eddie is still dead, guys.

Word Count: 2100-ish.

Author’s Note: I wish we would've gotten more sweet Benverly togetherness in Chapter Two, but that's what fanfic is for, right? Whipped this up, gave it a read-thru, and here you guys are. Enjoy.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3 (Coming soon).

Ben Hanscom stood in a small circle with his childhood friends inside the underground clubhouse he had built during the summer they had all met, the summer that had been both of one of the best & one of the worst summers of Ben's life-- although he hadn't known it at the time. He had met Bev, Bill, Richie, Mike, Stan, and Eddie, who along with Ben collectively formed the Losers Club. During that summer Ben had also battled an evil demonic clown, wrote the first-- and last-- love poem he had ever anonymously sent someone, and had his first kiss (well, sorta). Unfortunately for Ben the person with whom he shared his first kiss was, at the time, incapacitated due to said evil demonic clown, and the poem was incorrectly attributed to someone else.

The Losers had scattered after that summer. Bev had gone to live with relatives out of state, Eddie had been dragged off to a new town by his mom, and eventually the rest of the Losers moved off as well, forgetting about Derry, that summer… and each other.

All except for Mike. He had stayed, and when It had resurfaced 27 years later, he had gathered the Losers Club to fight It again, this time defeating It for good. However, defeating It had come with a price. This time, Stan hadn't made it back to Derry and Eddie hadn't made it to the end.

Ben glanced around the circle. Each of his fellow remaining Losers were, like him, puffy-eyed and tear-streaked. They had agreed to meet one last time on their way out of town -- Bill was heading back west with the new, 'happier' ending for the film that was being made out of one of his books.  Mike had decided since It was really and truly gone that he was moving on to Florida. Richie was heading back to L.A. Beverly… Actually Ben didn't know exactly what Beverly's plans were. He knew she needed to go back to Chicago to 'wrap up some loose ends' but had no idea what her plans were beyond that.

It had taken 27 years, but Bev had finally figured out that Ben was the one who had written her the poem. Besides that underwater kiss at the Quarry though they hadn't discussed the poem or the fact that Ben had carried around the yearbook page that Beverly had signed in his wallet.

The Losers were currently holding an impromptu memorial service for Stan and Eddie before going their separate ways, and each had shared a memory about Stan and Eddie, respectively.  Ben had gone first, then Mike, then Bill and Beverly, until finally it was Richie's turn as the last Loser to share. Ben listened with a chuckle as Richie reminisced about Stan's bar mitzvah, when Stan had basically told all of the adults in the congregation to go fuck themselves, and now he was about to say something about Eddie. Richie sniffled. "I have to tell you guys something."

The rest of the Losers waited patiently.

Richie took a deep breath. "I'm gay, and when we were kids I was in love with Eddie. I was head-over-heels in love with him, and I never got a chance to tell him before he moved away. Then we came back here and all my old feelings for him came rushing back like I was 13 again."

Ben placed a hand on Richie's shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. He could relate--well, not the being gay part, but being in love with someone and not directly getting to tell them how he felt before it was too late. Fortunately for Ben, however, he had a second chance.

January embers

He quickly glanced over at Beverly, who was watching Richie speak with fresh tears in her eyes.

"He saved us," Richie continued. "Telling us about choking the leper and making it small… if it hadn't been for him then none of us would've made it out. But Eddie deserved to make it out too. He deserved to live..." He broke down into sobs. 

Ben and Beverly both moved to wrap Richie in a hug as he cried, and Mike and Bill placed encouraging hands on his back. 

When Richie seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Ben asked, "You ok, man?"

Richie nodded. "Eddie should've been here celebrating with the rest of us. I never got a chance to tell him how I felt before he died, but I figure if I at least tell our best friends, it'll make not getting to tell him hurt just a little bit less."

He sighed. "Life is short -- I missed my chance with Eddie, but don't you guys pass up the opportunity to tell the ones you love how you feel."

With one final sniffle he wiped his eyes. "I made all those jokes about banging Eddie's mom when we were kids when really all I wanted to do was bang Eddie," he joked.

Ben couldn't help but smile.

Bill's phone went off with an alert. "Shoot, guys. I hate to cut this short but Richie and I have a flight back to L.A. in an hour."

"I should probably get going too," Mike added.

Ben and the rest of the Losers gave them each a brief hug. "We'll stay in touch this time," Bill promised as he gave Beverly a hug, and Ben couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of jealousy before chastising himself. Bill is your friend, you ass. What he and Beverly had ended long ago. Besides, Bill is happily married.  Beverly was married too, but from what Ben had gathered he suspected it wasn't too happily.

He watched as Bill and Mike climbed up the ladder to the surface, followed soon by Richie. As Richie's footsteps faded, Ben could hear Beverly say, "I think he knew."

He turned to her. "What?"

Beverly gestured toward the ladder. "Eddie. I think he knew how Richie felt about him, and I think he felt the same way about Richie." She sighed. "They would've been happy together."

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I could see it too between them. The way they would look at each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking." That hit a little too close to home, he thought.

He cleared his throat before changing the subject. "Hey, can I ask you about something? Something personal. And it's ok if you don't want to talk about it, but…" he trailed off.

Beverly nodded and took a seat on the bench that Ben had made their sophomore year of high school, after Beverly had left and Ben started getting more into architecture in order to keep his mind occupied. She patted the spot next to her.

Ben took a seat and was silent for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. How do I go about this? 

Finally, he decided that the direct approach would probably be best. "When we got here… back to Derry, I mean… I noticed bruises on your arm at dinner. Then when you flinched away from me… Is everything ok, Bev?"

Beverly paled and wouldn't make eye contact with Ben, instead choosing to look at the floor. "Tom… my husband… he wasn't very happy that I was leaving so suddenly," she explained. "We-- we got into a fight, and he-- he--" she broke off.

Ben stiffened. "Was that the first time?"

"No," Beverly whispered, then started crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey," Ben said gently, slowly reaching for Bev and giving her plenty of time to back away. Instead of rejecting his offer of comfort, however, Beverly leaned into Ben's embrace, allowing him to wrap his arms around her as her body wracked with sobs. "There's absolutely no need to apologize for anything. None of anything that you have gone through is your fault, okay? None of it. Not the shit we went through with Pennywise, or anything your dad or your husband put you through. You hear me? None of it was your fault and you have every right to be upset." Ben stroked Bev's hair soothingly as he held her. "You're safe with me, Bev. You're safe. I swear on my life that as long as I am breathing no one will ever harm you again." 

Beverly hiccuped. "Thank you," she whispered, tightening her hold on Ben. "Thank you." She sniffled and leaned back to look at him face-to-face.

When they were kids Ben had thought that Beverly was a beautiful girl; now he thought that she was a beautiful woman. He wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, letting his hands gently rest on her cheeks. "You deserve all the happiness in the world," he said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Beverly reached up to wrap her hands around Ben's. "I should have realized all those years ago that you were the one who wrote me the poem."

Ben tilted his head to the side. "How do you figure?"

Beverly smirked. "Bill's a great writer but he's no poet, Eddie and Richie were too busy arguing and making moony eyes at each other to be interested in anyone else, Stan probably either would've been too nervous to leave the note or would've 'fessed up almost immediately, and Mike was just trying to survive the summer-- I don't think he even thought of me as a girl at the time." She paused. "But you… you saw me, didn't you? You've always seen me. Your hair is winter fire," she recited. "January embers."

"My heart burns there too," Ben finished. "Still does. Always has in fact, although I didn't always quite remember why I was carrying around a yearbook page with only one signature on it."

Beverly smiled. "It's ok, New Kid," she said, then the next thing Ben knew Beverly was kissing him.

Their second (okay, technically third) kiss was even better than their first (okay, second). Considering the fact that Beverly was still in the Deadlights' thrall and wasn't even conscious for the first one as kids, Ben figured that shouldn't even count. Their first kiss as adults, shared under the dirty water of the quarry, paled in comparison to the feel of Beverly's lips on his own at that moment.

For a split second Ben thought maybe this was all another Pennywise-induced hallucination, then had the brief notion that maybe he had died in the battle and somehow made it to heaven instead of whatever hellscape Pennywise inhabited.

He realized it was neither when Beverly ran her fingers through his hair and gave it a slight tug, making him moan.

"Jesus, Bev," he muttered, pulling her into his lap and seeking permission to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly they heard a voice:

"It's about fuckin' time!"

They whipped their heads around to see Richie, Bill, and Mike, all watching them with shit-eating grins on their faces.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Ben asked as Bev giggled and buried her face in his neck.

Richie gestured to a now-blushing Bill. "Billy here forgot his wallet, so we came back down to get it. Didn't know we were gonna get a show as well."

"Beep beep, Richie," Bill said.

Richie ignored him. "So this is finally happening, huh? You two gonna ride off into the sunset together?"

Ben shrugged then looked at Bev, who was biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip to keep from laughing. "The man's got a point... What do you say? Come to Nebraska with me?"

Bev seemed to consider it for a few moments."I have a few things to take care of in Chicago first, so would you mind stopping off there on the way?"

"Bev, I'd follow you to the ends of the Earth and beyond if you asked me to," Ben said honestly.

Bev's answering smile made Ben fall just a little bit more in love with her.

"Okay, well, that's our exit," Bill, who had snuck over to the corner and retrieved his wallet from the table, said. "Come on, guys, let's leave them alone."

"Congratulations, you two," Mike said before heading back up the ladder. 

"We'll see you guys again soon," Bill added before following.

"And remember," Richie yelled down as he disappeared out of sight, "practice safe sex!"

Ben shook his head fondly. "Richie is such an asshole."

"Yeah," Beverly agreed with a grin, "but he's our asshole."

"True." Ben bit his lip and slid his hands up Beverly's sides. "Now, were were we?"

Beverly smirked. "I believe about right here," she replied as she sought Ben's lips out once more.

[bimbadoll]

Make my heart beat faster

[hiyo-silver]

Behind Blindfolds

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

Summary: The group realizes that they can't go on forever with just what's in Stan's house, and they have to find a way to venture out of the home and out into the world for supplies.

Chapter 1 2 + ao3

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

Rations start to go down and now everyone’s moods are even lower. With two women growing children inside of them, of course the food goes quick. Better than starving the fetuses when they’re this far along. It would only make the losers feel inhumane. But their morality doesn’t make them run out of food any slower.

“You know we’re all just gonna die here, not of It, but of our own human needs. Frankly, human bodies are awful and I’m ashamed to have one,” Stan says, straightening his baby blue sweater on his torso as he paces the living room back and forth. They may all be in the worst time of their lives, but he still insists on fully dressing up, down to the polished black shoes. They click on the wood floor, it only reminds them how the clock is ticking.

For now they’re thinking of what they could do, “We could try and make a run for it? Make our way to the store, run with as much as we can carry,” Richie suggests, of course the hyperactive one suggests the one that takes the most physical activity. “We could even keep the blindfolds on, we’ll find our way there eventually,” his voice gets quieter and he shrugs embarrassedly as he gains the looks of doubts from his peers.

“Richie, how do I say this? You’re fucking stupid,” Eddie says, his voice coming loudly from his chest. Beverly hasn’t seen his hot head come out this badly yet, but it’s clear Richie is used to the behavior. “Even if we somehow could get there at some point, we’d expend too much energy! We need to manage ourselves better now, it’s not like we can consume all two thousand calories we need!” he rambles and paces even more angrily than Stan does. He’s had to be careful all of his life because his mom, but now he’s stuck here being careful again because of a monster he can’t even lay his eyes on. He can’t size it up, and that’s what scares him the most. He wants to know what he’s dealing with.

Richie slumps in his chair, picking at the skin around his fingernails, biting at it once he can’t do much more with his hands. He just wants to keep occupied, though Eddie’s ranting doesn’t phase him too much. They’ve known each other for a while, he’s been on the receiving end of this rage on more than one occasion. If he’s being honest, it turns him on a little, and that’s why he’s trying to ignore it.

“What about with some sort of camera night vision goggles? You could see what’s around you but maybe since it picks up heat signatures it wouldn’t get… that thing,” Ben suggests, his voice comes out nervously, he’s not much of a leader himself. But his writing has gotten him some ideas, if it works in the real world it’s all the better. He chews his lip as he watches Mike consider the idea.

“It could work, but we can’t risk it. Even some ghosts pop up on camera. But it’s something to try. Stan, can we test it out somehow? Any ideas?” Mike asks, letting his warm brown eyes meet with Stan’s hazel ones.

“Mike, you fucking idiot, ghosts aren’t real. My security system only picks up heat signatures for that very reason. It’s a lost cause though, Hanlon, we can’t risk it,” Stan says, sitting in his recliner with a huff. He really feels as if it’s hopeless. He hates when his perception of things change, change in general messes with him badly. He’s in shutdown mode with his anxiety, without his Patricia to comfort him like she had for years of their life together.

“Believe what you want, Uris,” Mike says, straightening up from where he’d leaned on the counter, walking around the kitchen island as he thinks. “Your control stuff for the cameras is in your office, right?” he asks, obviously very seriously considering it. He’s always had a self sacrificing attitude. He’s basically the most valuable member of this team aside from Bill. At the moment the two of them are damn near in a real power struggle. They both just want to be partners in this, but have too big of egos to actually let it happen.

“Michael, don’t you even think about it,” Beverly says, her voice smooth despite her fear. She doesn’t want to lose any of them, especially someone who plays such an important role in the group. She doesn’t want to see anyone else die, particularly someone she’s learned to be close to by now. But there’s no avoiding it. Risk one of them or risk all of them slowly and painfully.

“No, Bev, my mind is made up, if something happens it happens. If nothing happens, I can help save you guys, and your baby,” he says, going about the usual hero spiel. He gestures to her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “But we’ll make it so nothing happens,” Mike says, opening his eyes again. “I know how, I just need your help.”

They all get up from their spots basically in sync, coming together to help him. He has them get rope and duct tape, to which Richie comments sounds “kinky.” they bring everything up to Stan’s office, though Stan stays downstairs in his spite. He knows it won’t work, they told him to stay there because they don’t need his negative energy.

They tie his back to the back of the leather chair, taping his arms down to the arm rests. They tie his legs together and then tape them to the chair as well. They want him completely immobile, it’s for his own safety. If he can’t move he can’t get hurt, right? He looks at Beverly as the others leave the room and wish him luck.

“You’re so strong, you’ll make it through this,” he says, his eyes welling with tears. It’s like he knows what’s to happen to him in the span of the next few minutes. “Now, little red, make your way downstairs to where it’s safe. I’ll see you guys all soon.” Beverly nods, evading his tearing eyes with her own. She turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her as he’s left to do what he knows he has to.

He pushes the button to turn on the computer. The screen comes up, panels of the security cameras coming up, mostly all aimed at the outside of the house, it’s fine at first. A bright light passes over the screen, his eyes flicker in response. He blinks quickly and shakes his head, he thinks he was just seeing something.

It’s only a few more moments until it gets worse. He feels pressure on his throat and in his ears. He sees another kind of light and lets out what he can of a scream. The group hears it from downstairs. They’d already been on the edge of their seats but the scream makes them jump into action. They grab blindfolds from the coffee table. They need to save him but they can’t see whatever has got him. It would only be counterproductive.

They push and shove each other up the stairs, throwing the door open, finding him on the wood floor, still attached to the chair, the chair had fallen with him with a crash unlike anything they’d heard before. The thump of a body combined with the fall of a heavy chair is a sound like no other. They fight to get the computer turned off without looking, and they finally do. It all feels like a blur of yelling and pushing. This must be what it feels like to be completely hopeless, Beverly believes. She’s the first one to remove her blindfold.

She sees him lying there, his eyes wide open, all black, his sclera covered with something dark, which she realizes later, realizes in the near future, was blood. There was blood coming from his ears, bruising all around his neck. It looks like a goddamn crime scene. She doesn’t want to be so emotional. She’s pregnant and hormonal, she’ll blame it all on that, but she falls to her knees and sobs. Eddie has to pull her out of the room by her shirt sleeve. They close the door, they don’t know what to do about his body. Probably nothing. They’ll probably just never open that door again.

They spend the rest of the day in complete silence, they dim the lights. It just feels right to them, they need to spend time honoring his life, and the man he was. They still need food though. Grief doesn’t stop time, even though it feels like it. They sleep together in the living room, but when morning comes they need to talk about what to do about their supply. It may be insensitive, but that’s survival. Sometimes survival breaks morality, especially in cases like this.

In the beginning there is no conversation to this meeting. Until finally Kay speaks up, “If we’re going, I want to go. It’s partially my fault that the food is running out. I need to help,” she says, looking around to see the reactions and opinions of the others. She’s met with disagreement.

“No, you’re more vulnerable,” Stan spits out. He’s still not the happiest about Beverly and Kay and their unborn babies. He thinks that they just make it harder to move on with the idea of dying. New life connected with the idea of dying is never a pleasant combination.

“What if we c-couldn’t see out of the c-c-car windows?” Bill asks, looking among the group. A plot hatches in his head. He’s used to ignoring his grief, which is probably why his mind is clear enough to even come up with a plan. For the rest of them his avoidance of his problems almost seems like a superpower.

“We could cover the windows like the ones in here, right?” Eddie suggests, crossing his leg over his other knee in a pattern that mimics a number four. Now they have the ball rolling on what they could do. It seems in natural order for Eddie to follow Bill’s lead, he’s obviously got an amazing and creative mind, he and Bill both do, they could put it to wonderful use. In this scenario and otherwise.

“Right!” Ben jumps into the conversation, it gave him another reason for his novel. As he listens now he scribbles in his notebook with his dull pencil. It makes Beverly smile, at least he can find inspiration in this. Watching someone benefit somehow makes this all that much easier. Keeping their hopes up is the best they can do now.

“We should get to it,” Richie says with an enthusiastic slap to his knee, getting up to his feet. He still never fails to try and be a beacon of sunshine and smiles for the group, he’s decided that’s his mission. He may not be the smartest when it comes to living, his mom still cut his food for him up until the day that he ended up in Stanley’s house. But jokes, he can do jokes.

They all head for the closed garage. Stan’s car isn’t the nicest, but it is good enough to still drive. They find cans of paint on the shelves, no more cardboard though, it’s all been used up for the inside windows. Paint will do, though Stan whines and complains about how he’ll never be able to use his car again. As far as they know though, the situation may never return to how the world was before. The idea of getting food now seems much more important than trying to get a new car when this is all over. God they can only hope it’ll get any better soon.

They go to work slathering thick layers of paint over the windows, they’re scared that missing a spot could be their entire undoing. It’s almost cathartic to paint on something that in their old lives would never be okay to ruin this way. It makes them feel powerful, they definitely needed that before the journey they’re bound to make later. It’ll take more than luck, confidence is the best they can do. Driving blind isn’t of skill, just of throwing away their fear and just going for it.

“Well, w-we’ve been avoiding this b-but. Who o-of us are going?” Bill asks, looking among his group, his blue eyes don’t shine so much in here, they look more like a dreary and dark gray. He doesn’t just look sad, he truly seems to be nervous in a way the others have never seen him. “I’m d-definitely going. I’m driving,” he states before anyone else speaks up.

Beverly raises her hand slowly, “I really need to get out for a while. I’m going stir crazy,” she admits, trying not to be ashamed of wanting to go, but it doesn’t stop it entirely. Bill nods in her direction, letting her know that he’ll allow it. It’s as if he understands her endlessly restless spirit.

Ben cowers near the door to go back into the house. Bill stops him as soon as he realizes though. “Hey! Y-you worked at the supermarket, r-right? Means you kn-know the security system. N-need you,” he says, gesturing for Ben to come back into the group.

“Eddie, R-Richie, you guys too, we need Eddie’s t-tactfulness.” Bill says, then he looks at Kay and Stan, “You guys st-stay here,” Bill commands.

[starboystan]

friends

posting my fic, it might suck but pls be nice I’m nervous

summary: Stan has a secret, he wants to tell his best friend Richie...

words: 3308

here goes nothing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was raining outside the Tuesday Stanley Uris decided it was time to tell his best friend his biggest secret. Seems pretty fitting actually, come to think of it. The rain flowed from the rooftops into the streets of Derry, just like they had 9 years before, on the day Stan Uris first met Richie Tozier.

Before school on the first day of second grade the rain began to fall and didn’t stop until four that same afternoon. A boy was sat at the kitchen table with his mother and father, his feet swinging gently as they were too short to reach the floor. His small tight curls peeked out under the hood of his raincoat as he walked from the front door to the car. It was becoming a Uris family tradition that both Donald and Andrea drove him to school on his first day after summer vacation. It was rare for it to be raining this early into Fall, but little Stan Uris had no complaints. He always quite liked the rain. The gentle patter of rain against his window was something that never failed to comfort Stan on a restless night. Stan got out of the car at school and thanked his parents for the ride. He was extremely formal for a seven year old, a well-mannered and well-behaved young boy. He tucked his satchel under his arm to protect it from the drizzle and headed into the school building. It was very easy for him to find his way to his assigned classroom. He was among the first to arrive, naturally, so he took out his pencils and notepad and sat patiently as his classmates poured in to the classroom.

Six minutes and twenty-seven seconds into homeroom, a dripping wet boy stumbled into the room, tripping over his own feet and apologising profusely. His dark black locks clung to his forehead, a thick pair of glasses hiding the majority of the features of his face. He was directed to the empty desk on Stan’s left. Stan did his best to not be distracted by the boy who continued to fidget and make small noises, obviously trying to get Stan’s attention. The teacher instructed the class to write down a sentence about themselves, Stan was quick to pick up one of his five perfectly sharpened, same sized pencils and jotted down and introductory sentence. The boy beside him sighed with a clear sign of frustration. From the second he walked into the room, Stan could tell that this messy looking boy was unorganised. After a three-minute long struggle, the boy began to ask around frantically for a pencil. No one even considered it, no one but Stanley. It was unusual for him, to say the least. He’d always kept to himself at school, never finding it particularly necessary to collect a variety of friends along the way. But something deep inside pushed him to hold out the third of his five pencils towards the boy sitting next to him “You can borrow mine” he said, the corners of his mouth creeping into a small but welcoming smile. The boy stared back, almost dumbfounded over the fact that someone was helping him. He mumbled out a “thank you” and scrawled down a sentence that was hardly legible to Stan. “Richie, my name’s Richie” the boy says as he hands back the pencil. Stan nodded and said...

“Hi Richie, can we talk?” The house phone was cold against his face. Sixteen years old now, Stan was still fairly quiet to strangers. A whole different story to his friends. Stan was smart and sensible but always had a way of being able to make his friends cry with laughter over a witty comeback or silly joke. “Stanley do you realise that it’s eight in the morning on a Saturday. What’s more important than my beauty sleep?” Richie groaned, his voice giving away that he’d just woken up. “Gonna take a lot more than a few hours to fix you up Richard” Stan rolled his eyes “Can you just come over? This is serious” he said, a little urgently. “Staaaann” Richie sighed “It’s raining, can’t we speak over the phone?” Richie sat up in bed, not yet making any moves to get out of it. “No. You know what? Forget it, I don’t need to talk anymore. It’s nothing” Stan was in a way relieved to say that, his mind racing to figure out a way to expose the secret he’d been keeping for two painfully long years. Richie recognised the tone of Stan’s voice and knew it was urgent “I’m coming”. Before Stan had the chance to protest, the line went dead. Richie made his way down Jackson Street…

towards Stanley’s house, where he spent every minute he could, out playing ball in the yard or trying (and failing) to sit still while Stan looked for new birds to make notes about in one of his special books. The years flashed by fast and the two of them began to expand their friendship. At first just onto two others, and eventually they had a group of seven in total - The Loser’s Club.

The Summer of 91 brought the first signs of hope since the trauma of the summer two years prior. As spring rolled into summer, the sun came back with a familiar face. Beverly Marsh, who had left seven hundred and twenty four days before, was back in Derry. With the group back to it’s full size of seven, the Losers fell back in love with their idle town. But that wasn’t the only instance of love that sparked over the summer. Losing Bev had been hard on everyone, but it didn’t hit anyone as hard as it hit Ben. He realised that he was deeply in love with the fiery haired girl, and he needed to let her know. That brought the beginnings of one of many relationships within the Losers Club.

It was a warm summer night when fourteen year old Stanley Uris came to a realisation. A game of Truth or Dare was spun on its head when Stan pushed himself out of his comfort zone and chose “Dare” for the first time. Six heads snapped up to look at him in shock. He regretted it immediately to say the least. “You have to kiss….” Bev said with grin that was verging on sadistic. Stan clenched his jaw, he’d never been secure within the norm of being straight, and he’d also never kissed anyone. “All of us” Richie chimed in, laughing at the expression on Stan’s face. All Eddie’s talk of germs was racing through his head as he moved around the circle. It wasn’t until he was face to face with Mike Hanlon that Stan became very nervous, fiddling with his sleeves and tapping his toes inside his shoes. It was a fast kiss, barley over a second, but it was enough for Stan to know. He wished he didn’t know. The excitement of his friends quickly died down when Stan left in a hurry, turning back for half a moment to look at Mike before he ducked out of the door and began the walk back to his house. How could he feel like that? Why a boy? What made it so different with him? The thoughts raced around his head the whole way home, and followed him well into the night, keeping him up all night long. He couldn’t understand anything, so he said…

“Nothing, Richard I told you it was nothing” he muttered to the soaked boy who was standing in his doorway in his pyjama bottoms and some ‘edgy’ band t-shirt “Why the hell didn’t you bring a jacket?”. Richie just shrugged and shook his head like a wet dog getting the water off of him “This sounded more important that a jacket Staniel. Can you at least let me in?” he pleaded with his eyes. A sigh left Stan as he held the door open for his best friend “Please just don’t step on the carpet. Dad’ll kill me if it gets wet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep off it. Have a towel or something? It’s fucking freezing” Richie groaned and sat at the kitchen table, causing Stan to visibly cringe. Stan headed to the closet to get a towel for him and returned still frowning at Richie. He had no reason to be annoyed at him, the stress of the situation was getting to him and making him snappy and very irritable. He tossed the towel to Richie and sat down opposite, unsure of where to start. Richie noticed and did it for him “You’re being very…”

“Quiet, even for you. You can talk to me you know, Stan” Richie sounded almost scared. After that night playing truth or dare, Stan went through a lot inside his own head. He was just fifteen, now more closed off than ever before, when he tried to tell Richie the first time. It didn’t go to plan to say the least. The day ended with Stan meeting his lunch again and running home crying. The problem was he couldn’t admit it to himself. No matter what he tried to tell himself, Stan just couldn’t get it out in a way that he could accept. Instead he settled for the idea that he’d never tell anyone and stay miserable forever. But this wasn’t up to him apparently. The Losers we're growing older and to Stans surprise, people seemed to want them around. The parties became more frequent,and hiding became harder. He never drank, didn’t trust himself enough to keep quiet.

The weekend before he invited Richie to his house during the biggest rainstorm in Derry for a long time, The Losers went along to some party at some house out on the outskirts of their small town. “Casey Something-or-Other” Richie had said as Stan drove the Losers up past the Standpipe towards the small suburbs on the edge of town.

The night went as they usually did, Stan slipped off from his friends once they were all busy dancing or talking. He sat himself in an upstairs bedroom until a couple decided they’d prefer to be in there. He wandered down and sat in his car, not noticing the other boy sitting in the back. He turned on the radio and tucked his legs up underneath him, just sitting watching the party go on inside the house and humming along to whatever song that was playing. The sharp clearing of another’s throat nearly stopped Stan’s heart, meaning that the small noise from the boy in the back was met with a yell. The curls on his head bounced as he spun around in his seat to look for the source of the noise. Fear became confusion when his green eyes met the deep, warm brown of Mike Hanlon’s. “Oh, uhhh, sorry Stan, didn’t mean to scare you like that” Mike spoke very quietly, looking everywhere but Stan’s eyes. Something was clearly wrong but Stan didn’t feel right just asking what was up, not after avoiding one-on-one interactions with Mike for almost a year now. “What are you doing in here?” Stan asks nervously, nervous of what he might say and what he might do. “I could asked you the same question” Mike replied quickly, almost defensive. “This happens to be my car, I was just-“ he took a breath and stopped himself from finishing the sentence. How could he tell Mike that he’d been avoiding him without sounding rude. “Just what? Why’d you always disappear at parties Stan? Do you… do you have like a secret girlfriend or something?” Mike speaks slowly and calmly, which makes Stan jealous because he can’t seem to find a way to calm down, his heart is beating wildly and he can’t seem to keep still. “What? No I don’t have a secret girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend full stop. I don’t disappear, always stick with you guys. Why’d you want to know anyway?” Stan spoke in a slur, stumbling on his words “Have you been drinking?” Mike frowned, not expecting this from Stan at all.

Stan turned around and flipped the radio off in a swift movement as he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, Mike simultaneously shuffled forward in his seat without Stan noticing. “I want to know because you’re my friend Stan, I worry about you. You’ve been pretty distant recently, we’ve all noticed it. I’m in here because I saw you sit in the car the whole time last weekend. I guessed you’d do it at this one too so I wanted to keep you company” Mike said softly, putting his hand on Stan’s upper arm. Stan kept his eyes on the spot where Mike’s hand was touching him, his skin seemed to set on fire under where Mike touched him. “I….I’m fine, you shouldn’t worry about me. I’m okay. You can go in and have fun in there if you want” he doesn’t look up from the connection between them on his arm, a thousand thoughts swam around his head; why hasn’t Mike moved his hand yet? Was he feeling it too? Why does he care so much? These thoughts were interrupted when Mike asked a very quiet question “Can I ask you something?” Stan flashed his eyes up to Mike’s face for a split second “Sure?” Mike took a deep breath like the question held great importance to him “Do you not want to be my friend?” he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for an answer. Stan was taken by surprise, he understood though, of course Mike would think that with the way Stan had been acting around him “Yes, I mean No, I mean….. Mike I want to be your friend. I really do…” a tear fell down his cheek and he was glad he wasn’t facing Mike, but Mike could see, he got ever further forward in the back seat, now very close to Stan “...there’s just so much going on in my head and I can hardly even think straight right now. Nothing makes sense, hasn’t for a long time since I realised I’m… I.. I don’t know, I want to be friends, I really do, I like you, I like you a lot, maybe more than I should and I’m sorry, I’m sorry Mike I’ve not been fair to you but the truth is I-“ he didn’t finish his sentence because a finger hooked under his chin and pulled it to face the boy sitting in the back, who drew Stan into a gentle kiss. The curly haired boy went along with the kiss for a moment before his brain caught up with what was happening. He shot back and spun his body completely to face Mike “What did you do that for!?” his voice was quiet and he was still crying slightly. Mike wiped Stan’s cheeks with his thumbs “I like you Stan. And not the way you’re supposed to like a friend. Like like. And I don’t understand either” The words made Stan feel fuzzy inside, almost like he wasn’t real and all of this was happening in some crazy dream that he’d wake up from any second - except he didn’t wake up. Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulders, hugging him tightly despite the uncomfortable angle due to the car seat. “Come sit here please?” Mike asked, with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. He was unsure, Stan had never seen Mike look unsure before, at least not like this. Stan complied and sat beside one of his six best friends in the back of his mom’s car, not moving or speaking until he felt a strong arm creep around his shoulder and pull him closer. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Stan took a breath and relaxed. He didn’t know what would come of this moment, whether this would seal the deal and give him all he’d wanted deep down or do the opposite, draw the two boys even further away. What he did know was that it felt right. How could something wrong - wrong by the standards of his parents, of his religion, of everyone at school - feel so right?

The two of them just sat there, in the back of Stan’s mother’s car, Stan sometimes crying, sometimes leaning into the taller boy’s chest, until the party was over.

There was no going back from there. He knew for sure and that meant he had to tell Richie, there was no getting around it. That’s why he invited him round on the Tuesday morning following the weekend of Casey Davidson’s. “I have something to tell you. And you have to promise you won’t laugh or get weird or make some stupid joke about it” a monotonous voice comes from the light haired boy facing Richie on the table. Richie raised his hands in surrender and shakes his head “When do I ever make stupid jokes?” he says with a grin. “Richie, please? Cross your heart” Stan narrowed his eyes, his leg shaking slightly under the table. Suddenly Richie became serious, as if the importance of the crossed heart was something as solid as a contract to him. In fact, between Stan and Richie, a crossed heart was one of the realest deals that could ever be made “Cross my heart” he said while forming an X over his chest with an index finger.

Stan’s lungs filled up with air and he slowly let it all out “It’s something I think I’ve known for a while, only I’ve not been able to come to terms with it… until now I guess” he took another breath and looked at the table, foucsing on the tiny detail of the wood grain that he had studied so many times before “I found someone that I like… That I like in a different way from the way I like you or Bev or Eddie. That maybe I even love” Richie smiled and leant forward to pat him on the shoulder “That’s great Stanthony! When do we-“ he was cut off abruptly “Please. Let me finish… I- I like boys. No, a boy. Richie, I’m gay” his eyes crept back up to meet Richie’s slowly, like he was scared of the reaction he might get.

“Stan…” Richie took one of Stan’s hands and nodded at him “It’s okay, it doesn’t change anything, you know that right? You’re still my best friend. Nothing can change that” he sounded calm, almost like he was doing one of his voices, except this one wasn’t to make Stan laugh or annoy him, it was to make him feel safe. Stan searched Richie’s eyes for any sign of falseness or satire but found nothing but warmth, with a small squeeze of his best friend’s hands and a tear rolling down his cheek he opened his mouth to speak again “I love you, you’re the brother my parents could never be bothered to have” With that he stood up and pulled Richie into a hug, not even caring that he was still damp. Richie patted him on the back “I love you too, man. Always been there to look out for me, gotta do my best to do the same for you…” a smirk formed on his lips when he released Stan from the hug “Who’s the lucky fella then? Do I know him?” he gave Stan a playful shove and waggled his eyebrows. Stan snapped back to his normal self and rolled his eyes, although he was still smiling. A huge weight was off his shoulders, and even know Richie was just one of the many people he still had to tell, it was a good place to start.

[andaleduardo]

Rooftop N.5

Ao3     N.4  N.6

Chapter preview: “Oh my, do I see jealousy?” Richie spoke with a mocking voice.

At first, Eddie was unaware he was the target of the question, but when everyone turned to look at him instead, the frown was masked with a layer of forced amusement. 

 “Sure thing, Tozier. I’m sooo jealous that my friends’ shoulders are touching your sweaty armpits.”

Friday 14.05.1993

Even though Richie knew this was the most likely outcome, he was still inconsolably disappointed when Friday came around and his hand was still looking like a dirty watercolour pallet. He was aware of how irrationally he was thinking, unless a miracle came around would the party be on tonight, and even if that happened, no one would come around. The flayers weren’t distributed around students, and the Losers had been warned that the date was postponed.

The week was pretty fucking boring despite the events that took place early on. The classes were agonizingly slow and there was a palpable tension hanging in the air of every classroom, for all the students were oh-so-done with school and wanted more than ever for summer break to come around. Less than a month for it to be over, Richie thinks as the days pass, just a little longer.

The last school-projects of the year are suffocating the Losers with every kind of group work. Richie paired up with Stan and Bill, and all his afternoons were taken up for that purpose only, which in a way was good, because it kept his mind out of other things that clung to his thoughts more than they should. Realistically, they could have wrapped it up last week, but Richie is a master of distraction. He works just as hard as the members of his group, or even harder, if you counted the effort of focusing in the work itself other than every little detail around him that craved attention. He ends up tapping a pencil on a surface until either Bill or Stan tell him to quit it. Then he twists and twists his rings around the fingers of his good hand until that gets boring too and resumes the tapping, but with the metallic material instead which is even louder. In a matter of minutes Stan would say something along the lines of “Let’s end it here for today.” And that’s how you drag a group project up 'til the very deadline, eventually.

But not everything is boring, that’s for sure. Eddie's interactions with him are somewhat changing. Richie has a hard time pondering the option that it might mean something more than kindness between friends, and when he finally settles on believing it, another part of him has to bring rationality back on board to make him rethink things and realise that, after all, that’s all there is to it, kindness towards a hurtful event. A mere friendly gesture. And speaking of friends, Richie got quite overwhelmed with all the attention and questions thrown at him on Wednesday. He was grateful that they cared, but all he really wanted was to move on from once and for all, which was a hard task if all you had to do was take a look at yourself to be reminded of what happened. He gave quick short responses to all the questions first thing in the morning and smothered them with cheek kisses and sided hugs while announcing to the group “I know you all missed me, cuties. But someone has to do the hard work around here, ain’t that right?” And it was worth it when he noticed Eddie’s frown thrown at him while Richie hugged Ben and Stan under his arms.

“Oh my, do I see jealousy?” He spoke with a mocking voice. At first, Eddie was unaware he was the target of the question, but when everyone turned to look at him instead, the frown was masked with a layer of forced amusement.

“Sure thing, Tozier. I’m sooo jealous that my friends’ shoulders are touching your sweaty armpits.” He offered an eye roll, lost in the middle of chuckles from the group. “Count me in next time.” Sarcasm pooling in his voice.

Trying to hide a bubbly smile behind a tentative smirk, Richie let go of Ben and Stan’s shoulders, throwing his hands in the air. “No need to ask twice, Spaghetti man!” he cut the circle down the middle, crowding Eddie’s space with long, bony arms that encircled him tight enough to lift the boy an inch off the ground. With a hand out of the equation, he applied all the strength on mostly one arm and immediately dropped Eddie down again, never letting go of the hug and hiding a smile in the crown of the boy’s head.

“Let me go, you dickhead!” But Eddie offered no resistance to the grip, and that spoke a lot to Richie.

Smiling to himself from the fond memories, Richie is brought back to the present by tripping over a stupid loose stone on the park pavement. He has been wandering around for an hour now, stalling the inevitable moment when he’ll have to go lock himself on the bedroom for the night. He insults the stone out of boredom and resumes his way home, deciding to stop on the closest convenience store for a crappy dinner.

Munching on a piece of bread while watching his house at the end of the road, Richie notices something different. His chewing slows down as he gets closer, stopping in his tracks completely when he reaches the overgrown front lawn.

“What the fuck?” He asks loudly, mouth still full. The question hung in the air as six heads turned to look at him, all of his friends were in front of his door, no longer talking among each other. He saw Beverly smile under the quick-darkening sky. “Am I hallucinating or do I have six losers in my front porch at -” he pretended to look into an invisible watch. “-unplanned hours?”

“That depends.” Beverly answered him while Richie marched his way over to them. “Did you hit your head on your way home?”

“I don’t believe so, no.” His mouth still full and a half-eaten bread on his hand. Eddie was quick to intervene.

“You shouldn’t talk until you swallow, idiot.”

“That’s funny, Kaspbrak. Your mother didn’t complain about my swallowing habits.” He finally finished eating the bite while a group groan was heard in response. “Seriously, though. What’s going on?”

“I wish I could answer that. I’m still trying to figure out why I was dragged from my house mid-dinner.” Richie turned to look at Stan, who was sitting on the steps in front of his house. Stan’s voice was harsh, like usual, but Richie saw the fondness underneath the fake scowl.

He stood quiet, eyes hovering over the six familiar stares on him. Richie almost counted the seconds spent watching a specific one, making sure it wasn’t any longer or shorter than whatever time spent on the others.

Strategies, he says to himself, good logic ninja skills.

“We’re here to have some quality time on a Friday night!” Beverly exclaimed with excitement. Richie almost rolls his eyes at Bev’s attempt on making him feel better, which is totally working, by the way.

“This is really dandy and all,” He then takes his time to look pointedly at his parent’s old cars in the driveway, taking a big bite out of his bread at the same time. “ but my folks wouldn’t really appreciate the invasion all of a sudden.” The last part of his sentence comes out muffled once again by the chewing.

Mike clasped a hand on Richie’s shoulders, making him almost drop the last piece of his dinner on the floor. “That, my friend, is why we’re going to the quarry instead.”

Richie offered him a quick smirk, his attention being dragged to Bev when she flashed him a scrunched up transparent zip lock bag inside the pocket of her jacket. “To have fun.” She winks at him. And what else does Richie need other than his friends and weed for company?

“Well, well chaps. What are we waiting for?” He asks while throwing the last bite in his mouth. Clapping his hands together to get the flour off of them, he motions for Eddie and Stan to get up from where they are sitting on the stairs. Everyone aims for their neglected bikes laying on the front lawn but before Richie could grab his, he notices the way Eddie trembles and sways when he gets up to walk to his bike. He trails closer to him, pushing all of his worries to a minimal amount.

“A lil’ dizzy, are we?” But as expected, all he gets in response is a scoff. He can see right through Eddie’s attempts at pretending that nothing happened and watches him straighten his body.

“M’just fine.” He bent down to pick up his bike and Richie stared longer than what he should. “And don’t spit crumbs all over me, it’s disgusting.” Richie doesn’t believe him for a second, but he shrugs it off playfully and gets on his bike, everyone already taking off ahead of them.

“If you say so.” He turns his head around to shoot Eddie a smirk while running his tongue over his bottom lip.

And if Eddie wasn’t able to play it off like his knees didn’t buckle when he got up, this time was just another failed attempt.

 -

 The air was slightly chilly against their exposed knees, but nothing too harsh to make them shiver. It was just enough to keep their skin cool to the touch, enough to make a cuddle seem like a good idea. Enough to make him think that leaving his jacket behind wasn’t a good one. Or maybe –

“Aww, c’mon, Marsh. You’ve done better.” He mocks while inhaling the smoke dancing around inside his mouth. Sitting on the far-left, the rocky ground digging on their asses, Beverly flipped him off.

“Well sorry if I had to get this shit in a rush and didn’t get your gourmet stuff, asshole.” He laughed right back at her, Ben, Mike and Stan between them. Bill sat on Bev’s left side while Eddie was to Richie’s right at the end of their sitting line on the edge of the quarry, legs hovering feet above the calm water below. The sky wasn’t dark yet, they had around two hours before it would get impossible to see a palm in front of their faces in the middle of the forest.

After taking two more puffs, he passes the joint over to his right, but Eddie withdraws into himself to get away from it. In a silent conversation, Richie lifts up one eyebrow as if to ask ‘Are you sure?’ to which Eddie responds by lifting up one palm and nodding. Richie sees the way Eddie’s eyes flicker momentarily to their friends, on the other side of him.

Realisation hits him, Eddie doesn’t need an audience.

“Are you passing the damn thing back tonight?” Stan pushed him out of his thoughts by asking. Richie couldn’t tell if he was actually annoyed this time.

“Being a bitch today, uh Stanley?” He took his precious time to take another drag, eyes locked with him. Shoving an elbow to Richie’s ribs, Stan roughly stole the blunt from his grip to pass it over to Mike, a disgusted frown forming from the smoke that hit him in the face. “No wonder you have a stick up your ass.”  Richie quietly murmurs.

There had been a couple of times where Stan joined the group for a smoke, but only in the ‘horrible parties’ he claims to be dragged into. But Richie knows better, Stan does enjoy these things, it only takes him a little bit longer to feel comfortable doing it while being watched.

When Mike turns to Ben, the latter quietly blushes and shakes his head no, Bev accepting the offer instead. This is just the way they roll.

 -

 Eddie doesn’t know what’s going on. All he’s sure of is that everyone is laughing, maybe crying. Maybe both. How much time passed is uncertain. The night feels way warmer now that he’s leaning on Richie out of fear of falling in the water. He notices that Ben is red in the cheeks and Stan has finally given into smoking some himself. Eddie vaguely remembers getting hit in the face with the white smoke, making him cough out of habit of doing just so.

Can you get high from being (extremely) close to people getting it on? Eddie doesn’t know, and he doesn’t feel like he’s high. He feels warm and giggly and comfortable.

His eyes drifted down to Richie's lap, observing the bandaged hand laying on top of his thigh, palm up to the sky. There was an urge, so strong, to grab it and wrap his fingers through Richie's. Slowly, Eddie inched his left hand closer, but suddenly his human pillow started turning and he almost hit an eye on a bony shoulder.

Lifting his head, Eddie stared at Richie, who was looking at him with shiny, wet eyes.

“What?” Eddie whispered with a lifted eyebrow.

“Just watch this.” With a wink, Richie turned around to face Stan. Eddie inched forward to observe what turned out to be the most shocking event between Losers.

Stan himself was talking with Mike, an active conversation filled with mocking voices and laughs. Eddie doesn’t remember seeing him this careless before, but there’s a chance he has just forgotten. He smiles at his friend’s happiness, only for it to be interrupted when Richie elbows Stan in the ribs, much like before, but with reversed roles. Stan turns around, way to happy for his smile to vanish, but slightly smaller. He opens his mouth to ask something, anything, but Richie cuts him to it, speaking loudly and putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“Stan the Man! You’re so red, right there darling!” Richie brings his covered hand up, poking Stan in the cheek playfully. And now that Eddie’s noticing, he really is blushing. “You look like you need to cool off." Stan’s smile has died completely by now, annoyed for being interrupted on a nice moment.

“Is there a point to this conversation?” From his peripheral vision, Eddie knows that all the Losers became an audience for this ‘messing up with Stan’-Tozier moment, which is a mere repetition of every day.

However, what really shocks everyone is what follows next.

“Oh, s’just, you seem really hooooot and bothered…” Richie drags the words in a weird way. “But fear not, my great bird-boy, I have the perfect solution for ya.” And just like that, he’s pushing Stan off the cliff, applying at the strength he can on Stan’s shoulder blades.

Stan screams, everyone’s jaws fall, and you know what else falls? Stan does. Eddie watches, horrified and leaning over the edge, as Stan’s body leaves the ground and grasps around for anything, literally anything, to grab on to.

“Asshole! What the fuck?!?!” Those were the last coherent words Stan was able to say before he gave in to screams and shrieks while falling in the water down below.

Richie loses it.

He cries his eyes out from laughing so hard, grasping his sides and pointedly ignoring the Loser���s own screaming at him. Mike is dead-on freaking out, torn between killing Richie with his hands or jumping after Stan, who’s now in the water, feet below his friends, moving around freakily and trying his best to stay afloat and breathe harshly at the same time, the cold water making the task harder for him.

It honestly looks like the world is about to end. All of them are speechless but all of them are trying to beat Richie up with words. Bill is waving his arms around in protests, his stutter getting the best of him and making him breathless from being stuck on: “Wh- Wha- Wha-” ‘s, trying so hard to blurt out a simple “What the fuck just happened!?!”

Ben is shaking in horror, squinting down at the water to never loose Stan out of sight, at the same time as he is grabbing Mike’s torso, trying to keep him from getting up and kicking Richie down to the water too.

Eddie is straight up beating Richie with his own two hands, altering from punches at his side and grabbing Richie’s arm and shaking him out of his existence. “Why the hell would you do that? What is wrong with you!” But the other boy is still grasping his mid-section, laughing on and on with no means to stop.

And Bev? Well… Bev starts laughing too. Because apparently, shoving a person down a cliff in the darkening sky while the other is totally defenceless, it’s fucking funny for her. So she laughs, and much like Richie, she starts to cry.

Ben stares at her with plain surprise, this is probably the most wicked thing that happened to him all month. Eddie stops physically assaulting Richie when her giggles reach him. Everyone just turns to stare at her, even Richie’s laughing died down to focus on her with fond amusement.

A faint, distant eco of Stan’s voice reaches the six at the top of the cliff.

“You’re insane! I’m going to murder you, Richie!” The sound of his friend’s voice brings Bill back to reality and he quickly scrambles to his feet and backs away from the edge.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, his voice apprehensive.

“We sh-should go meet S-Stan down th-th-there.” Bill’s stutter is winning the battle.

Mike gets up while shaking his head in disbelief, murmuring under his voice “I have no idea what’s going on.” to no one in particular. Richie is watching all of them, not a glint of regret in his blood. He waits for Beverly to stand on her feet, no longer laughing, to grab Ben’s hand and help him up. Eddie seems to snap out of his trance and quickly rushes to get up to follow the others, who are already making their way down the rocky trails in quick long steps. But before he’s able to do it, there’s a hand grasping his wrist weakly.

He looks down at Richie, big soft eyes staring right back at him. “Let them go.” Richie tells him. And surprisingly, even to himself, Eddie sits back down on his spot, thigh brushing against the other boy. He doesn’t feel calm anymore, he feels confused and shocked and overwhelmed.

“Why would you push Stan?” His eyebrows scrunch, and Richie almost can’t handle how cute he looks. “What if he got hurt? Now he’s all wet and it’s cold. He’s going to get sick, Richie, I can’t believe you did thi-”

“Cause I wanted to be alone with you.” Richie cuts Eddie’s rambling with a low voice. He looks kind of concerned, but Eddie doesn’t know why.

Eddie’s heart beats wildly against his ribs, nothing makes sense anymore. “You… wanted to be alone with me?” Richie nods, eyes always locked with him. “There were easier ways to do that, we could have just left for a bit or-”

“Do you trust me?” And if Eddie wasn’t altered right now, he would throw Richie to the water himself, for cutting him off again. Hesitantly, Eddie’s eyes drifted down to the spot where he could faintly see his friends’ shapes, near the water. “Stan is okay, I promise.” His attention is brought back to Richie, who was also eyeing the group but is now staring in his eyes again. At Eddie’s silence, Richie sighs and continues. “I want to try something, but only if you let me, Eds.”

“Will you throw me off this cliff, too?” He couldn’t help himself to say this, a small grin threatening to appear.

“We can manage that later, if you want.” Richie winks at him and watches playfully as shock crosses Eddie’s features for a moment, before he realises this is plainly Richie joking around and allows himself to relax again.

Somewhere away from them, Eddie can barely make out Stan’s voice: ‘Is he mental? He has to be fucking mental!’ but something else gets his attention. Richie inches slightly closer to where Bev placed the tiny bag on the ground and takes out the second and last rolled up joint she brought along. Eddie gulps down his anxiety and embarrassment.

“Oh.” It’s all he manages to say, his voice small, lost in the middle of the nature around them.

Looking away from the bag he’s holding, Richie lays his eyes on Eddie’s, watching him carefully from underneath his lashes.

“We don’t have to, you know?” Eddie nods back in response, gulping a second time and watching as Richie flips on his lighter.

He feels childish, and now there’s a chance to change that. There’s nothing to be nervous about, Richie would never make fun of him for struggling, and his mom would never know. But just the thought of Sonia makes his skin prickle with anxiety, it’s almost like she’s here, somehow, watching him, hidden away, studying the way he is acting and what he intends to do, him, Eddie, her baby, with another boy so close and drugs shared betwee-

Richie takes Eddie’s chin between his fingers, snapping him out of his thoughts by lifting his head up a little, just enough for their faces to inch closer. Eddie inhales sharply and lets himself study Richie’s features, which somehow calms him down a little.

Richie’s eyes are blotchy red and wet, like tears would be shed at any given moment. A nose slightly pink in colour, probably from the cool air of the night, though Eddie doubts that that could explain why Richie’s cheeks are just, if not more, darker in colour.

When things start to get way too intense to be normal, Eddie flick’s his eyes down to the blunt trapped between Richie’s fingers. He calmly adds “I want to… but I don’t know how.”

And that’s enough for Richie. Eddie tenses up slightly when Richie’s hand, still holding his chin, moves to accommodate his thumb to rest on top of Eddie’s lower lip. He doesn’t know what to do, so he looks impatiently and nervously, waiting for whatever he intends on doing. If he’s honest with himself, Eddie would take anything from him at this point, even being thrown in the water.

Before he knows it, Eddie lets his mouth slip open, the thumb pressing slightly harder on his lip. He gave up on rationality moments ago, what else was he supposed to do? He certainly wouldn’t scold Richie for whatever they’re doing, because he’s just as eager for it, but way more lost.

“I’m going to try something.” Eddie slightly jolts up with Richie’s voice breaking the silence. “Is that okay?” He simply nods back and stares, probably blushes too, as Richie brings the joint up to his own lips, face never inching away. Richie sucks up the air inside his mouth, lips wrapped around the rolled paper and hollowing cheeks.

Eddie is glad that he’s sitting down because his legs feel numb just from this and his fingers twitch where’re they’re gripping the end fabric of his khaki shorts.

When Richie pulls the blunt away, hand lying beside both their bodies, his lips are pressed closed and he comes nearer (Eddie didn’t think that was possible). The pressure on his bottom lip returns, Richie is making sure his mouth keeps open, and suddenly Eddie feels so vulnerable. Naturally, he tilts his head to the side when Richie does it in the opposite way, their mouths so close that Eddie can no longer think, he can only feel a heat taking over his entire body.

Should he close his eyes? He doesn’t know. Would that be weird? It’s wicked and painful to stare at Richie when he’s so close, making him cross-eyed momentarily. But Richie keeps them open, so Eddie does too.

His gaze flicker down for a moment when Richie’s lips twitch, and before Eddie grasps the reality of whatever this is, smoke is being blown right between Eddie’s lips.

‘Holy shit.’ He thinks. ‘Holy shit this is happening, what do I do? What do I do?’

Eddie’s knuckles turn white when he grabs at Richie’s forearm, somehow pulling it closer. The urge to cough is heavy on his throat, but he pushes it back. The next words Richie speaks are so soft that he barely acknowledges them over his internal rambling.

“You have to inhale.” He says between smoke. Eddie clumsily attempts to breathe through his mouth, allowing his throat to relax and completely forgetting the need to cough out a lung.

When Richie pulls back, but only slightly, Eddie is absolutely sure that even without the sunlight to shine on them, anyone would be able to see the blood rushing underneath his cheeks and neck. But at least he’s not alone, for Richie managed to darken his own blush out.

-

Both boys lost track of time after that, drifting in their own little bubble until the burning died down. Their lips had brushed against each other in unintentional ways, their asses were sore from the uncomfortable soil and Eddie ended up struggling with the smoke for a while, but Richie was patient, and Eddie was persistent. When five other voices started being audible, they drew apart in unnatural ways.

While Richie got his ears scolded by a drenched, shivering, and constantly-complaining-about-his-ruined-shoes Stan, Eddie took his time getting up on both feet and wondered briefly why his friends took so long to come back. Later, both Richie and him would find out it was the work of none other than Beverly Marsh. The rest of the night was spent in her house, vacant for the weekend. All their way to get there resulted in Stan getting sick from the resistance of the air while they biked and Richie trailing behind the poor boy while telling the group that they should have joined Stan to skinny-dip.

Later, Stan made sure to drop his still wet clothes on top of a napping Richie and hit him with the destroyed shoes wherever he managed to reach. This is just the way they roll.

rooftop taglist:   @richietoaster   @rainydayriots   @reddieloves    @thetrashmouthclub   @lemonboi03 @noodleboyshane    @pillsandglasses   @studpuffin      @dandelion-stan     @reddiesetrichie     @squishynonbinarytwink      @itschunky      @burymestanding     @duderrific    @its-rye @salty-kaspbrak  @youtubequeens   @reddieseggrolls   @addimagination   @pastelstozier @sleepysirenprincess @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth

perma taglist:  @constantreaderfool   @mrs-vh  @eds-trashmouth @girasol-eddie

[har-rison-s]

pretty proud

“pretty” part four

request: Maybe one based off the one about Bill’s older sister and Stan except she’s the person that Richie told about his crush on Eddie, and at the dinner scene, she smiles at Richie because she knows and as they’re leaving the restaurant, she hugs him and tells him it’s okay to still have feelings and she encourages him to go after Eddie 

A/N: Hello. I love this and I love continuing the Pretty series. Also, I want to write some Reddie as of now. I feel like I could be very good at writing them, and maybe I should try out something direct some day. Let's see about that :) Anywho, I think Pretty's gonna end with this and one more chapter. I think that'd be pretty swell. Happy reading!

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gif credit goes to owners, which isn’t me!

“Hey, uh, Brooke Shields--” Richie started to say. Y/N lifted her head to him, a little carelessly, but ready to listen to whatever he's got to say. “Sorry, Y/N.” He added then, and Y/N smiles, her eyes closing. They were alone in the Denbrough kitchen. Bill, Eddie and Stanley were cleaning the rest of the house while Richie was put on kitchen duty. The boys had had a sleepover, in which Y/N also participated in, and Bill had already made them promise they'd help him with cleaning everything up afterwards. And Y/N had wandered into the kitchen while Richie was still there.

“I don't mind. I kinda like the nickname.” Y/N shrugged. “Something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, uh... “ Richie looked down. “No, nevermind, I shouldn't.”

Y/N walked over to Richie and put her hand on his shoulder. “It's okay. You can… You can trust me. What's wrong?”

“I know we're not the best of friends, I don't know if I should.” The boy says. “I mean, I just… It's not right - what I want to say, I…”

Y/N sat the boy down at the kitchen counter and then took a seat next to him. She leaned her back against the counter so she'd be facing Richie. “Take your time. We've got plenty.” She told him and patiently waited.

“I just… Just promise me you won't tell anyone. Anyone at all.” Richie looked into her eyes very strongly. Y/N nodded, but furrowed her eyebrows. She's a little wary of what he wanted to say. 

“I won't tell anyone.” 

“Okay, uh…” Richie looked down again and sighs. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. “Jeez, I'm such a pussy, I can't even say words.”

“Richie, it's okay. You can relax around me, I'm not judging.” Y/N assured him. “Tell me.” She said softer.

“Well, alright, I'll do my best. God, I never say such things.” Richie breathed in sharply. “Um, okay. Okay, I… I think I might have… I might like, I definitely might like Eddie.” He finally said, his voice quieter than before, and felt like a horribly heavy stone had fallen off his heart. He breathed deeply, remembering that he can actually breathe, and for a moment Y/N even thought he'd be having an asthma attack. 

“You like him?” Y/N echoed quietly. Richie nodded, but hesitantly and shamefully, and he took off his glasses. He put them down on the counter in front of him. Richie rubbed his eyes. “Hey, hey, don't you cry.” Y/N's hand was once again on Richie's shoulder and she moved her thumb back and forth to give him some sort of soothe. “It's okay to have feelings. It's okay.” Richie sighed shakily. “For how long do you think you've liked him?” 

“I don't--I don't know exactly.” Richie said. “Is it really okay? I mean I'm… I've never met someone… I don't even know if I am…”

“Richie, it is okay.” Y/N said. “It's totally human. We love who we love. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's love.” She shrugged. “Does anyone else know?”

“No!” Richie almost shouted, contradictory to his rule about keeping his voice down. Y/N visibly tensed up at his outburst. “Sorry. No, nobody else knows. I'm scared for anyone to know.”

“Wouldn't you want to trust Stanley with this? He's your best friend. If you don't wanna tell Eddie, which I understand very well.” 

“I don't know… That's true, yeah, but… I don't know. He might look at me different. And you might.”

“Well, I don't.” Y/N stated confidently. “You're still the same Richie.” She told him. 

“Thanks.” Richie said. “How do you have so much wisdom at fifteen-years-old? You're some sort of witch… Y/N the Wise.”

Y/N laughed. “Thanks, Richie.” There's a pause. “Don't be ashamed of your feelings, alright? It's harder to do than to say, but… They're normal feelings. You're not a freak or anything.”

Richie nodded and sniffed. He put his glasses back on and he turned his head to the kitchen entrance door. Someone had just entered through it.

“Hey, Rich, did you clean everything yet? We're thinking of going to the Arcade.” It was Eddie. “Oh, hey, Y/N.”

Y/N remembers very well how scared, but in awe Richie looked at that moment. His eyes had fallen on the first and only love of his life. And for a moment, the Trashmouth was silent. He took a long look upon Eddie before becoming his usual self again.

She looks at the boy now grown up into a man. All boys and Beverly still look like kids in Y/N's eyes, it's so strange to see them again. Bill she had met frequently during this twenty-seven years period, but her brother doesn't carry any significant change in appearance or otherwise.

It's truly strange to see Bill's friends grown up. Y/N can barely believe her eyes. And she wonders where's Stanley. Is he late? Is he not coming? Has something happened to him along the way? But she tries to keep these questions out of her mind, figuring they worry her too much and keep her away from the people actualy present.

Richie looks the same, she could say. He's just… Ah, but he's different. Seems like this contradiction fits all the Losers. Richie's still his old self, and Y/N's glad he hasn't changed. She's sitting between him and Eddie, and at first she thought it'd be torture, but it's funny sitting between the two. They still bicker, they still cuss at each other, but they still joke around, as well. That's what makes sitting between them so fun. 

And when she remembers her and Richie's conversation in the Denbrough kitchen all those years ago, she suddenly feels strange sitting between Richie and his first crush. And she feels so much love and support for Richie, just like she did when they were kids. She's so proud of him. He's grown up well and has made a name for himself, and he's still the same Richie. The same funny, but deeply caring Richie Tozier she remembers knowing as one of her brother's friends. The boy who always gave everyone nicknames and covered his anxieties with comedy. 

Richie notices her looking at him longingly and glances at her. “What is it, Shields?” Richie asks and Y/N laughs, holding her belly. She shakes her head, still giggling, and only smiles fondly at Richie. He has once again used the nickname he gave her as a teenager. It's a reference to her extreme resemblance to the actress Brooke Shields. Every teenage boy in the 1980's loved her and wished to have a girl like her in their arms, including, for a while, Richie and his friends.

“I only remembered something.” She says and reaches for her beer. 

“What? About what?”

“Your mom.”

The Losers burst into laughter when Trashmouth gets silenced by Y/N using his own joke, the loudest one being Eddie. Someone's got back at Trashmouth finally! Richie instead sits at the table trying to suppress his smile. The alcohol makes him a little sheepish. Richie's proud that Y/N's outdone him, but he's embarrassed, too, and won't admit it. He feels embarrassment for one of the few times in his life. 

“Oh man, Shields, I thought I could trust you.” Richie states, shaking his head, which only makes Y/N laugh harder. “You traitor.”

“You'll get back at me in no time, I bet.” She replies and pats Richie's shoulder. This gesture brings back a forgotten memory to Richie. A forgotten, or perhaps, gladly hidden away conversation he had with Y/N a long time ago. Or maybe it's just a made-up dream. No, it feels like a memory. Just like the one where he and Big Bill went to the house on Neibolt Street. Or Henry Bowers calling him Trashmouth. 

Richie suddenly looks away from her and instead glances at Eddie sitting next to her. But he looks at the man for only half a second. He fears that looking at him will somehow expose Richie. He can't explain this feeling, but it's strong enough to make him stare into table in front of him, and not at any of his friends.

The dinner came to a close soon, a terror thrown by a row of fortune cookies being the closing act and scaring the bejesus out of everyone for the rest of the evening. And the mystery that came out of the little papers ate away at Y/N's mind. Though she wants to stay focused on it and listen to what Beverly can get from calling Stanley himself, she also wants to speak to Richie. To both take her mind off the worries and to remind him of something. 

“Hey, Rich,” she tugs on his arm and Richie immediately turns around to her, stopping in his tracks. Eddie turns for a second, as well, wondering what's the matter, but soon joins the others going outside, leaving Y/N and Richie in the lobby.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, seemingly clueless about what Y/N could want to say. Something about Stanley? Does she know if anything's happened?

But Y/N only embraces him. Well, she does her best to embrace the six foot tall Richie while being not so tall herself. He furrows his eyebrows at the gesture, but he wraps his arms around her in response and lets his head fall on her shoulder. Even if his face is still scrunched in confusion and his mind wanders to all the possibilities that could have led to this hug. 

“I saw the look in your eyes at the table.” She tells him, and she even laughs, relieved. A proud tear escapes her eyes. “You still like him, don't you?” Y/N then pulls back to see the certainty in Richie's eyes. He turns his head slightly, not catching onto her at first. But then he gets it, and he understands the memory that came back earlier better.

“Eddie?” He whispers and quickly glances over his shoulder to see if the mentioned person is anywhere near them. He's standing outside and waving at Richie and Y/N, waving them over to the rest of the group. Richie huffs and looks back at Y/N. “It's so weird, Y/N, that… That I feel everything coming back so suddenly. Eddie, you guys, my whole childhood… And…”

“And the feeling's strong, right?” Y/N finishes, and Richie nods. She smiles wide, another proud tear making its way out on her cheek. “God, Richie, it's so wonderful. You should… Maybe you should finally tell him.”

To this Richie's face twists in the opposite feeling of pleasure, and he wants to shake his head. But then he thinks, hey, maybe I should. No. No way. He probably doesn't even--

“Come on, take the risk.” Y/N whispers and nods. “Who knows how many of us are coming out of this alive? What can you lose?”

“Y/N, I could lose everything. My whole childhood with him, and my best friend with that. I don't know what he'd tell me back!” Richie panics. “If he'd have anything to say…”

Y/N realises it's not so easy for Richie, after all. It's not easy at all. She sighs quietly. “I don't want to push it on you, but you know… The feelings are true, Richie.” She states. “And they're beautiful feelings. I hope you don't feel ashamed by them.”

Richie huffs again and looks around for a brief moment, panic in his eyes still, but calmer now. “It's really hard not to.” He tells her. “God, I remember how I told you... Only you. No one else knows, right?” Y/N shakes her head. “Oh, God, okay, good.” Richie breathes deeply.

“I was really the only one you told?”

Richie nods. “Yes.” He pauses. “Thank you.” He tells her and pulls her small form into another hug, and his strong hold almost crushes her bones. But Y/N loves this hug, she loves the feeling she's now getting from Richie. “Thank you for that. For everything, really. You always had the right words to say.” 

“Maybe we are best friends, after all.” Y/N tells him and chuckles. Richie gives a shakier chuckle in response.

“Don't you underestimate that, Shields, we're definitely best friends.” He pulls back from her and then turns towards the door. Y/N smiles so proudly at Richie, feeling as though she might burst from pride. “Let's go outside and get the hell out of here.” Richie suggests. Y/N nods, though hesitantly, wanting to see what her brother thinks in terms of leaving or staying before she makes up her own mind, but follows Richie out the door anyway.

Their friends seem to be in a sort-of shocked stance, all of them, and when Richie and Y/N see their friends, it confuses and scares them. What has happened?

“Guys, why the long faces?” Richie asks, and Y/N chuckles at the humorous question. Beverly turns to the smiling Y/N, and so do the rest of her friends.

They know what kind of impact the news they've got will have on Y/N, and they feel so sorry for her. They hesitate to talk. They hesitate because none of them really want to hurt her. She would never live through it, Ben thinks, but Bill, instead, is sure of it. He knows his sister like the back of his hand. The news will kill her. He probably holds the most concern in his eyes when he looks at her, deeply wishing she wouldn't have to face this terrible truth.

And maybe it's some sort of sibling connection, maybe not, but Y/N looks at Bill first. “What's happened?” She asks carefully, scared of what she will get in response.

Bill gulps and glances at Beverly. They're asking each other who will be the bearer of bad news. Bill huffs. And his eyes tell Beverly that he can't do it. So Beverly looks down for a moment, readying herself for what she will say and how Y/N could react, and then looks straight into Y/N's eyes. She looks at Bev then, wondering what's that strange look on her face. As if she'd seen a ghost, or looked straight into death's pitless eyes.

“Honey, Stanley's…” Beverly gulps, “Stanley's dead.”

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[fragilenights]

A Night To Remember

Prom is supposed to be a once in a life time opportunity that you’ll remember forever, but what happens when Eddie can’t seem to enjoy himself because of the distracting attention he is getting from his friend Richie? Eddie thinks he hates Richie for staring at him as Eddie dances among his peers, but his pounding heart begs to differ.

AO3 Link

Ships: Reddie, Benverly, MikexOC

Word Count: 4,103

The Losers’ Club was gathering at the Denbrough house for pictures before the Derry High Prom. Stan was pacing around stressed about his carefully made plans that were seeming to fall apart before his eyes given the fact that one member of the group was almost twenty minutes late. Stan was wearing a traditional black and white tux with a muted yellow tie. Bill was trying to calm Stan down by making sure Mrs. Denbrough was ready to take pictures of the group once they were all in attendance. Bill was dressed in a typical black and white tux too but instead he had an obnoxious turquoise blue tie.

Mike was chatting with Beverly and an awestruck Ben. Ben didn’t have much to say due to the fact that his eyes were met with the beautiful sight of Beverly Marsh. Bev was donned in a long aline navy dress. The dress had a low v neck cut along with a daringly low v cut back. Her navy dress resembled the night sky with the light sparkle and shimmer embedded in the fabric. Her shoulder length auburn hair was pulled up into a bun with slight curls framing her face. She had simple, silver, dangly earrings and a necklace to match. Her makeup complimented her face but also reflected her daring personality. Ben was stood beside her in navy tux, adorned with a black bow tie, and a white shirt underneath. Mike had on a maroon suit jacket, black slacks, a white shirt underneath, and a skinny black tie. Under his arm was his date, Madison, who was dressed in a tight, lace, black dress that emphasized her every curve.

Eddie wasn’t so social that night. He was standing alone staring out the window, awaiting Richie’s arrival. Now Eddie didn’t want to seem too eager to see Richie, but he just couldn’t help himself. Hell, this was one of the only times Richie would spend more than ten minutes on his appearance, and goddamnit Eddie wasn’t going to let that go to waste! Eddie was fidgeting with the sleeves of his gray tux that were just a bit too long for his short figure. He had on a pastel pink bow tie and he left his hair to it’s natural state, slight curls appearing at the ends. Eddie moved his hands from his sleeves to the friendship ring that matched the band upon Richie’s own middle finger. He twirled it around and then glanced down at the cheap metal, a slight smile finding it’s way to his face as he reminisced on when he and Richie got them.

Suddenly Eddie was jarred from his daydream at the sound of the front door opening. In strutted the one and only, Richie Tozier. He raised his arm to push back his windblown curls that had fallen in front of his face. He was wearing an all black suit with a black undershirt, but he had an untied black tie with a pink floral pattern draped around his neck. Richie completed the look with a pair of classic black high top converse. The world seemed to slow down to Eddie as Richie’s eyes rose to meet his own. Coincidently the song, Take My Breath Away by Berlin was playing on the radio in the background. The song’s volume seemed to amplify as Eddie’s jaw dropped at the sight in front of him. Richie offered a cheeky grin to a very flustered Eddie. Eddie snapped out of his trance and quickly reached to grab his inhaler from his jacket pocket. Richie approached Eddie and wrapped his arm around his neck, putting the smaller boy into a loose headlock. A sigh of relief could be heard from Stan when Bill muttered “Fucking finally,” under his breath.

“Hey! Look who finally decided to bless us with his presence,” shouted Mike, once his attention was directed towards the entry way.

“Damn look at you, hot stuff!” Bev playfully exclaimed. Ben blushed slightly, but he knew that his date was loyal to his heart. Richie winked at Bev for this comment and shimmied the untied tie around his neck.

“Come on, I always look this hot. Tell her, Eds!” Richie teased. The rest of the group chuckled at the comment while a bashful Eddie awkwardly laughed along. Richie was lovingly glancing down at his friend still under his arm. Eddie playfully tried to swat at Richie’s chest, but Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand before he could make contact. Richie gave Eddie’s hand a slight squeeze before releasing it and removing his arm from Eddie’s shoulders.

“Now I just have to figure out how to tie this damn tie,” Richie said as he walked backwards towards the bathroom. Eddie slowly followed Richie and quietly offered to help.

“R-rich, if you need any help I ca-”

Richie put his hands to his heart in an exaggerated motion and exclaimed, “Oh my dearest Spaghetti, would you ever be so kind to help a poor fellow like me with such a daunting task?” Richie squinted up his eyes in what looked like a failed attempt to be seductive.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he moved to stand in front of Richie in the small bathroom. Eddie closed the door behind the two, because he told himself that it would allow for more room in the small bathroom. Not because he wanted a private moment with Richie, of course not. Eddie made quick work at starting the tie while Richie rambled on about his activities for the night. But Eddie wasn’t paying much attention to the words spewing out of the boy’s mouth because Eddie couldn’t seem to hear anything over the pounding of his own heart. Eddie had to focus solely on keeping his hands from shaking as he stood so close to his curly haired friend.

Suddenly Eddie realized that the small room had become quiet, so he glanced up to see what had caused the silence. He was greeted with his friend’s eyes staring down at him. Richie smirked once he made eye contact with the smaller boy, and Eddie’s eyes darted back down to the tie as heat rushed to his face.

“Ya know I was going to say something about how I wished I could’ve taken your mom as my date, but I don’t think I need her when I have a cutie like you around,” Richie said with a slight smile upon his face.

“Oh shut up, Rich,” Eddie said as he tightened the tie around Richie’s neck.

Richie’s tone went scarily serious as he said, “no seriously, Eds. You look really nice.”

“Thanks. I’m surprised a trashmouth like yourself could clean up so well,” Eddie teased as he patted Richie’s chest slightly. Eddie finally raised his head to meet Richie’s eyes, but the smirk fell from Eddie’s face as he saw the lovestruck gaze on Richie’s face.

Richie parted his lips as if he was about to speak, but he quickly silenced himself as he felt Eddie’s hand that had been resting on his chest move to grab the tie around his neck. Eddie slowly and gently pulled Richie down by his tie as he raised to stand on his tip toes. Eddie’s eyes began to flutter shut as their faces neared each other until the door to the bathroom flew open.

“Hey guys, can you hur-oh!” Bill’s sudden presence in the room caused Eddie and Richie to fly apart from each other.

“S-s-sorry, um I was just, uh..” Bill managed to stutter out as he lowered his eyes from the two boys and brought his hand to his neck. A slight pink color appeared on Bill’s cheeks as he realized he probably saw something that wasn’t meant for his eyes. “W-w-we need to um..t-take pictures soon…”

Richie stood for a second in pure bewilderment at the situation unfolding in front of him. Eddie stood a few steps away from Richie, his head hung to hide his scarlet cheeks. Suddenly Richie awoke from his trance and put a wide smile across his face. Richie pranced over to Bill and wrapped his arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders, guiding him from the bathroom doorway.

“No worries, Big Bill! Let’s go take those pictures, so you’ll mom will have something to admire this handsome face.”

Eddie slowly followed after his friends, still awestruck from his actions. What was he thinking? What did his brain expect to come from that? How far would he have gone if Bill wouldn’t have interrupted? Did Richie love the idea just as much as Eddie did?

The group gathered in the Denbrough living room to take pictures. At first Eddie tried to keep distance from Richie, for the fear that Richie was creeped out about Eddie’s intentions in the bathroom. But as the photos progressed Richie yanked Eddie towards him and held the smaller boy in his arms. Eddie giggled when Richie insisted they pose in the stereotypical prom date pose along side Ben with Bev and Mike with Madison. Eddie squirmed in Richie’s arms, so Richie moved his hands from Eddie waist to Eddie’s cheeks and squished them together like a mother would do to her baby.

“Stop it, Rich!” Eddie chucked and tried to swat away Richie’s hand. Richie once again grabbed Eddie’s hand and held it with his own.

This had become a thing, Richie grabbing Eddie’s hand. He didn’t know how he felt about the action, but he did know it made his stomach flip. Not to mention the increase in how often Richie would sneak into Eddie’s window and spend the night. Or how Richie insisted the two cuddle. Eddie didn’t know why all of this was happening, but he also didn’t complain. Richie stood behind Eddie with his arms draped around the boy’s shoulders. Richie continued to intertwine his fingers with Eddie’s until Bev yanked him away to pose together.

Once the pictures were taken the group separated into Bill’s and Stan’s cars. Bev called shotgun with Bill and raced to his car, being followed by an anxious Ben. Eddie followed Stan to his car, knowing that Stan would be making it home sober. Richie followed after Eddies and groaned at the driver that he chose.

“Ugh come on, Eds! Do we have to go with Staniel?” Richie whined like a child.  

“You know you don’t have to follow Eddie around like a lost puppy? You can make your own decisions, Richie,” Stan said with a bit more attitude than was particularly necessary. Richie offered an awkward laugh along side a furrowed brow in response to the comment. In the car Eddie decided to sit shotgun as Richie third wheeled in the back with Mike and Madison. For the first five minutes of the drive Richie found himself with his arms crossed, moping about the previous comment from Stan.

This was until Eddie moved to turn up the volume on the car radio. Richie immediately recognized the song as one of the many songs he had shown Eddie during their weekly sleepovers. The song was “Friday I’m In Love” by The Cure, and Richie couldn’t help but smile as the smaller boy bobbed his head along to the beat of the song. This was one of the songs that the two would dance around in their socks to, sliding on the wooden floors of Eddie’s bedroom. Richie would always embarrass himself just so he could see the grin spread across Eddie’s face.

The same grin appeared in front of his eyes as Eddie whipped his head around when the chorus of the song picked up. When the two boys made eye contact they simultaneously started belting the lyrics to the chorus, earning an irritated shout from their driver. Stan quickly reached to turn off the radio, but Eddie stopped him before he could while trying to stifle his laughs.

Madison was giggling next to Richie as Mike shook his head in shame. The girl spoke up after the laughter had died down a bit.

“You two are really cute together by the way,” All of the noise in the car came to a halt after these words left her lips. Stan had to stifle down a laugh as he stared straight ahead at the road in front of him. Both of the boys in question began to stutter some kind of explanation that they were, in fact, not a couple. Mike quietly whispered something serious into his date’s ear, to reassure her that she wasn’t the first to make that mistake.

For a matter of fact, there had been a lot of people who had thought the same exact thing. Ben had once accidentally brought up the topic when the Losers’ Club was having a movie night. It was responded with the fearful, feisty actions of an anxious Eddie, and the first time in years Richie had ever been speechless.

Bev had also had a few not so sober conversations with Richie over the summer when they got high at the park. When Richie was under an influence he lost whatever small filter he had and seemingly always had something to say about how pretty Eddie’s eyes were. The night ended with Richie softly crying to Bev about how he didn’t want to be in love with his best friend because he didn’t want to ruin what he had with him. Bev had tried to reason with the poor boy, but Richie was certain that Eddie could never feel the same way towards him.

Ever since then, the relationship between the two boys went unspoken. Everyone knew that the two were closer than friends should be, but no one dared to make sure the boys knew that.

The sound of pounding music came flooding from the school gym as the seven teens approached the admittance desks at the entrance. Eddie’s eyes anxiously inspected the crowds that surrounded him. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest as his thoughts were filled with all that the night possibly had in store. He jumped in respond to a reassuring hand being placed on his shoulder, but he was put to ease when he met eyes with the hand’s owner, Richie. A small  comforting smile danced upon and lips and was returned by Eddie. As Eddie stood among his talkative friends, not really listening to what was being discussed, he began to question why he even went to prom in the first place. He wasn’t one to typically go to parties, he was a total stick in the mud, and he began to realize how uncomfortable he was by the entire idea. He knew that Beverly and Ben would be fawning over each other all night long, and the same was bound to happen between Mike and his date. Richie and Bill were likely going to quickly wander off and find some girls to flirt very poorly with. That would leave him and Stan. Now Eddie did love Stan, but awkwardly standing around with Stan wasn’t the most ideal way to spend the night. What would the two boys even talk about? One could only talk about how annoying Richie was for so long. In Eddie’s opinion, the night was bound to end in failure.

He was dragged from his thoughts as he realized he was next in line to hand his ticket to the lady at the desk. She allowed for his admittance, and Eddie’s heartbeat raced even fast, if that was evenly humanly possible.

Bev excitedly raced to the dance floor, dragging Ben along behind her. Noticing his nerves, Richie quickly wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and led him through the doorway.

Their typical drab gymnasium had every inch covered in some sort of decoration. White and Gold balloons decorated the far wall, streamers and lights hung from the ceiling. A make shift photo booth was set up in the corner, punch and snacks were lining the opposite wall, tables were cluttered in a different corner of the gym, and a medium sized crowd had already flooded the dance floor in the middle. “Waterfalls” by TLC was filling the room and Eddie spied Richie jokingly shimming to the music, which caused a small roar of laughter from Bill and Madison. Eddie chuckled and rolled his eyes at the lame actions. Richie caught Eddie’s judgmental look and raised his eyebrow at him with a smirk. Eddie’s eyes widened in fear as Richie grabbed his hands and pulled him flush to his body and backed them towards the dance floor.

Eddie unsuccessfully tried to squirm from Richie’s grip, but was faced with Richie’s hands moving to his hips, guiding him to dance. Eddie resisted the actions and tried his best to remain stationary. Sadly, he let his guard down as he laughed at Richie’s poor attempt to rap along to the song. The sound of Eddie's laugh broad a wide smile to Richie's face and a twinkle to his eyes. With the sudden relax of muscle, Richie took his chance and shook Eddie’s body a bit to force him to move. Eddie laughed but decided it was better to comply, knowing that Richie wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon.

The two boys awkwardly danced around as best as two high school nerds could, but to the two of them nothing else mattered. They were probably making fools of themselves, but they were having fun and that was all that mattered.

Eddie thought that he was going to have a horrible time but instead he spent a good fifteen minutes enjoying himself on the dance floor, until he couldn't ignore the gnawing in the back of his head anymore. After the first song, Eddie had been pulled away from Richie to dance with Bill and Mike, which he openly accepted. Since then, Eddie had felt Richie's eyes burning two holes into the back of Eddie's head. Eddie kept trying to steal glances over at Richie to make sure he wasn't just imagining things, but every time he was met by Richie's longing stare.

Eddie had had it with Richie's blatant staring, so he decided to stare right back. When Richie finally noticed he had been caught his expression slowly turned into a nervous smirk. Eddie was just going to glare at the boy and leave him alone until Richie's expression changed yet again. Eddie slowly looked up to meet Richie's eyes and he was met with that look. That look frequently came upon Richie's face whenever they were alone together. If Eddie laughed or giggled about something, Richie would have the look. If Eddie sat contently for once in his anxiety ridden life, Richie would have the look. Eddie had never been able to tangibly place the emotion Richie felt that led him to have that look, but he always seemed to run from it. But suddenly, in the stuffy, sweaty gym, Eddie began to truly understand what that look meant, and he had never felt more conflicted in his life. His heart began to hammer in his chest and his palms began to sweat. He suddenly realized he couldn't breathe, so he quickly reached for his inhaler and ran out of the gym to the nearby empty hallway.

Eddie could hear Richie calling after him as he darted through the crowds, and he began to curse him in his head.

Why the hell did Richie have to screw everything up?

Why couldn't Richie just keep it in his pants for a once?

Why did Richie have to be so fucking attractive?

And why in the world did Eddie have to be in love with him?

Eddie wasn't surprised when Richie's body came flying through the door and Richie fractically flug himself onto Eddie.

"Are you okay, Eds? Are you having an asthma attack? What happened?"

Eddie simply responded by using his inhaler and turning away from the other boy. Richie furrowed his brow as he realized that something else was going on.

"Hey-" Richie softly said as he reached out to grab Eddie's elbow. But Eddie acted as if he was burned by Richie's touch and yanked his arm away. Eddie's anger always seemed to get the best of him, but it was easier to push people away sometimes instead of directly dealing with his own emotions. Eddie closed his eyes and sighed as he felt Richie entire being almost shrink from the pain he felt from Eddie's rejection.

Eddie quickly turned around and began to apologize, but he was interrupted by the song in the gymnasium changing.

Their ears suddenly filled with the familiar sound of an 80's synthesizer and a guitar. The song was "True" by Spandau Ballet, a classic 80's love song. This song also had a deeper meaning to the two boys, which they both seemed to recognize as they slowly smirked to each other. When Richie and Eddie were just kids they used to listen to music through Maggie Tozier's record player and stupidly sing along, but this song always seemed so calming to the two young children. It was a song that began to represent their friendship and bring them a feeling of belonging.

When the vocals in the song slowly came in, Richie lowered his head once again to gaze upon Eddie, searching through his eyes to make sure he didn't fuck everything up.

"May I have this dance?" Richie said in his English Voice, along with a bow. Eddie giggled and curtsied back, suddenly forgetting all of his anger from the dork in front of him.

Eddie took Richie's extended hand and place them around his own waist. Eddie reached his hands up to link around Richie's neck and slightly delve into the hair at the nape of his neck. Eddie's cheeks quickly filled with a rosy blush, and Richie's pupils were the size of saucers.

The two slowly swayed in place, and while the dance wasn't anything too spectacular to an observer, to them it was a monumental moment in their relationship. They spent the entire song in silence while they searched each other's faces for any false readings of the situation. Both boys were terrified that their feelings were unrequited, and they cared too much about each other to ruin their friendship.

As the song slowly approached its ending, Eddie noticed that Richie's eyes had become fixated with Eddie's lips. Eddie heard the voice in his head tell him to "run away from that dirty boy," but he pushed the thoughts away and whispered, "Fuck it," before lifting himself to his toes and meeting the taller boys lips with his own.

Even though Richie had been daydreaming about kissing Eddie for years now, he was in no way, shape, or form prepared for what was happening. Richie had had his own flings in his high school career, but no kiss ever came close to the feeling he had when his lips met Eddie's.

Their first kiss together wasn't perfect by any means, but it had it's own magic hidden away in its peculiar nature. The kiss was at first a bit to aggressive on Eddie's end, due to the impulsivity of his actions, and Richie had just stood there for a second in complete shock. Quickly Richie caught on to what was happening and eagerly kissed Eddie back. Eddie chuckled against Richie's mouth due to Richie's hungry nature, yet that didn't stop him. Richie reached up to run his hand through Eddie's hair, and he pulled Eddie's body flush against his own, not being able to get close enough.

The kiss was sweet. It was sweet and youthful and better than either of them could have ever imagined. They eventually had to pull away to breathe, but they didn't move far as Richie rested his forehead upon Eddie's. Eddie watched as Richie closed his eyes and took a deep breath with the biggest smile on his face. Richie could taste Eddie's strawberry chapstick on his lips, and he was having a hard time believing he wasn't dreaming.

Richie slowly opened one of his eyes with a sideways smirk, peeking down at the smaller boy cartoonishly, and whispered, "Pinch me, Eds," which earned a laugh from Eddie in return. Eddie threw his head back with the laugh, but Richie kept his strong grip on Eddie's hips, making sure they stayed close.

"You're such a dork, Rich," Eddie said with smiling eyes. He settled his left hand around the back of Richie's neck once again, slowly playing with his curls, as his other hand reached up to cup Richie's cheek. "But, you're my dork."