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vanxcks · 5 years ago

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how delicate

Three things happen before Eddie Kaspbrak shows up, hair dripping, in day-old clothes, nothing on him but a dead walkie-talkie, on Richie Tozier’s doorstep. His fanny pack—his mom had replaced the “lost” one quickly enough—lays abandoned in his room; the walkie-talkie is clenched tightly in his fist.

For the second time in his life, Eddie runs away from home.

Word Count: 4839

Richie is shocked to see him.

“Eds,” he says, uncharacteristically succinct. “What’re you doing here?”

“Can I just come in, please?” Eddie asks, rubbing his arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. “I can’t be at that house any longer.” He’s itching to head inside, wrap up in a blanket. The summer’s finally ending, autumn showing itself in brown leaves and occasional brisk air, and that on top of being in the rain is a sure enough way to get hypothermia. He feels the panic setting in, and he takes a deep breath.

You’re strong, Eddie. (Fragile.) You can do this. (Delicate). Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks. He doesn’t invite Eddie in, which from anyone else Eddie would find rude, but Eddie stopped being offended by Richie years ago.

“Yeah, if you could hurry the fuck up?” Eddie prompts, words quick. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“Yeah, of course, Eds,” Richie says, a little crease between his eyebrows. Uncharacteristic again. He turns around and walks inside, letting Eddie follow him. “Sorry, my sister’s not free right now. She got crabs, like I told her she would, and I said you probably got it from your mom, but she didn’t believe me. Actually, she told me to get the fuck out of her room, but anyway, I thought you should know, since you always seem so interested—”

“Can I have a towel?”

Richie pauses, mouth open, but only for a moment. “What’d you do, jump in a lake? I knew you were an idiot, but you do know that you’re not supposed to jump in the water fully clothed, right? Or did you run into Belch Huggins again? Eddie, you’re a fuckin’ twig, I don’t know how you can keep standing up to them. What’d you say to make them so mad? Did you tell them they were going to contract chlamydia or something? I’m not sure their pea brains would even be able to understand—”

Eddie lets him talk, not bothering to yell over him like he might have two months ago. Not because he’s anymore willing to tolerate Richie’s idiocy than he was. He’s just too tired to open his mouth right now.

That said, it really is getting cold. “Pea brain? You’re one to talk, trashmouth.” Richie’s face splits in a grin, and Eddie can’t help but half-smile back. ��If you won’t get me a towel, I’d be happy to get one from your sister’s room. I know my way around.”

“Hey, I already told you she has crabs, right? Probably from you.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Just checking,” Richie says, grinning good-naturedly. Eddie shivers.

[March, 1989]

Eddie is eleven when he gets his first panic attack. It’s after they find Richie’s backpack, still in his locker, the door on the linoleum floor and warped from where Bowers tore it off its hinges.

Eddie is the one that finds it.

“I swear to god, guys,” he’s saying, one hand on the strap of Richie’s backpack and the other ushering Bill along, “if we’re late again Mr Reynolds is gonna kill me—”

“Y-y-you haven’t been l-late in weeks,” Bill says.

“I swear he hates me, though. Last time I was one measly minute late and he held me back. I swear when he dies and they do an autopsy, they’ll find a stick up his ass. I bet you a million dollars.”

“I’d want to hear the story behind that,” Richie says, flailing away under Richie’s hand.

“Of course you do,” Stanley says as they round the corner.

“No, I’m serious! I mean, how did it get up there? I bet it was some freaky sex thing, you know?”

He chatters on as they reach their lockers. Eddie grabs his own bag, then, after waiting a moment to see if Richie will pause in order to get his own, reaches into Richie’s locker.

And then he screams.

“Eddie?” Richie asks, spinning. Then, “Oh, my god,” as he looks at his backpack. “Holy shit! Bowers took a shit in my bag! He actually fucking did!” Richie cries. “I really didn’t think he was the sort of person that would keep his promises! Look, he tore the door off and everything.”

“That seems unnecessary,” Stanley says, looking down at it, “you always leave it unlocked.”

“Do you see this shit?” Richie goes on. “I can’t believe this. Eddie, do you see this shit? Eddie?”

Eddie’s fumbling for his inhaler, unzipping his fanny pack, trying to keep taking deep breaths. “That’s.” He gasps. “That’s so fucking disgusting, oh my god. Oh my god.” He takes a puff, holds his breath, counts to five. Then another. He wipes his hand off on his pants. How many different types of bacteria are there in feces? It’ll probably have gotten in his fingernails, all over his skin—how long will that take to wash off? What if he has a paper cut? God, then it’ll get infected. Is his heart supposed to be beating so loud? So fast?

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says, but his voice sounds far away. It’s almost quiet behind the jackhammering that is Eddie’s chest. He reaches out to touch Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie flinches away. “Eds, are you okay?”

“I’m having a fucking...I’m having a fucking heart attack and you ask if I’m fucking okay?” Eddie gasps. What are the symptoms again? Pain in your arm, and in your chest, too. He’s got that. Pain in his chest. That’s one off the checklist. And fuck, if he could hear himself think over that thump, thump, thump—”Holy shit. Holy fucking...fucking shit. I am not dying in the school hallway,” he gets out, hand clutching at his own chest.

“E-Eddie, what’s going on?” Bill asks, gripping his backpack strap tight.

Richie grabs Eddie’s heaving shoulder. “Hey, are you serious? Is this real? Should I call 911?”

“You think I’m fucking faking a heart attack?” Eddie snaps, and then he bends double, gagging.

“I’ll d-d-do it,” Bill says, and runs off to find a phone.

Eddie falls a little; Stanley catches and steadies him, lowering him so that he’s sitting on the ground. Richie puts a hand on his back, rubbing little circles there, telling him again and again that it’s gonna be okay, that an ambulance is coming, that they won’t let anything happen to him. And Eddie really, truly, completely believe that this is it. He keeps his eyes open, etches his friends’ faces into his mind. If he’s going to go, he’s not going to forget them. If there is an afterlife, Eddie is bringing that memory, of all of them, with him. His best friends holding him.

It isn’t a heart attack, in the end. The doctor call it a panic attack. Eddie is diagnosed with anxiety on March twenty-fourth, nineteen-eighty-nine. Now, he supposes, it’s the only one of the diagnoses that isn't bullshit. Of course, his mom doesn’t let him go home just yet. She’s terrified, absolutely scared shitless. She leaves Eddie alone in the hotel room for some hours, and when she comes back, she tells him that he’s going to have to stay in the hospital for several days.

“I thought it wasn’t that serious,” Eddie says quietly. He always speaks quietly with his ma. He knows that he’s the delicate one, of the two, but sometimes it seems like she’s the one that’s going to break at any moment. Fragile, like one touch could shatter her.

“I know, honey,” she says comfortingly, even though that’s not what he needs or what he was asking. “They just want to monitor you, make sure it’s not something more serious.”

“Okay, mommy.”

“Now go to sleep. You’ve been very badly frightened, I’m sure, so make sure to get some rest.”

He nods, and she sits down in the little chair in the corner of the room, pulling out a magazine.

It’s a long two weeks.

Soon, Eddie is sitting wrapped up by Richie's heater in the basement. They've talked about the basement before—about all of it. About how they can't go into dark rooms on their own, about how sometimes they wake up in the night to learn that they've been crying out in their sleep. They've talked about how they can't even see a yellow raincoat on the street without having it all come crashing back, without suddenly not being able to breathe.

Eddie can't help but think how much easier that July would have been if he'd had his friends. Maybe it wouldn't have made him less afraid, but at least he would have been afraid with them.

"You still haven't said why you're all wet. Unless it's sweat, in which case you were either having really amazing sex—and if I’m right, I want all the details, like who found your scrawny ass attractive and their address so I can go beat them up for taking your viginity before I could—or you actually had to lift something heavy for once in your life—"

"Hey, I didn't ask to be fucking taken out of PE." Eddie didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

"I didn't say you asked, but now that you’ve mentioned it, maybe if you'd been there it wouldn't have been quite so fucking torturous. I swear to you, Mr. Kravitz kept staring at my ass," Richie says, warming up. "I mean, I don't blame him, but jesus fuck, he's a teacher and I'm but a helpless—"

"It's not sweat, okay? It's fucking rain. Are you happy now?"

Richie doesn’t slow down. “It hasn’t rained since morning, why the fuck—”

“You know, believe it or not, I didn’t actually come here to hear you talk my ear off for an hour, and I’m having a bit of a crisis at the moment, so maybe if you could shut the fuck up, that would be perfect,” Eddie snaps, and Richie goes quiet for a moment.

“Well, out with it!” he yells suddenly in a terrible British accent, loud enough to make Eddie jump. “The doctor’s in, come on, what’s wrong?”

“Jesus, really? The british guy?”

“I said out with it! No use coopin’ it up, better just get it over with!” He’s still yelling, brash and obnoxious.

“You know,” Eddie snaps, grabbing his walkie-talkie and stuffing it into his pocket, “I thought this was a good idea, to come here, but clearly—”

“Wait,” Richie cries, standing up a little. Eddie looks at him expectantly. Richie quiets. “I’m sorry, I—please. I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me.”

Eddie stands there for a moment, and then sighs. “Do you have any music?” he asks.

“Oh, absolutely,” Richie says, jumping up. Eddie follows him upstairs to his room, not mentioning the fact that Richie isn’t really allowed to play music after nine pm, thankful that Richie doesn’t mention it either.

[July, 1989]

July that year is the longest month of his life. It’s a stifling cycle of taking a shower, taking his pills, reading and rereading and rereading, and then pills and shower and sleep. Rinse and repeat. If he’s lucky, he’ll get his hands on a newspaper. Everytime he does, he skims through it in a frenzy. He always pinches the paper too tight, turns the pages a little too wildly, and he knows it could worry his ma, but he’s always terrified he’ll see something new. A new Local Girl Missing headline. A body found.

Every day there’s nothing, but every day Eddie checks.

They’d beaten it. They’d chased the monster back into the sewers, where it belonged. And Eddie had come back safe, to a loving mother and a clean and healthy household, and he should be okay. He should be free. He is free.

But It still has a hold on him, too strong for comfort.

It’s not just the newspapers, either. It’s the things he sees in the shadows at night. The way he’s taken to sleeping with a light on. It’s easy to explain to his mom; she probably wouldn’t question it anyway. Anything for her little boy.

The lights don’t reach everywhere, though. And he’s convinced that there’s something behind the desk, in the closet, waiting to pounce on him from behind a door. Yellow eyes, glowing in the dark. A gleeful, burbling laugh.

A torn face. Blood, dripping in the wrong direction. A leper, sores oozing, rotted fingers resting on his shoulder. That day in the house shows up again and again in his dreams, every night. And every night Pennywise tells him something different. “Poor Eddie. Poor pathetic, delicate thing.” And “Your friends left you, didn’t they? Left you all alone.” Some nights, it’s “Did you think that by locking yourself inside your little house you can escape me? Oh, no, Eddie Spaghetti. That just makes it easier for me.”

He wakes shaking, sweating, covers kicked onto the floor. And then he picks them up, lays them over him, and lies there, eyes shut, awake and aware, until the sun comes through the curtains and he can hear his ma walking down the stairs.

Eddie knows it’s not her fault. He knows she just wants to protect him. He knows that he’s sick and that this is all for his own good. But he can’t help but entertain the idea, once or twice, that he could find some way out. He wants someone to talk to about all of this. He needs someone to talk to about all of this. And it’s not like he can just tell his mom that he and his friends got attacked by a killer clown. No, they’re the only ones. And they’re impossibly far away.

Instead, he thrashes at night. He leaves the lights on, keeps a wary eye on the shadows, and doesn’t even look in the direction of the sewer. He clenches his fists until there are little bloody half-moons in them...and then scrubs them clean, over and over and over again, wincing as the disinfectant touches the cut.

The Loser’s club survived the clown, but did Eddie? Is he alive after all? He’s not always sure.

They end up curled up on top of the covers, Eddie scooched over until he’s practically in Richie’s lap. The music is almost as quiet as it can get, but Richie makes up for it by yelling along to the lyrics, holding up a pen to his mouth like a microphone.

His voice is godawful, and it must show on Eddie’s face, because Richie pokes him in the cheek and says, “Oh, is there something wrong with my singing? Is there?”

“Stop fucking—get off of me!” Eddie cries, with is a fun joke, because he’s the one almost on top of Richie.

“Is it not good enough for your highness?” Richie shouts, adn then belts out one of the riffs. “Huh?” He pokes Eddie in the cheek, and Eddie laughs, pushing him.

“You’re so fucking ridiculous.”

Richie doesn’t reply to that, just keeps on singing, wild and drunken. Eddie joins in, and then they’re both giggling like idiots.

It’s such a sweetly familiar scene that Eddie almost feels alright, for a moment.

After a couple songs, the music switches to something quieter, more relaxed, and Eddie and Richie quiet down.

“Don’t your parents have an issue with you playing music while they’re asleep?” Eddie asks, because of fucking course he has to bring up parents. And now he’s fidgeting again, antsy and stressed out and he can’t get the image of his ma crying in his absence out of his head. Of her shutting the door on him gently every time she left the house, locking it.

But Richie seems totally oblivious to that. “Nah, they’re not home.”

It occurs to Eddie that it hadn’t seemed strange for Richie’s parents not to come downstairs, for them not to greet him or check up on him. “You’re so lucky they let you stay home alone,” Eddie says, resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. He can feel Richie’s breathing, can feel him glance toward Eddie and then away.

“Yeah,” Richie says, smiling a little. “Can’t imagine your mom would let up on her reign of terror for one second and let you actually have fun.”

Eddie hms. “Reign of terror? For some reason I thought you liked my mom.” Not seriously, but.

“Oh, I do, Eddie Spaghetti, I do.”

[August, 1989, and after]

The seven kids stand in the fading light, outside the house on Neibolt street for the final time. Or what they hope is the final time. Twenty-seven years—so much can happen. Will they still be friends? Will they have long split? Will Eddie have raised a family, or will he still be alone?

Future. He might have a future. They all might.

He’d thought so many times that they would die, this summer. Seeing the rotting, sore-ridden fingers connected to the rotting-sore-ridden person in front of him. Pennywise, inches from his face. Richie’s hand on his cheek—a pathetic, last ditch effort at comfort. (It didn’t work as a comfort, strictly, but it stuck in Eddie’s mind for the whole month he was at home. He hadn’t wanted Pennywise’s face to be the last thing I saw. For some reason it makes him feel warm inside.)

Suddenly, things don’t seem so bleak.

Then Eddie gets home, and things go back to the way they were. The way they were, except that everything’s tinted by the fact that Eddie knows. Eddie knows his meds are fake, that he isn’t sick, that his childhood was taken by nothing more than an overprotective mother.

God, he was a fucking idiot. He didn’t even know what his sickness was—his ma hadn’t told him anything more than careful, sweetie, and you know how delicate you are. Did he play along with it because he believed her? Because he was just as terrified of his dying as she was? Or just because it was easier to do that than face facts.

After Neibolt, after Georgie and the clown and all of the horror that Eddie can’t share, his mom stops keeping him inside. He leaves the house quietly with a note on the kitchen table. When he comes home, there’s no more evidence of his ma’s worry than her pursed lips and the worried divot between her brows—he’d inherited it—and they speak nothing of it.

Eddie finds himself spending more and more time with Richie, as things progress. Richie never comes to Eddie’s house—Eddie’s willing to push his luck a little, but shoving the fact that he’s meeting Richie in his mom’s face would be too far. Not that his meeting up with Richie is a capital-t Thing. Of course it’s not. Because even though Eddie looks at Richie sometimes and can’t look away, even though Richie pulled Eddie close when they thought they were about to die, even though Eddie secretly loves it when Richie pinches his cheeks and calls him cute, doesn’t mean Richie likes Eddie. Because Richie isn’t like that. No, fuck that—because they’re both boys, and that’s not how it works.

If any of his friends had to show their faces at his house, Richie would probably be the worst choice. Eddie’s ma hates Richie with a passion—”dirty boy,” she calls him. When they were little, Richie had come over to Eddie’s house for sleepovers almost every week, at least until they tried to climb out the window one night and sneak into the playground. It had all gone fine—or the climbing out the window part had, at least. But Eddie tripped on the sidewalk and skinned his knee, and the cut ended up getting infected. He was sick at home for weeks.

(Now, after everything that has happened, Eddie has to wonder if any of his sicknesses were real. Did he ever hear the diagnosis from the doctor themself? Eddie can’t even remember.)

So Eddie bikes to Richie’s house, or he finds him waiting outside the arcade for him. They buy ice cream, wander through the park. Eddie brings comic books to Richie’s house and they blast music and eat a frankly disgusting amount of chocolate. Richie seems to have an endless supply of peanut butter cups in in his bedroom.

Eddie has been friends with Richie for years—he’d call them best friends, if he didn’t know that Richie would tease him mercilessly for it. (Or he’d pinch his cheeks and call him adorable, which is just as bad, really.) But something about hanging out with him, separate from the group, has felt different, lately. Slightly charged. Electric in their slight touches, in the way Richie grabs Eddie’s hand, in the way Eddie catches Richie looking at him over his Batman. Eddie thinks he likes it.

Things go on as they would. Considering how their summer had gone, considering that he’s Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, things are good. Happy. Peaceful.

Eddie feels alive, for the first time in years. Not delicate, alive.

And then, one day, Eddie wakes up in the morning, and his mom is sitting at the foot of his bed, watching him.

Okay.

"Good morning, Eddie," his ma says softly, placing a hand on his leg.

"Good morning," Eddie replies, fucking confused but trying his best to keep it out of his voice.

"Eddie," she says, using his name again, which is usually a bad sign, "I went into the bathroom this morning, and I noticed your fanny pack hanging from the door."

"Yeah, that's where I always leave it."

"I know, and I opened it, just to check to see if your meds needed to be topped up."

Technically, the meds never need to be topped up. They never needed to exist in the first place. But Eddie keeps his mouth shut.

"I noticed," she continues, and it occurs to Eddie that the flatness of her voice seems to be wavering, like she's forcing something down, "that there were more pills in the jar than there should be. Haven't you been taking your pills, Eddie?"

Fuck. He hadn't been taking the pills since Neibolt, but he'd been careful to do away with them anyway. Flush them down the toilet, or let them go down the drain. He'd thought it had been a slightly silly precaution, but apparently his ma really was paying attention.

It makes his stomach hurt a little, and he tells his fingers not to itch for his inhaler.

"You were counting my pills?" he asks, voice a little hoarse.

"I'm only looking out for you, Eddie," she says, and his stomach definitely hurts.

"I don't need those meds, ma," he replies, voice edging up a couple decibels. "I'm not sick."

"You are, Eddie. You are sick. You know that. The doctors said it, remember? Remember that?"

Eddie tries to stand, tries to get out of his bed, but his ma puts a hand on his leg. His head knows that she really is just trying to help him, that she's his mother, that she knows what's best. But something else says that only one of those things is really true. "Doctors? All I remember is you coming into my hospital room and saying that I need to stay overnight for a scrape on the knee!"

"Sweetie," she says, her tone saying loud and clear that you're being unreasonable, "you could have gotten an infection."

"It was a scrape on the knee, ma!" he cries, wrestling his leg away and scrambling out of his bed. He's not sure, all of a sudden, why his heart is beating so fast. "Keeping me in the hospital, it—it was irrational."

"I was only looking out for you, Eddie," she says tenderly.

"Stop saying that!" he yells. "I'm not fucking sick, and I just want to have a normal life and—and not have to take fucking meds with me everywhere I go—"

He hears it first. It takes a moment for the pain to come, for him to realize that she's slapped him. Shit.

Eddie's ma brings a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and frightened. "Eddie," she gasps, "Eddie, I'm so sorry."

Eddie just stands there dumbstruck, staring at her. He's never been hit in his life—not by anyone other than fucking It.

"I didn't mean to, I love you, you know I didn't mean to—" she says, reaching out for what looks like a hug.

And suddenly he's in that house on Neibolt street again. There's a painted and awful face jeering at him, and he's cornered, and he can't fucking breathe, and he just turns and opens the door and leaves. Just fucking leaves. He's not even running, at first. There is no noble rescue. There is no Beverly, in the sewers. No heroic deed ahead of him. He just walks down the stairs, and then speeds into a jog, and then opens the door and fucking sprints down the street.

He can't hear his ma calling after him. He can't hear anything.

It rains. He wanders the city for hours, not keeping track of time, panicking and then convincing himself he’s going to be fine and then panicking again. Where can he go? What can he do? He doesn’t want to go back, but should he?

Who is someone he trusts? Who he knows isn’t going to send him home, who will listen to him, no matter what?

So he ends up at Richie’s house.

They sit there in silence for a little while, the only sound Freddie Mercury crooning through the radio speakers.

“I’m not sick,” Eddie says quietly, eyes directed unfocusedly at the comics lining the bookshelf across the small bedroom.

“What?”

“I’m not fucking sick, Richie,” Eddie says, and he’s too tired to snap at him.

“So did you make all of that up just so you couldn’t hang out with us? I thought you were deathly athsmatic or some shit,” Richie says. There’s laughter in his voice. He doesn’t get it.

“No—” Eddie says, and he sits up, widening the distance between them so he can look Richie in the eyes. Richie’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m not sick. I—all my meds were, were—placebos. Fakes.”

“Wait, what the fuck? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, Richie, I—I don’t fucking know! I don’t know what to think. All my life my ma has told me one thing, and then the girl at the pharmacy, she—she said something else.”

“Hey,” Richie says softly, putting a hand on Eddie’s knee.

Eddie ignores him. “And then I confronted my ma about it right before, before Neibolt, but she seems so—goddam she seems so vulnerable, and I just—I don’t know what to do, I really dont—”

“Eds, Eds,” Richie says, moving his hand to Eddie cheek and making him meet his eyes. “Slow down.” Eddie stares at him, chest heaving, and he reaches for his fanny pack, for his inhaler.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he gasps, wringing his hands, “oh, god, I need my inhaler, oh shit—”

“Eddie, Eddie, stop!” Richie shouts, grabbing Eddie’s hands and holding them still. “You’re spiraling, and when you do that you need your inhaler, and you clearly don’t have it right now, and apparently you don’t even fucking need it, whatever that means, so just—just shut up and tell me what happened!” Richie lets out a breath, quiets down. “Maybe I can help.”

“I think…” Eddie says, and he takes a breath, trying to calm his roiling insides, “I think my mom has been keeping me. Like a prisoner, or something.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Richie breathes.

“I mean. Not a prisoner. But she’s so...so hyper-anxious about me getting sick that she’s been telling me I’m sick so that I don’t go outside, I guess. Like when I had to stop taking P.E. class, because she said I was too delicate. I guess I wasn’t as delicate as she thought, but she did everything in her power to protect me.”

“Shit, Eddie, are you okay?” Richie asks, and his voice has none of its normal teasing spark.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, honestly.

“Is there...anything I can do?”

Eddie shuts his eyes, feeling the tears coming. He feels Richie’s hand take his, squeeze it. “No, but can I stay here tonight?”

“Fine, but stay the fuck away from my sister. We have really thin walls here, and if you two keep me awake I’m going to throw you out, I hope you know.” And it’s an awful thing to say, but it’s the perfect thing, too.

Eddie grins. “I make no promises,” he says, and he follows Richie into the hallway.

Richie doesn’t let go of his hands.

#reddie #richie/eddie #fic #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #sonia kaspbrak #eddie's mom deserves jail time i've never hated a fictional character more #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #my writing

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creativitymouth · 7 years ago

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The World Forgetting by The World Forgotten Pt.3

A/N - A big thank you to all of the amazing writers on Tumblr who helped me get my story out there to begin with. @asthmaticeddie @apartofthelosersclub @firstfannypack @mikoalabearwrites @justauthoring If you haven’t checked out their stories please do so because it’s what gave me the courage to put my work out there in the first place.

Summary: Adolescence is kicking (Y/N) in the ass and she isn’t sure if she’s winning. SlowBurn!RichieTozierxFemale!Reader.

Trigger Warning: Depressive Themes and Sexual Assault. Cursing because of Trashmouth Tozier.

9th grade has many sexual assault mentions, if you are uncomfortable reading this please skip ahead.

Chapter 3

8th Grade - 1986

It had been 2 years, and Richie Tozier had just begun to realize his crush on you was possibly never going to go away. He had finally told all the guys about it on one of those days you randomly disappeared, but they all just shrugged him off. They had been sitting around in Bills place, wondering where their favorite girl had been when they stopped by her house earlier. When suddenly Richie found that he couldn’t keep his mouth closed, per usual.

“I think I like (Y/N).” He blurted out, everyone stared at him open mouthed. What had he just said? Impossible. No one said anything for a stretch of awkward seconds as they just gaped a Tozier. This was the guy with a new crush every week, so he couldn’t be serious.

“Trashmouth Tozier? With feelings for our pure little (Y/N), no fucking way man you’re joking.” Stan had said.

“Yeah R-Rich, you gu-guys are polar opposites.” Bill cut in. “It’ll g-go away eventually. L-like every other crush you-you-you’ve had.”

“Remember in 4th grade when Eddie had feelings for (Y/N) for like a month?” Stan said. “He had lied to (Y/N) and told her you almost killed him at the arcade, just so he could give her his back up aspirator.” Richie’s eyes narrowed slightly at Eddie, he had already known this information but hearing it now felt like a stab in the chest. He was the first person he told back in 6th grade about what seemed like a fatal crush.

“Hey!” Eddie yelled. “Way to fucking blow my spot man!”

“W-we’ve all t-thought that at some point.” Bill stated. “When we f-first met her in 2nd gr-gr-grade I swore I was going to m-marry her.” He shuddered at the thought of his 2nd grade self-proposing to (Y/N) on the swings. You had very kindly declined him, still boring that faint New York accent.

“Yeah, she’s like the only girl who talks to us, and she’s really pretty.” The guys nodded in agreement there was no shame in admitting you had a nice face. “I liked her in 5th grade for 3 months, even brought her Hydrangeas every day for a week.” Eddie and Bill laughed at the face Stan made, having feelings for you now only seemed disturbing. Though they had all, at some point, considered a relationship with you, you eventually crossed the line from potential love interest to sister like best friend. “I know you remember that Richie, you gave me pointers on how to get her to like me back.” Richie attempted a cocky smirk, though he felt disgust bubbling in his stomach. They had all gotten rid of there feelings for (Y/N) but Richie’s wasn’t fading. Not after 2 years and he feared not ever.

“You’re right, Richie Tozier doesn’t settle for just one bitch. He needs multiple chances to get it in.” Richie said causing the guys to groan. The truth was he just wanted to change the subject. Eddie was the only one who may have believed Richie. He had told him the same thing 2 years ago, why would he keep up this charade for 2 years? Was it possible that Tozier was in love?

So now, Richie found himself staring at you as you walked out of class to go to the bathroom. He wanted nothing more than to be able to forget these weird feelings.

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

You walked into the bathroom, having just needed fresh air. The school dance was in a couple of weeks and Kyle hadn’t asked you yet. You’d both been players in this weird love game for 2 years, and it was beginning to frustrate you. Did Kyle want a relationship with you, or did he want arms candy? Or maybe Richie was right, and Kyle just wanted to “get in your pants”. You sighed trying to calm your overactive thoughts. You had always been a jittery child but in recent years things seemed to be getting worse. The fake smiles were harder to keep up, and your time management was severely lacking.

“Are you in there by yourself Beaver-ly.” A voice rung out, causing your stomach to drop. Greta Bowie had certainly developed a colorful vocabulary in the last couple of years. “Or do you have half the guys in the school with you, huh slut?” You half expected to see Greta’s shoes beneath your own stall, so when you saw her a couple of stalls down to say you were relieved was an understatement. “I know you’re in there you little shit, I can smell you.” You winced for the person I few stalls down. “No wonder you don’t have any friends.”

“Which is it, Greta?” A voice responded with strength. You recognized it as Beverly Marsh, Williams crush since the 3rd grade. He even had some pictures he drew of her, you insisted he pursue art school, but he always denied you. “Am I a slut or a little shit? Make up your mind.”

“You’re trash.” Beverly didn’t respond. You peered out the crack in the stall door, watching as a girl in Greta’s posy struggled her way over to the garbage can.

“Shit.” You said under your breath. This was a do or die situation, so obviously you being you, you picked die. Richie always complained that you had a super-hero complex. You placed your bag on the floor dropping onto your hands and knees and praying that you would make it to Beverly before the garbage did. You made it to her stall and peered up at her, putting a finger to your mouth. She held a tray of food in her lap, and stared at you peculiarly. You waved at her to follow you. She shrugged, obviously willing to try anything, before dropping on her hands and knees in a similar fashion as to what you had done. She followed you back to the stall you’d come too. “Sit on my lap.” You mouthed. She raised her eyebrows a smile playing at her face. You slapped your hands down onto your lap playfully. She sat down with a shake of her head, and you guys listened carefully as you heard Greta struggle to lift the garbage can.

At least buy me dinner first. You heard Richie’s voice in your head and couldn't help but silently laugh. Beverly looked back at you when your shoulders started to shake with laughter. She put her finger on her mouth, taunting your previous action. You smiled widely at her. Suddenly the sound of garbage could be heard falling harshly onto the ground in the stall where Beverly had just come from.

“That Bitch!” You heard Greta scream. “Find her, kick all the stall doors open.” You and Bev shared a wild look as the sound of stall doors began to slam. Beverly seemed slightly entertained by this turn of events.

“Now we run.” You stated. Beverly jumped off your lap, taking your hand in hers before swinging the stall door open and running out.

“Get them!” Greta hissed loudly as she stomped her foot. You had always known Greta to have a temper issue and a smart-ass mouth but had never before seen her physically rough house someone. You guys didn’t stop running, the bookbag you had on slamming into the small of your back roughly.

“This is a great first impression!” You yelled to Beverly sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m known for those.” She responded, smiling even though you were both going to run out of breath soon. Greta, though wearing those same sparkly red flats (only now in a different size), was surprisingly fast.

“(Y/N)?” You hear Eddie yell from next to Rich’s locker. You didn’t have to look to know all the boys were looking at you strangely. They had probably come inside looking for you after the final bell had rung and you didn’t meet them at the bike rack.

“Not now! Busy running!” You yelled back as you passed them “Code brown!” Meet at Bill's house. You could hear the boys sputter in confusion, you weren’t one for trouble, at least not without them around. Stan was the first one to see Greta Bowie and her crew chasing after you and Beverly Marsh. He nudged Bill, who nudged Eddie, who then nudged Richie.

“Oh, fucking shit, what now?” Richie said with agitation. “How much do you guys wanna bet she was playing fucking super hero again.” The boys all shook their heads before following you. You’d made it to your bike in record time, and with a spare glance could see that you had maybe 30 seconds before Greta caught up.

“Get on, get on, get on.” You said hurriedly to Beverly.

“I have a bike.”

‘We don’t have I have a bike time!” Beverly made a noise of displeasure before jumping on behind you. You had never been on the receiving end of pedaling with another person. The boys often had you on the back of their bikes when you were too lazy to ride your own. Well after this experience you didn’t think you’d be doing that again. It was significantly harder to pedal with two people on a one-person bike. Despite that, you didn’t stop. Beverly kept her hands tightly gripped onto your shoulders. “You’re going to fall like that, you can put them around my waist. I’m not gonna bite.”

“You’re weird.” Beverly said before wrapping her arms around you. Her tone didn’t have any maliciousness behind it, she was just stating a fact.

“Exceptionally.” You responded. It was the first time someone had called you that, but you knew it wasn’t your fault. It was those boys and their terrible influence on your innocence. Hint, it was just Trashmouth.

“I like that.” She said smiling again. You didn’t know what it was about Beverly Marsh, but you liked her. You hadn’t known much about her besides that William had a long-standing crush on her that he couldn’t seem to shake, but after the short and terrible first impression you decided she was someone you wanted to keep around. For a while. You didn’t know much about other females, except your mom and Greta Bowie, but you figured that you and Bev would get along greatly.

After about 15 minutes of pedaling in the direction to Bill's house Greta had given up her chase. You knew it wasn't over, as it never was with Bowie. You slowed to a more paced pedal, and felt more comfortable, Beverly took her hands from around your waist, no longer afraid of falling.

“You can drop me off here.” She said suddenly. You quirked an eyebrow, knowing she was trying to run away from making more conversation.

“You know,” you begin “I’m on my way to hang out with my friends, and I’d think it’d be really cool if you could join us.” You smiled widely, your signature.

“I don’t know, I gotta get home before my dad.” She said, though it was more to herself then to you. “Maybe another time.” She said as you pulled your bike to a stop at the curb. She began to get off and walk away when you called out her name.

“Why don’t we go see the Breakfast Club, they’re doing a midnight re-showing at the dollar theatre.” She laughed loudly.

“Is it because I look like Molly Ringwald?” You shrug in response, still smiling at her. “Okay, fine. I’ll meet you there at 4 tomorrow.”

“Great! Bye Bevy!” She waved bye at you shaking her head slightly. The interaction was the weirdest, yet best one she had experienced in her 13 years of life. After watching her walk away, you left for Bill's house determined to make the boys help you get Stanley to study his torah.

-------

After the movie, you and Beverly Marsh were joined at the hip. The boys had come to accept that she was in fact, your best friend. Though she always persisted that she didn’t want to meet them yet, because she didn’t trust men it didn’t stop you from bragging about them. She argued that Richie liked you, and the thought made your heart jump, but you couldn’t place why. After all, you were Kyle Henderson's on again off again girlfriend. When she started smoking you were always there to reprimand her and try to hit the cigarette out her hand, but Bev was stronger and taller than you. Though you never gave up trying, you were also never successful. A few weeks before the dance, Beverly had finally opened to you about her father. She’d come to your house crying, falling into your arms with her hair cut short.

“It’s like he doesn’t know I’m his daughter, he sees me and sees some kind of s-sex object.” She cried as you pet her hair down. “He was always grabbing me by my hair and I - I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I cut it all off.” You nodded solemnly, finding yourself at a loss for words like when you had that talk with Mike. “I hate living there.”

“Hey,” you said gently still petting her head that was laying on your shoulder “why don’t you stay here for a while my parents won’t be back for two weeks. We can go to the dance together next week, I mean Kyle asked me to be his date finally but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you tagged along.” She looked at you now, wiping at her face.

“You sure?”

“Of course!”

“You won’t make me wear a frilly dress, right?” You laughed out loud at this, the thought had crossed your mind, but you knew Beverly would never go for it. She was a rock of stubbornness.

“Okay, no frilly dress.” You held up your pinky for her to take in her own. “I also have an idea for my hair, and I need your help.”

“What?” She asked you hesitantly. You looked down at your hair, smiling softly at the idea.

“We cut it.”

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

Richie Tozier had his head in his hands in frustration, the dance had come far quicker than he wanted it to. He’d never wanted anything more than for you to be happy, but he started wishing that happiness was with him. When you called him, exclaiming that Kyle had finally asked you to the dance he spoke as though it was the greatest thing to ever happen, but he was just hurt. He had told himself that if Kyle didn’t ask you 4 days before the dance that he would ask you himself. Of course, Kyle did end up asking you and Richie hated himself for not making a move faster.

“That’s great (Y/N), just tell the man to use a condom.” Richie had said over the phone.

“Beep Beep, Richie.”

You talked to him for hours, told him about how Bev was going too and how happy you were. You even persuaded him to go, calling him your favorite loser and saying that you needed to see him there. He eventually caved, he couldn’t ever say no to you. But now he was wishing he had. You were slow dancing with Kyle, his arms around your waist and your head on his shoulder and it was making Richie feel sick. He thought about the way his heart reacted when you’d first cut your hair, he felt like he was able to see your face more and boy did that put him into cardiac arrest. When you’d caught him staring he ruffled your hair and told you it didn’t look to bad.

“Tozier.” A soft feminine voice said from above him. He grunted in response wanting to be left alone. “Tozier.” The voice said again, kicking him slightly.

“What the fuck do you want?” He snapped looking up. Beverly sat down next to him with a smug expression on her face.

“So, you like (Y/N) huh.” She smirked devilishly.

“W-what?” Richie was blinking rapidly as his stomach sunk. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having, and especially not with your best friend.

“You took one look at her and turned into a bright red tomato.” She laughed. “Then, when you saw her with Kyle, you turned green. So, either you like her, or you’re secretly a chameleon.” Richie grunted, leaning back on his elbows.

“Why does it matter anyway?”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

“Because she doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Let me tell you something Tozier.” Beverly's expression was suddenly serious. “That girl doesn’t understand her own feelings.” Bev shook her head. “She talks about you more than the rest of the losers. Fuck, I know your favorite color and the exact number of freckles on your face.” She chuckled softly. “She’s afraid you know.”

“Of what?”

“Losing.” She stated simply “She feels inadequate, she doesn’t talk about it and she hid it really well, but if you look at her long enough you can see the cracks in the mask.” Richie didn’t respond, just watching you intently now. You seemed to be arguing with Kyle. “I think, she thinks that if she lets herself feel, she’ll fall apart.” Beverly frowned, she knew you well enough by now. Richie and Beverly suddenly quieted down, both just watching as you and Kyle seemed to bicker, but both also just lost in their own heads. Were you okay?

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

“What?” You said pulling back from Kyles shoulder. His hands stayed on your waist. “What did you fucking say?”

“I said your friend Eddie is a snack sized bitch.” Your eyes grew to the size of the moon as you ripped yourself from Kyle’s grasp.

“How fucking dare, you!” Your hands came down roughly at your sides which caused Kyle to chuckle.

“Calm down babe.” He reached out for you, but you slapped his hand away. “Oh please, like you haven’t noticed the way he ogles other men, how though he’s 13 now he still hasn’t grown?” Your heart began to beat faster, your hands clammy, as you stared at Kyle. “You’re telling me you’re oblivious to the fact that your friend is a faggot?” You gasped at his use of the crude term. “You’re just pretending not to notice.”

“Yeah, like I pretended to be oblivious to your shrimp dick.” You growled. Kyle laughed bitterly. This was not how you wanted the dance to go, it had started so sweetly. You loved the dress you were in, you loved the way your hair looked at this length, and you had swooned when Kyle gave you a corset. Though you did rip off a flower to stick into Bev’s hair. When you got to the dance, you even got Bill and Bev to dance together for a while. Richie, had for the most part stuck off to the side, but you assumed it was because this wasn’t his scene. Everything had been going perfectly. Now, well, now it was ruined.

“Yeah, bet your friend likes my shrimp dick up his -” You didn’t give Kyle a chance to finish, your knee came up and slammed into his groin. You hadn’t pulled that one since 6th grade with Henry Bowers. Kyle doubled over with a grunt, his hand clutched tightly around himself. You moved to the side snatching a cup of punch from some girl’s hand, she shouted a soft hey, but you were too angry to notice her. You poured the liquid over Kyle's head, leaning down near his ear.

“If you ever say a word, about Eddie Kaspbrak, or any of the losers for that matter. I will rip your fucking head of Henderson.” You dropped the cup on the floor, before storming away. A small crowd had gathered, and you pushed yourself through not stopping until the boys and Bev all surrounded you.

“(Y/N)!” Stan yelled.

“Did he h-hurt you?”

“If he did, I swear to god.” Richie began.

“No.” You protested shaking your head.

“Then what happened (Y/N)?” Eddie asked you.

“He insulted you, said some pretty fucked up stuff.” Eyebrows knitted together, the losers club were used to being the butt of others peoples jokes. Stan was Jewish, Bill had a stutter, Richie talked to much, and Eddie was too short. People saying mean things about them was normal, yet still you always seemed to jump into action. Even if it was the guy you have liked for 2 years. “I wasn’t just gonna let him talk about Eddie that way.” The boys all looked at you in shock as Beverly smirked at you. That’s my girl, she thought. It was then Richie had known that his crush, wasn’t just a crush. Hearing you say you caused a man not to be able to have kids, all in defense of Eddie. Well that put things in perspective for him. Richie Tozier was in love with you. “No one’s going to talk about any of you badly if I’m around for it.” You took a deep breathe scanning the boys before your eyes settled on Richie. The crowd had scattered at this point, tired by the unfulfilling drama. You grabbed Richie's hand now, missing how he flushed. “Dance with me?”

“Uh,” He stuttered, and you were again oblivious to the way Beverly nudged him in the side. “Hell yeah.” He said. You smiled and pulled him away from the rest of the guys. You guys danced for what felt like hours, hips moving, voices screaming to try to match the music. You even had a couple of awkward slow dances. “Hey,” Richie said in the middle of one of those awkward dances, “it was fucking awesome of you defend Eds like that.”

“Duh, you’re my boys. Anyone with a problem with one of you has a problem with me.” You smiled at him causing his breath to catch in his throat. As you slowly moved side to side to the music, Richie found himself lost in your eyes.

“You look really beautiful.” He said suddenly. You blinked repeatedly, your smile falling as your heart sputtered.

“Oh, uh,” you pushed a hair behind your ear blushing profusely. No one had ever called you that before. “Thank you Rich.” You looked at him. Richie’s eyebrows were furrowed, he seemed to be considering something. “Rich?” You called him, he looked like he was going to lean in. Maybe connect your lips with his. Your brain reeled, what was happening?

“Guys!” Stan suddenly called, and you and Richie practically jumped apart. “Let's go, Eddie’s mom wants him home at a certain time.”

“Coming!” You yelled back, now noticing how close you and Rich were. Feeling the way, he had both of his hands on your waist, noticing the way yours were on his shoulders. How close his face had been to yours? You looked back at him, chewing on your bottom lip before moving away. He stood there for a moment with confusion. He couldn’t believe he was going to try to kiss you, in the middle of a school dance. It would have been the worst place to get rejected. You stopped walking when you noticed Richie wasn’t behind you. You turned around flashing him your wide smile. “Hurry up Tozier.”

“Y-Yeah!” He announced following behind you.

9th Grade - 1987

9th grade was the year of discoveries. It was when you had decided to make a change in your identity, figure out who you were under the colorful oversized sweaters (that could fit a truck in them) and the patterned leggings. You’d swapped them out, put all your old clothes in a bin under your bed and convinced your mother to take you with her shopping. You’d picked out brave pieces, striped crop tops and solid skirts with the occasional legging that you couldn’t turn down. You stopped attempting to maintain your unruly hair and let it do as it pleased, after all it was the 80s. The losers had changed too however; Eddie now dressed like Duckie from Pretty in Pink excluding the fanny pack that he would never take off, Stan stopped tucking in his button-down shirts while sporting vests and opened blazers, William had adorned denim jackets with patches he’d collect from local stores and never took off his off-white reeboks, and Richie Tozier well no one really expected such a drastic change from their favorite Trashmouth. Richie had begun experimenting with leather jackets and band t-shirts with his black Chuck Taylors, his curly hair now simply untamed. The only thing that remained the same was his glasses, and that’s because he spent so much money on clothes that he couldn’t afford contacts. Beverly, much like Richie adorned darker colors though she had never been a fan of bright things. Michael had changed as well, now sporting large printed sweaters and dark jeans. The Losers were still The Losers but they had a much better taste in fashion then in Middle School.

You attributed all these changes to why this had happened to you.

The navy skirt and long-sleeved crop top were a curse. My insistence to grow up and show flesh was my own demise. That’s what you whispered in your head as you teetered on your feet down the driveway to the Synagogue where you knew Stan would be. Your jellies were cracked on the side, and your hair had branches sticking out of it, your mind whirling as you stumbled over yourself.

Skirts are for girls who want it.

Crop tops are for girls who want me.

The words echoed in your head like a curse as you pushed open the doors to the Synagogue, still staring blindly ahead of you.

“Do you want me (Y/N)?” Henry asked as he walked closer to you. This had been the back and forth for the last 10 minutes, Henry following you and insisting you be with him. Commenting on your figure and appearance, making you feel gross. You scratched at your skin as if you could escape it.

“No.” You growled out attempting to shove him as he now stood in front of you, he grabbed your wrist at your feeble attempt.

“Yes.” He responded, his eyes gleaming with sin.

“I said no you fucking asshole.” You yanked back, trying to free yourself from the terrible primal look in Henry's eyes.

“That’s not what I heard.” He nodded shortly looking behind him for less than a second before two other sets of hands were on you and pushing you down to the floor of the woods. You struggled in their grasps.

“Let go of me!” You had kicked and screamed and yelled. The boys were much stronger than you. “I said get off of me you fucking pigs, this isn’t funny!”

“Who said this was a game.” Your eyes grew large with fear as you watched Henry unbutton his pants, you reached up and scratched one of your assailants in the face. They flinched back, and you moved to run for it. “Don’t let her go you fucking idiot, hold her down!” Henry yelled at whoever was behind you. Hands came into your hair and yanked you down again. You screeched at the pain as the grips tightened.

“Henry,” someone behind you spoke out, you assumed it was Victor, “you said we were just gonna scare her. This is kind of far man.”

“Did I fucking ask you?” Henry shouted, Victor shook his head and moved to remove his hand from your shoulder. “Move, and I’ll fucking kill you Criss.” Victor froze before putting his hands back onto your shaking figure.

“Let go of me!” You had always hated those damsel in distress kind of girls but now you felt as though you’d pay a heavy price for someone to come and save you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered as Henry made his approach. “I don’t want to die.” Victor repeated.

“Shut it Criss, I want a turn after Henry and if you keep talking neither of us will get one.” Patrick said as his hand slithered around your throat to prevent you from thrashing. He stuck his thumb in your mouth and you gagged causing him to chuckle. You continued to thrash but the realization that no one was coming settled heavy on your chest.

“This is so fucked up, I’m so sorry.” Victor said again and that was the last thing you heard as your screaming voice drowned out all the sounds around you.

Stanley had seen you before you had seen him, he was reading his Torah as his dad sat upstairs in his office. Your clothes were tattered, the new patterned shirt you worse close to falling off you, the skirt you had on was clearly backwards and the jellies, that he had early told you were adorable, were barely on your feet. He squinted to try and get a better view of you, and that’s when he noticed the bruises running up and down your skin. His eyebrows spiked up when you hit the ground without complaint. You stared down at your hands, caked with dirt and blood as you were sure the rest of you was. He quickly rushed over to you kneeling as he softly placed his hands on your shoulders. Something was terribly wrong.

“Y/N?” He asked shaking you gently, you didn’t respond your mouth opened in a silent scream. You were sure you tore something in your throat, maybe you’d become a mute.“Y/N what is it?” His heart raced spiked as he saw tears gather in your eyes as you looked up at him. “What’s going on?”

“Will I still go to Hell if it wasn’t my choice?” Stanley didn’t understand at first, his eyes still wide scanning your broken (Y/E/C) ones. “Will God forgive me Stanley?” You asked again, your voice so small and destroyed. It was then Stanley understood, his breath caught in his throat, his mouth run dry. You were asking him if you would be forgiven for having sex before marriage.

“(Y/N).” He whispered like a silent plea. He didn’t want this to happen, especially not to you. Your eyes overflowed with the tears and you took in a shaking breath. You couldn’t take it anymore and just sobbed. Letting the emotions rack your body, the filth you suddenly felt like you were. Stan pulled you into him rubbing your back as you sobbed loudly in the nearly empty church.

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

“He did what!” Richie yelled pacing as Stan retold them what you had told him. “I’ll kill him, I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Not just him.” Stan whispered glancing back at you, he’d carried you all the way to Bills after contacting the losers seeing that every time you tried to walk you collapsed in on yourself. His back was incredibly sore, but he didn’t mind. You were sitting in the corner of Bill's bed with a large blanket wrapped over your figure. Eddie was sitting next to you as he rummaged through his fanny pack for something. “Hockstetter too.” Stan turned back around to face Billy and Richie. “They,” he paused swallowing looking back at you one more time before taking a deep breath. “They took turns.” Stan whispered so as not to scar you. It had been hard enough getting you to tell him, he didn’t want you to have to hear it from him. Richie inhaled deeply, as something dark churned behind his eyes. Stan had always heard Richie threaten to kill someone and never took it seriously, but now he wasn’t so sure. Eddie visibly stiffened, though he had finally found what he was looking for.

“Open.” He said gently, and you complied, there was no fight left in you. “These are just,” he paused he’d given you plan b’s his mom made him carry around, “for the pain.” He settled on since he didn’t wanna make you more upset. Eddie wrapped an arm around you and softly began to pick branches out of your hair, he normally would have been grossed out, but you seemed to be in so much pain. So, he pushed the thought of germs to the back of his head. He was going to keep searching for more pills he carried, maybe make you take everything he had in his fanny pack.

“He’s dead.” Richie finally settled on. “They’re both dead.” His voice was dark and without humor. He picked up a baseball bat and began tapping on it threateningly. “I know where he lives.”

“Ca-ca-call the c-cops.” Bill said suddenly. “W-we have t-t-to call the f-fucking c-cops.” Though he had been practicing for years, and slowly getting better, at times when Bill felt out of control he stuttered more than usual. You were his family, one of the losers. And when one of you hurt all of you hurt. He looked at you as his mind raced to catch up with his tongue, you seemed so torn apart.

“His dad is the cops.” Stan said with remorse.

“Forget the cops, we have to get her to a hospital.” Eddie was now giving you more pills, ones for pain, and some for illnesses you might contract. He didn’t think he could live with himself if you ended up catching an STD from Patrick or Henry. Lord knows where they had been.

“Hospital? Hospital, fuck out of here. We have to shove his balls so far inside him he’ll be tasting cum for weeks.” Richie was now thumping the bat on the ground roughly. He had never felt so angry in his life, his 14-year-old body brimming with emotion.

“I’m ca-calling t-the c-co-cops.” Bill said making a move to leave for the phone.

“Fine, and I’m gonna go shove this bat up Henry Bowers ass.” Richie said soon, as he began to gather his stuff.

“Stanley,” Eddie spoke, “Help me get her to the hospital.”

That was it, that was all it took, and you were sobbing again. Your hands in your hair pulling at it weakly as you head collapsed onto your knees. These boys cared for you so much, and you knew they only wanted what was best for you, but you couldn’t handle it. All the dotting, and the threats, and you especially didn’t want the cops involved. Cops meant parents and parents were a terrible idea. They would be so infuriated that you tarnished their high-standing posh reputations. Suits and balls were more valuable than their daughter’s dignity. The adults in Derry all had a way of ignoring serious problems.

“(Y/N).” Richie said as he slowly began to make his way over to you after putting the bat down.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” The boys all winced, you were apologizing to them for what happened to you. How fucked up. Richie was the first one to wrap his arms around you, thinking maybe he could meld you back together, you leaned into him sobbing some more wishing you could crawl out of your skin. Slowly all the boys followed. You sobbed even harder, and they all felt their eyes sting. They’d never seen you cry before, except for maybe once in 5th grade when you scraped your knee. They all silently vowed, that they would never let this happen to you again. Nothing bad would ever happen to you if they had a say in it.

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

From then on each of the boys protect you. When Henry Bowers would show his face, they’d create a small barrier between you and him, taking serious punches for it. Richie even got suspended a couple of times for starting with Bowers for staring at you.

“Don’t fucking look at her.” Richie spat as you both walked in the hallways. Henry ignored the Trashmouth and winked at you. You skinned seemed to turn green as you recoiled, and Richie only grew angrier. He knew that Henry was just antagonizing him, but he couldn’t stop himself from running his mouth. Especially since you had shown fear. “Did you fucking hear me you mullet wearing piece of shit.”

“What? Was your girlfriend telling you about all the pleasure I gave her?” Your grabbed onto Richie's hand as though it was life support. “The way I made her scream.” Your eyes watered at the memory of the hands over your mouth. “How much she squirmed under me.”

“Richie.” You whispered, a desperate plea to run away from Henry Bowers. Richie looked down at you and when he saw the expression on your face that was the last straw for him and he took a swing at Henry. He was only 14, and was still considerably shorter than the 17-year-old Bowers. But in his heated moment of anger Richie was able to hold his own well. After about 10 minutes of fighting and a growing crowd, a teacher finally came to separate the two boys. You saw Richie lean closer to Henry mumbling something before spitting at him. Henry was enraged and tried to make his way back to Richie, but he couldn’t, not with the tight grip around his middle.

“What did you say to him?” You asked Richie once the teacher had let him go. Richie took hold of your hand before turning to you and shrugging with a mischievous smirk on his face. He was sporting a black eye, and his hair was tousled terribly but he still managed that signature smirk.

“Nothing, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” He said. Though he thought back on it “Don’t you ever come near my girl again, or I’ll beat your ass worse than your dad already does.” What a badass thing to say.

Richie wasn’t the only one to defend you, even Eddie would step in front of you and get beaten up to the point where his asthma pump was needed. They were all severely disheartened by the change that had overcome you after the incident with Henry. You stopped smiling, didn’t talk as much and always made sure to cover your body no matter the weather. Your usual light was dimmed to the point where they were scared it would be gone forever. They each tried in their own ways to bring you out of it. Bill would draw for you, Eddie would read to you, and Stan would make you come bird watching with him more than usual. Richie almost never left your side and spent a lot of his time researching how to care for Rape Victims. Though they soon realized that this was something you had to come out of on your own. It was a personal battle and they couldn’t pressure you. Throughout all this Beverly was oblivious to whatever was going on, she had asked Richie multiple times why you seemed so different, but he only ever told her to ask you.

“It’s not my place to tell you Beverly, I’m sorry.”

Your relationship with her wasn’t negatively impacted, she was just worried. She’d stayed at your house for a month to try and put some pieces together but the only conclusion she’d come up with was that it was Henry Bowers related and that didn’t help her much. You’d found yourself at Richie’s house whenever Beverly couldn’t sleep over. You were afraid of your dreams and didn’t want to deal alone. So, Rich would tell you stories until he heard you snoring. You’d wake up and he’d have fallen asleep in a chair with his glasses on and his mouth hanging open. Though he couldn’t see it the sight always made you smile. You’d seen the books about rape victims Richie kept around and even though you never brought it up you appreciated it. He was trying to understand what you had gone through and help you build. You eventually begun to heal, though some things wouldn’t change. You burned all your short and showing clothing, now feeling that you were over exposed, and went instead to balloon pants and long sleeve shirts. The jellies, however, stayed.

“I see you're alone baby doll, your boyfriends not here to protect you?” Henry had you cornered against your locker. You tugged down on your sleeves trying to cover your fingers. “Should we have a round 2?” His hand came up to graze your cheek and you slapped it away. “Remember what happens when you fight.” He growled. “I get what I want anyway, and today I feel like sharing again.” Suddenly Henry was pushed away from you and knocked on the ground, you looked to your savior to see Bill standing over Henry. Your mind couldn’t help but ask where he was the day you needed him. Bill grabbed your hand as if to run but you ripped it away, making your way over to the stunned Henry.

“Don’t”, you pushed your foot down onto Henry's groin, “you ever,” you added pressure with each syllable, “touch me without my consent again.” You stomped on him twice. “I don’t need a savior, because I sure as hell will cut your dick off myself.” You smashed his groin under your foot, before grabbing Bill and leading him away. Bill noted that you had a thing for hitting guys where it hurt and told himself that he would never anger you again

“That’s not the last time you’ll hear from me baby doll!” Henry yelled behind you.

As soon as you exited the building you’d begun to cry again, your face shoved into the front of Bill's shirt as he rubbed you lightly on the back. The adrenaline fading, but this time the crying ended with a small smile. Maybe you’d be okay.

Maybe not. You may have won a battle but inside you were losing a war.

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

Taglist!!!!

@fightmebub @apartofthelosersclub

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spideyyverse · 7 years ago

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Soulmate {StenBrough}

Quick Side Notes: I AM SO SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK THREE WEEKS TO WRITE I REALLY TRIED MY BEST TO WRITE BUT I DIDN’T HAVE TIME I REALLY HOPE THIS MAKES IT UP TO YOU

Also I have other concepts for a soulmate au! Let me know what you guys’ think? :)

Requested: @thesniffler

Ships: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly,

Warnings: Swearing, my awful writing

Requests: OPEN

It happens at the most inconvenient, but oddly, the most convent times. It doesn’t matter if you just met your soulmate or have known them since you were in diapers, when the time is perfect, your skin is engraved with two symbols; One to represent you, the other to represent your soulmate.

“Happy birthday big Bill!” A rather obnoxious but familiar voice boomed through my room causing me to wake up. Not too long after the loud voice screamed in my ear, I was bombarded with silly string, air horns, and a weight sat on top of me.

“Beep fucking beep Richard” I muttered trying to close my eyes to continue sleeping.

“I think the fuck not Billiam, get your ass up kind fellow! I do believe lady Marsh has gathered our fellow mates for a lovely all day celebration!” Richie threw on his oh-so famous British accent and dragged me out of the comfort of my own bed and onto the floor.

I sighed as Richie ran off to the kitchen to where my younger brother Georgie was most likely at. Having the trashmouth live with me was both a blessing and a curse.

Blessing, because it meant he was free from the disgrace he used to call parents; curse, because it meant I had deal with that every day. I can’t complain, he’s my best friend, I would take a bullet for the fucker if it meant I got to keep him around.

Forty five minutes later, the lanky curly haired boy was shoving me out the door and down the street to the usual meet up spot - a café on the corner of 3rd and main street. As he eagerly dragged me down to the café, I saw his tattoo peaking out of the corner of his sleeve, a flower and a guitar. The flower representing Eddie Kaspbrak himself. The guitar representing the trashmouth.

It was funny actually when we all discovered that the flower represented the hypochondriac, all the losers - including myself - all knew that Eddie and Richie were meant to be since the day they met. I had an ongoing bet with Mike that Eddie’s symbol would be an inhaler, his money was on something aesthetically pleasing the day Eddie switched his fanny packs for flower crowns. So, the day Eddie Kaspbrak turned up to the quarry with two tattoos, Richie Tozier almost threw himself into the water after finding out he had matching soulmate tattoos with the boy he’s been in love with since the second grade. Sad to say, the rest of the losers club were either robbed of twenty dollars or gained twenty dollars. Who knew that the others had secret gambling deals. Stan being the mastermind that he is, managed to make a deal with my younger brother

Needless to say, I was forty dollars broke and Mike Hanlon and Stanley Uris were both twenty dollars richer. (Georgie almost didn’t see the light of day after he asked me for twenty dollars).

The guitar represented Richie in more ways than a few. For the loud mouth that he is, he actually can sing. The boy is extremely talented, it was only a few months ago that we discovered that he’s been playing the guitar and singing since he was six. As someone who has known the kid since I was four years old, I always distinctively knew that music was his escape from reality. He and I know each other probably better than anyone else in the group. Despite starting the losers club as the “core four” and somehow along the way Ben, Beverly, and Mike managed to wedge their way in, Richie and I always managed to have a special bond.

“Land ho! I do believe I see our good friends awaiting our arrival good sir!” Richie stopped in front of the cafe’s big window and pointed to our friends sitting at our usual table. Bev noticed us right away and waved excitedly. I smiled back and entered the café.

“Happy birthday Bill!” All the losers simultaneously cheered. The other usuals at the café continued the happy birthdays and the waiters and waitresses brought out an ice cream cake singing their own version of the birthday song. I was smiling so much I was beginning to feel my cheeks hurt. I said my thank yous and blew out the one and eight neatly placed in the center of the cake.

“I can't believe our leader is officially eighteen! I remember when we threw him into the quarry for his fourteenth birthday!” Ben fake cried.

“He’s eighteen not eighty one dumbass” Stan rolled eyes but still let the smile spread across his face.

“Welcome to the eighteen club” Mike patted my back. He had just turn eighteen a few months prior along with Stan and Richie.

“Haystack has a point actually” Richie chimed in, “I mean, that’s shit is crazier than the times I’ve fucked Eddie’s mom-”

“Beep beep Richie” We all groaned, he gave us a sheepish smile but continued, “I mean we’re all going to college soon, as in next week soon, thank God we’re all near each other though, honestly full offense but I’d be in jail if you guys weren’t my friends.” Richie shook his head while Eddie took his hand and placed it into his. “We know love.” Eddie sighed causing Richie to blush at the nickname.

Of course he wouldn’t admit to it though.

“Look on the Brightside Tozier. half of us will be at USC while the other half” Mike jokingly narrowed his eyes at Eddie, Stan, and Ben, “At UCLA. I don’t care how long we’ve been friends, I can’t believe I’m going to be friends with the enemy.” He shuddered causing everyone to laugh.

“Who knows Hanlon, maybe your soulmate goes to UCLA. Maybe your egotistical ass will shut the fuck up.” Stan rose an eyebrow and smirked. I scoffed and smiled at Stan.

Something about Stan always left a funny feeling in my tummy. Sure, at one point I thought Bev was my soulmate. It really was just a silly middle school crush. Besides, the small ball and needle tattoo placed on her shoulder that represented her love for fashion and Ben’s small open book tattoo perfectly placed on his ribcage that represented his love for poetry were oddly perfect for each other.

Nonetheless, it was something about the way his hair was perfectly but messily curly, or the way he always had to grab my hand and pull my hand towards a bird he saw. Whether he means it in a friendly way or more than friendly way, it always left a special feeling in my heart whenever he touched my hand. Every time our fingers do the slightest brush against each other, I always check my body, impatiently waiting for the tattoo appear. Hell, even Georgie has a tattoo. a small paper boat aligning itself with a paper airplane on the side of his right hand where his thumb is at- He’s eleven for fucks sake. Nothing ever shows up.

“I think it’s time to open presents!” Bev cheered taking me out of my thoughts.

“Me first!” Richie screeched pushing Ben out of the way.

“Richie say s-sorry to Ben!” I laughed trying to maintain a motherly tone. It something I did whenever the group referred to me as the ‘leader’ of the losers club- they did refer to me as the leader not too long ago after all. My stutter on the other hand has gotten significantly better throughout the years despite my troubles with a couple of words.

“Sorry Ben-” Richie began

“It’s okay Rich”

“For kissing your mo-”

“Richie!” Bev and Eddie shouted.

“You're right. Eds is the only person who gets to taste these delicious lips!” The now contact wearing boy made kissy lips to the slightly shorter boy.

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey!”

“Guys! I wanna see what Bill got!” Stan shouted over the two arguing boys. Stan gave me a soft smile making tummy feel fuzzy and my heart pound just a little faster. I felt a weird feeling in my arm but ignored it as I opened Richie’s gift.

A small photobook. Polaroids from when we were four till now.

“Don’t read the card yet yeah? I want that to be personal.” He shrugged and smiled. I returned the smile, both of us clearly holding back tears. I hugged him for a little longer than usual but I couldn’t help but feel eyes burning in the back of my head. More specifically, eyes coming from Stan’s direction. I pulled back from Richie and looked at Stan who immediately changed his face from jealously to happy.

He couldn’t be jealous, could he?

Slowly one by one I opened each of the losers presents. Bev got me art supplies, Mike got me a new baseball hat and mitt, Ben got me a journal of prompts and a sketchbook, and Eddie got me tickets--well technically all of us tickets but he claimed I can choose whoever I wanted to take as if I knew another six people in California-- to go to my first Dodger game. It didn’t take me long to figure out that only one person didn’t gift me anything. I didn’t expect presents but it was odd to not receive anything from all the losers.

We all looked at Stan who had a shy smile on his face, “Um, I figured it would be best to give you your present at a specific place.” Placing emphasis on the specific.

“Woah Stan the man! Making moves on Big Bill? You gotta talk to me first!” Richie began putting on some sort of deep accent.

“Not like that.” He muttered twiddling at his fingers.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, “Let’s go then!” He returned the smile and motioned for everybody to follow him. We all followed him down a familiar path, a path we all know too well. It was the trail to the quarry.

“Stan?” I questioned but abruptly stopped in my tracks when I saw the quarry decorated with lights, a campfire, a small table filled with junk food, but my attention was caught on my famous bike, Silver.

“Silver! How’d you find it? I thought it was for sure gone after-”

“After Bowers threw it into the barrens and we couldn’t find it because of the rain and sewers. Yeah, I know. I managed to find it in some junkyard. I got it before some dude in a shit stained hat got it.” He shrugged but was clearly trying to hide his unnecessary embarrassment. He continued, “I figured that you’re gonna need to get to your classes somehow and you guys are only gonna have one car for a while. So I just-”

“Thank you.” I could have kissed him, risked everything and kissed him. Instead, I hugged him. The feeling once again coming back. Another weird sensation in my arm but ignored it when a voice shouted behind us, “Happy Birthday Billy!-Oh am I late?” Georgie blew a party popper but stopped when he saw all the losers. We all laughed and for one final time before Mike, Richie, Bev, and I set out for California before the other losers tomorrow, we all jumped into the quarry. We played chicken fights, marco polo, becoming the kids we once were. Stan and I always partnered up. Making eye contact and smiling at each other.

The night was slowly coming to an end, each loser slowly leaving one by one. Giving one final goodbye and some tears. Georgie crying each time a loser said goodbye, it was honestly heartbreaking. The tears clearly wore him out when he slowly fell asleep with his head on my lap, “I’ll take him home? We’ll meet you back there.” Richie softly suggested. I nodded as he scooped Georgie in his arms and walked away with Eddie.

This only left me and Stan.

We stood in comfortable silence. It wasn’t broken until an owl was heard somewhere, I peaked over at Stan who was excitedly trying to find the bird and grabbing my hand. I laughed and helped him find the bird. We didn’t give up until we reached another familiar spot, the old losers clubhouse.

“We haven’t been here since-”

“Since we were fourteen.” Stan laughed softly.

“Wanna go inside?” I suggested.

Stan was already making his way in but being careful with the old wood. He shooed away any bugs he saw as I turned on the flashlight on my phone. Looking around, I found an old vinyl we used to use back when we were younger, “Think it still works?” I turned over to Stan after I dusted it off.

“Isn’t it battery operated? I think there’s some batteries back in Georgie’s walkie talkie at the quarry?”

“Let’s go!”

“With what vinyl? Dumbass.” Stan raised an eyebrow and laughed.

I looked around and conveniently enough, The Smiths 1981 record, Louder Than Bombs, was perched on an old shelf. I grabbed it along with the vinyl player and Stan’s hand, making my way back to the quarry. The way our fingers laced together, intertwining perfectly like a puzzle, it just seemed right. After what felt like a lifetime, we managed to make it back to our destination and fix the vinyl. I got it to work on the first try instantly placing the stick onto the vinyl.

Good times for a change / See, the luck I’ve had

“Mr. Stanley Uris, I do believe I should have this dance” I tried my best to impersonate a British accent, restarting the song because the song was too short. I wanted to hold him for as long as I can. Stan only smiled and pulled me under the fairy lights he set up.

So please please please / let me, let me, let me / let me get what I want

“Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“I-”

We were interrupted by the owl we heard only a while ago. I noticed Stan grin become wide when he motioned over behind me. I whipped around, the owl perched on a branch. I only shook my head and stared at Stan.

“Can I see your arm?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” He laughed.

Haven’t had a dream in a long time / See, the life I had / Can make a good man bad

I picked up his arm without questioned and rolled up the sleeve. an owl tattoo placed on the side of where his fore arm was slightly under where the elbow area was. It was neatly placed next to tattoo of ink and quill. I picked up my sleeve and held out my arm towards him.

The same owl and the same ink and quill placed on the exact same spot on my arm.

So for once in my life / Let me get what I want / Lord knows, it would be the first time

He only pulled my hand back towards the spot where we were dancing. Our foreheads touched each other. Hands wrapped around each others waist. The owl still hoo’d, the vinyl record occasionally scratched due to its old age, but a pair of soft lips met mine. I felt myself kissing back.

“You leave for California tomorrow.” He whispered.

“You leave on Tuesday.”

“But we’re both road tripping. You get there Tuesday, I get there Thursday.”

“See you Thursday?”

“See you Thursday.”

We held onto each other just a little closer.

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daphstans · 7 years ago

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Reddie’s realization

This is a prompt I saw on http://otp-imagines-cult.tumblr.com/post/133309701572/30daychallenge1 and it looks fucking cute so let’s do it??? Btw I start at day 2 because… Well-

Let’s fucking do it.

It was a chill day when the losers decided to hang at the Barrens. As usual, Richie wouldn’t shut the fuck up with his mom jokes especially since Eddie just told him to stop doing whatever he was doing.

“Stop? You sure? Well let me tell you Eds, that totally wasn’t what your mom was saying last night-”

“Just shut the fuck up Richie. Jesus.” Eddie groaned and smacked Richie’s hands off his face.

To put it simply, Richie was currently pinching Eddie’s cheeks to the point where it turned slightly red, and Eddie was not having it. The others just sat there watching them casually as if this happens everyday.

Well, it does happen everyday.

Richie threw a shit-eating grin and flung his hand towards Eddie’s cheeks again. He quickly failed as a certain fannypack flew and slammed his face. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at that. The others did too, as they shake their head on the view of their two friends.

“Eds that wasn’t funny. It hurts like shit.” Richie wheezed as he held his face, though his lips curved a little, forming a small smile.

Eddie was still laughing, but stopped and pulled a straight face. “Don’t call me that, dipshit. My cheeks hurt too you little ass.” He said, taking his fannypack back from the ground and started dusting it off. When Richie pulled his hand away from his forehead, a huge red mark was left there and Eddie started laughing again.

“You little shit! What happened to my face? I need a fucking mirror, Bev you’re a girl give me your fucking mirror.” Richie panicked, well, not really, but he did anyways just for show.

“Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I have to have a mirror you asshole.” Beverly said as she continued cackling, once in awhile smacking Ben’s back from laughing too much.

“Bill? You must have a mirror, right? Your little perfect hair must need some fixing after some time.” Richie said, ruffling Bill’s hair slightly.

“Shut up, r-richie. Though my hair being perfect is not quite a q-question.” Bill said, fixing his hair right after.

Eddie pulled Richie back, taking his glasses off his face. “Look through your glasses, you dumbass. Not that hard.”

Richie scoffed but looked anyway, and ended up laughing himself. “Daamnn I look like Richie Tozier with a kiss mark on my forehead. I look like Luckie Tozier!” Richie said, now laughing alone.

“A kiss mark? Ha, better wish harder next time, trashmouth. A kiss from a fannypack- well- sounds understandable for you.” Eddie rambled, putting Richie’s glasses back on his face. His fingers grazed Richie’s cheeks and it made him shiver a little, and he doesn’t know why.

“You’re saying I wouldn’t be able to get a kiss? Is that what you’re telling me right now, Eddie spaghetti?” Richie frowned, the little nickname made Eddie frown as well. “A true, true men like me, thou say, shall not receive a good'ol kiss, thou say?” He said with a weird accent, though to be real he just sounds like himself.

“Yes Richie, that’s what I’m saying.” Eddie monotoned.

Richie took a step forward, keeping eye contact with Eddie. “You sure, Eds?”

“I’m sure, trashmouth.” Eddie stepped forward.

“damn, it’s getting interesting.” Mike whispered from behind them.

“you’re right.” Stan agreed, slowly nodding as he just continued watching.

“Well, I’m gonna bet my comic s-” Richie tripped before he could even properly end his sentence, as some miracle made his lips crash onto the shorter boy’s. Everyone’s eyes went wide, including the two of them. Stan had his mouth hanging open.

Out of instinct, when Richie fell, Eddie let out his arms to catch his friend.

So now, stood both of them in the middle of the crowd, kissing in an awfully awkward position.

Richie couldn’t help but think about how soft Eddie’s lips felt-

He jumped back and stabilyzed himself back on his foot, face turning beet red.

Eddie’s face is slowly turning red too, but he was just standing there with no movement at all. It all happened too fast.

After Richie processed everything that just happened, he started thinking fast: wh-what-w-um- uhh-what-um- WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?! Use that fucking dumbass fuck mouth of yours, Richie. The mouth that everyone keeps telling to shut up should really start sPEAKING up. Don’t make it awkward, don’t make it awkward-

“aha! See? I-i could get a kiss, you dipshit. What did I say, am I ri-ight?” He said rushedly. His voice cracked a little, and after hearing no reaction at all he knew he fucked it up. He even had to admit that it was worse than the mom joke he made yesterday, which not a single person laughed to. And he thought that would be the most embarrassed he’d feel for awhile.

Richie looked up, noticing how Eddie’s face is probably even redder than his. Cute. Wait, no. Nonono. He’s my friend, i- his face is so red, it’s cute. Nonononono. Richie what the fuck are you doing? And his lips felt-

“Look, Eddie, I’m-”

“Your lips was so smooth,” Eddie whispered, his eyes still a bit wide and his face still a whole lot of red. Again, it all went s.i.l.e.n.t.

“what?”

“…”

“HOLY SHIT DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD? DID I FUCKING SAY THAT OUT LOUD? SHIT I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW I’M NOT OKAY-” Eddie reached for his inhaler, took a deep breath and started fanning himself. “LOOK RICHIE, THAT WAS MEANT TO BE FOR MYSELF AND MYSELF ONLY. JESUS CHRIST.”

“wow.” Richie was left speechless. He was now staring at his friend, feeling something turning and twisting in his stomach. Is this even normal? What the fuck is going on? “You look super cute right now Eds.” He choked out, still staring at the boy.

“don’t call me Eds- wait that’s not….really that important right now.” Eddie managed, still inhaling from his handy inhaler.

“you’re so cute.” He whispered another one, this time without even thinking properly.

Richie snapped back to reality after hearing Beverly’s giggles which quickly turned to a hysterical laugh. She fell backwards, causing the others to start laughing too.

Well, except for 3 people.

Eddie and Richie was standing there in the middle, still staring at each other, both pair of cheeks flushed red.

And then there’s Stan, mouth still hanging open because he could not believe this finally happened.

———————xx

This is my first post and… It sucks. I’m planning to do the other prompts as well because it’s interesting, but is anyone even reading this lmao. Anyway, if there is someone reading this, please tell me if you’re interested???

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #IT #stephen king #fanfiction #finn wolfhard #jack grazer #beverly marsh #bill skarsgard #stanley uris

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prettyblossoms · 7 years ago

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Lost in Limbo (A Reddie Fic)

(Make sure to also read the prologue :D)

Chapter 1: In a Land of Confusion

Eddie awoke to the screeching sound of his alarm. While it was only a small piece of technology, it sure was loud. The noise managed to echo off his white walls and penetrate his fucking cerebellum. He reached over to try to turn it off, but it only continued to spiel profanities at him, taunting him. Reaching his boiling point, he immediately clasped onto the alarm and smacked it so hard on his nightstand that the batteries flew out. 'That's for making me almost go deaf,' He inwardly thought to himself. He jumped out of his bed and quickly made his way to his restroom.

Upon looking at himself in the mirror, he was utterly taken aback. His hair was unruly. From hours of tossing and turning. He knew. The next thing he noticed was his eyes. Typically, they were vibrantly brown, and Bambi like. However, at this moment all he could see was that they were bloodshot and glassed over. From getting no sleep. Eddie knew.

He also noticed that he was paler than usual. Sickly pale. So much so that the freckles that danced around his nose were very noticeable. In the past, this wouldn’t have been an issue, but he is on the track team now. Initially, when he joined he did everything to prevent sun damage to his fragile skin by lathering extreme amounts of sunscreen on at a time, the sun still managed to curse Eddie with a decent tan. He knows that his skin should be darker than what it was now.

Knowing that he was on a strict schedule, he began to focus on his purpose for entering the restroom. He grabbed his mouthwash, toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss out of the medicine cabinet. He started his ritual with the mouthwash to eliminate the germs he had accumulated in his mouth when he was sleeping. The floss followed to ensure that anything stuck in his teeth from the previous meal did not end up living in his toothbrush. He then proceeded to brush his teeth, paying careful attention to each one. Finally, he used the mouthwash a final time to guarantee that it was in fact, clean. He smiled into the mirror and noted that his teeth were immaculate.

Moving onto his next task, he grabbed his brush and began to tame his hair that had been sprawled out in every direction. After a couple of strokes, he deemed his hair acceptable and quietly exited the bathroom.

Once he reached his bedroom, he grabbed the outfit he already had picked out for the day. He slipped on his favorite yellow shirt that Beverly had given him this year on his birthday. Next, he pulled his red track shorts over his boxers. The length was just long enough to cover his boxers, but short enough for Eddie to remain comfortable. He pulled a black hoodie on over his shirt that was a little too big for him, meaning that it probably belonged to one of his friends. His bet was on Stan, seeing as Stan had spent the night last Friday. Not only that, but the sweater was also very clean. A little too fresh for Bill. Entirely too clean for Richie.

He grabbed his backpack and exited his room, quietly making his way down the stairs. Eddie reached the door and was about to sigh in relief at the thought of avoiding his mother, but someone had other plans.

“Eddie-bear, dear! Come here, please?” His mother called. Eddie grimaced. He didn’t want to deal with her right now but walked into the living room anyways.

“Young man, you know you are supposed to let me know when you are getting ready in the morning. You know how delicate you are. You could have hurt yourself, and I would have never known! ” She said with fear and worry in her voice.

Eddie was extremely annoyed and spoke without thinking, “Just how could I have hurt myself Ma?” She gave him a look disappointment mixed with anger. ‘Well, fuck it,’ Eddie thought, ‘Might as well continue while I am already ahead.’

“Let me guess; I could have poked one of my eyes out brushing my hair? Or is it that I may have fallen off my bed and broken my leg? Mind you the bed is only a couple inches off the fucking ground.” He added, “Wait, I get it. I have the brittle bone disease now too, huh Ma?”

Ms. Kaspbrak was shocked. Her own brown eyes pierced through Eddie’s. Her face was red with anger and sweat dripped off her forehead. She attempted to grab Eddie while sitting in her chair, but he backed up to avoid her.

“How dare you, young man! You would never talk to me before you started hanging out with those dirty kids in the neighborhood. Especially that Tozier boy.” She spat with disgust, “They are a bad influence on you! I think from now on you should stay away from them. I know what is best for you. All you need is me.”

At the mention of Richie’s name, Eddie lost all of his composure. He glared fiercely at her and shook his head, “How would you know what's good for me? All you do is try to convince me that I am sick when there is nothing wrong with me! I’ve known that much for years. Now you think my friends, the ones who actually care about me are the ones who are damaging me? You’re deadly mistaken, Ma. You’re the one that is suffocating me.” Knowing that he was in deep shit, he turned around and booked it out of the house.

Ms. Kaspbrak was fuming now and began crying, “You get back here! Right now young man. We haven’t talked about this. Wait! You forgot your lunch. You can’t eat the food at school, Eddie. It's processed and bad for you! You will get sick! Eddie?” The only sound she heard was the slamming of the front door.

Eddie felt a mixture of accomplishment and defeat all at the same time walking out of his house. When he got out from school, he knew he was going to be in so much trouble. She was going to attempt to make him stay in the house forever. He sighed at the thought. He was snapped back to reality when he heard the overwhelmingly loud sound of Guns N Roses from around the corner. Which helped in drowning out his mother, who was screaming at him from the window. He pretended not to hear her and began walking towards the direction where Richie’s car usually came. While the car was nowhere in sight, Eddie knew he wouldn't be walking long. After all, Richie drove like a damn maniac. Only a couple of seconds later, he saw Richie's beat up truck hauling ass towards him. Eddie sighed.

Richie finally reached Eddie, only slowing down enough to allow the smaller boy to get into the car before speeding up again. Eddie quickly put his seatbelt on out of fear for his life and yelled, "What the fuck, Richie? We have twenty minutes to get to school! Can't you slow the hell down? You're going so fast that the seat belts could burn our skin. Or you could fucking crash and kill us both! You could-" His sentence was interrupted.

Richie grinned devilishly at hearing the panic in Eddie’s voice. He always enjoyed messing around with the younger boy, "Why hello there! Ed's, dear buddy ole pal, couldn't I just want to see my best friend's beautiful face on this joyous day?" He said in his best British accent. To this, Eddie smiled a little, his eyebrows raised, knowing a joke would be soon to follow.

Richie inhaled a deep breath, and Eddie knew what was coming.

The older male exclaimed in the happiest voice he could muster, "I gotta get Little Eds to school, so I can go see her! God, how I've missed your mother's-"

"Beep beep, Richie!" Eddie cut him off. His brows furrowed and the traces of the smile that had been on his face only minutes ago had disappeared.

Richie gasped and immediately clutched his heart dramatically with one hand, “Already Eddie? This early in the morning? Oh, my achy breaky heart!”

Eddie rolled his eyes so hard in his head he could have sworn they were going to get stuck like that. “It's going to be more than your achy breaky heart if you don’t put both of your hands on the fucking wheel, you idiot.”

Eddie’s threat went unheard. Richie doesn’t listen to anyone. He never does. He is Richie Trashmouth Tozier, after all. Richie is his name and fucking around is his game.

Immediately he took that same hand and placed it on Eddie’s thigh traveling upwards to grab one of the hems of his shorts, “Hey Eds, aren’t you getting too old to be wearing short shorts?” He yanked on the material a bit before adding, “Also, how the fuck do you wear underwear with these fucking things.” His laughed deepened, “Or are you going commando? You know that is dangerous, death by an atomic wedgie. Ha!” That most surely would get a response out of his favorite hypochondriac.

Eddie’s heart immediately fell into his stomach as he choked on a gasp. His mind was running 1,000 miles per minute. Any second now, he was going to short circuit and die. He could feel it.

All because of Richie fucking trash mouth Tozier. He couldn’t think about anything else besides that hand on his leg. The hand belonging to the person who he has been in love with the past two years. So close to him. Too fucking close to him. He could feel his face beginning to flush. Trying to be as normal as possible, he swatted Richie’s hand away. “I’m in a sport, you idiot! Everyone on the track team has to wear them. You just wouldn’t know anything about that seeing as you aren’t in any extracurricular activities.”

Eddie’s blush did not go unnoticed by Richie, who quickly cheered, “You are so feisty and cute! Cute, cute, cute, my little Eddie Spaghetti!” He slapped Eddie’s thigh and placed his hand back on the wheel, “I don’t have time for additional sports, Eds.”

Eddie eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What? You are full of shit, Tozier. I would know if you were in a team sport at our school. All the losers would.” He was so engrossed with trying to insult Richie that he didn’t notice they had reached the school and the car was parked.

Richie seriously looked at Eddie, “Well you see, Eds-”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“Anyways, Eds, fucking is a sport. I don’t need a team, and it’s preferred to play in your birthday suit! It is the best kind of sport out there if you ask me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, for the second time that morning. Earlier he had thought that he rolled them so hard that they were going to get stuck. Now, he turned them so hard he was sure that he could see his fucking brain. “You’re fucking repulsive. Who gives a shit about a sport using only your wrists?” He teased.

Richie only laughed at him again as he opened the door and exited the car. He walked over to the passenger side where Eddie remained in his seat.

“More like a sport using mainly my hips! Though I do use my wrists too.” Richie said as he made thrusting gestures and wiggled each one of his fingers. He thought his joke was so good that he tried to give Eddie an air high five. Eddie scowled at him as he too got out of the car.

The older male added, “Repulsive? Oh, Eds, what would you even know about sex? Not even halfway through getting blown you would need your fucking inhaler.” Richie joked.

Eddie knew it was only a joke. Richie would never oppress Eddie if he knew. Still, Eddie’s eyes widened as a wave of hurt and fear came over him.

He remembered the leaper covered in sickly sores and diseases as it’s menacing voice taunted him, “I’d blow you for a dime.”

Eddie could feel his hands starting to shake and tried to steady them by crossing his arms.

Richie immediately noticed Eddie’s whole demeanor changed. He locked eyes with the other boys chocolate brown eyes seeing something he thought he would never see again. Pure fear.

He began to worry as he watched Eddie hug himself. “What’s wrong Eddie?” He grabbed the younger boy carefully and shook him, “Come back to Earth, Eddie!”

Eddie could feel tears forming in his eyes as he heard the leper say, “Come back here, kid! I’ll blow you for free. Come back here!” He blinked them away and moved from Richie's hold.

He had to get away. Richie had seen too much. He quickly grabbed his backpack from the passenger and threw it over his shoulder. Before he had the chance to start running, the taller male grasped tightly onto his wrist.

“Whoa! Eds.” He spoke in his most caring voice, the one reserved for Eddie. “Seriously? What’s wrong? What did you see? Was it-” Realization dawned on Richie, “Did you see It?”

Eddie's stomach lurched, and he felt like he was going to puke. He pulled his wrist from his friend’s firm grip. “Dammit, Richie!” He yelled with as much venom he could muster, “You never know when to shut up! Just back off and leave me alone.” His voice cracked as he tried to hold back his emotions.

Not wasting any time, he began to run into the crowd of students, knowing Richie would try to follow him. He pushed his way through the crowd and went into the entrance of the school just as the first bell rang.

Today was going to be an eventful day indeed.

The story is going to get much darker from this point!

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