open rp

[beavertrap]

i'm reddie trash so the more the better | all about that deep platonic love with the other losers | text | action | pics | prose | go wild, bitches

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[respirations]

❪ nightmares have become so commonplace that they're almost familiar at this point. eddie expects them, falls asleep still dreading them though. it's always the same thing— they're in that cavern below the sewers fighting It. they're scattered, richie gets caught in the deadlights and he spears the bastard through his stupid fucking mouth.

everything should be great now, dandy but it isn't. He's sitting over richie, smiling and laughing and then suddenly there's blood all over richie. his blood. sometimes the nightmares play out as they did in real life: he's thrown down deeper into the cavern, he's bleeding out but sometimes it's different. sometimes the monster rips him in two, sometimes it stabs richie instead, sometimes it stabs both of them. sometimes they all die down there instead of just him.

but he didn't die, did he? no— he's alive, breathing and presently kicking as another dream shocks him awake with a wheezed gasp. He's hyperventilating, literally been scared awake and he's having to fumble in the dark to get the nightstand open and his inhaler out. a few needy breaths in and he dissolves into a fit of coughs which wouldn't be an issue aside from the still healing hole in his chest.

god— he was a fucking mess. ❫

[beavertrap]

[ It's a combination of the movement and wheezing that wakes Richie up, moving to turn on the light on his side but instead hitting the floor in a loud thump. He still tries his best to flail up onto his feet and turn the lamp on, staring wide-eyed at what he thinks is Eddie's heaving back. Oh yeah, glasses.

As he fumbles to get those on, ]

What is it? Eddie? What's going on?

[respirations]

❪ he's still in the midst of a coughing fit when eddie feels movement on richie's side of the bed. somewhere in the middle of it, he hears a thud but he's nearly bent over from the coughing and the pain it's causing his still healing wound that he can't quite look over.

things were supposed to be better now that he left the hospital, now that they were together but it constantly feels like his own problems were setting things back. ❫

Bad— bad... ❪ he sighs and takes another needy puff of his inhaler, breathing out a wheezed sound. ❫ Shitty fucking dream.

[beavertrap]

[ Richie breathes out a heavy sigh -- both tired and relieved. Though only so much. Nightmares are still bad for them even on their best nights. He's hoping they will eventually fall away into nothing like that fucking clown did.

He moves over to sit beside Eddie, gently rubbing a hand up and down his back. ]

You're okay. None of that shit's real anymore.

Pardon the supreme lack of iconssssss I will fix it later

[believeditdid]

What the fuck, man.

Why is this here??

get u some yo

[beavertrap]

yeah idk what the fuck ur talking about

It's on my list of things to do!

[believeditdid]

so this box has nothing to do with you

[ attached is a photo of a box that very clearly has the name of a particular specialty store printed on the side ]

that one a/b/o au

[beavertrap]

[ It hadn't been until after they returned to the inn, racing to get cleaned up in their respective rooms after the fight with Pennywise, all of them miraculously alive, that Richie starts to feel... something. His head getting foggy, his heart racing. He's feeling flushed as he forces himself to get dressed quickly. He manages to get some pants on before he's fumbling for his phone. He only keeps track of a few things and his ruts are among them.

Fuck, he hisses to himself. It's waaaay too soon.

Why is this happening now?

He's gotta get the fuck away from here. He doesn't know where he'll go but he can't stay here around the others like this. ]

♥♥♥

[hypophobias]

[ They're hurt, and they're all a fucking mess, but they're alive. For once, Eddie doesn't even care how much literal crap is covering him - he's just glad to be back in one piece.

Once he's had a quick shower and changed his clothes, though, he realizes something feels very off. It's not just the missing scar on his hand, either, though that had thoroughly freaked him out. He feels too warm, too agitated, not from adrenaline but from --

Fuck.

He usually takes suppressants to control his heats, but he clearly missed a dose somewhere in between getting his memories back and fighting off a killer clown-thing. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, but instead he's greeted with an overwhelmingly powerful scent, something musky and oddly familiar.

It's stupid, but he can't help following that scent out the door of his room and towards Richie's. His mind is trying to tell him to go back, to lock himself in his room and just deal with it alone the way he always has, but that smell is so... ]

Rich? [ his voice is a little hoarse as he knocks on the door, not quite sure what his goal is here. ] Are you - is everything okay?

[beavertrap]

[ Richie can smell him before he even knocks on the door and he's shaking his head, clenching his fists to control himself from walking over there, opening that door, and wrenching the other man inside. ]

Fine, Eds. I just--gotta go.

that time fate had other plans

[beavertrap]

[ Richie had been out of Derry for years by this point. Twenty-one and he could barely remember his childhood there. Not that he had a lot of time to dwell on it. He had declined going to college and instead was working his way through... well, life. He wanted to do stand-up and tried at open mic nights in the city (if he could "make it" in New York, that meant he'd have no problems in L.A., right?) but he had to pay the bills while working his way up whatever ladder there was in the profession.

Most of the advice he got was to just keep trying. He was going to get unresponsive crowds, he was going to get hecklers, and he needed to just keep trying if he really wanted to be successful at it. And work better with his impressions because they all sounded the same.

So he was taking the advice to heart and doing what he had to do. This wasn't the first server job he had but he also had to grit his teeth through a lot of rude ass college kids coming in and acting like they were better than him. Like he was some grunt. He needed the paycheck, though, so he came in even when it wasn't his shift and put on his black apron, pad and pencil in the front pockets.

He walks out from the back, already clocked in and knowing the routine by this point. The music in the speakers is at least playing one of his favorite songs so that helps his mood. He can manage a polite enough smile and greet to the first table, ]

Hey, there. Are you ready to order? Or would you like to see our dinner menu?

[ It wasn't dark outside yet but it would be soon enough.

He had no idea he was looking down at his childhood best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak. There was a faint sense of deja vu but nothing strong enough to trigger that he actually knew this other person. ]

[respirations]

❪ in much similar ways, eddie hasn't thought about his childhood home or his childhood in general for some time. not that he's had the time between university classes and trying to make sure he had the foundations of some job offerings when he graduated in the spring. although medical school had always been considered, eddie had ultimately opted out of the idea when the he could never pinpoint a reasoning for the decision.

perhaps some odd childhood dream he couldn't quite remember? whatever the case he, instead, found himself double majoring in fiance and accounting. he also isn't sure where the idea came up but he seemed to settle well into the courses and did well enough for some advanced classes.

one of said advance mathematics classes is what brings him to the little diner of sorts. both his dorm and the library were busy, loud and you'd think it would be the same here but maybe the rain is keeping people away. either way, he's content humming along with the music from the speakers until a voice gets his focus and he turns away from the paper of equations with a small look. ❫

Hi. ❪ he says and blinks because he's suddenly hit with the oddest feeling, one he can't quite place and ultimately shakes away before shit got weird. ❫ I, uh— just coffee right now, please.

[beavertrap]

[ The more Richie sees the eyes he really can't help but feel he knows them. He just can't place them anywhere... So weird.

He nods and puts his pad back in his apron and walks off to get the coffee. He comes back with a cup and pot, filling it up for him before asking. ]

This is gonna sound really weird but... we haven't met before, right?

continued.

[descriptive]

[ from here. ]

[ In Eddie's defence, it's a cold morning, and he hardly slept in Derry.

Well, it's also that surreal thing, isn't it — falling asleep somewhere new and waking up groggy, blearily trying to take in the world around you. At first, he presses himself more firmly against Richie, tightening the arm thrown across his chest in the night and resisting the pull to wake. Moments later, however, his thoughts start whirring faintly. He and Myra don't really cuddle these days, and if they do, it's her head on his shoulder, their fingers trapped hand-in-hand, so he registers the warm weight around his shoulders with some surprise. Brows knitting together, he forces his eyes open, tracing the line of his arm with mild interest.

Not home, no, either in Derry or with Myra, but somewhere in-between, with Richie. The reality of yesterday comes back to him in fragments (the stand-off with the clerk, the almost-admission of something). His heartbeat quickens again, zipping ahead of his brain, as his eyes zero in on the line of Richie's neck like a goddamn vampire and skim up to his sleep-soft hair. You did this, you needy motherfucker. Flattening his palm against Richie's chest, he tips his head back, trying to untangle himself gently, which is manageable from the waist up — it's the legs that are the problem. How the fuck does Richie have that much leg, like, it's far too much leg. An amount of leg that should be illegal in most states or at least kept at a safe distance away from normal-sized legs to prevent situations such as this, with Eddie's own crooked between them. Better to do this like ripping off a band-aid, huh. On the mental count of three, he just pulls right out — ]

Shi — fuck!

[ — and falls onto the fucking floor. ]

I'm fine! [ Squawked as he quickly pushes himself up and rushes to the bathroom, grabbing his bag on the way. ] Morning!

[ Nice save, my guy. ]

[beavertrap]

[ It was probably one of the best sleeps Rich has had in a long time. Even better than when he passes out from booze and doesn't have any dreams, just heavy sleep. This was different. Comforting and warm. No dreams of clowns this night, thankfully.

Just... soft light in summer, green grass and zooming down the streets with his bike. His friends around him on their bikes. Laughing and yelling. It was something he hadn't seen in so many years and he knew deep down he would never stop wanting to see it. He had them all back again.

The way Eddie pulls himself away from Rich is something he barely processes. His brain only catches the thump on the floor and Eddie no longer in the bed. He lifts his head up, squinting through the blurriness of his own bad eyesight, only for Eds to shoot up and rush to the bathroom. That's not... unlike him. So Rich just blinks in his wake before flopping back down on the bed, this time sprawling out to cover all of it while he hugs a pillow under him. ]

Too early.

[ Whatever time it is, it's too damn early. ]

[descriptive]

[ It's fine, Richie's fine, they're fine. If it's weird, Eddie is the one making it weird, so he needs to fucking stop and breathe. Right, okay, get into the shower and calm down, you freak.

The water helps, even if Eddie's eyes keep darting to a dark spot in the corner of the shower. When he re-emerges, hair floppy and damp with a towel tight around his waist, the sight of Richie clutching the pillow and fucking starfishing across their bed makes him relax. Easy, Eds. Nothing new here, even up close, when he grabs his watch from the side table. Same old-new Richie. ]

Hey, Rich, [ Before he knows what he's doing, he reaches out to squeeze Richie's shoulder. ] I'm gonna duck out to see if there's coffee and food here.

[ and, just to be a shit, he pats Richie's cheek to ensure he wakes the fuck up. ]

We gotta be on the road by 11 to make good time, so that's your one-hour warning, asshole.

winky face.

[descriptive]

[ It takes three weeks for Eddie to find his LA rhythm, slower-paced than his life in New York but all the better for it. Traffic’s just as bad, maybe worse, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll have his own car eventually, too, once the paperwork for he and Myra’s miraculously uncontested divorce goes through the courts (that cost him everything except the car, but he didn’t want much else). At first, Eddie restricts his anal organisation to the kitchen, which had been something of a blank canvas. Like he said he would, he cooks for two, with leftovers whether or not Richie’s working that evening. Day 8 is when his tidying hits the living room, untangling the cords for Richie’s entertainment system so it’s not a goddamn fire hazard.

Whenever they watch TV together, Eddie keeps to himself. Well, himself and Richie’s lap, which is where his feet end up despite his promise to keep all his limbs contained. If anything, his interest in watching Richie has only grown, like a — like a fucking infectious disease. Patient zero over there could be walking around at 2PM in sweatpants, and Eddie would still perk up when he hears the door to his room open. Watching Richie — and watching Richie watch him, in particular — is more riveting than any of his best friend’s murder shows. And, you know what, maybe he encourages it. Maybe he’s finding ways to make Richie look at him longer, like when he asks for his (frankly irrelevant) opinions on what tie to wear or touches Richie on purpose (!), taking his glasses off his big head to clean them properly, for fuck’s sake — I can’t even see your eyes anymore, man — and then sliding them back on, fingers brushing his cheek.

He’s just testing the boundaries here, okay. Assessing the risks.

Week three is a busy one for Richie, as it happens, so they barely cross paths until Saturday, when Eddie returns flushed and breathless from his run, mouthing a “morning” to Richie, headphones still going, kitted out in his activewear — including the red shorts, uh-huh — and filling up his water bottle by the sink, foot still tapping to his music. It’s only when he turns around, taking a generous swig of his water, that he notices Richie looking or not looking over his coffee. Either tell is enough to recall one of their first conversations in this house. ]

It’s hot — [ Oh god he yelled that because of his headphones. Fuck, he should stick his arm in the garbage disposal and pray the blood-loss ends it quick. Eddie tugs out his running headphones and continues at a normal volume. ] Shit, sorry. [ another gulp. ] It’s fucking hot out there, huh.

[ Listen, he never really had to flirt before this. He just always accidentally had a girlfriend, so — it’s a work in progress. Send help. ]

b-blushu

[beavertrap]

[ When Rich does notice the changes, he doesn't mind them. It takes a bit to find things in the kitchen but once he understands "the system" in place, he can navigate it easily enough. It's a bit of a whirlwind few weeks, acting like ships passing in the night. Not able to really spend much time together with both needing to get back to their jobs and responsibilities as adults.

He has time to make up for and auditions to make if he really wants to go for this role in this movie. He was also asked to provide a "droid" voice for a science fiction movie which keeps him in the recording booth for a few hours each of the three days it takes. He looks forward to the times when they can sit down together at night and just be. Watching trashy crime shows, eating dinner and Eddie's feet in his lap. It's... nice. Nicer than anything he's done in the last decade (excluding the time spent with the other Losers).

He continues to text back and forth with all of them. Teasing Mike about how he better not let himself live in a retirement commune just yet. He shoots ideas at Bill for his next book. Not all of them are accepted but the other does seem to enjoy bouncing ideas. Bev and Ben are happy and it comes through in all their messages. It's almost too good to be true after everything they've been through.

He keeps thinking that as he drifts off to sleep. But every day when he's greeted by the fact Eddie is living with him now, he doesn't care that it is "too good". They deserve that good. He just tries not to aim too high. Didn't matter how hard his heart was beating as Eddie cleaned his glasses for him, leaving him speechless and his eyes soft as they stared back. God, has anyone ever done that for him before? He couldn't allow himself to hope for more. No matter how badly his heart ached in such moments. No matter how much he wanted.

Or how flushed he feels all over his body - when was the last time that fucking happened? - when he finally looks over and sees Eddie in those motherfuckin' shorts. He feels his dick in his pants twitch and has to shift where he is on the couch, forcing his eyes to stay on the flatscreen. Yep. That's where they are gonna stay. He nods at Eddie's words, ]

Welcome to L.A. Also known as Satan's butthole.

[ Goddammit, Richie. ]

[descriptive]

[ At that, Eddie barks a short laugh. It’s a stupid and quick quip, to be sure, very on brand Richie, but not quite up to standard for ol’ chucks-a-lot, the quirky robo-voice of the future.

Anyway, the only thing more telling than looking is not looking, right. Eddie would know this, on account of all the times he’s had to not look at Richie’s arms and hands and soft eyes, unshielded by his glasses. It does present a dilemma for his ongoing field test of the two-part scenario that 1. Richie is attracted to him and 2. Eddie might be, maybe, also, a little bit or very attracted to him, too, who can say. ]

Seriously. My legs feel like they’re gonna melt.

[ and those legs are gonna carry him right across the screen to the far wall, where he checks the shelves for something, shifting his weight from one foot to other. Before speaking again, he has the foresight and adrenaline-boosted bravery to step in front of the left side of the flatscreen, pinching his shirt with his free hand to circulate air beneath the fabric and lifting it to expose his flat stomach in the process. Spicy. ]

Do you remember if I was wearing my watch in here, man? I think I took it off before I showered last night, and now I can’t fuckin’ find it.

[ This is less like flirting and more like PG-13 word association, at this point: Hot! Legs! Shower!

God help him. ]

continued~ (for descriptive)

[beavertrap]

[ The night of the party, Richie Tozier is a Mess. He usually is anyway but more so when he's genuinely nervous for something like this. It's only Eddie being there and taking charge like he does that gets Rich out the door composed and slightly more calm.

Slightly.

Eddie ends up driving while Richie has another freak-out moment of needing to look up his cast members' names on his phone. None of them would ever know, however, by the time he walks into the restaurant that had been reserved for the party. Richie smiles and gives a wave when people spot him, the director calling over the room he's glad he "showed up". The guy he was going to be doing most of his scenes with - being his "cop partner" in the film - comes over with a wide grin and arms open wide. He gives Richie a big hug and then moves to do the same to Eddie. He smells like pot.

Which he happily informs them both: he has plenty left over if either of them wants some. Rich politely gives him a "maybe later", only to shake his head to Eds when the guy turns away, drawn into some other conversation. ]

Man, I need a drink.

👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼

[descriptive]

[ Dressed in deep blue trousers and a sharp button down (tucked in, because of course it is), Eddie takes charge. He bends to fix the sloppy laces of Richie’s dress shoes, drives his sportscar through the evening traffic, and babbles throughout the ride. Mostly about his day and new job, the type of boring thing he assumes puts Richie to sleep, and so is inherently calming. At least until he ducks his head out the window to take aim at a tank of a car that illegally passed them.

On arrival, Eddie goes stiff enough in his co-star’s arms that the guy fucking notices and gives him an extra bro-y, slightly destabilising clap on the back. “You loosen up before the end of the night, okay?” No thank you, but he gives an abrupt nod anyway, not wanting to embarrass Richie. The thing is, Eddie’s driving, so — big no — and he’s, uh, not really here as a date, just as a... support unit, maybe. With a sideways glance and crooked smile, he slips his hand to the small of Richie’s back, palm open, guiding him toward the bar. ]

Luckily, I’m the yuppie who wants to buy you one for old time’s sake, big shot.

[ Two women are talking off to the side of the bar, engrossed in conversation — they could be interrupted or wait a moment. Regardless, Eddie leans up on his toes to whisper in Richie’s ear. ]

That’s Devon, your producer. And she’s talking to Nina, one of the actors.

[ ‘Cause Eddie started cramming the first day Richie asked him to come. Boy Scout. ]

busts the door down with late, spiked starbucks

[beavertrap]

[ Richie snorts, rolling his shoulders to relax more as they move towards the bar. ]

"Yuppie" my ass. The way you yell during traffic makes me feel like you should've been a drill sergeant.

[ But then maybe Eddie should be his freakin' agent with the way he seems to know everyone here. Because Richie had spent so much of his time memorizing lines and trying to get through the script without laughing. He had memorized a few names but not like this. He looks to the women and then back to Ed, keeping his voice low. ]

Do you... know the name of everyone here, dude?

fix-it au @ eddiespaghetti

[beavertrap]

[ This didn't feel real. None of it did.

They finally killed that fucking clown for real, and they had barely made it out alive. Eddie had been on death's door by the time they managed to rush him to the hospital, Richie barely able to see through the muck and blood on his cracked glasses. Or the tears in his eyes. The whole time he begged Eddie to stay with him, with them. He couldn't leave after being such a big damn hero.

They had lost Stan without any chance to help him or say goodbye, they couldn't lose another fucking Loser.

Richie thought he knew what pain was. Rejection and loneliness, the pain of hiding who he really was. Playing the "trashmouth" he was always so good at being. Getting what attention he could. It was all various levels of pain, some handled better than others with age. Derry, of course, brought all of these memories and then some back to the surface. There wasn't nearly enough alcohol to deal with any of it.

And then Richie discovered a pain that he has never known was possible. The boy he had fallen in love with, now a man he still loved, stabbed in front of him, tasting Eddie's blood after it sprayed onto his face. Pain that rain through his own blood, into his limbs and bones once the shock wore off.

Eddie couldn't just die like that. This couldn't be the end for them.

He couldn't just leave him like this after they finally saw each other again.

He barely remembers how they got Eddie out of the house. He barely remembers arriving at the hospital. Just that his legs gave out and unable to get off of the floor as Bill and Mike tried to explain what happened. Bev and Ben kept trying to keep him from passing out right there. All he could do was silently pray to whatever deity would help make this miracle a real thing, hands splayed flat against the hard floor, the coolness of it a vaguely calming sensation while he felt like he was dying.

Eddie had been rushed into surgery, the rest of them there in the emergency room covered in shit, blood, and God knows what else. All of them stayed in the emergency room like that, huddled together, until they heard Eddie was out of surgery. Though Richie hadn't been awake to hear the initial announcement.

He doesn't remember being given the sedative. Just that when he woke up, the fear had returned in full force until he was told Eddie was alive. He was in ICU, but it was possible he would make a recovery. Richie had wept openly at the news, letting the other Losers hold him, so he wouldn't go onto the floor again.

Weeks passed, and Eds was finally in a room of his own, Richie spending more time there than Eddie's wife. No one had called her. She came on her own and sounded too much like Eddie's mom, threatening them with lawsuits. Richie clenched his jaw shut and refused to look at her. For once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.

All that mattered was Eds waking up again. If he could just be given that, he'd... let the other shit go. It was a familiar ache that he had to swallow down, once again willing to let that love go if it was easier for the other man. He couldn't just come back and wreck his whole life because they suddenly remembered they were friends. And Richie had a secret he had never told anyone else. No matter how badly he wanted it this time...

The other Losers were out getting lunch to bring back, Bev outside getting a smoke and Eddie's wife - he didn't even bother remembering her name, as petty as it was (and he knew it was) - was back at some hotel. He was sitting on the toilet lid in the bathroom, hands rubbing up and down his face, the exhaustion of so many nights of sleeping in a chair catching up with him more and more. He needed to keep taking these private moments for himself, trying not to break down crying again.

Coming back out of said bathroom, Richie didn't expect to be greeted with seeing those big brown eyes open again. ]

[eddiespaghetti]

[Funny how one's nightmares and fears can come full circle. For twenty-seven years Eddie had lived a pretty empty, miserable life. Had his life really changed that much since his childhood? It was never exactly fair, it treated him like worthless shit. He had forgotten about his childhood home, his band of losers and that fucking clown that had tormented them all. He didn't want to return to Derry regardless of the stupid promise he made as a kid.

But then he reunited with his best friends and nothing else mattered. For a moment there was this overwhelming feeling of being accepted, wanted and loved. There was also Richie, secretly the person he missed most of all. Perhaps that is why he acted with hardly any hesitation and second thought in spearing the damn spider mutant. The horrendous monster had attacked Richie with the deadly deadlights and Eddie was overcome with pure panic. He wasn't about to let that thing steal his best friend away from him, so Eddie acted on pure impulse.

The pain of being impaled was excruciating, numbing and the feeling alone had left Eddie's body ablaze. The events that occurred after were all hazy, a blur. He has no memory of how he got out of that damn house or arriving to the hospital, it was all black.

He remembers the horrified look on Richie's handsome face the very second he was struck, how Richie's trembling hands felt while cupping his cheeks and swearing that everything was going to be fine.

They were going to be fine.

There had been so much he had wanted to say, needed to say but it was so difficult to breath that alone form words that made sense once struggling to live became almost impossible. He blacked out, no memory of that either.. While in surgery he could experience hearing voices all around him, the feeling of burning lights upon his body and then he flat lined.

By the miracle of some greater being he was brought back to this world.

The room was bright once he finally came to, filled with the soft noises of beeps and low buzzes from the machines he was currently hooked up to. Panic washed over him instantly as he struggled to sit up, hands fisting to rip out his IV and that stupid thing they stick up your nose.

Where was he? Where were the other losers? Was Richie safe?

More bursts of panic until he hears the bathroom door open and those weak, large brown eyes fall upon the very person he's been looking for.]

R-Rich?

[beavertrap]

[ Richie is frozen to the spot, leaning against the door frame of the bathroom heavily for a moment. He wills his legs to move and not give out again. Doesn't help he's been more or less living in this damn room for weeks now, his five o'clock shadow becoming more aggressive as time went on. Bags under his eyes, eyes themselves red from random, continuous bouts of crying (much to his annoyance). He's had showers, but that still doesn't take away from his near haggard appearance.

Pushing off from the door frame finally, he reaches for Eddie's hands. His eyes don't meet Eddie's, they just close and he somehow feels even more exhausted than when he was stressed and waiting. ]

Stop fucking with those, dumbass. You need 'em in you.

[ His hands grasp the other man's, and he just holds them. His eyes don't meet Eddie's. The just close and he breathes out a long breath, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had when still stressed and waiting. ]

About damn time you woke up.