bike house

There’s something intensely unhealthy going on when parents discourage age-appropriate independence. A 13 year old should probably be allowed to go see a film with their friends most of the time. A 16 year old should probably be allowed to drive/ride a bus/bike to a friend’s house most of the time. An 18 year old should probably be allowed to travel overnight with their friends most of the time. A 20+ year old should be allowed to come and go as they please, with some common-sense “Let’s talk this ‘move to Finland’ plan of your over before you follow through on it” exceptions.

Parents should want their children to enjoy going out and doing things on their own and with their friends. They should be delighted that their child wants to have a life of their own. A rich, fulfilling life outside the home and distinct from parents and family is important, and parents should want their child to have that.

Growing Up German
  • Always getting a free slice of sausage at the butcher
  • Hearing stories where people violently died as bedtime stories
  • Closing your eyes when the Sandmännchen throws his sand so you don’t have to go to sleep
  • Making your own ice cream with Fruchtzwerge yoghurt
  • Benjamin Blümchen Cake
  • Singing a song about chinese people playing contrabass
  • “Fisher Fisher how deep is the water?”
  • “Don’t throw snowballs, one time a girl got a snowball with a stone in it in her eye and she went blind!”
  • “Charlie Chaplin went to Frankfurt…”
  • A depressed bread called Bernd
  • Knowing like 2 people who can pronound the English “th” properly
  • Humilating unathletic students in front of the whole school a.k.a. Bundesjugendspiele
  • “My grandma rides a motor bike in the hen house.”
  • Toggo Tour was like Coachella for German kids but you could never go cause they never came to your town
  • “cat toilet, cat toilet, yes that makes the cat happy”
  • “Space Taxi to the sky!”
  • “Now in every 7th egg!”
  • “Get [insert stupid ringtone here] in the Jamba Sparabo!”
  • Is it der, die or das Nutella?
  • Having friends in other states is difficult cause they’ve got school holidays when you’re still in school and vice versa
  • “Of course with the Mouse and the Elephant”
shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

Stranger Things Spotify Playlists

I don’t know about you guys but I scouerd the entire internet to find all of the Stranger Things playlists so I’ve decided to just make a list of them for any other fans that would like them!

Mike’s Bassment Beats

Will’s Castle Byers Classics 

Dustin’s Curiosity Door Jams

Lucas’ Bike Around Tracks

Eleven’s Breakfast Jams

Mad Max’s Sk8 Sessions

Billy’s Pedal to the Metal

Steve’s Morning Hair Grooves

Nancy’s Slaylist

Jonathan’s Outsider Looking In

Joyce’s Halloween House Party

Hopper’s Nighttime Drive

anonymous asked:

I have an addiction to Mute!Eddie X Richie AUs so some headcanons? I’d want to ask a fic too but I want to see some of your hcs first

- They first meet when they’re 12 and at the playground

- Richie is playing tag with Bev, Bill, and Stan when he bumps into Eddie

- “shit, sorry, you good? Do you want to play with us?”

- Eddie just blinks at him

- “are you going to answer me or not?”

- Eddie tries to move his mouth but he just cant and he wants to cry

-“Hellooooo??? Wow dude youre a jerk”

- thats when mike storms over and he steps in front of Eddie 

- (hes always been the mother figure yall can fight me)

- Mike explains that he cant speak and richie makes a face 

- “Of course he can speak, everyone speaks”

- Mike then explains what mute is

- Richie feels bad almost immediately

- Richie takes him under his wing 

- “Cmon, lets tag team it and get them all out”

- Eddie giggles and nods 

- fast forward 2 years later and Richie has learned sign language to talk to him

- Eddie finds it endearing and the sweetest thing ever and he just really adores richie

- Richie has a soft spot for Eddie, of course he does

- When they meet Ben their freshman year he immediately picks up on their dynamic (the hand holding, lots of hugs, forehead kisses– Ben thinks its cute)

- When Ben mentions it, Richie goes all red in the face and tries to tell him that he has no idea what he’s talking about

- (he does)

- Richie literally will fight anybody who looks at Eddie the wrong way

- That’s how he’s had his nose broken 3 times that year

- fast forward another two years when richie realizes that he’s in love with Eddie

- He panics, of course, leaving Eddie in the dark, avoiding him

- Eddie bikes over to richie’s house one day after school and angrily pounds on the door

- When Richie opens it, Eddie is pushing him inside

- Richie signs ‘what the fuck’ 

- Eddie signs back, ‘Dont ‘what the fuck’ me, asshole. what’s going on?’

- Richie just shuffles his feet and looks at him, shrugging

‘Richie you cant fucking do this, okay? I’m freaking out, thinking I did something and it really hurts because I..’

“I.. Love you”

- Richie’s head snaps up because this boy just spoke to him?? The first time in 4 years he’s known him?? And the first thing he says is “I love you”??

- Richie feels like he’s going to faint, but he says it back and Eddie just walks over so calmly and softly kisses him and?? 

- Richie is going to be okay

- (he’s not)

- He can’t be more grateful for bumping into him on the playground 

little tattoos part iii

hello!

this is part three of my reddie soulmate fic

read part one here and two here

thank you guys so much for all the love on this fic. Please read my notes on the bottom as they are important! ty!

summary: a soulmate au where everyone has a tattoo exactly like their soulmate

pairing: eddie and richie

words:  2233



Eddie woke up even more exhausted than he was when he fell asleep. He let a breath out of his mouth and took in a long one through his nose. He kept his eyes shut. He wasn’t ready to face the world yet.

Everything he loved was gone, he suddenly realized. This thought jolted him awake, causing him to sit straight up in a panic. It hadn’t occurred to him that he lost everything yesterday. All of his friends were bound to know. They all hung out together. They were the Loser’s Club and Eddie had ruined that. They could never all hang out anymore as Eddie couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Richie, let alone even think about him. He started to really panic, then.

His breathing was rapid and shallow and his hands were shaking violently. Eddie got up, stumbling, trying to find his damned inhaler. It wasn’t in his pocket, nor his backpack, or on his desk. He couldn’t breathe. At this point, he didn’t know if it was even an asthma attack anymore, or if it was one in the first place. It was so much worse. His head was spinning and he couldn’t see anymore. It was in his jacket, he remembered suddenly.

Eddie collapsed on the ground, catching himself with his hands as he tried to steady his breathing, but nothing was working. His heart was racing and he couldn’t stop shaking. Eddie was sobbing uncontrollably, his vision blurred from the tears. He didn’t know what was happening. His lungs felt constricted and he couldn’t get any air in. He was hyperventilating, trying to breathe but couldn’t. He tried to move towards his jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair. He was shaking so badly that he could barely move. His hand grasped the chair, pulling it and knocking it over. The light blue inhaler fell out of the pocket of his coat, landing a couple inches away from him. He grabbed it, instantly feeling as if he could breathe again when he took his first two puffs of medicine.

An hour passed before Eddie could stand again. HIs legs were shaky but he managed to get to his bathroom. He found it odd that his mother hadn’t come to get him yet until he realized that it was four in the morning. Eddie knew he couldn’t go to school, but he couldn’t stay home ‘sick’ as his mother would take him to the hospital. He washed his face with some water and laid back down and attempted to fall asleep.

His mother woke him up at 7 am and tried to get him to take his pills as she did every morning. He walked out of the house and rode his bike to park. Eddie read there all day. He needed to take a breather and reading was his escape. The cool breeze against his skin calmed him even more as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree he was sitting up against. It was odd to feel so peaceful. At three o'clock, he headed home as if he had gone to school.

“Eddie bear, how was school?” She asked from her chair in the living room.

“Fine.” He responded quietly, heading upstairs and into his room.

Eddie felt bad about lying, not going to school, but he knew he couldn’t face Richie, Bill, or anyone for that matter. He checked his cut from the previous day, and it was still healing properly. That was one less thing for him to worry about. Eddie laid back on his bed, sighing. Could his life get any worse?


“W-W-What did you d-do?” Bill demanded, slamming his Chemistry book down on the loser’s lunch table. He was beyond pissed.

   Richie looked up at Bill through his coke bottle lenses. Stan was pissed too, standing behind him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. “I didn’t do anything!” He defended, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “I-”

   “Where is Eddie?” Stan interjected, sliding into the seat across from Richie. “He isn’t here today and he was supposed to tell you how he felt yesterday. What the hell did you do to him, Richie?”

   Richie scoffed. “So that’s why he was avoiding me.”

   Bill looked at him confused. “W-What do you mean av-av-avoiding you?”

   Richie rolled his eyes. “You know when someone doesn’t talk to you and walks different routes in the hallways so they don’t see you. Gee, Bill, I thought you were smart.” He replied sarcastically, sticking his plastic fork into eerily yellow mashed potatoes.

   Stan leaned forward on his elbows. “So, if he avoided you, why isn’t he here?”

   Richie let out an exasperated sigh, leaning backward in his chair. “He told me in the gym locker room, alright?”

   Bill sat down next to Stan, looking at Richie to egg him on.

   Richie sighed again. “And I was too shocked to do anything and he ran out crying.”

   “Richie!”

   “Hey! I tried to go to his house and apologize and he slammed the window shut. He wouldn’t listen to me.” Richie grumbled. “I really tried! But I have a plan.”

   Stan and Bill exchanged glances. Bill nodded a little and Stan sighed. “What’s your plan?”

   Richie sat up straight. “You two need to convince him to come over. Say it’s everyone but me.”

   Bill frowned. “H-He’s not gonna b-b-believe us, Rich.”

   “Make him believe you! I need to talk to him. I need to explain.” Richie protested, running a hand through his hair.

   Bill nodded. “I’ll t-try.”

   Richie looked at Stan, who was staring down at the table. “Stan?”

   “I’m not gonna help you if all you’re gonna do is break his heart. He doesn’t deserve that, Richie.” He deadpanned.

   Richie was offended and a look of hurt flashed across his face before he composed himself. “I am not going to hurt Eddie!”

   “Sure, telling him you only wanna be his friend isn’t gonna hurt him.”

   “This is the one time I’m not being a sarcastic dipshit, Stanley! Are you listening? I said I’m not going to hurt him. I would never hurt him. I love him!” Richie slammed his fist on the table, causing a few kids to look over at them. “Did you hear that?”

   Stan nodded.

   “At least they didn’t cut off your ears like they cut off your dick.” Richie spat, getting up and walking away. The bell rang moments later. Bill grabbed his bookbag and stood up, gently nudging Stan to do the same. Richie was standing near his locker, attempting to open it but getting the combination wrong.

   “Richie-”

   “What, Stanley? What the hell do you want?” Richie practically growled, turning and glaring at Stan. If looks could kill, he would be dead ten times over.

   “I’ll help.”

   Richie’s hard stare softened a little. “Thanks. I’m sorry I got mad but you gotta admit that line was good.” A small smile crept onto his face, and even Stan chuckled a bit.

   Bill was assigned the job to get Eddie over, and Stan was to get everyone else in on the plan. He walked up to Eddie’s door and knocked. There was shuffling and a shout of “I got it” from Eddie. He opened the door and saw Bill, his face paled a little.

   “H-Hi,” Bill said quietly. “C-Could we talk?”

   Eddie glanced behind him for a moment to see if his mom had fallen back asleep or not before nodding and stepping outside, shutting the door behind him. “What do you wanna talk about because I’m not gonna talk about him.” He put emphasis on the word him. He sounded angry, disgusted, even. He laced his fingers together, still a bit shaky from his panic attack this morning.

   “N-No. The group w-wants you to come over. Minus R-R-Richie.”

   “Oh, no. I am not falling for that. He’s gonna be there when I get there and I don’t want to talk to him.”

   Bill shook his head. “Please? I-I-It’s movie night. You can p-pick.”

   Eddie glared at the ground, trying to work the request over in his head. He finally let out a long sigh and nodded. “Fine.”

   They rode their bikes to Bill’s house in silence, neither of them knowing what to say, so they said nothing. Eddie set his bike up against the house as he always did, following Bill inside. Georgie greeted the both of them with a hello and a smile.

   “H-Head to the living room, I-I-I’ll get the snacks,” Bill said, heading to the kitchen. Eddie nodded, walking towards the living room. He walked in, glancing around the room at the various decorations on the wall. Paintings and pictures of their family were scattered around the room. It felt homey.

   Eddie was jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the door shut. He turned his head to look, only to find Richie standing there. His breath hitched in his throat and he knew he had paled. It wasn’t even five seconds before he started to get angry. He knew this was a set-up.

   “I fucking knew it,” Eddie grumbled.

   “Eddie-” Richie started, but Eddie had had enough.

   “No, Richie. I don’t want to hear it. I’m really not in the mood to listen to you tell me you don’t feel the same way and that you hope we can be friends. Because we can’t be friends, Richie! I don’t want to be your friend. I can’t be your damn friend.

   Richie Tozier was silenced by Eddie for the second time that week. It was a new record. He composed himself before stepping forward. “If you let me show you something, I promise I will leave you alone.”

   Eddie was shocked that Richie was being serious. He was never serious in all the time he’s known the guy. He was always cracking inappropriate jokes at the wrong time. Despite all of his instinct to say no, Eddie nodded.

   Richie let out a sigh of relief before spitting onto his hand.

   “That is disgusting! What the hell are you-” Eddie cut himself off as he watched Richie take his spit and use it to smudge his soulmate tattoo off his skin. It wasn’t real. This whole time, Eddie thought that Richie had a soulmate. It was fake.

   Richie watched Eddie for a moment before deciding to explain himself. “My mom used to tell me I would be made fun of for not having a soulmate. That I wouldn’t fit in. So, one night I decided to draw one on every morning so I would fit in. It sounds shitty and kind of is but- Eds are you listening?”

   Eddie walked forward and grabbed Richie’s hand. He was holding back the urge to cringe, as Richie’s saliva was now on his hand. Richie didn’t understand what Eddie was doing. He let him move his finger until it was placed right next to the corresponding one on Eddie’s hand. Under Richie’s tattoo that he drew on, was a small, circular and blotchy birthmark. It was identical to Eddie’s.

   “What the fuck,” Eddie announced. A smile spread across Richie’s face while Eddie started to ramble. “What does this mean? Are these soulmate tattoos? They look like birthmarks! Why the hell would this be a soul-”

   Richie grabbed his face in his hands, leaning in and pressing his chapped lips onto Eddie’s soft ones. Eddie was stiff for a moment before he melted into the kiss and started to do the same that Richie was. Eddie was unsure where to put his hands or what to even do. Before he could react, Richie pulled away, slowly opening his eyes to find Eddie completely red.

   “I love you too, Eds.”

   Eddie had a content smile on his face. “Don’t call me that, Trashmouth.”

   “Ah, Trashmouth, what a nickname. You really know how to charm the boys.” Richie sassed, throwing his arm over Eddie’s shoulder. “Shall we tell the rest of the losers that Bill and Stan have competition?”

   Eddie and Richie showed the rest of the group their tattoos. Stan had this smug look of “I told you so” written across his face and so did Bill. They ended up watching a rom-com, much to Eddie’s dismay. Richie kept his arm around the smaller boy the whole night, pressing chaste kisses to his forehead every once and awhile.

   Richie and Eddie rode back to their houses together that night. They arrived at Eddie’s house first, both of them silent.

   “Gee, you could cut this sexual tension with a knife.” Richie joked, leaning forward on the handlebars of his bike.

   Eddie rolled his eyes, using his kickstand to stand his bike up next to his porch as he always did. Richie hopped off his bike, letting it lay on the ground. He walked up to Eddie, pinching his cheek. “So, Eddie Spaghetti, where do you wanna go on our first date of being fuckbuddies?”

   “You ruined it.” Eddie sighed, slapping his hand away.

   “I didn’t ruin anything!” Richie retorted, smiling. “I made it better.”

   “Okay, Tozier,” Eddie said, leaning forward and kissing Richie briefly.

   Richie had a smile plastered on his face. “Goodnight, Eds.”

   “Goodnight, Trashmouth,” Eddie said before he shut the door. He quietly snuck up the stairs. His mom was still asleep in her chair. He fell back on his bed, a content smile on his face.

   Eddie Kaspbrak was happy.


SO HELLO HERE ARE A FEW NOTES PLS READ TYSM

this ending is ending a. i wrote two endings because i couldnt decide which i liked better

so ending b will be posted after part four as a bonus lil chapter thingy

you can decide whichever you prefer to be canon as i love them both

also im really self concious about this part so please give me your honest feedback ilysm

let me know if you want an epilouge! i would be down to write it

masterlist

talk to me/request to be on tag list

tysm for reading

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9

The Gangsey Moodboard ➤ Blue Sargent.

She wasn’t interested in telling other people’s futures. She was interested in going out and finding her own.