richie family

8

“Maybe there aren’t any such things as good friends or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you’re hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they’re always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that’s what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.”

Stephen King, It

2

MY BOY FINN IS GOING TO BE CHARLIE BUCKET IN THE WILLY WONKA CONCERT IM SCREAMING

2

On November 7, 1989, Richard Ramirez received 19 death sentences, to which he responded:

 “No big deal. Death always comes with the territory. I’ll see you in Disneyland." 

He was subsequently transferred to San Quentin Prison in California.

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 2/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Depression, angst and fluff throughout the whole series, suicide attempt

A/N: Im so happy at how much support part 1 got?? Thankyou all so so so fucking much ily all also!! credit to @finn-got-tall for an idea in one of the scenes!! (I wont reveal which scene bc i want people to just read) but ty lovely

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Eddie and Richie blinked at each other, stunned to see one another in such a strange coincidence. Eddie still had his hand up, but Richie still hadn’t took it. Richie merely brought his hand up that held the cigarette, taking a drag and allowing the toxic waste to decay against his lungs. Eddie visibly cringed at the sight, but stayed silent; he only continued to watch in hope that Richie would somehow step down. Richie took away the small stick, blowing the smoke out slowly and staring at Eddie through his large obnoxious eye glasses.

“Why are you here, Eds?” Richie asked, as if a day hadn’t passed since they last talked.

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anonymous asked:

HC: richie crying after eddie tells him that he loves him for the first time bc nobody ever says that to richie, not even his family, and it's so good to be loved and feel loved and wOw, he is overwhelmed

- richie would be staying at Eddie’s due to a rough week at his parents house and he brought his guitar with him to annoy Eddie with whilst he’s trying to do his homework

- one night Eddie came out the shower to hear richie singing softly to himself and playing the guitar and Eddie would stand in the doorway and just watch him because he looked and sounded beautiful

- when he was done richie would see him standing there and just go red because oh shit, no one was supposed to hear

- “I sound like a dying cat, sorry ‘bout that e-“

- “I love you”

- Richie nearly choked on air

- it goes silent and neither of them move and Eddie goes a little red because why isn’t richie saying it back??

- then richie would feel his bottom lip quiver and he’d look away and put his guitar down so he could put his face in his hands

- Eddie would rush over and start fawning over him, asking what was wrong and Richie would just stare at him with tear filled eyes

- “you love me? how?”

- “what are you talking about? Because you’re you, rich, thats why I love you”

- that just makes the poor boy cry harder and Eddie holds him until he calms down enough to talk

- he tells Eddie he hasn’t heard anyone tell him that in years, even his parents didn’t say it, and Eddie nearly starts crying

- Richie is always so scared Eddie hates him because of his jokes but Eddie admits that’s what he loves, richie has always been himself around him

- Eddie kisses Richie so damn gently and Richie is an absolute sucker for this boy

- he doesn’t say it back until Eddie is curled into his chest that night and he smiles to himself because he’s with the most beautiful boy he’s ever met, and he loves him

- “love you too, Eds, always have, always will”

Philip Carlo: So, are you locked up twenty-four hours a day?

Richard Ramirez: On some days, some days yeah. I go outside for about five hours on Tuesday, I go out five hours on Friday and I go out five hours on Sunday. The rest of the time I am on Death Row. Everybody has a single-man cell.

Glasses — Part One

Title: Glasses [1/3]

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader

Type: Platonic | Romantic | Familial | Other

Summary: Richie sees you, a fresh face in Derry, and thinks maybe you’re cute. He talks to you, and thinks maybe you’re cool too. He sees you put on your huge, dorky glasses, and thinks maybe he’s a little in love.

New school, new life. That was the deal.

One you hadn’t been too happy to accept initially. You’d had a perfectly good life back home, with friends and grades and, you know, a social life. And it probably would have panned out into a slightly-boring but happy lifetime if your parents didn’t decide to up and haul ass to this dust-speck of a town in the good old US of A, but they did and here you are.

Friendless, sullen and vaguely intimidated as you stand on the outskirts of the grounds of your new middle school in Derry.

Admittedly, the town wasn’t too bad. It yielded loads of forests and even a quarry which you were eager to explore. A downside was the open plan of sewers, and openings cropped up everywhere - in sidestreets, beside lakes, in the middle of the road. The middle school you were standing outside now was rustic-looking, a little bit of an eyesore, somehow grand and shabby at the same time, and crawling with people.

You shouldered your bag and went ahead through the doors.

Inside was a slightly less-busy hallway. Your schedule was in your palm, folded eight times over in a mini nervous breakdown over cereal that morning. You’d only moved schools once, and you’d been too young to remember it, so being the new girl was an entirely new experience for you. A gradually-rising sense of diluted dread began to rise slowly inside you as you unfolded your schedule, checking out your first lesson.

Design Tech. Of course.

Now you swallowed, panic setting in. The hallway was growing swollen with passing students with only ten minutes until first bell, none of whom gave you a second glance after the first curious one. You could spot no teachers you could ask about the location of the DT classroom. The school was large, and you saw at least three separate blocks from the courtyard. Anyone of them could hold your class. You swallowed, nervously toying with the hem of your sleeves, entirely unbeknownst to the several pairs of curious eyes fixated on you from across the hallway.

The Losers Club looked on, each taking in your expression, a pitying hybrid of bemusement and panic as you dithered on the spot, turning one way and turning the next, looking for a class that wasn’t there.

“She looks lost,” was what Stan chose to break the silence with, startling his friends from their reverie. He glanced at the three of them. “Should we…?”

Eddie shrugged, dropping his gaze. Bill made to go forward but was stopped in his tracks by a hand flying to meet his chest. He looked in surprise to where Richie had halted him, as the skinny boy squared his shoulders in a mockery of slick confidence.

“I got this one boys,” he said, before readjusting his glasses and sauntering off. The illusion of confidence was slightly shattered by him stumbling over a sticking-out foot on his way over, and Stan groaned, turning around to lean his face against a locker.

“I can’t even look,” he said in a muffled voice, but Bill and Eddie certainly could.

Meanwhile, you were panicking so much you figured you were on the edge of an anxiety attack, and the tentative touch of a hand on your arm made you jump so violently your schedule slipped from your grasp, floating down to graze the floor.

“Shit!”

You watched, startled, as a boy around your age with a head of curly, dark hair, a Hawaiian-style flannel, bright eyes and huge, red glasses too big for his snubbed nose ducked swiftly to retrieve your schedule.

“Um - sorry about that. Didn’t mean to like, scare you.”

“No!” You took the schedule from his proffering grasp, so swiftly you almost gave him a paper cut. “No, no no no, that’s okay. I just…” you trailed off awkwardly, absently folding the paper again. “First day, y’know.”

“Right,” he laughed it off nervously. “It’s just, uh… my friends and me, we saw you looked kind of…”

“Like I wanted to be literally anywhere else but here?” you supplied. “Huh. I thought I’d hidden that pretty well.”

His chuckle came more naturally this time. “I could help you find your class, if you-” he broke off quite suddenly, shifting his feet. “Y’know. If you want. Or I could just tell you where to find it.”

“Actually, I’d love it if you would show me.” You smiled gratefully, unfolding your paper, and squinting at the small print. “I have Design Tech first with… Ms Greene?”

He frowned. “Which classroom?”

You squinted again. You could only make out two blobs of black ink, fuzzy to the eye. And as the seconds ticked on with you trying to decipher the two dark digits, and the silence stretched on, growing more awkward by the second, you reluctantly caved.

He has them too, you told yourself as you fished into your right pocket. It’s not like he can judge.

Reluctantly, you drew out your glasses - thickly-framed and slightly too large for your head - and slid them on. The blobs took sharp form immediately. DT5.

You looked up. The boy was watching you with a slightly open-mouthed expression, eyes glazed in an almost comical way. You fidgeted, cleared your throat, and he jumped out of the daze. A tide of red flooded his pale cheeks.

“It’s uh, DT5,” you supplied gently, and he smiled in relief from the awkward moment.

“Cool,” he said faintly. “That’s upstairs. I’ll take you, if you still want me to.”

“Please,” you answered, tucking the timetable away. You began to walk, and you glanced at him. You still didn’t know his name. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Richie Tozier,” he replied in a surer voice. “But you can call me your future husband.”

You scoffed, reaching up to remove your glasses as you walk, but your hand stayed when Richie blurted out, “I think they look great.”

Too startled to even move your hand, all you could muster up was, “Huh?”

The blush returned. It was painfully dark, from the tips of his ears to the contours of his thin face. “The glasses. You shouldn’t be ashamed of them. They’re kinda hot,” he added almost as an afterthought, and though you burst out laughing, you felt your hand drop back to your side, your glasses still firmly on your face as you resumed the trail to DT5.

Eventually you found it, and as you reached the door, you turned to Richie. “Thanks, Richie.” And not just for helping me find a classroom, either. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You could have lunch with us!” he offered slightly too eagerly. “Me and my friends, we always eat on the wall outside the Art block. You can meet us there, if you want.”

You considered briefly, then smiled. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Cool.” He kicked the tiled floor semi-awkwardly. “See you around then.”

“Yeah.” You grinned, turned and walked into your first class, confidence raging like a fire in your gut. You didn’t see Richie hover outside the door just to watch you for the next three minutes. You didn’t see how he was late to his first lesson, or the looks of open-mouthed shock his friends gave him as he sauntered in with a smirk on his face and a blush on his cheeks.

You didn’t see the doodles of a pair of large, thickly-framed glass dotted all over his exercise books that draw, carved in ink covering a whole page with the memory of you burned bright into his brain.