trashmouthkid

[trashmouthkid]

“eat my jorts” — bill denbrough

[trashmouthkid]

Memory. Memory. Me-mor-y. Richie mouths the word to himself, a silent sound pushing his lips apart and pulling them back together. Memory. The motel sheets are dry and scratchy, there's movement in the room next door. Memory.

Memory: always bleak, always unfunny. Potentially the least funny word in the English language and for that reason, ticklish and unfamiliar on Richie's tongue. He makes a face and listens to the hushed noises on the other side of his wall—love, palpable.

The wrinkles in his forehead twist and deepen. He thinks of memory as some dead thing risen, a zombie from one of those old horror flicks he’d catch well past his bedtime back in the 80s, flickering on his static-stricken television set. He can see it: memory a grotesque, unrecognizable body crawling over him, and love in the other room. It tears him open and he listens, to the ripping and the rearranging and the sharp, quickening breaths. What does he know of love, anyway?

Memory has ears that are in tact, a nose that he knows, and between bites Richie can almost make out the warmth of youth. It’s sweat-sticky skin, it’s candy-sweet breaths. But memory is more-so estranged, and these glimpses are overwhelmed by the smell of rot and pain—unbelievable pain.

He shouldn’t have come here. These motel walls are thin, so paper-thin, and love is on the other side, drifting off. He listens to the gentle rustle of sheets, finding and touching, to himself, being eaten alive, and stuffs a large fist into his broken mouth, muffling a sob.

Memory should have stayed a six letter word in his father’s Sunday morning crossword puzzle: m-e-m-o-r-y.

Memory should not have picked up the phone.

#Richie Tozier #mine #body horror #(mild) #zombies tw #heard it was Richie’s birthday. deeply sorry I would have written something else if I’d known xoxo

[trashmouthkid]

“seven tickets to the barbie movie please”

#so true

[trashmouthkid]

—Sincerely, Bill Denbrough | e.r.

#hanbrough #poetry #mine

[trashmouthkid]

I hope you're happy, I'm reading steven king because of you!

that was never my intention, I am so sorry

#FDSKLGDSKLGJLDKGJDLG what are you reading?? #anonymus #ask

[trashmouthkid]

when stephen king dies you have an hour and forty five minutes to get out of Maine before it explodes

[trashmouthkid]

you just don’t fucking get it. he knew well enough

#he knew like he knew he KNEW well enough

[trashmouthkid]

I’ve been kind of dependent on audible books for the last couple years, but I have some time off work next week and would like to try to read a physical book. Anyway, does anyone have any stephen king recs for that?

#like on the shorter side lmao #i don’t even know if I have any Stephen King readers following me but #I have to know my enemy to replace him on the bookshelves #AHDNDJCMDKMDKSMSLAKA not serious <3

[trashmouthkid]

“I could fix him” “I could make him worse” —me talking to myself about the piece of writing I won’t stop editing

[trashmouthkid]

me and my besties talking about our darkest secrets at the most public places

[trashmouthkid]

Eddie’s first kiss with Richie, could he do it all over again, he wouldn’t do any differently. He has to figure that at 12 or 16 or 50 didn't matter—it was always going to be sticky or wet.

Their dorm is bigger than last semester’s, since getting a third roommate. Still no kitchen, but there’s a tiny loft now connecting the two bedrooms where they’ve managed to squeeze a couch and television, plus an old microwave Richie found in his parent’s basement over winter break. This has been great for eating in front of the TV, a pastime Eddie has taken an overindulgent liking to since settling more comfortably into college life. 

There have been a number of things Eddie’s taken a liking to since moving away from his mom, and there will be a number more, but for the moment it’s just this—messy, greasy, dirt-cheap food and shitty television. He’s hungry all the time for anything downright bad for him, but will warm his belly all the same.

He’s eating mac & cheese right now—those shitty, 25 cent microwave kraft cups they sell in the market downstairs. Bill bought an apocalyptic-sized pack at the beginning of the semester before Richie got him on ramen, and now Eddie eats two on his breaks between English and Chemistry. He’s cross-legged on the couch humming around a spoonful of his second cup when Richie gets in from class. It’s a moment or two before he realizes he’s being watched, and even then it’s only because Richie makes a disruptive noise. 

“Dude, are you...good?” 

He must have cheese dust on his face. He knows he has it on his fingers. He glances up to see Richie looking at him, head tilted curiously. 

He’s been, predictably, pretty encouraging of all of Eddie’s newfound (if sometimes a little destructive) freedom—anything that might send mama Kaspbrak to an early grave has always gotten Richie Tozier’s loud stamp of approval. Even now, asking, he doesn’t look concerned so much as he does amused. Almost fond. Just checking in. Maybe he’s tired of sharing his candy bars during movie nights.

Eddie likes him for this. He likes Richie a lot. In fact, of all the things he brought with him from home, Richie is his favorite. No contest.

When he doesn’t answer right away, Richie grips the armrest of the couch and bends to him. “I’m just worried the next time you go to the hospital, they’re not going to have your blood type,” he says. “Type C. You know, for cheese.”

For one fleeting moment, Eddie fantasizes about dropping out of school to laugh at Richie’s godawful improv exclusively, but he’s quickly distracted by the proximity between them. They’re close—closer than they’ve been in a while. And he can't stop looking at Richie’s mouth.

It looks good. It looks messy and bad for him, and fulfilling for exactly those reasons. Satiation is in the pout of his lips and so Eddie, who’s been blinking expressionless at Richie for the last two minutes, grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and pulls him into a messy, inexperienced, cheese-filled kiss. 

It’s probably objectively terrible, but that doesn’t seem to matter between two reasonless people running on emotion raw since ‘82. Richie is pink in the cheeks, orange around the mouth when they pull apart, and all Eddie can do it grin. Grin, and regret nothing.

“I’m good, Richie,” he tells him. “I am so good.”

#reddie #fanfic #mine

[trashmouthkid]

stanley uris - hey, there's a funeral down the street

#stanley uris #edit #mine #sorry this song is sooo. stanley

[trashmouthkid]

btw y'all, and I think I've said it before, but I have several asks in my inbox from the past couple months and even the past couple years that I just let sit there for too long to answer. there's no malicious reason I never responded and I don't want anyone to worry that there was. i'm just not on top of it sometimes and i feel terminal guilt about it, so just so y'all know

#esp if u sent me a prompt that i SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED #sometimes i think prompts are the answer to writer's block and it never ever is<3 #anyway thank u all #del later maybe

[trashmouthkid]

Hey Em, been following you for awhile and just wanted to check in with you, how are you doing? sorry I'm on anon I'm shy!

same anon that was checking in on you, even though I've been following you for awhile I don't know much about you :( (there was a better way to word this but i lost it lol) can I ask when your birthday is? curious about your sign, hm...what did you study in college? anyways, I hope you're well and something good happened to you today <3

Hi!! I'm doing okay, thank you for asking. I hope you're also doing well.

My birthday is February 2nd and I got my bachelor's degree in English, with a focus on writing and rhetoric. I started out as an education major, though, so I was in the early childhood education program and working with kids for a while before I switched my major.

Thank you for the kind wishes 😭 I hope the same for you as well<3

#anonymous #ask

[trashmouthkid]

Love and Other Cryptic Tales from the Gas Station

The one thing stranger, maybe, than the town of Derry itself, was the 24 hour gas station loitering on the outskirts of it. (Or: Eddie's finishing up school at a local college, Richie works overnights at a gas station. A weird one.)

[playlist]

#reddie #fanfic #mine #the way i was like ''yeah ill be done by like 5pm and will watch [redacted] as my prize'' and it is now almost 5am...there is something #so deeply wrong with me

[trashmouthkid]

that summer eddie helped georgie nurse a dying bumblebee back to health

#imagine any loser doing this with georgie for a shot of dopamine #yes if you're asking #today i did bring a dying bumblebee home from work bc who wants to die on the floor of [redacted] #i feel insurmountable grief over bugs dying sometimes #he went in a little garden plant outside if that makes it better tho #oh uh #bugs tw

[trashmouthkid]

IT (2017) dir. Andy Muschietti

"Derry is not like any town I've been in before. They did a study once and, it turns out, people die or disappear at six times the national average. And that's just grown ups. Kids are worse. Way, way worse."

#it (2017) #gifs #mine