#gregwambsganss

The word I generated ended up pulling up a line of dialogue, so you're getting a whole section instead of a sentence because it felt weird out of context.

“Hey,” Ben says, his smile hanging onto the corners of his mouth, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, a morning person if Richie had ever met one. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here, it was Stan and Bev’s idea.” 

Richie raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask, figuring he will find out soon enough. “No, it’s cool,” he says to Ben, reaching below his desk and into his backpack for his books and notebook, pulling them out and desking them on the desk in front of him. “If I’m being honest, you’re saving me from Stanley’s lack of imagination and original thought.” 

“Hilarious,” Stan says, voice dry as he brushes past Richie, sliding into the seat behind him. “If you’re so smart, why aren’t you in AP English with Bill and Eddie?” Stan asks, reaching forward and flicking Richie behind the ear, then falling back in his chair, the force of motion causing a gust of his scent—a peculiar mix of chemicals and a woodsy musk—to breeze forward.

“They asked me to be here to keep you in line, liven you up, can’t have you becoming dryer than the pages we’re reading, Stan the Man.” 

Bev strolls in then, cigarette smoke clinging to her hair and clothes, the smell making Richie’s lungs ache, his lips wishing for a filter between his lips. It’d been a while, not since that first time after the attack, when he was looking for anything to calm him down—he couldn’t stop coughing after the first drag, the smoke making his airways constrict, a near suffocation and he figured his body just couldn’t anymore, not built for it. Doesn’t stop the addiction from gnawing at him. 

hi liam tysm 🥰🥰🥰

there’s things that I’d like to do / that scare me through and through / so many frights I’ve known / yeah it’s hard to let them go - f.e.a.r. / joywave

It’s a brief grappling fight, and then Mercy has you pinned on her bed, bands of cartilage tight around your wrists.