#ycwza

[quiet jealousy] - Your muse becomes jealous over my muse for whatever reason, and expresses it non-verbally, lingering closer to my muse than usual, touching them casually, etc. from @ycwza

This was the absolutely last place that Eddie Kaspbrak had expected himself to land at in any point of his life, for the obvious reasons. As if the title of Loser's Club hadn't been enough of a give away that he was too much of a loser to belong here, there was also the fact that the amount of people around was starting to give him extreme claustrophobia. In fact, he could feel his head spinning, and he almost wished that he still carried around the fanny pack of his youth and could pop a few Tylenol to fight off the impending headache caused from stress and anxiety.

He shouldn't have been surprised that Richie, to some degree, had gotten popular. Not popular popular, it wasn't like he was a star athlete or anything, but the guy was funny. People liked funny. People did not like people like Eddie, who were consistently on edge, worried about every little thing, and acted like they had a stick up their ass. Not that Eddie would change a thing about himself, because he was going to be the one that didn't end up pregnant before marriage. Wait.

Regardless, it was what led him to standing in the corner at the college party. A frat party, to be precise, which seemed the furthest thing up either of their alleys, but who was Eddie to judge? He had only agreed to come because he was nervous about Richie going alone, and ending up in some serious trouble. Friends had to look out for each other. Only right now there was no looking out, because Richie was nowhere to be seen, and Eddie was standing in the corner milking a Smirnoff Ice as if it was the strongest drink of the planet.

[ BREATHE ]  sender helps receiver get through a panic attack . from @ycwza

“Fuck…” It was all he could get out in that moment, almost seemingly feeling like his life was flashing in front of his eyes. He knew that was more than a little dramatic, but Eddie Kaspbrak had always been one for the theatrics. It came with being raised being afraid of everything, needing to always be on guard in case any possible disease were to take hold of him and he’d end up in the hospital. Or dead. He knew all of that was a lie now, now that he had gotten his memories back from his youth in Derry. Ever since the final battle, when he burned his inhaler because he had remembered exactly what it was for – faking him out, like everything else his mom had done. Keeping him under her control.

As a kid, he had never known any different. The way that he would struggle to breathe was incredibly real, the rush to his head that would make him dizzy and feel like he was about to faint if he didn’t take a puff of that medicinal cure. While his symptoms had certainly been real, the reason for it was not – it was not asthma, but was instead just pure and simple anxiety. Panic attacks. Probably produced due to his absolutely being sheltered from reality.

❛  i'm good at too many things!  WHY CAN'T I JUST BE NORMAL?  IT'S A FUCKING CURSE!  ❜ (he's joking... probably) from @ycwza

Eddie looked over his newspaper at the other, raising an eyebrow like he was absolutely baffled and could not believe that Richie was saying this. His coffee rested on the kitchen table that they both shared, ever since Eddie had moved in with the older. It had made sense - after dying and then coming back to life and whatever twisted crap had happened to him, he certainly hadn't wanted to move back in with Myra. Life was too short, clearly.

He had made it so the divorce was as clean cut as it could possibly be, even to the point that he had literally given her all his assets. Packed up and moved all the way across the country, from New York to Cali, just to sit here with his coffee that he was currently bringing to his lips and sipping, eyeing Richie over the rim of the mug, thinking it was way too early in the morning to be having these sort of conversations.

@ycwza

☎️ 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙱𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂, 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃? || i don't know what you expect me to do. || @ycwza

WHEN IT CAME TO THE TOWN OF DERRY, MAINE, THE INC. HAD BEEN GETTING CALLS FOR YEARS. Unexplained goings-on, mysterious disappearances (and, unfortunately, deaths) and the consensus that something wasn't quite right had resulted in a multitude of reports. However, stretched for resources at the best of times, they'd had to choose whatever jobs they took outside of New York (if they even took any at all) with extreme care.

THIS TIME, HOWEVER, A PERIOD OF RELATIVE QUIET HAD DESCENDED. Whilst good for their personal schedules, a lack of work was always bad for business - however, a simple peruse of their records had brought Derry back to their attention, and he himself had been particularly intrigued. Thus, finally, the many requests for help were going to be answered - in some form, anyway. Truthfully, he wasn't quite sure of what he was getting himself into.

AND NOW, HERE HE WAS. On the face of it, she presented herself as no different than any other small American town, but, a cynic first and foremost, any such attempts to enchant him into a false sense of security failed. Before any action, research was always necessary - and, having encountered a stranger, he hoped he was a local to the area - though, perhaps he wasn't explaining himself clearly enough.

" do you want to borrow something for your show tonight? " beverly questions flashing him a wide grin.

Watch the shoes. Knock-off Dr. Martens, high-top Chuck Taylors, red stilettos, solid black slip-on Vans... It's hard for Lynette to break old habits, especially the habits that have kept her alive for the last couple of decades. She sips on her water, trying not to appear too nervous as her eyes dart across the floor, watching the shoes walk past her rather than the people wearing them. You can put on a hat and take off a jacket. People wear wigs and sunglasses. Shoes are harder to change.

Where are the other girls? They should've been here by now. At the very least Marilyn should've been there. It was her idea to get Lynette out and about anyways.

Eyes finally lift and she forces a smile at the person nearest her, studying his features, memorizing his face in case something happens later. "Is it always packed like this here?" The laugh that accompanies her words is as forced as her smile and uncomfortable.