#beckett writes

[lektric-whump]

torture a whumpee, but only with things you can find in a craft store

burn them with a hot glue gun pressed against their skin

spray paint or mod podge (in the aerosol bottle) to make them cough

thumb tacks like painful rivets in their flesh

stick their hand in a heat press or under an operating sewing machine 

stab ‘em with the sharpest knitting needles you can find

[t4tozier]

your trans Richie hcs are pure 24k gold!!! do you have any hcs on how he came out to the losers?

thank you love!!! and fuck yeah i do!!!

so it goes one of two ways:

1. they’re all hanging out together and he just blurts it out because he made the decision to tell them that day and once he did he had really bad anxiety about it so he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret or do it in any sort of organized way

or 2. he tells them all separately but in a short period of time for the same reason

and if that’s the case then this is how he does it!

stan

he comes out to stan first because he knows stan won’t judge him or make fun of him. not that any of them would and realistically he knows that but he’s still terrified and he trusts stan to react calmly to it

so he goes over to stans house and knocks on the door and then just walks in because that’s the kind of friends they are

stan will still knock and wait outside for someone to come to the door because he’s polite but richie knows stan and his parents don’t care if he just comes in so he gives no warning and just shows up whenever he wants

stan’s upstairs so he waves hello to stan’s parents and goes into his room and is just kind of awkwardly like “hey stan the man what’s crackalackin”

and stan just gives him a glance at first because he’s used to that kind of stuff from richie but then he takes in how he’s biting his lip and his fingers are touching themselves shakily to his thumbs and he knows something’s up

so he takes off his headphones and sits up straight and pats the bed next to him and just says “tell me what’s wrong, [deadname]” in that special tone he reserves just for richie when he gets like this and people may think it’s condescending but it’s not and richie knows it

but richie winces at the sound of his deadname—he hasn’t chosen a new name yet because he can’t find anything that fits but he just knows that that one’s wrong—and stan immediately frowns and there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes but he doesn’t quite get it yet

and richie looks down at his fidgeting hands, his leg jiggling like mad and just really quietly whispers “i’m trans” and his heart is beating like crazy but it feels like there’s a sudden weight off his chest because he’s never said it out loud before

and stan’s eyebrows raise just slightly and he puts his hand in between them, palm up, because richie doesn’t like to be touched all the time, but richie immediately grabs onto stan’s hand and squeezes like it’s the only thing keeping him on the ground

and very slowly his eyes raise to meet stan’s—or not quite meet, but close—and stan just smiles at him and whispers “okay” back and then richie grins and squeezes stan’s hand harder

and they stay like that for a little until richie gets fidgety again and pulls away, wiping his hand on his jeans, and then stan asks if richie wants him to use he/him for him and richie nods

“thank you for sharing that with me,” stan says softly, and even though they’re both young richie knows that he just gets it. “mom’s making chili if you wanna stay for dinner.” and that’s that.

richie does stay for dinner that night

bill

the next person he tells is bill because even though this isn’t what young teen richie is thinking is the reason he knows that bill knows what it’s like to feel completely alone in a crowd of people

they’re playing call of duty together on bill’s new ps4 because bill’s parents replace parenting with material things

and while that’s not what bill needs he has to admit it can be nice when he gets new video games

and he likes that richie’s “not like other girls” in that he likes playing video games with bill instead of playing with makeup

so anyway they’re playing call of duty and richie dies but instead of throwing the controller down and making frustrated noises like he usually does he just sets it down gently and turns to bill, pulling his knees up to his chest

and bill doesn’t pay much attention to it at first because while he’s very attuned to people’s feelings, he’s pretty focused on this game

so it’s not until he dies himself that he turns to richie and cocks his head and richie just blurts it out because sometimes bill stares at him in this way that makes him feel like he already knows the truth

but bill’s open mouth and raised eyebrows show that he had no idea, he just thought richie was a boyish girl

but richie squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, kind of like he’s trying to avoid looking at his friend’s reaction because he’s expecting it to be followed by him being told to leave

and bill starts, “h-h-hey, no, d-don’t w-w-worry—” and he’s about to say richie’s deadname when he realizes that’s probably not what he needs and it’s a good thing for once he stuttered before he could get it all out

and he’s a little more curious than stan was, at least outwardly, or at first, but he has more questions and richie doesn’t quite know how to answer all of them but he tries and it’s a little awkward but finally bill cracks a smile and turns back to the video game

and richie smiles shyly to himself before picking the controller back up and leaning into bill as they continue playing

mike

mike finds out because one day richie visits him at the farm, biked all the way out there, and he normally never does that unless there rest of them are with him

he doesn’t actually know richie’s there until he goes out to milk the cows, because richie’s standing in the middle of the field with his arms around one of the big cows and his face pressed into her neck

and mike is a little confused at first but then he grins and goes over to them, setting down his milk pail and the stool

and he greets richie happily and doesn’t notice how richie’s hands bunch in the cow’s fur

“teach me how to do farm work.”

it’s muffled, and mike frowns and has to ask him to repeat himself a couple times because richie doesn’t move his face from the cow’s neck, but then his eyes light up

“sure! dad would love to have some more help around the farm. is it just ‘cause you’re bored, or...?”

‘cause he knows richie needs more stimulation than he gets sometimes but conversely he needs less stimulation than he gets sometimes and the farm is perfect for both situations

but richie shakes his head and then slowly moves so that his cheek is pressed against the cow instead of his whole face

“i wanna get big like you. muscly.”

and mike’s never thought of himself as particularly muscular before so he blushes as he asks, “can i ask why?”

“so i look like a guy.”

and it takes some back and forth before mike finally understands that richie is transgender

and richie’s not stupid. he knows that not everything on the farm will get him muscular and that it takes a lot of work. he gets that part but he still wants to do it

so while mike stumbles sometimes because richie still doesn’t know his name so he’s not sure what to call him they start working together on the farm on weekends and richie has the fucking time of his life

ben

richie finds ben in the library after school one day while he’s waiting for maggie to come pick him up and he decides that now is a good time to tell him

so he plops himself down in front of ben and it takes him a while to notice that he’s even there because he’s so invested in his walt whitman book

and richie’s fidgety, fingers touching each other and shoulders up to his ears, but ben doesn’t notice for what seems like forever

it’s only three minutes

but when ben finally does he’s got the brightest smile on his face

richie secretly thinks that ben forgets he has friends sometimes which is why he’s always so happy to see them, ‘cause it’s a reminder that they haven’t left him

but he doesn’t say that

instead he loudly asks, “can i tell you something?” because volume control? never heard of her

and he’s immediately shushed by the librarian and he winces, but ben, who’s used to this, just smiles and leads richie out of the library so they can talk

richie paces as he tries to find the words to say what he wants to say and he thought it would be easier after the first three times but it’s not

he ends up talking about maggie picking him up instead of being trans for much longer but finally he tells him “and she said she’d be here at 3:30 exactly and now it’s 3:34 and she hasn’t texted me i haven’t told her i’m transgender yet but she’ll be here soon”

and it takes ben even longer to process and he’s way beyond the topic by the time he does and then he doesn’t quite stop him but he manages to get in a soft little comment of “that’s really cool! also i hope she picks you up soon”

he got picked up two minutes later and didn’t mention being trans again once

ben later brings it up to mike because he’s not entirely sure if he heard him right but it turns out he did! and he wants to support him but he’s not quite sure how

and mike just tells him to give it time because he doesn’t know if he’s told everyone yet

brady

richie’s kind of nervous to tell brady and he’s not sure why

probably because he’s way too cool for him and he’s scared he’s gonna judge him

he actually really hates the smell of smoke but it’s the only time brady’s ever by himself

so when brady sees richie making his way over to him he stubs out the cig and gives him a crooked smile

and richie’s intimidated as fuck because being the only girl in a group of guys is scary but brady’s the scariest guy of them all

brady doesn’t rush him, though, even though he knows there’s something up, and when richie eventually spills, he grins and just says, “cool. me too.”

and thats how richie finds out brady is bev

she tells him she’s known for a long time but she didn’t know how they’d take it, but now that richie’s come out she feels much more comfortable with it

she offers to give him some of her clothes that’ll probably be a little too big but in exchange she’ll take his dresses and flowy shirts

and even though richie knows that all his friends will support him he’s elated to have a trans friend because he didn’t know any other trans person and now not only does he, she’s one of his best friends

eddie

richie’s the most scared to come out to eddie

it’s no secret that he’s sheltered, in every sense of the word

and he’s terrified that eddie won’t want to be his friend anymore when he finds out

he walks him home from school because he doesn’t know how else to get to him

sonia won’t let eddie hang out with him because she thinks he’ll corrupt him or something, eddie’s never been really clear about it but all richie knows is that he’s not allowed over

but they walk home together, richie’s hands clenching and unclenching rapidly and eddie running his fingers along the soft lining of his coat

they’re both nervous, richie for obvious reasons and eddie because he doesn’t know why richie’s walking him home

even as eddie’s going on about some car that richie knows nothing about but is still eager to listen to, he’s wondering what’s going on and if something bad happened because he’s usually only alone with one of them if something bad happened like when bill told him georgie died

and richie’s hands clench faster and faster until they can’t hold back the words he’s trying to hold back and he blurts out, “i’m a transgender boy and i hope you still wanna be my friend because we’re best friends and i don’t want your mom to find out and take you away from me.”

and eddie’s so taken aback he stops in his tracks, his mind still racing with thoughts about the car but now occupied with this new information

and at first richie’s right. he’s a little scared. because he’s never known any transgender person and his mom has always told him that gay and transgender people were bad

but then he realizes that this is richie, this is his best friend, and if they were best friends one minute ago there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be best friends now

so he smiles and nods and asks him a couple questions because he’s barely even heard of being transgender and richie isn’t much better equipped to answer them any more than he was when bill asked them but he leans into eddie as they walk home and eddie leans into him back and it’s really okay

and once all the losers know, they get together at the quarry and have a little coming out party where bev also comes out and that raises the question of what richie’s name is going to be

and it takes some debating but when richie comes up with his name he knows in that moment nothing will ever feel more right than being richie, surrounded by all his friends who accept him for exactly who he is and never expect anything from him like other people do. he’s richie fucking tozier, and he’s never been more proud to be him.

[cosmicaces]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Moomins Series

Characters: Snufkin, Moomin

Additional Tags: Chronic Pain, Fishing

There are days where the pain isn't so bad. This, however, is not one of them.

It wasn’t something he necessarily felt it was worth sharing with others. From his experience, folks tended to treat you differently when they learned about it, so he always just kept his mouth shut about it. Besides, he could function just fine through the occasional bursts of pain. Sure, it caused him to take more time when completing his usual routines, but it wasn’t anything that really held an impact or inhibited his ability to do anything.

That’s what the mumrik was repeating to himself as he lay on the ground in his tent, tail twitching in frustration as pain flared in his spine. Now, to put it simply, this was quite far from ideal. See, he had promised Moomintroll that they would go fishing by the beach. There wasn’t much doubt in his mind that Little My would find a way to tag along, but it wasn’t like he minded too much. No, what he did mind was the possibility of having his dear friend find him curled up on the floor, hardly able to move.

[beckettsthoughts]

Dear Toby, Today is my nineteenth birthday, and your thirty-fifth. Last year’s letter was particularly emotional, I know. It wasn’t easy for me to write, but I’m glad I got it down. This year, thou…

My annual letter to my dear cousin, Toby. I miss you and I love you, always.

[beckettsthoughts]

My new favourite writing space is the cathedral at night. Every week I get to climb up above the rafters and sit here with my notebook, far above the rest of the city. It’s so beautiful, so peaceful, up here amongst the angels and the stars.

[beckettsthoughts]

1, 6 and 18

Thank you for asking, anon!

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything?

Renard Julien Cartier.

(pronounced REN-ard ZHUL-ee-en CAR-tee-ay)

Renard’s name was chosen for a couple of particular reasons. Firstly, Renard’s name is French. This is, probably obviously, because Renard himself is French, more specifically he comes from the region of Normandy. Secondly, Renard is not the name he was given when he was born. No, that would be his middle name, Julien. Renard is the name that he chose for himself upon developing his skills as a shapeshifting faerie. Cartier, as a surname, follows a common pattern found in many languages. Cartier is an occupational name, meaning transporter of goods. While this is not the profession of Renard himself, his family has a long history with this career.

Renard is the only part of the name that is not pronounced in the traditional French way, which is mostly because by the time Renard chose this name he was no longer living in France. Almost everybody he spoke to at the time pronounced the name with an English inflection, and he developed an attachment to the Anglicised pronunciation. Renard, being chosen to suit his ability as a shapeshifter, has a specific meaning. Renard, then, is the French name for a fox.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Renard loved school. He did not attend in a traditional sense, though. What Renard called ‘school’ could be better described as a selection of tutors and a library hall. Faerie communities, such as the wealthy crowd amongst which Renard was raised, rarely find themselves in human educational institutions and instead devise their own system which works for their particular family. Renard would spend several hours a day in a manor house library belonging to his aunt and uncle, visited by several notable fae scholars with whom he could learn different subjects and specialties. Aside from the basics of mathematics and linguistics, Renard would have been allowed near-complete autonomy over the subjects he studied. His interests lie mostly with humanities, studying history, literature, music and cultural geography, but he also put significant time time into practises such as nautical navigation. Renard would also have studied various magical practises, including potion-making and identification and illusionary and glamour magic. While he loved the artistic element of illusionary magic, the more science was involved the less content Renard would be.

18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else

When it comes to literature, Renard is most interested in folktales, romances and period fiction as well as the classics. He doesn’t watch television or movies, not that he couldn’t if he wanted to, and he’s never played video games either (though he is a fan of board games and card games). When it comes to music, Renard loves to play and listen alike, and his favourite genres to explore are classical and folk. Within the wider category of classical, his favourite era is baroque.

[beckettsthoughts]

tell me about your poetry! please ^^ you mentioned the poetry petnames and now im curious

When it comes to poetry, I’m a strange and unanchored soul. I like poems that are rambly, I like poems that have odd, uneven rhythms that hint at something greater, I love poems without any discernible rhyme scheme but where rhyme is still present. What I’m saying is, I’d be an awful songwriter. I like to think, however, I make a half-decent poet. 

When I’m writing, I tend to be writing about people. Often the people I love and how I interact with them, my relationships with them and how I feel about that. My poetry is often an outpouring of love, in the most cheesy and unapologetic sense. One quirk I picked up when writing poetry was using pet-names and endearments to make a piece seem more conversational, to emphasise that these poems are about people and that these people are some that I love. I rarely use pet-names in real life, in fact I practically never use pet-names in real life, but my poetry has grown to become dotted with ‘love’ and ‘dear’ and ‘darling’, and it’s beginning to slip into my other written communications. It’s only a matter of time before it becomes a part of my real, spoken idiolect.

And- because you were curious and I realised that this poem has only before been shared with @skyward-sheik, the boy and soulmate I am addressing in this poem- here is an example of my poetry, petnames and all. I hope you like it ^^

This is the first of many.

I can see that time has

Caught up with me at last

And I’m so sorry, my dear,

That you too were caught up

In the silent storm that followed.

And yet, it will never be enough to halt my travels.

I want to write as many letters as it takes

So that you’ll never have to miss me.

So that you know it’ll always be

The two of us against the world.

So that you’ll never forget

Any of this universe we’ve grown

Between the palms of our hands.

You may be my only sadness, love,

But you needn’t worry.

It’s beautiful in counterpoint.

I miss you already.

[beckettsthoughts]

The Roaring of the Wind (And Other Such Sounds)

The weather forecast had declared that it was supposed to be a dark and stormy night. As Bea watched the rain hammer against the concrete, she found herself able to admit that this once, they might just have been right. Bea was dressed appropriately in a heavy anorak topped with her hat and woolen scarf. If they weren’t so inconvenient, she would also have been wearing her gloves. In her pocket was a torch, a packet of crisps and a few guitar picks. Every time she reached into them to warm her fingers they came out covered in fleecy lint. At that moment, her hands were gripped tight to a pair of old binoculars that she’d thieved from their usual home on the living room windowsill. She was peering down at the sea from the top of the fort. Rather, she was not peering at the sea but rather something that was moving in it. A shifting she could see just above the line of the rocks, a motion of thrashing waves and thrashing other.

“Bea?” Annecy yelled, interrupting Bea’s quiet surveillance, “I’m back! Have you found anything?”

“I think so,” Bea shouted, lowering her binoculars for a moment, “Annecy? Anna?”

“I’m coming, just give me a second,” Annecy replied, her voice echoing up the stone steps in a way that made it sound tinny and damp, “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s moving, though, you’ll see.”

At that moment, Annecy’s head emerged from the top of the old stone staircase. She had doubled up on layers and had one of those waterproof beach-blankets wrapped around her shoulders, one that she’d fetched on her trip back to the van. It was held in place with one of those plastic crisp-bag clips. Bea was beginning to wish she’d bought another jacket, as she looked at Annecy, warm and reasonably dry. Rain was starting to infiltrate Bea’s hood and she could feel her soggy hat clinging to her head, but it was too late to do anything about it. She had expected it to be raining, but not necessarily expecting it to be pouring.

Bea passed the old binoculars to Annecy so that she could assess this mystery with her own eyes.

“I think we may have to take the cameras down to the edge of the bay.” Annecy pondered, struggling to focus on the, well, whatever it was, “Maybe we’ll be able to see it clearer a little further down the hill?”

Bea’s agreement was no more than a simple nod as she went down the steps to fetch the equipment. Everything outside of her rucksack, her duffel-bag and tripod case had been stowed safely down inside the old fort. Above the rush of the wind and the pounding rain of the storm against the concrete, she could hear a deep roar echo around the headland. It seemed so strong that she could feel it through the earth itself, feel it buzzing through the walls. It was like that one night where she and Annecy had gone to this gig, where they stood so close to the speakers that each note vibrated through her bones.

All of Bea’s equipment was piled in the corner, and she shoved the binoculars down the side of her duffel bag, held in place by a balled-up jumper and crushing a packet of chips beneath. Bea considered taking the jumper and wearing it under her sweatshirt, but it would be too difficult to move her arms in, especially if she was going to be working with the tripod and camera. She was tempted to kiss it goodbye before stepping out into the fray.

Annecy, as she walked down the steps and into the old bunker, announced, “We definitely need to check that out up close. It’s, well I can’t see the outline but it has eyes, Bea.”

“Okay, you take the little camera and get down there and I’ll bring the big one and the tripod.” Bea instructed, “Just remember to hold it steady, okay, it’s too dark to get a clear picture if you’re moving it around everywhere.”

There was a brief moment of quiet, or storm-quiet, the kind where the loud static of the weather became silence, while Bea packed everything into her multitude of bags. They had been at the fort for four hours. It was three o’clock in the morning, according to her phone. Annecy pottered about with her own belongings. Annecy poked her head out of the arch and saw that what had been a rainstorm was now a hailstorm, small chunks of ice bouncing and shattering on the concrete of the fort.

“Damn, it’s getting worse. You’ll be down in just a sec, right, Bea?”

Bea lifted her head and smiled reassuringly, “Promise. I just need to make sure it’s all ready and then I’ll catch up with you.”

Annecy nodded slowly and took one long, deep breath before leaving the fort and making her way down the hill. There was a bicycle trail that they followed, a path towards the edge of the headland’s meadow that rolled out over the lumps and the curves of the coastland. It would be difficult, Bea knew, not to slip and fall down on the trail. Annecy had told her earlier that she always walked on the bank of grass rather than the muddy path, and they were both carrying long-life camping torches with them. Bea heaved all of the bags off of the ground and arranged them around herself so that she wouldn’t overbalance in the wind. She had been a girl guide, back in her early teens. Annecy hadn’t been, but she was resourceful nonetheless.

About halfway down the hill, Bea could see a torchlight in the grass. Annecy, waiting for her, was crouched down among the damp marram grass. She was holding Bea’s small camera and had her torch directed on the ground so that Bea knew where she was huddled. Bea was half expecting to have to help pull her up from the ground, revealing a mud and snail-covered girl and likely knocking Bea over in the process, but Annecy unfolded herself and stood up with a smile, She pointed over towards the thing and switched the camera on. Bea looked over her shoulder as she zoomed right in close on the moving thing, revealing horns and sea-damp fur, two large, reflective eyes. It looked, for a moment, like some ancient mammoth. Except, perhaps, it was larger.

“It’s a bull.” Annecy breathed, “Don’t you think? It’s a massive bull.”

“That’s insane.” Bea whispered, nonetheless awestruck.

Annecy grabbed Bea’s shoulder and shook it in her excitement, “Yeah, but it means I’m not.”

The creature reared its great head as Annecy approached from the path. Bea could see, through the detailed image in her proper camera lens, that its coat was as black and slimy as the nighttime sea. Seaweed tangled in its horns, it was magnificent and terrifying in equal measure. As she got closer, Bea could see that what she had assumed to be ragged waves, were in fact, pale paper-grey horses. They tumbled and scrambled at the beach beneath the hooves of the bull, collapsing into seafoam and reforming all at once, and they had those teeth and those eyes that scared Bea more than anything she’d seen before. The wind was roaring louder than Bea had ever heard and the bull echoed in kind, lowing and roaring it trampled the sand and the rocks. There was no time to set up the tripod, Annecy was already running haphazardly through the grass down to the sea wall. Instead, Bea, tried to keep her hand steady as she adjusted the settings to accommodate for the dim light and the strange circumstances. Her camera may have had pet portrait, sunset and indoor party settings, but it didn’t come pre-adjusted to monster hunting.

After taking each round of photos, Bea checked over them to make sure that some were at least clear-ish, considering the rain-spots that were clouding her camera lens. Bea looked back at Annecy, stood strong against the granite sea-wall. Annecy was still taking pictures on her phone and on Bea’s small camera, but she turned around when Bea called her name. The wind stole most of her words, but she understood the brisk nod and the crashing of heavy, wet-gravel as Bea ran back toward the van with her camera in hand.

Annecy followed just a few seconds behind her, camera clutched tight in her hands and her hair in a salt-soaked tangle. She wrenched the door open against the gale and collapsed into the driver’s seat, thrusting the camera back into Bea’s lap as she turned the ignition and started the wipers, giving them a clear view back over the bull. They were both half-expecting it to have disappeared while their backs were turned, but it was no trick of the light. The bull remained, imprisoned by the rocks and the wall, surging up against the stone like a great wave. The white horses that bustled around its legs were leaping up and over the wall, now, chasing the girls and collapsing into foam on the gravel.

Bea switched the camera back on and searched through the photographs. Annecy had even managed to capture a video of it thrashing and roaring and being alive.

“You got all the camera stuff from the fort, right?” Annecy asked, “I don’t really want to go back out there, but I will if I have to.”

As Annecy spoke, another one of the horses raced towards them. Hooves splashing on the ground and losing their shape, seafoam splattering across the windscreen as it stopped being a horse and started being just another part of the storm. Bea didn’t want to get too close either.

“It’s all in the back.” She answered, gazing blank and bewildered out toward the horizon, “What do we do now?”

Annecy was busy inspecting her notebook, looking over all of her predictions and comparing them to what they’d seen. She busied herself sketching and amending, making addendums and appendices. She still had over half the notebook left to fill, there was so much still that she didn’t know. Annecy closed the book and glanced up at Bea, who was poring over her photographs in a similar fashion while she waited patiently for an answer.

“We learn.”