#tapsugar

[gobeepmyself]

@tapsugar

Richie hates his balcony. It’s only good for smoking. Too small to camp out with chairs and enjoy a glittering city.

Somehow it got stuck being dressed in aesthetic lights that his assistant insisted on: They’ll be so nice from below! So instagram worthy. Yeah, no fucking shit - for hipsters!

Not for some grungy idiot in his mid-life-crises-thirties with a weak stomach and some gay secrets. He huffs to himself sans amusement and leans a hip uncautiously into the railing. The way down is long and people look small, and Richie’s never been a huge fan of heights but a condo like this? It goes for chump change (for him) and it’s nice. Central. Easily accessible. 

His gaze flicks to the door behind him, and he sucks back that first, sweet inhale. It has that very significant flavor of this again? Richard Tozier, you’re a fucking failure. You quit. Big shock you’re back on this bullshit. that he welcomes in the space of his lungs. Weird how that voice sounds like Eddie. He mulls that tidbit over, legs crossed, butt to his mouth, gaze gone into the netherworld. To Richie, it lasts an eternity - in which he comes out of it with bambi legs and burning eyes unblinking. For the outside world? Just a few seconds.

He clears his throat for no one and taps the length of his cigarette to encourage the ash away. It flutters to the floor of his cramped balcony, just a sad pile, a new thing for him to stare at in consideration. Unfortunately: it tells him nothing.

So he pulls open the sliding door in two steps: first, the big head honcho door gets slipped back. Second, he pulls the screen door to the edge until there’s only an inch of uncloseable space. Calls it done and done as he resumes his dangerous lean.

“Did you know that back in the 40′s, cigarettes were like - fucking asthma aids?” Richie asks on a nicotine foggy-breath. There. No more separation between him and Eddie. Yeah - he knows it opens up some leeway for Eddie to come at him and shit on his dick about the smoking. I quit, he had told him around a restaurant table and then fucking ate those words after the whole clown-from-our-childhood-tried-to-fuck-us-up-and-ate-your-arm thing. You know. That thing that happens like, every day. He wants to roll his eyes and almost denies it. 

But nah, he lets those puppies roll. 

[whitewitched]

             ❝       --- actually, the tradition of wearing halloween costumes came from the celts. supposedly, the disguises would trick malevolent spirits and help mortals blend in with the supernatural.       ❞

                                               + @tapsugar​ (sc)

[stndpipe-blog]

‘ i won’t leave you behind. ’     * / / *     @tapsugar.

        tongue  rests  far  too  firmly  between  his  teeth,  one  harsh  jump  and  stan  could  already  predict  iron  would  be  spilling  down  his  chin.   the  tension  in  his  jaw  is  locked.   his  pulse  flutters  behind  his  eyelids,  and  he  doesn’t  realise  how  loud  his  breathing  is  ‘til  eddie  speaks  to  him.   his  hands  shake,  and  he  feels  his  mouth  click  as  it  parts,  dry  from  panic.

        the  last  time  he  was  in  neibolt-  he’d  been  left  by  himself,  and-...  it  was  one  of  those  things  that  haunted  him-  an oddly  shaped  lamp,  the  flash  of  a  shadow,  the  patter  of  feet  that  he  didn’t  recognise.   everything  built  up  to  the  lady,  and  it  always  felt  like  she  was  following  him  to  finish  the  job  she’d  started.   the  sides  of  his  face  hurt,  his  jaw  and  teeth  ached,  but  he  hadn’t  even  stepped  inside.

        he  doesn’t  realise  how  long  the  silence  has  stretched  for,  and  there’s  a  familiar  panicked  shine  to  his  eyes  as  he  turns  his  head  so  slowly  he  feels  his  bones  creak,  and  stanley  reaches  to  gently  pat  eddie’s  arm.   the  fear  is  paralyzing,  his  words  shake  off  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  soaked  in  sincerity.   “  do  you  promise,  eddie?   ”