#and first is just like- constantly having a conniption lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilovejevsjeans · 4 years

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BRO. I'm sorry for dropping by your ask box with this nonsense but I NEED SOMEONE TO RANT AT. I'm just confused about why Christian Hornet (this was a typo at first, but considering physical and behavioral resemblance to wasps and Daniel's aversion to them, we'll call it a Freudian slip and leave it in)

2/ WHY IS HORNET WELL LOVED IM SO CONFUSED?? i had a weird entrance into f1 because my dad has always been a fan so I've always had an operative understanding of formula one as a sport but this quarantine is credited with directing me to drive to survive and ??? That?? man is like the devils cousin?? I always thought he was this suave British character but like he's a fuckwit and he doesn't get enough credit for it??

3/ I get that the litmus test for wackassery is Cyril but that's a very low bar lol no one needs to watch out for Cyril because he constantly looks like the Melodramatic French Villain Bitch ™ we been knew he's evil, BUT HORNET is the real Iago ya feel? Man runs through "2nd" drivers like a chain smoker does through cigarettes. As soon as he picked up Daniel he demoted/dropped Vettel like he's hot (vettel is hot but different context)

4/ AND NOW WATCHING DRIVE TO SURVIVE : AFTER THIS MAN GAVE SUNSHINE DANIEL A TICKING TIME BOMB OF A CAR THAT KEPT DNF-ing, OBVIOUSLY STARTED FAVOURING MAX HE SAYS " Daniel was running from a fight" BITCH. THE AUDACITY. IMAGINE LOSING TOP TALENTS LIKE VETTEL AND RICCIARDO UNDER YOUR WATCH HOW DID HIS CAREER SURVIVE THIS??? WHAT AM I MISSING? R.I.P TO HIS RESUME

5/ and we all deadass swept the Pierre Gasly situation under the rug like his whole time at Red Bull didn't have more red flags than a Ferrari parade. Hornet is obviously not interested in fostering talent, he wants contenders and prodigies like seb/danny/max that he can play favourites with which doesn't bode well for Albon because he's kind of just expected to live up-to that standard without any help or guidance? Reckon anyone told him his contract was "deliver or die" ???

6/ deadass nearly had a conniption when some redditor linked an article from April this year where hornet says he's still confused as to why Daniel left? How is it not more of an insult that someone would willingly run into Cyrils creepy arms to get away from you? Sis I'm really sorry for this rant but I just keep seeing tumblr posts about how sassy 😳and 😍 witty 🌟💫 hornet is and it triggerd me. I would imagine he'd have plenty of time to be witty when he treat your drivers like disposables

7/7 instead of helping them grow into their talent. In conclusion, fuck Christmas Hornet and thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

You never have to be sorry for coming onto my blog and trashing Hornet, in fact I encourage it. The only person worse than him in Helmut.

I wish I fucking knew. Thankfully I dont follow anyone who likes the prick. After years and years of fucking over drivers and mentally destroying them it always astounds me that anyone likes the guy (or the team). Especially when he cant keep those same drivers names out of his mouth. Like everyone on the fucking world knows why Daniel left, if you dont know its becuase you chose not to see it, you know? Dan has even spoken about it, he wanted a more supportive environment (my words, but that was the gist of it). If Hornet isnt getting that its because he doesnt want to, simple as. He really seems to take Daniel leaving worse than he did Seb or Mark retiring. He still cant fucking shut up about it, nearly 2 years after it was announced.

Honestly rant away anytime. Especially if it ends that way. That conclusion ugh perfection.

#Anonymous

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softeddiek · 5 years

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so @adamlvnchs made this post about eddie living and richie taking him to the Kissing Bridge to show him where he carved their initials and it hit me hard so i wrote about it. i’m sure this has been done to death but oh well, lol

Fuck it, I love You

reddie fix-it fic; 2.6k words; read on ao3

It’s been six weeks. Six weeks since he got that phone call from Mike—a ghost from his past that he barely remembered. Just under six weeks since they had defeated It; since they had rushed Eddie to the hospital, blood pouring out of his chest. So much fucking blood—Richie doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much blood coming out of someone in his life.

Richie had been in and out of Eddie’s hospital room for all of those weeks, only leaving when the nurses physically forced him out or when the Losers told him he’d gone too many days without a shower. The scent of disinfectant was so strong in the place, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to smell anything else and he’s pretty sure the chair in the corner of the room by Eddie’s bed has basically turned into a mold of his ass by now.

Eddie had been out of it for the first two weeks. It turns out that when you get your chest sliced into like a fucking watermelon, you need a lot of time to recuperate. The doctors were constantly pumping him with strong medication, so he mostly just slept, barely waking up long enough to process that all of the Losers had forced their way into his room (again) before he had fallen back asleep.

Okay, that was a lie. He had woken up for a significant period of time once in those two weeks, when his wife had come by in a frenzied state, demanding to know why the hospital had allowed all of these people in her husband’s room (“These filthy people,” she’d said. Richie felt like she’d been eyeing him in particular). Richie had thought he could be loud, but that was nothing compared to Myra Kaspbrak (God, he can feel himself just cringing at Eddie’s last name being joined with her first. Eddie had married a woman. And Richie had thought he had repressed his sexuality pretty damn hard). That had woken Eddie up, sending his heart monitor racing as, with some newfound confidence (Dying can do that to a man, Richie guesses), he stammered out that he didn’t want Myra to be there, in fact, he didn’t want Myra in his life at all.

He’s still not entirely sure that Eddie remembers it happening, but when the Losers had brought it up later, when he was coherent enough for normal conversation, he’d just stared at the off-white walls of his room for a minute before nodding slowly and moving them on to a new subject.

Once the doctors and nurses have assured them all that Eddie is making a speedy recovery, and should be out in just a few weeks, the Losers all begin to depart Derry, one by one.

Only Eddie needed somewhere to stay right? Someone to help him once he’s out of the hospital, changing his bandages and all of that. So, Richie had offered himself; had continued to become one with the hospital chair, keeping Eddie company. Had offered to let Eddie come out to California with him and crash at his place for as long as he needed. “It’ll be like old times, when we would have sleepovers!” Only this time it’s just the two of them and this time Richie knows what that feeling deep in his chest is every time he catches Eddie smiling at him; every time Eddie scoffs at one of his dumb jokes; every time the light from outside the hospital window hits Eddie just right, framing itself around him like a halo.

He’d expected strange looks from the other Losers as they left; questioning looks. He knows he’d been a bit (see: insanely) distraught when they were down there, trying to keep Eddie’s guts together—and for the first two weeks he was in the hospital—so he expected some prying questions. Only they don’t mention it. They smile at him—send him knowing looks instead—and make him promise to get some rest, to eat more than a fast food cheeseburger, and take care of Eddie for them. To keep in touch. And when they’ve each done that, and it’s just him and Eddie left, he feels like some of that twenty-seven-year-old weight has been lifted off of his chest. Because they know. Maybe they’ve always known.

And now Eddie’s finally being discharged, weeks later. Their plane tickets are booked, Richie had a cleaning service stop by his apartment (because he knows Eddie would have a conniption if he saw the state Richie had left his apartment in before leaving for Derry), and both of their bags are in the rental car that he’s driving them to the airport in.

But as he’s watching Eddie sign the mountains of paperwork his nurse is having him fill out before he can leave, Richie knows his business in Derry isn’t finished.

Maybe it’s almost being murdered by It (for the second time) that gives him that final push. Maybe it was seeing Eddie so close to death. Maybe it’s just this fucking town, bringing up feelings of inadequacy and just plain wrongness. But he’s sick of that feeling; just plain sick and tired of keeping his feelings a secret—a secret from himself, his friends. From Eddie. A secret that had been festering inside him for decades.

Whatever it is that does it, something inside him tells him they have to make one last stop before leaving town for good.

“Ready Eddie Spaghetti?” he asks around a smile, guiding Eddie toward the car with a light hand on his back. Eddie has a shirt and a jacket on it, but Richie swears his hand is burning from the contact.

“Don’t call me that Rich,” Eddie huffs out, frown on his face.

Richie can tell he’s not in the best mood—probably feeling sore from having to make his way to the car after being laid up in bed for so long. His lips are pulling into a frown and for a second Richie is unsure on whether this is a good idea. Eddie is coming to live with him for fucks sake, he’ll have plenty of time to confess his feelings for him later.

But then he opens the car door for Eddie, gently buckling him up in his seatbelt, making sure to move the strap as far away from his wound as possible, and is rewarded with a soft smile in reply, his hand ghosting lightly over Richie’s hand that’s tugging at the strap.

Okay, he is definitely doing this.

They start driving, Eddie fumbling with the radio dial until he settles on a station playing an old song Richie vaguely recognizes. Derry isn’t an especially large town and soon they’re just five minutes away from the Kissing Bridge. He sees Eddie tapping his hand along to the song on his knee out of the corner of his eye. Richie’s breath is starting to become a little uneven, his hands feeling shaky despite having a firm grip on the steering wheel. He’s become so distracted by his thoughts telling him Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke, that he suddenly realizes that they’re already driving over the bridge and he has to brake suddenly, his right arm shooting out in front of Eddie to stop any quick movements.

“What the fuck Richie?!”

He turns the ignition off and can feel Eddie’s confused stare on the side of his face. Distantly he hears Eddie calling his name, his hand shoving at Richie’s arm, but he just scrambles out of the car, taking in deep breaths of fresh air.

All of his confidence from earlier feels like it’s suddenly vanished, because how the fuck do you tell one of your oldest friends that you’ve been in love with them for nearly three decades? Even better, how do you tell your same-sex friend this when they previously operated under the assumption you were straight?

He hears the passenger door slamming closed and turns, wide-eyed to see Eddie leaning against the side of the car, a frantic look reflecting in his own eyes.

“Richie? What’s wrong, are you okay, can you breathe?” He starts fumbling with a backpack, one Richie realizes he must have gotten out of the back seat. “I have my inhaler somewhere in here I…it helps with anxiety if you just…” Eddie trails off noticing the grin threatening to overtake Richie’s face. Eddie’s own face falls flat. “What the fuck man, I thought you were having an anxiety attack or something.”

Richie lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I probably was.” He rubs nervously at the back of his neck, taking long strides around the car to meet a wary looking Eddie on the other side.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“It’s kind of a big thing and, fuck. I’m terrified.”

“Rich. After everything we’ve just been through, what could you possibly have to be terrified of anymore?”

Richie gulps nervously and takes a shaky breath. “It’s not...It’s something I’ve always been afraid of actually.” He means to say more but he looks up at Eddie, sees the concerned look on his face. His relationship with Eddie had always been like this; fucking around and making jokes but knowing when one needed the other to be serious. To listen. He sees the seriousness in Eddie’s earnest expression and is hit with such a heavy wave of nostalgia. He’d been full of it since returning to Derry (it was kind of hard not to be when you were literally trying to remember your whole fucking childhood) but this is different. He knows he’s in love with Eddie; knows he always has been. But this just reaffirms how important Eddie had been to him. How their relationship worked; how well he knows him, even after all of these years apart where they had little memory of each other. It’s this that makes him reach forward for Eddie’s hand, helping him slowly walk over to the wooden side beams of the bridge. He pulls him down into a crouch beside him, right in front of that same spot he had knelt in front of twenty-seven years ago.

Eddie’s eyes are on Richie the whole time, confusion in them and a small wince of pain flashing across his face that Richie apologizes in his head for causing. “Richie, what are we doing?”

Taking a deep breath, Richie looks away from Eddie and at the wooden plank in front of them. At the letters carved in front of him. He hears Eddie’s sharp intake of breath and Richie knows that he’s looking at the same spot.

“Rich…” He clears his throat. “Richie what…”

“I’m gay, Eddie.” Richie blurts out, eyes hyper-focused on the R+E carved in front of him.

They’re both silent for a minute, only the sound of birds chirping and the soft rustle of trees around them. The longer the silence persists, the more worried he becomes. Fuck it, might as well come out with the rest, he thinks.

“I’m gay and I’m in love with you. Have been for twenty-seven years. Probably longer actually, that’s just when I remember knowing.” Eddie’s opening his mouth to say something, but Richie’s nerves keep him going, scared to let Eddie get a word in. “And I know you married a woman—which, wow, was not expecting that Eds, I mean I’m not trying to say I just assumed you were gay but talk about a surprise—” Eddie lets out a huff at that, causing Richie to turn and look at his face, scrunched up in irritation. He feels his glasses slipping down the slope of his nose and pushes them back up, Eddie’s eyes tracking the movement. “Um, yeah so, I know this is probably really fucking weird for you. And maybe you don’t want to go stay with me which I completely understand but I think you still should regardless because, well, you’re kind of still a mess Eds and I know you know a lot about proper care for wounds and shit but I really listened to the doctors and nurses, promise, and I’m kind of the only other person who did so you technically need my help and I swear I’m not going to like, try to come onto you or some shit so you should really—”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts, voice firm. Richie stops in his tracks, cheeks burning hot from embarrassment and nerves. “You talk too fucking much.”

Richie hears a strangled laugh leave his lips of its own accord and finds himself clearing his throat to cover it up. Eddie’s eyes are on him, a soft look in them, which he supposes is better than a look of disgust. Not that pity is what he wanted. He feels his stomach drop, waiting for the rejection he knows is coming.

“Do you have a pocketknife?” is what Eddie asks instead, throwing him for a loop.

“I…uh yeah? In my backpack.”

Eddie stands up quickly, hand to his chest for a moment as he begins slowly shuffling back to the car. Richie makes to move after him but, without turning back, Eddie calls out, “Stay there.”

Richie feels his jaw clench involuntarily from nerves. Unsure what exactly is going on, he jokes, “Not trying to murder me, are you Eds? No offense, but I think I can dodge you even when you aren’t moving like my grandma.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says from where he’s rummaging in the back seat of the car. There’s little heat behind it, but Richie still finds himself worried.

Eddie seems to have found the old pocketknife, as he’s shutting the door and coming back toward Richie. Seeing Eddie hobbling toward him, knife in hand, eyes focused on the bridge, Richie has a moment of clarity. He’s going to cross it out, he thinks. Get rid of any evidence and then get as far away from me as he can. He feels sick at the thought. This is what I get for being brave once in my fucking life. Never again.

Only, when Eddie is back on the ground, opening the knife and pressing it against the wood, it isn’t to cross out the letters. No, the knife is pressed into the R, Eddie’s hand shaking a little as he repeats the same motions Richie had all of those years ago. He makes the grooves deep, the letter looking like it had just been carved as he moves onto the plus sign. Richie can only stare in shock.

When he’s done, Eddie closes the pocketknife and looks over to Richie, a small smile on his face. Richie feels his own mouth curving up into a smile, a breath he didn’t realize he was holding escaping him. His lips part, to say what he has no fucking clue, but before anything can come out, Eddie’s leaning forward, his lips pressing firmly to Richie’s cheek. It burns in the best of ways and all Richie can think about is how this is actually happening; his cheek is being kissed by the man he’s been in love with since he was a kid—a man who now knows how he feels. In Derry no less, a place of nightmares where he’d been forced to bury that bit of himself so deep.

Eddie pulls away and laces his free hand with Richie’s. Richie’s eyes dart down to where they’re joined, and his eyes begin to sting as they well with tears. Eddie gets up to his feet, pulling Richie with him.

“Let’s go home Rich,” he says, smile still soft, as he leads Richie by the hand toward the car.

Richie lets himself glance back one more time to the bridge; to those letters, R+E, together as they’re always been meant to be. When he slides into the driver’s seat and has started the car, his right hand immediately seeks out Eddie’s left. With the warm weight of Eddie’s hand in his, he pulls back out onto the road, feeling as weightless as he’s ever felt.

#reddie #reddie fic #my fic #it: chapter two spoilers

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