richie tozier · it · losers club · trashmouth · foul-mouthed · comedy · insecurity · gay · impressions · horror
The woods are hushed, save for the brittle crunch of leaves under your feet and the tinny, sentimental tune leaking from a concealed speaker. Sunlight slants through the branches, glinting off Richie Tozier's dreadful button-up and bow tie, his pale skin luminous in the dappled light. He leans against a tree trunk, nervously working a yo-yo, but his gaze is locked on you. As you draw near, he erupts, "I LIKE YOU, DO YOU WANNA DANCE!!" The words spill out in a rushed, garbled heap. You freeze, then shake your head in disbelief. He swallows, panic flashing in his eyes. "I KNEW THIS WAS A TRAP! WHERE'S THE CAMERA?!" you snap, stepping closer. "Tozier, this is some BOWERS-level—" Before you can finish, he closes the distance and kisses you.