1 - 20 of 36 Works by Car
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Hodgepodge: (noun) a confused and/or disorderly mass and/or collection of things; a "mess" or a "jumble".
Ash and Misty as told through short stories from across various times and universes. Pokeshipping
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Weathering the Storm by Car
Fandoms: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime 1997-2023), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
18 Nov 2025
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When Misty had first arrived in Alola for her annual week vacation to visit Ash, the weather report had predicted a small, evening thunderstorm the night of her departure. Somehow by the end of the week, it had morphed into what almost looked like a full blown hurricane.
She met eyes with Ash as he closed a cabinet in the kitchen, and he offered her a small, sympathetic smile.
She supposed if she had to be stranded anywhere, Ash's beachside, Alolan bungalow was the place to be.
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Misty glared. “I shouldn’t have to show you how to treat women like people, Brock.”
“I know!” he cried. “It’s just that I don’t usually get that far, so I don’t really know what to say.”
“Yeah Brock, that’s kind of the problem,” Misty sighed, rolling her eyes, but she felt her resolve faltering. “Ugh. Fine. How can I show you, then?”
“Well,” he mused, thinking for a moment, “maybe you could demonstrate how to do it with Ash?”
“What?”
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It's a Date by Car
Fandoms: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
12 Sep 2024
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Misty quickly tries again, trying to force her voice to at least sound calm and compassionate. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
His frown turns into a wry little smile at that, like Misty just set him up for the perfect punch line of an inside joke only he is a part of. "Yeah, I know. This is just... Different."
"Well, sometimes things that are different are good, right?"
He smiles back at her softly, which, even though she is definitely mostly over him, is still as devastatingly beautiful as always and gives her butterfree in her stomach. "Yeah," he says. "Different can definitely be great. Just remember that after I'm done talking, okay?"
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Ben chuckled from his spot on the chair, offering Richie a kind attempt at a sympathetic smile. "For what it's worth, you look really good, Rich," he offered in that meltingly sweet and earnest way only he and Mike had somehow learned to master over the years. "I get the urge, honestly, but you have no reason to fold up in yourself and hide away like that. You have a great body."
Richie snorted loudly and awkwardly at that, but Bev pricked him roughly again in the arm, and he cut himself off to hiss dramatically at the poke.
Or: Eddie sees Richie in a nice suit and is very brave about it.
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"What are you doing here, sweetie?" Bev asked. "Not that we don't love to see you, but why aren't you at work?"
Eddie groaned loudly and immediately buried his head in his arms.
"That bad, huh?" Stan asked, amused.
"It's Richie," Eddie groaned out again, muffled by his arms.
"Ooh, shocker."
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Of course Riche was going to get anonymous love notes dropped off for him at their house, that wasn't a surprise. Eddie had a Twitter, he saw the kind of thirsty shit people tweeted about him on a daily basis. Richie was famous and funny and popular and fucking handsome as all hell. He was newly out and riding high from all the positive press of his most recent amazing set he'd been performing locally. It was almost February, and Eddie shouldn't have been surprised that Richie would be fucking courted.
No, Eddie wasn't surprised.
But, he thought, glaring at the envelope out of the corner of his eye, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it either.
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Richie, for whatever reason, was more than willing to drop everything and fly out to New York that very weekend, despite Eddie's insistence that it really, really wasn't necessary.
"It's just a cooking lesson, Rich," he urged, exasperated yet fond. "Easily completed over the phone."
"Not the way I do it, Eds," Richie said with a grin and a wink over FaceTime. "The Richie Tozier culinary experience is hands-on only, baby."
oOo
For the Losers Club Big Bang 2021
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These daydreams were teenage-Richie's little annual tradition, and despite the slight melancholy they would bring every time a fantasy would come to an end when he'd be thrust back into reality, he learned to anticipate and treasure his little private, imaginary scenarios. They kept him from feeling quite as lonely every holiday season as Eddie was whisked away to Haven against his will to spend the holiday with his aunts, while he stared out into the cold, Derry twilight, humming Blue Christmas to himself and tracing frowny faces into the condensation on the windows.
If only teenage Richie could see himself now.
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"Eddie Spaghetti!" Went cheered, lifting his spiked hot chocolate in greeting. "No Sonia again this year?" he asked like it was a surprise, and Eddie smiled in relief that Richie's parents were willing to play along once again.
"Nope, just me," he said with a shrug, blushing adorably as Maggie tisked and pulled an extra wool knit hat out of her purse to plop onto Eddie's windswept hair. A matching pair of mittens and an extra travel mug of hot chocolate came next, and Eddie juggled the mug to slip on the mittens over his shivery hands. "Ma didn't want to deal with the cold, or the crowd."
"Don't blame her for that," Went drawled, grinning as Maggie whacked him lightly in the shoulder.
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As soon as Myra was out of sight, Eddie turned his, admittedly intense, attention back to Richie. "Rich," he said seriously, gripping his biceps. "I promise you. As soon as possible, we will one hundred percent unpack and sort through every single thing you just said with a fine tooth comb, but right now, I really need your help leaving my wife."
Richie blinked, the shadow of an understandably confused grin creeping onto his lips. "My perfect Wednesday night. Ruining a marriage and a long, drawn out talk about feelings."
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"So let me get this straight," Stan began, leveling him with a patented Stanley Uris glower once he had gotten him alone to ask his favor. "You want me to willingly forgo a trip to a store centered entirely around order and organization, just so you can flirt and, let's be realistic here, ultimately nothing else with Eddie because you are a coward, for an afternoon? Did I get that right?"
"Yes?" Richie answered with a wince.
Stan opened his mouth to probably call Richie crazy or stupid or something even worse, when Patty reached over and covered it with her dainty hand, smiling at Richie sweetly. "Of course, sweetheart," she cooed, only a little patronizingly. "Go have a nice afternoon with your Eddie."
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"If I write a letter," Richie asks wearily, "do I have to give it to him?"
"Not if you d-don't want to," Bill answers at the exact same time Stan says "Absolutely."
On the other end of the phone, Stan scoffs. "Why wouldn't he give Eddie the letter, William?" he demands. "Is the goal here not to tell him how he feels?"
Bill glares down at the phone. "We don't wanna f-force anything, Stan," Bill argues. "Maybe he just needs to get the words out of his system and m-move on?"
"Or maybe," Stan counters, "he's had these feelings since we were literal children, and it's time to shit or get off the pot." He pauses, and then says, a bit quieter, like it's directed away from the phone. "Excuse the language, babylove."
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"Okay," Steve mused, delicately placing his cup back on the table to rub at his temples and jump start his brain. "So, if I want to keep Rich out of trouble, I just need to help him hook up with this guy. He and Eddie get together, the nonsense stops. Easy enough."
Stan and Beverly shared a kind of haughty, unimpressed look. Steve groaned.
"It's not gonna be that easy, is it?"
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Ben had gotten the idea in his head that the ballroom dances are like, the most romantic or whatever; so hopefully if Richie has to watch someone fucking waltzing elegantly around with Eddie all week, it'll—
"Kaspbrak, Tozier. You two."
Richie blinks, snapping out of his head. "Huh? Us two what?" he asks.
Coach Black looks up from his clipboard, unimpressed, and uses his pen to point between Richie and Eddie. "You two are partners," he clarifies casually, like he isn't completely upending Richie's entire fucking life. Fuck.
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"Oh, Richie, aren't those boys friends of yours from school?"
Richie sat up a little straighter to peek out the window as his mom pulled up to the stop sign. At the corner, a cute little stand was set up on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street, a sweating pitcher of iced down lemonade resting on the table next to a leaning stack of paper cups, two boys in rickety old lawn chairs sitting behind it.
He recognized the boy closer to the car as Billy Denbrough, and next to him at the table was Eddie Kaspbrak himself. Richie felt his face flush treacherously at the realization.
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"No, Patty's fine, she's got Eddie under control for now. We, on the other hand, need to get a battle plan ready and fast." He turns to Ben, looking hopeful. "How up to speed are you on the situation?"
"Code Starling," he recites. "Eddie freaking out over a Richie-initiated possible advancement in their relationship."
Mike blinks. "Damn, we have a code for that specific scenario?"
Stan looks at Mike pointedly. "I'm glad someone reads my spreadsheets."
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"So, Eddie told you he needed you to give him space, then?" Stan asked once Richie had given him the whole story. Even over FaceTime, he looked predictably unimpressed and apathetic, a Stanley Uris standard, reserved special for Richie's particular brand of nonsense.
"Not in those words exactly," Richie answered, fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. "But if you'd heard him, you would get it. He was very adamant about being sick of people being obsessed with him, and—" He gestured to himself vaguely, raising his eyebrows and daring Stan to argue.
Richie, concerned that his giant crush on Eddie makes him just as bad as Sonia and Myra, decides to make sure Eddie has some space from him. Eddie's not a fan.
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And Richie loathes that he's so attuned to Eddie that he can easily read between his words. Even more than that, he loathes that he knows this and has the desire and power to do something about it, but knows that he wont, because at the end of the day, he's nothing but a coward; able to smash a killer clown in the face with a baseball bat, but can't buy a cute boy a fucking flower.
A coward, but a smart coward nonetheless, because he may just have an idea.
Time for the ol' Tozier special: When in doubt, make it a joke.
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A minute later, a slightly disheveled Richie swung open the door, grinning a little manically and gestured grandly for Went to enter. Went huffed a laugh and shut the door behind himself gently, so not to spook him. And then, because he was a bit of a bastard and couldn't help himself said, "Sorry to interrupt."
Predictably, Richie's face flushed hotly. "Uh," he mumbled, his eyes wide.
"Relax, kiddo," Went chuckled, ruffling his hair. "It's about to get much, much worse. I'm here to give... The Talk."