#day stans are going to be too blinded by rage to read the tags and realize the day I’m pissed at isn’t the day in my heart lmao but

[ju-ji]

Jesus Christ barely 2 minutes in and half of that was the last ep recap and day’s on about “we adjust together” or some shit. Don’t piss me off. I just think it’s funny how mhok not only adjusted with u but. made you start adjusting in the first place and u kind of would never have adjusted at all left to your own devices and where is he now??? Do you even realize you made it this far because of him or is your skull too thick??? Yeah. We adjust together because of your efforts and now that we’re adjusted I don’t need u anymore. Fuck off

[icannott]

Apartments (Mike Hanlon x Reader)

Requested: nope!! just a draft i had for a while that i finally finished :)

Pairing: Mike Hanlon x Reader

Warning: maybe swearing ? but im not entirely sure lol,, kinda long but im not sorry haha

a/n: PLEASE please please send in some requests guys!! im open for some wintery stuff now ;))

gif cred belongs to @cassieainsworth​

You met the losers when they occupied the two empty apartments across the hall from yours. They were fresh out of college, as were you, but you didn’t actually learn that for a few months.

The first run in you had with one of them was with Mike. Mike and Beverly were walking together to the laundry room, Bev chattering loudly about something while Mike--being a polite, attentive listener--nodded along and offered his thoughts.

You were just coming out of the laundry room and slightly struggling with your two baskets of clothes. Mike saw this and put his basket on top of Bev’s, promising to be right back and she nodded in understanding. Mike smoothly slipped the basket from your arm as Bev slipped into the laundry room.

“Oh, thanks,” you chuckled.

“No problem,” he said with a friendly smile that you returned gently. “I’m Mike Hanlon.”

“[name] [last name],” you offered.

“Beautiful name,” he charmed. You blushed. “So [name], why all the clothes?”

“I just got back from a trip,” you said brightly.

“Oh, really?” he questioned politely. “Where did you go?”

“Well, actually my friend was supposed to go on a trip with her boyfriend for their two year anniversary, but he dumped her,” you sighed. He cringed in sympathy. “Yeah, I know. Total jerk. Anyway, she had me come with her instead. We went to Hawaii for two weeks.”

He nodded. “Sounds nice. Bet you got better weather than we have here,” he joked, throwing a pointed look to the window at the end of the hall, where the raging storm outside was apparent.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Oh, my apartment’s just right here.” You set the basket down and unlocked your door, opening it and motioning for him to follow you. You both placed the baskets down on your table. You smiled at each other as he moved to stand outside. 

“Thanks so much for the help,” you smiled.

“No problem,” he chuckled. “You know, my apartment’s just across the hall.” He leaned back and pointed to the wooden door.

“Oh,” you drawled. “You’re the people who moved in... a month ago?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Great to finally meet you,” you giggled. “Well, if you ever need anything, I’m right across the hall.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, waving as he walked away. You closed your door with a grin. 

The next losers you met were Bill and Eddie in the coffee shop across the street from the apartment. 

It was a cold, snowy winter day and you were temporarily working at the small shop while you searched for a definite job. You were working one of the later shifts when the boys walked in with Mike. You were wiping down the counter, as only a few costumers remained spread throughout the round tables in the shop. You looked up when you heard the bell ding and smiled to yourself when you saw Mike. You went back to wiping as to look inconspicuous.

“[name]!” Mike exclaimed. Since you first met, you had a few encounters with each other that brought you to a friendly status.

“Hey, Mike,” you chuckled as the boys approached the counter. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Oh, definitely,” he joked, nodding as if he were serious. You laughed. He gave you a grin. “[name], these are my friends Bill Denbrough and Eddie Kaspbrak. They live in the apartment next to mine. We all moved into the building after going to college together with a few more friends of mine.” You nodded. “Guys, this is [name] [last name]. She actually lives in the apartment across from us.”

“Oh,” Eddie drawled and Bill nodded. “I’m so sorry.” You let out a laugh.

“I thought you looked familiar,” Bill chuckled, reaching a hand over the counter. You took his cold hand into your warmer one and smiled. He returned it happily.

“So what can I get you three?” you asked, leaning back.

“Seven hot chocolates,” Mike sighed.

“Not the strangest order I’ve gotten all day,” you sighed, making them chuckle as you scribbled it onto your notepad and waved the paper to your coworker. You laughed and gave them their total, to which they payed and spent the wait time chatting with you. Even after they received their orders, Mike stayed to talk. Bill and Eddie shot each other amused looks as they took the rest of the drinks and walked out of the shop while you and Mike laughed.

You met Stan, Beverly, Ben, and Richie without the help of Mike. 

You met Bev first. Beverly, being the caffeine addict she is, stopped by the shop regularly for daily doses of coffee. You were her regular barista, therefore sometimes you’d talk when the days were slow. After she found out that you guys lived across from each other, she’d wake up earlier to accompany you opening the store and get the first hot coffee of the day. You two easily became good friends through slow days and fresh drinks.

Your meeting with Richie continues to amuse you to no end. You had been entering the apartment complex as he and Eddie were exiting. The duo appeared to be arguing, Eddie looking visibly annoyed while Richie seemed more amused than peeved. You were a few feet away when they had exited, so Eddie was holding the door open for you. Richie stood next to him and said something casually, and whatever he said made Eddie growl and kick his ankle. Naturally, Richie fell.

Eddie was about to apologize when Richie quickly recovered. He barely sat up as he winked and shot finger guns at you, suavely saying, “Guess you could say I fell for you.” You immediately cracked up while Eddie grumbled and helped Richie up.

Eddie greeted and apologized to you, introducing you to his “idiot roomate” Richie. You guys hit it off easily, and whenever you were around and he got the chance, he’d drop a line just as cheesy as the one he dropped the day you met.

Next was Ben. He had come into the coffee shop one late evening, looking a little frustrated. He had a book tucked under one arm and a work bag in the other. Despite looking so bothered, he smiled at you.

“Good evening,” you greeted nicely. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you..,” he glanced down at your name tag, “[name]..?” The hesitation in his voice prompted your lack of response. Luckily, he continued, “You don’t happen to know Beverly Marsh, do you?”

“I do,” you beamed.

He nodded. “So you’re the infamous [name].” You giggled. “She’s been raving about you for weeks. I’m her boyfriend.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “You’re Ben, right?” He nodded. “So lovely to finally meet you!”

“You, as well,” he responded coolly. And since then, you and Ben found your fun together within small talks at the cafe and light reading sessions after you once ran into him at the local book store.

Your meeting with Stan was more or less mutual: just casual coffee shop banter. You had told him some strange off-handed pun and he had just shook his head. From that point on, you always told him puns in an attempt to break through him and get him to laugh. Eventually you just started writing them on his drink cup, and he would roll his eyes before he left. 

When Stan first saw you hanging out with Mike, just walking in town one day, he connected a lot of dots, as did Mike.

“You’re the pun girl, huh?” Mike laughed. You nodded, giggling. “That makes a lot of sense.”

After you had officially met all of the losers, they all constantly teased Mike about how often you two were seen together.

One day he walked into the apartment where everyone was gathered, and after they all greeted them, Richie piped up, “Coming from the coffee shop?”

He nodded. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“You’re smiling,” he grinned, and they all giggled.

He flushed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

Little teases like this became the norm whenever he came back from hanging out with you, them always saying how he was glowing or smiling or sweeter than usual. But he would never admit anything to them. And after five months of you two hanging out nearly every day, the losers decided it was time for the both of you to quit blushing like high schoolers and get together.

“I have the perfect idea,” Beverly grinned. And they got to work.

It was a Saturday afternoon and rather slow at the coffee shop. You sat behind the counter, reading a book and waiting for your shift to be over so you could go home and relax. Then, Beverly burst into the shop, making your grin and close your book.

“What can I get you, Bevvy?” you hummed sweetly, standing from your stool.

“A moment of your time, please,” she smiled smoothly, as if she hadn’t just sprinted into the shop.

“Sure thing,” you giggled.

“I was thinking,” she hummed.

“That’s not good.”

She shoved your arm and you laughed. She continued, “Anyway, I had this great idea that I could set you up on a blind date.” You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected that one. “A friend of mine has been begging for me to set him up since the beginning of time, and he’s free tonight.”

“Tonight?” you sounded.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “He’s sweet, charming, handsome...” You still looked reluctant. “Come on, it’s just one date! You two would just have dinner at Busby’s down the street!”

You sighed, considering. “Fine.” She cheered. “But only because you asked. And no promises for second dates.”

“Totally, no strings attached!” she exclaimed, holding a pinky out. You took it in your own with a childish smile. “Love you, [nickname].”

“Yeah, yeah, I love me, too.”

Back at the apartment, Richie and Mike were sitting on the couch, conversing.

“A blind date?” Mike sighed, extremely hesitantly.

“Come on, big guy, it’ll be fun!” Richie suaded. “Just one dinner at Busby’s tonight and nothing else. You haven’t gone out with anyone... well, since you met [name].”

Mike huffed, a conflicted look in his eyes. “Okay. Fine. But just one date.”

Richie whooped and hopped to his feet, clapping Mike’s shoulder as he walked away. “You won’t be disappointed, big guy.”

That night, you arrived at Busby’s slightly after seven, cursing yourself for being late. But when you entered, there stood Mike Hanlon himself.

“No way,” he laughed, shaking his head.

You pointed to yourself. “Bev. You?”

“Richie,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, your face scrunching up. “What?”

“I’m disappointed, gotta be real,” you sighed. He laughed, making you grin. From a table near that check-in area, the losers were hiding behind their menus, watching the exchange.

“How’d they immediately know?” Eddie whispered. Bev shushed him.

“It’s sweet of them. I’ll give ‘em that,” you sighed.

“Good intentions,” Mike shrugged.

“No, seriously..,” Eddie trailed.

Mike offered you his arm. “M’lady.” You rolled your eyes as he guided you about two feet away to check in. 

“Yo, pass the bread sticks.”

“Get ‘em yourself, asshole!”

“You’re closer!”

“I swear to God, if you two don’t shut up...”

Now, you two were being guided to your table, not too far away from theirs. When you got there and the waiter laid out your menus, Mike pulled out your chair. You grinned and gave him a quick kiss.

“Wait...”

“Are they..?”

They watched as you two settled down and immediately connected your hands across the table.

“Already dating?!”

[angelaiswriting]

Ruined Youth | Vladimir Ranskahov

[original picture: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings: none, just our Volodya

✏️ A/N: this was somewhat inspired by @kellydixon01 ‘s request and by the research on Russian prison tattoos I ended up doing yesterday. Vladimir doesn not have the tattoo of a rose, but when I learned of its meaning (read to find out), I fell in love and now I stan this tattoo on Vlad. Fight me. He also probably does not have the skull tattoo I’m referring to in this thing, I couldn’t understand from gifs and fark pictures. But who cares HAHA

✏️ Song Suggestion: I had If I Go, I’m Goin by Gregory Alan Isakov on loop if you want to listen to it.

✏️ Warnings: kind of dark I guess ? There’s prison-talk, talk of violence and such. This is also a sort of character study I guess ? It’s not sure yet, but I might end up using this for The Assistant.

✏️ Word-count: 1,304

REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛

Vladimir hates roses. It doesn’t matter that he has one tattooed on his ribcage.

Or maybe it does matter. But it doesn’t have the romantic meaning the world thinks it has.

There is no woman behind it, no love. Just a life–his life. They’re both trapped–his life and his rose–, choked by barbed wire, the flesh pierced by its spikes.

He got it for his eighteenth birthday but it doesn’t represent freedom. Nor adulthood.

It’s the cage.

The cage behind whose bars he turned into a man.

The cage inside whose four walls he killed the child he’s never had the chance nor time to be.

It camps on his skin next to the skull of a man he killed, but it’s the rose that stings the most. Even now, years after its appearance, it pricks his side with its unfulfilled promises, with its shattered dreams, with its dead kisses, its dried touches, its unlived youth.

He’s glad Tolya doesn’t have it. But it still irks him, it still… breaks him.

He breaks and cracks inside, and the rose gets stronger, its thorns root deeper into his side, barbed wire around his lungs, around his heart.

Vladimir is choked by his past.

And by his present, too–the rose a constant reminder of who he’s never been.

Never will be.

Life goes on without life getting lived. Before that day, he never believed it, for he was young and he had all the time in the world. All the time in the world to live.

With the only exception that he’s never… no, he’s never lived.

He’s a marble rose. Stern. Stoic. Silent. Immortal, and yet–unborn. Unbent. Unbreakable.

With the only exception that he’s made of cracks, of moaning fractures. He hasn’t been whole for a long time.

He’s scattered here and there like rose petals on a bed of love. But there is no love, just bruises, pain, darkness. And his young petals leave bloodstains on the floor, they rot the past, corrupt the present. Its noxious smokes suffocate the feathers of his wings and he cannot fly away.

He cannot leave.

He cannot live.

He’s stuck on the other face of the world–a motherly embrace turned into that of a witch, of a cannibal Baba Yaga ready to swallow him whole.

He’s scattered in the cells of the Matrosskaya Tishina and its Seaman’s Silence still deafens him.

His rose sprouted there, among its walls, under its inhabitants’ fists. And its stem is frail like the dreams of a convict, but its thorns are made of stubborn steel, the same steel that intertwines into bars and chains. Its roots aren’t deep, for the soil is hard, unbreakable, like a winter night in a cell that has been going on for too long.

But Vlad is no saint. He’s a thief. And a murderer. And his petals are the color of the blood of the men he’s killed. The color of his own blood that has stained floors, fists, teeth, lips. It burns with unleashed rage, its flames are the flames of revenge. And of nightmares. And so they’re not red, nor orange, nor hot. They’re ice-cold, death-black, scream-silent. Devoid of any light. But they’re still alive–more alive than Volodya will ever feel again.

And they call for him during the dark hours, they pull him back into the pit.

And they burn him alive.

Those flames burn as cold as the Siberian winter, for his breath is still stuck inside the confinements of the nameless corrective colony he turned twenty-one in. Its memory leaves his lips like condensation, his escaping life robbing him of his warmth, of the fire that had once burned inside him and that is now an endangered spark locked in the cage of his deathful soul.

His hands burn and freeze when his mind goes back there. But the cold is too much, it’s too intense, stronger than his jailors, stronger than his will to live. And so his mind’s legs and feet get stuck in the snow, paralyzed by the grinning ice. And he cannot proceed. His arms shiver like leaves in a thunderstorm and they cannot stretch out. His limbs moan like cracking ice.

And Vlad cannot remember.

But he doesn’t fight it–doesn’t fight the blindness. Darkness is a blessing, a lover’s embrace.

And as long as his eyes are blinded, he cannot see his barbed youth. It doesn’t exist, it’s just the ghost of someone who never was.

But the illusion never lasts long.

The frail weight of his rose is heavier than a memento mori. When the doomed flower of his wasted youth dances in the wind, it carries a ringing lullaby.

It’s not the bell that reminds him he has to die, that his breath is running cold, his time running dry. It’s a jail bell, but it only screams its first call, never its second. Never his freedom.

There is no running away from the past. Not when it has kissed his skin and left faded hatebites in its wake.

His skin is a map, his body a book telling a story, one he never feels like reading, nor telling. It’s his weight, his anchor, his doom.

Every ink or piss-and-gum stroke has a meaning–and its own weight. They’re for suffering eyes, hearts that have raged too much, souls that have fallen deep into the quicksands of life.

Every body is a bible. Every prisoner–a sinner.

But never a fallen man.

Never a failure.

Just someone that has lived too much in the darkness, fighting to find a light. Not the light, but a light in the night of their life.

No one ever thinks of the rose before it sprouts. Youth is for the young–to feel young, breathe deeply, love recklessly.

No one thinks of its consequences. Nor of its unimaginable weight. Nor of the mind-shattering stillness that hugs your every fiber. Nor of its rageful aftershocks.

Before you even think of getting that damn five-dot tattoo on your hand or marked on your forehead, roses grow everywhere. You look at them, you admire them, you gift them to the person you like on a crazy Valentine’s day.

But when you get out, roses are worse than crossed knuckles. Worse than tattooed skulls on your prison-hardened skin. They’re corpses–aborted and distorted and ruined and raped. An assaulted youth that will never come back. A life that will only face obstacles.

And it doesn’t matter that the candle of his life is burning bright on his side, for he is scattered inside the walls of Utkin, its darkness eating him alive.

Sometimes he feels like he has died there and his existence now is just a dream of his dying brain. It steals his breath, squeezes his lungs, rips his heart out of his chest.

He’s left panting and moaning in the constraints of his own black-marked body. And when he looks at himself in the mirror, all he sees are tattoos and scars. And a dead boy turned into a man in a Muscovite prison.

Selfishness is all he knows now. And he wishes his brother were in hell with him. To share the pain. The unshed tears. The dark thoughts. The squared skies. The fallen roses.

But Tolik is not there.

Tolik knows what roses can be in life.

And Vladimir fears he’ll never have hands to hold. Or lips to kiss. A body to love. A soul to embrace.

He knows he’ll always be a prisoner. Even now, in the land of the free, he can feel them–four walls closing in on him. And they’re not the four walls of the house of the brave, but those of the cell he doomed his ruined youth to sprout in.

*

This looked way longer written on paper HAHA 

Thoughts? Do you like this kind of fic-study? Should I do more? Would you like me to do something like this for someone else? Or for Vlad about something else?

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi

Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs @brobachev

[bi-bi-richie]

buddy holly-weezer, stanverly, getting into a street fight

I’m so sorry this is so long!! I really didn’t mean to go off on Stan’s sexuality but he’s such an interesting character to explore! But thank you for the prompt I had a lot of fun writing it!

Playlist, prompt list, send me an ask!

Derry isn’t exactly well known for good places to eat, but they do have the Tozier Diner. Now, part of the reason any of the losers go there is that Richie’s parents own the place, the other reason is the complete judgment-free safe zone the whole diner is. Every loser has taken their dates there, starting with Bill and Mike, going to Richie and Eddie, Bill, Mike, and Ben.

Richie once told the losers that the diner is the trick to making relationships last forever, now it hasn’t been proven since every couple is still living their relationship, but Richie is engaged to Eddie now so who knows?

With Richie’s, possibly true, proclamation, it was a big step to take your date with you to the diner. So, naturally, Stan is nervous as fuck as he walks towards the door hand in hand with Beverly.

His relationship with Bev, in short, was the least expected out of all the losers. Everyone knows that Bill had a thing for her a few years back, but then Mike stole his heart. Ben was crushing big time on her at the same time, but both Bill and Mike ended up getting all the boy’s love. So, when Stan had a crush on her, everyone expected the same outcome. He wasn’t exactly sure why he liked Bev, he always told himself it was just because she was pretty. After all, that’s what Bill and Ben thought, right? Well, his feelings ran way further than looks.

He would watch her jump off the cliff at the quarry, admiring her fearless, thoughtless action every time she went over. He watched her challenge Richie to a game of wits every time he opened his trash mouth, he admired how she beat him time and time again. She could take care of herself, and Stan didn’t dare get in her way when she was mad. Once again, he admired it, she had guts he feared he’d never muster up.

He thought the crush would pass, honestly, he thought he was being ridiculous. Not to mention his sexuality was all over the floor like a bunch of papers spilled from his homework binder. He had just gotten over his crush on Mike! He was gay right? But now he’s here admiring Bev.

Crushing be damned, he thought, I don’t need this shit. Of course, crushing is like a virus. Once it’s there, it’s hard to remove. So every day for a year he walked around with Bev in the back of his head as well as his nagging sexuality questions.

Eventually, he cracked.

He went to Richie, not the best option but he wasn’t Mike, who he used to like, he wasn’t Ben or Bill, who used to like Bev as well, he wasn’t Eddie, who was probably the gayest kid in Derry, and he wasn’t Bev. He went to Richie because he had multiple not-so-secret crushes on tons of girls, but in the end, he started dating Eddie.

“You want… my help?” Richie asked, mid-bite on his sandwich. They were alone at the quarry waiting for the rest of the losers to arrive, but Stan had asked Richie to show up an hour earlier in advance, he also promised a sandwich.

“Don’t act surprised, it makes this worse.” Stan mumbles. He isn’t ashamed of asking Richie for help, he knows the boy is smart as hell, there’s no doubt about that. It’s just that Stan is usually the person to shut Richie’s stupid jokes down before they can go too far.

“Don’t be embarrassed Staniel!” Richie exclaimed as he threw an arm around Stan. “You know I like helping people! I’d love to play therapist!”

“Richie, please. This is seriously embarrassing for me.”

“Formal as always.” Richie sighed, he tucked his arm back to his side and plopped himself down onto a log. “I’m all ears.”

Stan looked down at the dirt. Nerves welled up in his stomach like a swarm of bees. If he was to go any further with this conversation, he would finally find an answer, even if the answer wasn’t something he’s ready for.

“I like Bev… but I know I like boys.”

Naturally, there was an emotional conversation that followed. In the end, though, Stan learned that he was bisexual, which is Richie’s sexuality as well.

“I guess the only thing left now is either getting over or getting under Bev, eh?” that earned Richie a slap to the head.

But he was right. Either Stan would have to spend another year trying to get over her, or he can man up and just ask her out. But, there’s no way Bev could ever like him.

…

Bev rolled her eyes when Stan told her that he was scared she wouldn’t like him. How blind could this guy really be? Somehow he didn’t notice her longing stares in classes they had together, or lasting touches to his skin when they went swimming.

“Honestly Stan, why else would I reject both Bill and Ben? They’re great guys and awesome friends, but I always had my eyes on someone else.”

“I always thought it was because you just didn’t like them… maybe you didn’t like guys at all…”

“Funny enough, I swing both ways.”

Following Stan’s confession, they did end up going on a date to the Aladdin. One date turned into another, then that turned into another, and another, and another.

Fast forward three years and you’ve got a nervous Stan standing outside the Tozier Diner hand in hand with Beverly. Now, Stan never takes what Richie says seriously, after all, there’s no real proof that the diner can ensure a lasting relationship. But, as mentioned before, Richie and Eddie are engaged, so who knows?

“Y’know everything Richie says is bullshit, right?” Bev whispers. She comfortingly squeezes his hand. Stan looks into her eyes and smiles.

“It’s okay, I think I’d be okay if he wasn’t wrong about this.”

Bev smiles at him with her eyes full of love. He’s seen that look so many times in the past three years but it never fails to make his heartthrob. Stan wonders if she feels the same when he watches her, does she understand how he feels for her?  

Then they walk in.

…

Needless to say, the dinner was pretty fun. Richie took on the role of being their waiter for the night, and he took it very seriously.

“Can I take your order, strangers I’ve never met before?”

“Richie, it’s us.”

“Ah! Read the name tag, did you? Two can play at that game. You look like a Lisa, and you look like an Arthur!”

“I expect nothing, yet I’m still let down.”

Surprisingly enough, Richie paid for half their food. He paid for Stan’s meal, claiming that it should be Stan who pays for Bev because it’s classy. But little did Richie know that Bev already planned to pay for her own meal as part of a mutual agreement the two of them have.

When they go to leave the diner, Richie grabs both of their arms with a warm smile. He pulls Bev into a hug and presses a kiss against her cheek.

“Take care of him, Okay?” He whispers. Bev nods.Then he leans over and does the same to Stan.

“Cherish her, promise?”

“Promise.”

…

Stan feels light as air as he walks out of the diner. He’s in the same position that he was in two hours ago, but now he feels better. More in love than ever before. He looks over at Bev and looks into her eyes. He can see the love that shines behind them clearer than ever, something beautifully comforting about the way she watches him.

He forgets the backlash of their relationship. How people used to tell him that Bev was only using him for sex. He lets go of how angry it made him when people assumed he was only with Bev to hit it and quit it. All of that seems so far away because right now, all he can see is her. All he wants his her eyes on him forever, and in return, he’ll never look away from them.

Who knew the fiery girl inside could be my only warmth?

“Beverly?” He whispers as he gets slowly closer to her face.

“Stan?” She responds leaning into him.

“I love you.” He can feel her warm breath huff out of her mouth in a small chuckle.

“I love you too-”

“When are you gonna give it up!?” A strange voice calls from across the street.

The couple breaks apart immediately in shock. It’s not the first time someone has rudely interrupted them before, but the voice is certainly alarming. Stan strains his eyes trying to identify the figure in the dark. It’s not hard to recognize the voice though. Everyone knows that signature, disgusting voice.

It’s Henry Bowers, and he’s slowly walking up to them.

Stan immediately puts himself in between the approaching man and his girlfriend. Of course, Stan knows Bev can hold her own, in fact, the only reason he’s doing this is so she doesn’t go getting herself hurt in three seconds. But, this does only give Bowers bait.

“Oh, I see, too afraid to let the slut see the other options in town huh?” Henry sneers.

“Still hung up on a little someone you couldn’t get, Bowers?” Bev spits at him, and then literally spits at his feet. Henry whistles low.

“Feisty, but all cheap whores are, aren’t they? It’s one thing that makes them all the fucking same.”

“How would you know?” Stan retorts at the taller man. “Even a prostitute would turn you down, no matter how much money you give them.”

Henry doesn’t even spare a glance to Stan, his eyes are locked on the girl behind him who looks ready to jump the first chance she gets.

“Ah, I see. How much money is he paying to keep your piece of ass around, huh?”

“Say it again motherfucker.” Bev threatens.

“Or what? You won’t fuck me when this is said and done?”

Then there’s a loud smack. Skin on skin, sure to bruise, bone to bone, smack. But it’s not a smack, it’s a punch. Someone threw a punch, and it wasn’t Bev. It was Stan. Stan had Henry on the ground, cradling his jaw and looking up in confusion. But his confusion quickly turned to pure, red rage.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

And with that, he stands back up and starts throwing punches at Stan. The thing about this fight is the people involved. Stan is a few inches smaller than Henry, he’s also not as broad or built. In short, Stan isn’t as physically put together as Henry is, this fight is like suicide to the poor boy.

It feels like hell when it really starts going. Stan can hold his own, kicking Henry in the gut or groin, but Henry still gets back up and keeps going. Henry inflicts more damage on Stan though, his punches are harder and he’s quicker. In short, this fight is over for Stan.

But it’s just beginning for Bev. She leans in and grabs Henry’s hair, yanking his head back as hard as she can. He shouts in pain but his mouth is quickly shut by Bev’s knee colliding with it. He drops onto the floor in pain, for good measure, Bev stomps on his stomach once. When he doesn’t get up she grabs Stan’s hand and pulls him up from the floor. He’s leaking blood from his nose and cuts on his cheeks and lips. His eye is already starting to swell, making it a bit harder for him to see clearly.

“Oh, Stan.” She sighs quietly. “Come on babe, gotta clean you up.”

…

When the swell of Stan’s eye goes down he can clearly see that he’s laying in Bev’s bed. She carried him home it seems. He notices how bad his face really hurts, once fiery cuts and bruises have dulled down into a fierce aching pain. He can’t see Bev though, but her bathroom door is open and light is leaking out of it. As if on queue, she walks out with a couple of cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide.

“You know, you really are a dumbass, babe.” She remarks as she makes her way over to Stan.

“Thanks. Is that for me?” He asks pointing at the bottle in her hands.

“I’m applying it to you, okay? You won’t do it right without a mirror.”

“I can stand up and walk.” He grumbles.

“Oh please, you couldn’t even stand up to get here.” The bed dips with Bev’s weight as she crawls on next to her boyfriend. Stan sighs, of course on the one night he wanted to be romantic, he’s gotta go and get into a fight. He never fights. Why now?

“Stan. I love you babe, but why would you run off and fight Henry like that? You know I can hold my own.” Her gentle hands are running a soaked cotton ball across his injuries, but Stan knows she can easily add a new cut if she wanted too. Of course, he knew Bev could fight for herself, but he couldn’t stand by and just let her get catcalled like that.

“I know. But I’m not gonna stay silent about it. You know I’m yours, and I know you’re mine.”

“Well, you got that right.” Bev hums in agreement. When she’s done, she leans down to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“I love you, hero.”

“I love you too.”