#i like stanleys expression in this one! hes like !!!! my bucket!! :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everysongineverykey · 2 years

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narrator and toriel exchanging tips on how to care for humans, especially stubborn and mischievous ones

it's ten at night and they're sitting (well, toriel is; the narrator can't "sit" anywhere perse) in toriel's new, sparse living room in her house on the surface as the crickets chirp outside and frisk sleeps soundly in the other room and it feels like the world's just sighed deeply, and everything's relaxing, and there are joke books and books on shrimp and snails lying around scattered on the table open to random pages and toriel chuckles and says, "my, your friend stanley sounds like quite the handful! although i find his dedication to the bucket admirable. it is good to have someone you can always rely on, no matter what others may do."

and the narrator scoffs and manages to pull off a very impressive verbal eye-roll, and says, "well, that'd be fine if anyone was actually trying to hurt him, but no one is! he's in no danger! he has absolutely no need to rely on a bucket!"

toriel frowns slightly. "did you not say, just a moment ago, that he was being... mind-controlled?"

"well- i mean- well, yes, in the past he was, before the story starts, but every single run starts him off at his desk, after the controls have been neutralized! he just has to walk down to the facility and turn them off for good! it's so unfathomably easy, and yet- and yet, he still manages to find ways to muck it up!"

halfway through, he remembers there's a child sleeping in the other room, and checks his tone, still adjusting to having to be conscious of the volume of his voice. it's a strange thing, being heard by real, feeling, speaking people.

fortunately, toriel doesn't seem to notice. unfortunately, her next question isn't easy to answer.

"has anything... undesirable ever happened to stanley under your watch?"

the narrator pauses, searching her unreadable face, thinking of something to say that won't totally ruin the atmosphere.

"oh, i do not mean to be rude!" toriel clarifies quickly, the perfect picture of motherly anxiety. "i only ask because... well... i have often found it... difficult raising humans in the past. i feel sometimes as if i will never... truly understand them."

this is a feeling the narrator knows all too well. "oh, i know exactly what you mean," he reassures her. "one time, stanley told me with a straight face that he genuinely believed a tractor was a bucket! and that nothing was a bucket! i swear, that obsession of his is getting the best of him!"

toriel is unable to contain her laughter, and the narrator congratulates himself on another Real Conversation Done Right. "why," he continues, "what've your humans gotten up to that's worried you?"

just like that, the mirth disappears from her face, and her features, though not having aged at all since her son died, suddenly look very worn.

it seems a long while before she replies, "every human child i have tried to raise leaves me and dies for it."

chirp, chirp, chirp. the cricket noise outside seems to grow louder in the oppressive silence that follows.

it's as if her sentence was scripted, edited for minimum length and maximum clarity, so if anyone asked she wouldn't have to explain it too deeply. if only the narrator had an instructional video on socializing he could watch to know what to say...

at a loss, he tries, "frisk's still here... aren't they?"

toriel smiles, and while the narrator isn't he best judge of monster facial expressions, he doesn't think they're usually supposed to look this sad.

"yes. frisk is still here. despite everything..."

she gives the child's bedroom door a long look, a look that carries too many emotions for the narrator to stuff into booths.

"despite everything," she continues, "frisk is still here. even after i fought them... even after i tried to trap them in the ruins forever... they chose to stay with me. but those seven children... they are not like your stanley. they cannot restart with the push of a button. they left. and they-"

she inhales suddenly and sharply, bringing a paw up to her face, and the narrator realizes she's about to cry.

the narrator is about to see someone cry in real life, for the first time ever. the thought shakes him, and he feels a sense of unease that he is sure fills the whole room.

(that's the problem with being everywhere at once- your emotions feel as omnipresent as your voice. it's not so bad, he thinks, when your only companion can't feel it, or speak to tell you it annoys him.)

she gives up on finishing the sentence, covering her eyes with her paw. she doesn't need to say any more. the rest is obvious: and they are never coming back.

to the narrator's surprise, she doesn't cry. not loudly, anyway. not in the sloppy, sob-ridden, theatrical way the narrator has only seen on television. no, she's just sitting there, paws rubbing her face, and from a distance you'd wonder if she was even crying.

suddenly, abruptly, she uncovers her eyes, which are now red and shiny and as glassy as stanley's, but they're shedding no tears. incredible, the narrator thinks. she can turn it off whenever she thinks it's her duty to be strong.

i wish i could feel as subtly as that, he thinks briefly before pushing the thought away.

"are you-" he starts tentatively.

"i am fine," she sniffs. "please, do not worry. i just... do not talk about this often. it is hard to-" she looks down, thumbing a page of one of the joke books. "-keep it all inside every day."

"but... you do?"

again that sad smile. what he wouldn't give for a happy one, like he's always dreamed of seeing. "yes. i do. i have no other choice. it is not something i can talk about with my friends, after all."

"i couldn't do that," the narrator says as softly as possible. "keep everything locked up like that. even if i did, my world would be affected if i felt too deeply about anything. the last time i started thinking in circles, the rooms started running in circles. if i kept something like that in all day..."

he trails off, deciding not to even imagine the effect one of his hypothetical breakdowns could possibly have on the game- and on stanley.

"fortunately," toriel murmurs, "nothing like that will happen if i spare my friends the burden of hearing a silly old woman cry over her past mistakes."

time passes. she's looking at the words in the joke book, but the narrator really doubts she's actually reading anything. based on his limited understanding of sapient beings other than himself, this is not right.

"if you'd like to talk about it," he offers, "i can do with something besides puns for a little bit."

she gives him a small smile in response, still not looking up. somehow, the narrator can tell it still isn't what a smile is supposed to look like- it doesn't quite reach her glassy eyes. he steels himself. alright. time to try a new maneuver.

"or, of course, we can keep reading from that book there. the one you're reading. i mean, i just felt, since you're so captivated by it..."

he recalls the comedy advice she's given him over the past hour, namely, please don't do anything you learned in that instructional video, and pushes on.

"...that you could use a tu-toriel!"

for a moment, her expression does not change- the narrator wonders briefly if all comedians' jokes are followed by a moment of silence to consider the quality of the joke- and then she does something that confuses him even further.

toriel scrunches up her face, covers her snout with her paws, and begins... crying? laughing? ...hyperventilating? he can't tell.

"i-i'm sorry," he stammers, "are- is that a laugh? are you crying? i'm truly sorry, i- i quite honestly can't tell."

at that, she doubles over, slapping her left paw on the table once very hard, and finally uncovers her mouth.

"oh, mister narrator!" she wheezes, "you truly have learned so much!"

...and, thank god, the narrator can see now that yes, she is laughing, and laughing hard at that- she crosses her arms over her stomach, giggling like it's the funniest thing she's heard in years.

and there's a smile on her face, a real smile. so this is what it's like to make someone smile, or laugh, the narrator thinks... he's always wondered. it feels nice, being the reason someone laughs. he can feel something bright rising up inside him... as if his very soul is glowing... it's almost as good as a perfect steam review.

(okay, maybe a little better.)

"yes," she sighs, calming down, "i have faith in you. your damaged sense of humour is, indeed... re-parable!"

the glowing something in the narrator grows two sizes, and whatever's been rising in him forces itself out... in the shape of an identical laugh. the sound's so ridiculous, it makes him laugh even more... if he had a body, he would make sure to slap his knee like they do in old human movies. that's always looked fun, he thinks.

her grin appears to grow at his reaction. it is nice, he thinks, to have some jokes besides your own to laugh at.

it takes them both a minute to calm down, but when they do, the silence is noticeably less heavy.

"i suppose," smiles toriel, "that stanley is not the humorous type?"

"no," the narrator replies, rather out of breath. "i told him bucket jokes for over an hour once. he didn't even flinch."

"do you think it is perhaps because you followed the rules of those instructional videos you mentioned?"

he sighs, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "oh, can you really blame me? they were the only point of reference i had. anyway, the jokes were funny! they were! i swear, i'll never understand him."

at that, toriel looks thoughtful. "they are confusing... are they not?"

the narrator's about to agree profusely, but then he recalls her question from earlier, the one that started them on this curious path in the first place...

he clears his non-throat, trying to adopt a more serious, yet not quite grave tone. god, he thinks, this is turning out to be harder than he ever expected.

"i..."

nothing comes to him. what could he possibly say?

i've lost stanley so many times, in so many ways, it's not funny? he never listens to me either, and he dies for it too? if you think YOU'VE failed as a guide, just wait until you hear about this incident with the staircase-

but some other part of him, the part that just saw a woman fall apart in seconds thinking of her regrets, rises up above these awful memories and steadies him, and for once, his worry doesn't expand to fill the whole space like a big balloon.

"yes?" toriel asks, searching the room for something to focus on in the absence of a real face and body.

"i think," he says, hoping it's obvious that he's not serious, "that humans are just about the weirdest damned creatures i've ever met. don't you?"

she stares into space for a moment, then fixes her eyes on the fireplace with a grin.

"you must admit, though, that they never cease to impress."

he laughs. "ha! 'impress' is one word for it. stanley once sword-fought an eldritch beast born from a bucket and WON!"

toriel giggles, clapping her paws. "i would love to meet this stanley of yours! he sounds like quite the character."

he's the MAIN character, the narrator thinks, and the best one i could ask for. he doesn't voice this thought.

suddenly, toriel's eyes light up. "in fact, i am certain he and frisk would get along splendidly! frisk would love their very own reassurance bucket!"

the thought makes the narrator chuckle and shudder in dread at the same time. "i'm sure they would. and that's why i don't know if that's such a good idea. didn't you say frisk fought the entire underground and won every time? i wouldn't want stanley getting strange ideas about rebellion or things like that-"

at that moment, the door to frisk's bedroom brushes open just a crack, making the narrator jump in his own metaphysical way.

the child still looks half asleep in their blue-and-pink striped jumper, one eye still squeezed shut and with a terrific case of bedhead as they lean on the doorway, and as they look around dazedly, the narrator reconciles their image with every stock photo of human children he's ever seen, and thinks: yeah, that checks out.

"mom?" frisk signs, their hands taking a minute to orient themselves, presumably out of tiredness. the narrator feels a tinge of guilt for waking them up. "i thought i heard you talking to someone..."

toriel blinks, seeming a little surprised, then moves quickly over to her sleepy child. "oh! oh, my, i am very sorry, my child... did we wake you?" she kneels down, smoothing their ruffled hair. "we will be quieter."

frisk looks past her, confused. "but... who are you talking to? i don't see anyone."

the awkwardness of having to interact with a child is just now hitting the narrator, he discovers as toriel attempts to explain the faceless, incorporeal, omnipotent, extradimensional being in their home.

"oh, no, my child, some things cannot be seen... mister narrator, would you say hello?"

oh. saying hello to a child. all right. this is fine. the narrator clears his head and says, "well, hello there, sport-o! smashing jumper you've got there! i hear you can cheat death. that affect your grades at all?"

toriel just stares. frisk fixates on one specific point on the floor, eyes wider than dinner plates at the sudden voice seemingly coming from nowhere.

really, thinks the narrator, he should be awarded for having no body and yet still somehow managing to very skillfully put his foot in his mouth.

(frisk's seen too much to be fazed, though. as far as they're concerned, a new person is a chance at friendship and some pie- both of which they receive in the hours after the narrator apologizes profusely.)

#undertale #the stanley parable #this got REALLY long whoof so i'm putting it under a cut lol #but do please read! it's very much a one-draft but i had maybe a bit too much fun with it #sorry lmao a full mini fic probably isn't what you were expecting but i saw this ask and got inspired💙

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spacedoutman · 2 months

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【𝕻𝖞𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖚】

(𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2)

Description: Kiss was the perfect name for the infamous bank robbers who kissed everything goodbye to go out in a blaze of glory. Wreaking havoc on 1930s America, what happens when the chase ends?

♥ Paul Stanley x Reader

Note: Paul thinks about you more than you know while doing his job as a farm hand. (He loves you a lot)

Warnings: Sexual themes

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 3 / 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 / 𝖆𝖔3

The sun beat down like a war drum. The heat smothered like he breathed over a fire. Paul’s legs threatened to give out. He shut his eyes as tightly as he possibly could. His arms burnt and trembled. He fought himself to push the bucket onto the flimsy wooden fence. He tilted it. A thousand weights piled off his shoulders. His chest loosened.

He grimaced, trying to snatch the air fleeing form his lungs. Snorting. God, the snorting. Pigs trampled through the mud, tails wagging like it was a five course meal. To them it was, anyway. Paul frowned. Whatever those well off folks in the white house left over mixed into the slop. Paul stepped back.

He leaned against one of the old wooden pillars holding up the barn and fanned himself with his loose hand—which he feared looking at.

The thick stench of shit hit his nose. The air was so muggy it was barely breathable. Dust kicked up around him like fog. What could he feel besides exhaustion? He yanked off his hat. ...

“Paul!” Called a mousy voice.

Paul stood up—almost tipping like a glass. Gene walked down the trail with a sack slung over his shoulder. Paul brushed off the urge to curse at the bright green trees outside for hogging the shade. He stopped in the doorway. The sack thudded as it dropped. Gene fell forward, grasping another pillar and panting for air.

“This isn’t the place you’d want to..” Paul said playfully, crossing one leg over the other. “You should reconsider, Gene. You’ll get splinters.”

“What did you do with the god-damned wagon..?” Gene rasped. He swooped up his hat, running his free hand through his sweat-soaked jet curls.

Paul shrugged, pursing his lips as he loosely gestured over his shoulder. Gene wiped his face on his sleeve. “God damn.” It looked like it rained cats and dogs.

“So what the hell are we doing now? You’ taking your housewife classes yet?”

Gene cackled, fisting the pillar. “You could get a splinter.” Paul reprimanded, shoving his hands in his pockets. Gene fisted it anyway. “I’m warning you—that wood is old.”

“You’ picked up the banjo yet?” Gene threw up a finger. His voice was barely louder than a breeze.

“I don’t have time.”

Gene nodded reassuringly. He grasped the sack and stumbled back, making a harsh trail in the dirt as he drug it to another pen. More dust kicked up.

“So how’s Joanna?” Paul brushed some hair behind his ear. “She’ doing well?”

Gene stopped. “Do you want the honest truth or a lie?”

“A lie.”

“She doesn’t make me want to bash my head against the wall.” Gene said sarcastically. “I don’t think she’s cheating on me.”

“Again?”

“Again.” Gene groaned.

He slung the sack onto the fence, stabilizing it with one knee. How did Gene make it look so easy? He dumped it. Rotten apples spilled into the next pen. More pigs rushed to the pile. Gene stepped back and dusted his hands. Paul half smiled.

“Joanna’s pretty.” Paul’s eyes drifted down to his fingernails as he fiddled with his hands.

“Is she cheating with you?” Gene teased, making his way over.

He wrapped an arm around Paul’s shoulders and pat his back hard. The two burst into happy laughter. “No way.” Paul looked in the distance. Your sweet face was pasted on the backs of his lids. He shut his eyes for awhile and took a deep breath. He smelled your perfume for a split second. “I’ve got someone and I suggest you do the same.”

“Joanna’s pretty.” Gene smirked.

Paul snickered. His expression softened as an airy smile decorated his face. The sun grew a little less harsh. His heart fluttered. “You know, once you find that person,” his voice turned all lovey-dovey. “You get this.. sense of fulfillment. It’s not like anything else—and you know when you find the person too.”

“Please. Joanna’s not like anyone else. In bed, anyway.”

“Let me guess. Neither is Charlene, Edna or Lesta?” Paul’s brows shot up. He smiled with a hint of smugness.

“I’m certainly seeing the last one more. She’s short as a dime but on fire.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Paul lightheartedly spoke over him. “So when are you actually going to find someone who really fulfills you?”

“Already have.”

Paul rolled his eyes back. Gene pulled away. “We’ve got a lot left to do.” He dismissed. “Chop, chop!” Paul laid a hand on his chest.

One day, he wore you’d would be on that screen. Maybe you and him both would. Who knew.

#i have been chronically listening to folk music #by the way joanna isn't insignificant don't worry everyone mentioned will show up #gene simmons #paul stanley #kiss band #kissblr #fanfic #kissfan #kiss fanfiction #1930s au #gangsters #alternate universe

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mars-ipan · 11 months

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ok well now i’m curious! what’re your stanley parable headcanons?

hehehehehehehehehehehehehe (<- has been granted power)

heads up this is gonna be a lot. also this is a mix of general hcs and design hcs! basically the same thing to me :]

first off stanley and the narrator are both autistic but in complete opposite ways and yes it leads to a lot of arguments because they both suck at compromise but also sometimes it works out for them. some of these dichotomies include:

narrator is “line all my toys up in a row” autistic and stanley is “knock down another kid’s block tower to get to the racecar i want bc i didn’t see it oops” autistic

(this is a popular hc but i like it bc it is canon-compliant) narrator is chatterbox autistic and stanley is nonverbal autistic

the narrator is very eloquent with his words and Needs Them To Be The Right Words when he articulates a sentence like he needs to describe the exact meaning of what he’s going for. he uses shit like “pontificate” in casual conversation. STANLEY however is a why use many word when few word do trick kinda guy and regularly uses shorthand when he signs

stanley would sooooo love an aac device (button + he doesn’t mind choppier sentences) but alas. the parable does not have them and the narrator wouldn’t be able to make a properly functioning one (think abt the jim button)

narrator stims: little vocal stims (humming, tutting, popping noises), flappy hands (smaller motions not big ones), bouncy legs, fretting with the corners of papers + hems of clothing (tho he hates messing up his clothes so he tries not to), taking things apart and putting them back together

stanley stims: button pressing (duh), clicking pens, CHEWING on everything (i am projecting but he is SUCHHHH a biter he has had a pen explode in his mouth several times), drumming his fingers on things (bucket good for this), foot tap a la sonic the hedgehog, bouncing, pressure/gravity (helps with parable-induced dissociation)

stanley practices his facial expressions a lot bc they’re one of his main forms of quick communication and he needs to make sure he’s understood. the narrator enjoys watching him practice and takes notes- if he has a physical form at that point in time he tries to mimic them so he can understand what they feel like

both stanley and the narrator are trapped in the parable. the narrator has no clue how he got there but he did so he took the space and made it an office

the narrator may be trapped in the parable but he is not confined to it. he can influence things outside of the parable (stanley’s world, our world) and he has partial control over the parable itself

along this line stanley is both the narrator’s oc and an outside person he brought in. the narrator wanted a character for his story so he made up stanley’s backstory and ported stanley into the parable from his actual job. stanley was chosen bc being nonverbal means he can’t talk and interfere with the story (so he thinks) and also he looked generic and those were his only criteria he had no clue stanley would be Like That (affectionate)

stanley doesn’t remember much pre-parable. he remembers stuff about himself but not places or other people or events

the narrator remembers pre-parable but has no clue why he’s in the parable now

stanley is expressive when communicating to others and only when communicating to others. when he’s not being actively social he is completely blank faced

stanley had braces as a kid

stanley also had several alt phases (namely goth, emo, scene, and skater) as a kid. some of these overlap with his braces era. he still has his ear piercings but he doesn’t wear anything in them anymore. he wanted small gauges as a kid but was too scared to get them so he wore earrings with mirrors in them to fake it

stanley already knew asl upon entering the parable. the narrator offered to give him knowledge of bsl so they could properly communicate but stanley refused bc Ew British He Is An American (skwaaaaa (<- bald eagle)) Thank You Very Much. so the narrator had to go learn asl to understand stanley

the narrator can read stanley’s mind but stanley HATESSSSS it bc it’s violating and feels gross so it doesn’t happen without his express permission. after a long enough time (eons) they become so close that the narrator can understand stanley really well through body language anyways so it’s kind of unnecessary

stanley can also eventually project his thoughts into the narrator’s mind which he hates less but still doesn’t like so he only does it when he can’t sign

the narrator is Not Human but he is also so painfully human

the narrator is equally disgusted and intrigued by humanity. he wants to learn but every time he learns something new he goes “ewww gross why do you do that” but most of the time it isn’t even the gross parts it’s just like. blinking

the narrator starts having an appearance after stanley spends about a century’s worth of resets pestering him about it. at first he’s just animated textures that show up in shadows and screens and reflections and such

but eventually stanley’s like “make a model like u did for me >:((“ and the narrator’s like “ugh FINE” but he doesn’t wanna make another super detailed person so he grabs one of the low-poly 3-frame audience models from the press conference ending and edits it in blender to be “him.”

issue is he’s not good at designing humans he doesn’t quite get it. stanley he basically imported into the game so it was more like converting him into a compatible file but the narrator doesn’t have any outside thing to port in. so he gets a lot of details wrong and ends up just a little uncanny

most of these get ironed out when stanley points out how weird it is (arms don’t bend like that, your hair needs more polygons, can you separate your fingers so we can hold hands so you can hold things i throw at you) but some of them stay. these include (but r not limited to):

his glasses, tie, and headpiece (over-the-ear because “in-the-ear is horrible for your hearing stanley i read an article on it really do you expect me to subject myself to that”) all float like they have no physical attachment to his body. the glasses have no frames the tie has no tie thingy to go around his neck (or clip) and the headpiece has no headband. they’re just On There

his outfit is not something an actual human being would come up with. he wanted the author sweater-and-collared-shirt look but more “sophisticated” so he went with a turtleneck a blazer and a tie (which he themed after The Adventure Line™️ partially because he thought stanley would like it) with slacks and dress shoes. stanley regularly makes fun of him for it [how r u not sweating to death you fucking dork] but the narrator REFUSES to change it

all of the narrator’s teeth are flat, like the ones in the front of our mouths. he had yet to look at a human mouth that closely (why would he look at a gross wet hole (<- lmao)) so he guessed. his thought process was “front teeth flat -> humans aren’t scary so probably no fangs -> they must all be flat.” he was wrong

i actually have a comic idea where stanley points out how creepy his teeth are and he “fixes” it to fuck with stanley. i would be throwing the monsterfuckers a bone with this one but it would also be a treat for me because teeth r really fun to draw

there’s something going on with his eyes (beyond their unnaturally yellow amber color.) maybe he blinks with his bottom eyelids or he doesn’t blink enough or the texture for his eyes is on both his glasses and his skin like a low poly ps1 model. not quite sure which yet but it’s something simple like that

he/it narrator supremacy. he prefers he/him when he has an appearance but in voice form is equally okay with both and doesn’t care if u switch it up

the narrator can scale his model up and down as he pleases so he’s a sizeshifter teehee. he likes to be taller than stanley (who is somewhere btwn 6’1” and 6’4”) but stanley likes when he’s more human-sized (aka abt a 1/2 foot shorter than him.) they argue over who’s “actually taller” a lot and yes the narrator uses Tall Mode for physical intimidation

the narrator switches between voice mode texture mode and model mode a lot. usually he’s a voice or a texture but sometimes he is a model As A Treat for stanley

the narrator is arospec + acespec (you can take my aspec hcs out of my cold dead hands). idk if he’s quoi or gray or what but essentially he doesn’t fully Understand This Thing Some Humans Do and he’d like to learn but he gets overstimulated easily so he needs a lot of time (especially with more physical stuff). he’s okay with it (and eventually even enthusiastic) but he needs to go slow

stanley is more than a bit impatient about this internally (he is So Touch Starved and also probably sexually frustrated) but he knows better than to be an actual asshole about this and waits as long as the narrator needs. thankfully they have forever

speaking of which it takes a Very Long Time for them to get their shit together. they Hate Each Other for a long time and then they Tolerate Each Other for a long time and then they become uneasy friends then frenemies then besties that insult each other and VERH INCREDIBLY SLOWLY they fall for each other but i mean they’ve loved each other the whole time. that being said they also have a lot of “Oh. Oh Shit I Am In Love With Him Huh” moments of varying sadness and horniness (stanley once realized he redid the countdown ending over and over not because he thought he could find an actually working combination but because there was something addicting in the thrill of it and the Monologue and the danger and the way his name was said and he needed. a Moment to process that. and also sometimes stanley would give the narrator A Look (usually some brat shit but sometimes it had deeper emotions??? maybe??? the narrator wasn’t good at reading them yet) and the narrator would get A Feeling and he’d be like “what was that what just happened what did he do to me just then whadda hell”)

while they’re figuring it out there is So Much Shame between the two of them. stanley fucks around and someone gets hurt and he feels bad or the narrator is a bit too mean and someone gets hurt and he feels bad etc. they’re both garbage at communicating but they do try to show each other they’re sorry. stanley will be less of a nuisance or will replay the freedom ending over and over and maybe even sometimes sign “sorry” at the ceiling and the narrator will try to make stanley laugh or throw little easter eggs in to try to get him to smile as an apology. there’s a lot of stepping on toes from both of them

this remains a thing when they eventually get together (this happens a while after the narrator makes his model) but they’re better at communicating by this point and this is around when they actually start talking about setting boundaries and understanding each other. the narrator wanted to avoid the conversation bc he was embarrassed and The People Pleasing but stanley strongly emphasized that it needed to happen which was good of him. they talk things out when someone oversteps or gets too mean and they very slowly get a little healthier

while stanley is the one to initiate the What Are We conversation the narrator is the one who actually does the dramatic sigh and turns with the wettest saddest eyes and goes “oh, stanley, what are we..???” and it takes all stanley has to not laugh at how cliche it is bc he knows it would hurt his feelings and this is a Serious Conversation That They Need To Have so he bites his tongue and signs smth along the lines of [what do you want to be?] and they move on with the conversation

they are still very codependent tho. Do Not Separate Them. infinite time together means they have some WILD fears of being alone

it fucked with stanley a lot actually. he wants more than anything to be independent but he can no longer envision himself without the narrator’s presence. he never fully makes his peace with it

anyways their boundary conversations include sexual boundaries (both because stanley had trouble knowing when was too much for the narrator and because the narrator had trouble controlling his strength). also kink discussion teehee :3 !!

they r soo bdsm both sexually and non-sexually like. that’s just the truth. fucking look at stanley he is incapable of being anything but a brat the whole game is a fucking power struggle. anyways. they are Not Healthy about it at first but stanley sits them down for a talk specifically about sex stuff and they spend a long time hashing things out. the narrator made a spreadsheet for both of them about it because he’s a big dork. they have dos and don’ts and safewords/signals and all that. i won’t get into specific kink hcs here but i might some other time bc bdsm/kink is interesting as hell :)

anywho!!

when the narrator narrates stanley “speaking” (like he does in some in-game lines) stanley’s mouth moves and air leaves his chest against his will but no sound comes out- it’s all the narrator. it’s one of the things the narrator has control over in the parable and stanley HATESSSSS it like viscerally. it makes him want to vomit. when the narrator realizes this he stops doing it unless he has to because when an in-game line is triggered he Has to follow the script he has no other choice (unless stanley cuts him off by triggering another line)

i’m projecting SOOOO hard with this one but as an artist the narrator has all of those Creative Mental Issues. he’s a people pleaser (lives for the validation of the fans and fears their scorn), he’s a perfectionist, he procrastinates, If Someone Interprets This In A Way I Did Not Intend I Will Be So Upset (unfortunately the nature of art is that no interpretation is wrong (within reason)), the only thing he hates more than creating is not creating, he is a major escapist, The Whole Shebang

that’s all i can think of for the main boys for now so i’m gonna go into other characters! 432 time yippeee !!!!

ok so in my mind 432 has like many many names that stanley gives him. the main two are Esper/Espie (from settings person- S P(er)) and Teeks (from TK/timekeeper). to 432 the full versions of these r like titles, and 432 is like a full legal name- it’s a bit more formal

funnily enough stanley refuses to give the narrator a name that isn’t “the narrator.” he makes a list of names and stanley vetoes them all. the narrator is jealous that TK gets so many names but he gets just his title

speaking of the narrator TK has INCREDIBLY mixed feelings on him. he hates him for trapping stanley in the parable, he blames the narrator for his current state of existence, but he knows the narrator makes stanley happy and he doesn’t think he’s that bad of a person, even with his (many (endless)) flaws. so he’s kindaaaa conflicted as all hell

when he realizes he and stanley are into each other (he learns this way before they do) he immediately gets SOOOO exasperated. world’s biggest hater. he’s like that guy from that post the fucking “can you guys not do that in public. i’m not homophobic i’m just a hater” that’s TK. it is really funny

he/they TK supremacy. i’m sticking to “he” for simplicity’s sake rn but after becoming entwined with the parable tk kinda felt a bit detached from humanity !!! but it/its felt dehumanizing in a bad way to him so he uses they bc it’s a lot more comfy.

oh yeah the nature of TK’s existence. unlike stanley TK never existed as a person outside of the parable. TK sorta willed himself into existence as a result of the narrator’s worldbuilding. this happened sometime between the release of the og game and ultra deluxe. because TK wasn’t meant to be a character as well as the erratic nature of his personality due to backstory, when he popped into existence he got glitched the fuck out and eventually became entwined with the parable. he both loves and resents this

TK loves it for many reasons. for starters, he likes stanley. he has memories of stanley in the office (memories that stanley doesn’t have)- stanley wasn’t mean to him, they had sort of a mutual “weird kid” solidarity- even if stanley never spoke to him. stanley never reported him to HR, or grimaced when he asked for a pencil, or gossiped about him with his coworkers. TK also likes the responsibility that being the settings person gives him. he likes the sliders, and the yes/no questions, and the talking- he can use it all to keep the wheel turning, keep the parable running- and that brings him comfort

however, TK hates being part of the parable as well. he knows he’s fiction, that he was never meant to exist. he knows that his memories of the office, of stanley, aren’t real, even though he also knows that He Knows Stanley. he feels bound to the parable, and he hates that he’s gone from being under the control of his horrible higher-ups to being under the control of whatever the parable even Is. it’s an uncomfortable truth for him

that being said, he needs the parable in order to exist, even moreso than stanley or the narrator, which is a part of why he’s so insistent that it go on forever. this ties into his obsession with keeping the wheel turning very nicely and i commend the writing of the actual game for that tasty little parallel

let it be said that the narrator is NOT TK’s dad. TK’s existence was influenced by the narrator but he came into being entirely independently. they have no familial relation

TK sees the narrator grab a model from the press conference and thinks “ohhhh i can do that!!!” so he does but the issue is he doesn’t know how to use blender so his model is REALLY janky and low-poly and he still moves at about 3 frames per second. his texture form can move faster but it’s still janky bc he still doesn’t know what he’s doing. interestingly enough while the narrator is confined to the hitboxes of the objects he projects his texture onto TK is not and can manipulate the shapes of shadows or pop out of mirrors n shit. perks of being literally a Part of the parable teehee :3c

unfortunately the rest of my TK design is still in the vague concepts stage so that’s all i know abt him physically. teehee !

TK is sooooo silly like even more than stanley. he’s very very reactive and emotional imagine if sodium were a person. incredibly volatile creature

the narrator had no clue that TK existed until TK started manifesting himself actively in the parable. it was a fucking jumpscare. the narrator still finds TK very offputting and kinda doesn’t like him but he’s more passive-aggressive about it. TK is straight up aggressive abt his dislike for the narrator

neither the narrator nor TK know everything about the parable. they are both wrong about several things and each other. not a single reliable narrator (heh) in this fucking universe

the parable is alive but not in a way we can comprehend. sorta animalistic but also omnipotent but also sentient but not. too complex for us to get

the curator (curie) is the same species as the narrator (also eldritch and unknowable but on a smaller scale than the parable. atoms to cells kinda deal)

the curator and the narrator know each other! i once saw a hc that they were siblings and i really like it but i don’t know if that’s my own personal hc. i don’t think their species has relationships like that but they do know each other

the curator is not trapped in the parable she’s just nosy and made her own little hidey-hole in it so she could spy on the narrator

she actually really likes what he’s done with the parable which is why she made her hiding spot into the museum. she also finds artistic processes interesting.

unlike the narrator who is an emotional and mental mess the curator has her shit together. not many problems with that woman

the curator has yet to make a physical model in my mind but if she did she would use stanley’s “wife” as a base (copying the model so the narrator wouldn’t notice it missing)

the curator is very supportive of stanley and the narrator being a thing (she thinks it’s good for both of them to learn to communicate better and if this is how they do that then sure!) and when stanley fucks up he sometimes comes to the museum to get advice from her. her advice can almost always be boiled down to “talk about it” but stanley appreciates the push very much. the narrator would never do this because he is far too prideful

mariella!!!! mariella is a semi-verbal autistic (the autism parable). she doesn’t speak often but if she starts going she may not stop for a while

unlike stanley, mariella doesn’t mind when the narrator “speaks” for her, and it’s how she likes to communicate when she’s not feeling like talking herself

while the narrator did import mariella’s model, her personality is entirely made up by him. she isn’t so much trapped in the parable either- she lives outside of it and sometimes interacts with it for story purposes

mariella is a well-adjusted human being but she likes to Party

stanley TK and mariella are besties and brunch buddies and they talk shit together and are silly

mariella is also supportive of stannarrator but she’s more actively excited. sometime over brunch stanley’s like “….guys i think i’m attracted to my narrator” and TK’s like “i’m well aware can you stop it” but at the same time mariella goes “oh thank you for noticing go bag him !!!!!” she hypes them up (much to TK’s dismay.) it makes stanley laugh but the narrator finds it just as embarrassing to have mariella cheerleading as he does to have TK praying on their downfall

i woke up today with more headcanons so i’m glad i queued this one moment :3

the narrator is sooooo agoraphobic he’s freaked out really bad by lots of people and big open spaces. it’s why the parable is mostly confined and why his discovery of TK is a big scare. it’s also why the curator doesn’t immediately alert him of her presence- she doesn’t want to over crowd him

this agoraphobia eventually spreads to stanley bc he got so used to being in the parable. similar to how he’d freak out if he was ever truly alone he’d panic in a big public space because all the people and stimulation would be incredibly overwhelming- if it gets loud enough for him to struggle to hear the narrator or crowded enough for him to lose sight of him he’d panic

if they ever escaped the parable they would be INCREDIBLY non-functional. they’d need therapy but i don’t think either of them could make the call to get an appointment. the narrator would be happy with a suburban-sized house but with the crowds and their lack of cash they’d probably need to squat somewhere rural where they wouldn’t be caught. but then all the empty space would freak the narrator out so after food and water the first priority would be building a fence so he doesn’t feel so lost. i don’t think either of them could get jobs but maybe stanley could get wifi working and do stuff remotely. MAYBE. stanley would be the only one with legal id in the first place but idk if it’d be valid

#ask #prickly-problematic-programmer #this took me several hours to type out teehee #i have So Many tsp headcanons i think about this game So Much #this probably isn’t all of them but it’s getting late and my brain is turning into mush #thanks for letting me talk about these. it’s Many but if anyone wants to talk to me abt them then i will have a conversation #i wanna draw a few of these but for now this works to get them a little out of my head #gonna queue this for the day bc i want attention lmao <3 #this was very fun :33 #marzi speaks

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starlit-mansion · 2 years

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Saw your post on the Stanley parable au and it's great. The narrator has factual knowledge of what humans are like, but doesn't know what humans feel like or how to interact. "Humans have small things they get attached to, BUT no living creatures allowed SO find replacement thats small and holdable and doesn't talk THEREFORE... Bucket."

Yes! It's the best selling bucket, Stanley, why are you so dubious?

I think the funniest thing to do with a (in some senses purely fantasy, because the actual science extremely does not work like this) AI, especially one with as many flaws and vices as a character even tangentially based on the narrator would be, is to give them a lot a very specific nitpicks with humans that they insist are logical, but are in fact as biased as any human. For example, bitching that it's not logical to want to eat some particular junk food, or to spend an hour in bed scrolling future-instagram, for the stated reason of it's unhealthy, when actually they're just embarrassed of that junk food being on the order history, or want the attention that's being paid to mindless app scrolling.

It's absolutely a combo of the narrator grappling with humanity to the best of their ability but also being like "you know what? you deserve a bucket, you little twerp."

Anyway, my other opinion about the bucket in this au is that Stanley is mostly pretending that he cares about it out of spite (at first), but it ends up being a personified way to indirectly express things, like a couple who does a voice for their cat and uses it to express that they're mad that the other person didn't take out the garbage

#the stanley parable #i guess the last part is how i feel about canon too #should i make a tag for this au? i guess i will if it comes up again

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coolskeleton3000 · 2 months

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Almost every headcanon depiction of Stanley is him being funny chaotic fella (NOT TO PICK ON THEM OR THEIR CREATORS OR ANYTHING I hold goofball Stanley very dear) but I like to hc that his job actually had sucked out his soul and the man just became so emotionally numb he doesn't give a single shit anymore. The guy just doesn't feel anything most of the time. Just sits and pushes the buttons and wobbles around with completely blank face.

I always took Narrator's words with a grain (a full shaker) of salt and treated him like a some sort of unreliable narrator (pun isn't intended). We can't really tell when he is serious or just picking on Stanley or reading his pre-made lines that don't always line up with Stanley's (and our) action. So we can't fully trust the guy.

TL;DR I'm projecting the hell out of the man whose one and only expression of free will is refusing to throw the bucket to the bucket destroyer and just clutching it even harder. Hell yeah man you have really stupid 3d model and I like you soooo hold my symptoms of untreated depression.

#it's less of a headcanon and much more of just my personal bullshit sooo #not gonna tag it tsp #personal rambling #<- usually it's the tag for my personal bullshit #it's 3:30 AM god bless me #look who is projecting onto fictional character once again

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stars-below · 3 years

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posting this literally at the last minute, but! My day 1 submission for AUgust is here! (i'm doing a little scene for a different AU every ~two days bcause i will not be able to keep up otherwise)

AUgust Day I: Relativity Falls

|| (next)

The basement (the basement they're not allowed to be in, the one and only rule Grauntie Mabel has really put down, and just the thought of being down here makes Stanley's blood freeze) is alight with harsh lights, like something out of an old sci-fi movie; one of the ones Lee hates with over-the-top-effects and buckets of fake blood, but the thought is pushed away in favor of keeping his lunch down. The room seems to spin around him, his stomach doing flips as gravity itself seems to be more of a suggestion than a rule.

From the control panel, he can see Mabel, her bright sweater muted in the glaring lights. She stands down there, alone, in front of the yawning maw of the huge machine, and despite how afraid he is, Stan kind of wants to be down there with her.

"Now, you boys stay up here and sit tight, alright?" She'd insisted, and though he could tell she was comforting herself as much as them, Stan knew better than to say anything. "I'm counting on both of you to get a good record of this for the nerd books." She'd booped his nose, and then she'd been gone.

Beside him, Stanford trembles, glasses lifting off of his nose. His brother's arms are crumpled around himself, and Stan is quick to wrap one of his own around around Ford, pulling him close. "D-D'you think she's...." He manages, but the words don't come. They don't have to, Stan's always known what Ford's really worried about.

"She'll be back." He huffs like it's obvious, like if he can pretend he believes it, Ford'll believe it too. "Mabel'll be fine, she said so."

The room gives another sickening lurch, and then suddenly Stanley's floating. His stomach squirms as the floor gets so far away, and he can do little more than curl into a ball, holding himself (and Ford) tight, and wait for it all to stop.

Below them, in the other half of the basement, the portal starts to hum, picking up speed and bathing everything in sharp blue.

Everything seems to slow down, and if Ford says something, Stanley doesn't hear it.

Either an hour or a second later, everything comes crashing down and when Stan dares to look there's, suddenly there's someone standing where it used to be? A broad-shouldered figure, backlit by the dying flickers of the portal, and all Stan can see is his father. All he can see is how small Mabel seems from up here, and how alone she looks.

He slips his hand from Ford's as gently as he can manage, and sneaks out of the control room. Barrels down the stairs as quickly as he can bear, trained instinct keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible.

Stan bolts down to the bottom level, ducking behind a nearby bit of debris before he can be seen, and prepares for the worst. This stranger is gonna try to hurt his Grauntie, and he's gonna make him regret it.

Completely unaware of the backup waiting for her, Mabel throws her arms out at the figure like she's going to catch him. "Dipper!" She practically giggles, bursting forward to catch the man- just a little bit shorter than her, Stan realizes- in a tight hug. "You got old!"

She laughs, spinning him around in an overexcited circle, and barely seems to register his complaint (a muffled "We're the same age, goofball!").

The strange man dusts himself off, his kinda cool outfit thrown off somewhat by the healthy sprinkling of glitter now coating his jacket, and gives her a stern look for just a second, before breaking into a grin. Stanley is suddenly struck by just how similar he looks to Mabel. "We did it. You did it; I-"

Unfortunately, Stanley's grip on the crate he's hiding behind chooses that exact moment to slip, and he stumbles out into view, and when he dares look, the man's eyes are fixed on him, expression unreadable.

"Is that, Mabel, is that a child?" He balks, looking back to Mabel with a frown. "What's going on, you know-"

Mabel cuts him off with a sharp sound, turning back to Stan, though she lets him duck behind her a little. "Dip-dop, this is our adorable great-nephew Stanley! Stan, this is my baby-brother Dipper; he's a lot less grumpy than he looks, I promise."

She throws her hand out in a flourish, gesturing at him like she's showing him off, and Stanley can't help but feel like one of the exhibits upstairs. Great-uncle Dipper seems equally nonplussed with the display, sputtering something under his breath.

Mabel repeats the gesture again, for emphasis, though neither gives her the reaction she wants.

"You can't be serious." Dipper grunts, one hand coming up to pinch his forehead. "You brought a child here, with everything going on!? How old is that kid even, 8? 9? Do you have any idea how many ways he could have screwed everything up?"

Stanley grumbles in protest, but neither adult seems to register the sound.

"We had a plan, Mabel!" The man snaps. "You know how dangerous this could be- What were you thinking!?"

Mabel's form goes stock-still, that eerie moment that Stan knows means things are about to get loud. "What happened, Dipper, is he needed our- needed my help!" She snaps back, and Stan's never heard Mabel angry like that, her warm, comforting voice twisted into a snarl. "What happened is our nephew is a piece of work, and I couldn't just stand by and watch him hurt my family! You haven't been here, you don't get to judge me; I-"

She cuts herself off, taking in a sharp breath, and her grip on Stanley's shoulder is warm, but not tight. "Dipper, I've been so alone since you've been gone, and I can't do it anymore. I've missed out on so much, there's so much I just let go of, trying to hold onto you. I don't know if I can forgive myself for how bad things got as it is."

The old man, Dipper, opens his mouth to growl something back, but Mabel doesn't give him the chance. The animosity doesn't return to her voice, but her shoulders grow tense again, her throat tight. "I promised I'd protect this family, Dip, and I mean it. I will die before I see these kids back in that house. If that's a problem for you, then it's my problem, and you can take it out on me."

There's silence at that, the old man's face going blank as what remains of the light from the portal dying out. It's only broken, eventually, when he reflects on her words, and tilts his head. "Wait, kids?"

#gravity falls #relativity falls #mabel pines #grauntie mabel #stanley pines #dipper is also here #ford is too but only barely #not what she seems #kind of also the start of whatever the equivalent to atots is #it's technically 12:30 rn but the day doesn't end until i go to bed

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spongebob-connoisseur · 4 years

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@sneakyarachnids !! I didn't forget about this! I know I should have done this sooner but I was busy but here it is!!!

I actually wrote this before but when I tried to post it, tumblr deleted my thing. Just tumblr things ya kno? Its funny, I was looking everywhere for the papers I wrote it on and I thought I lost it but when I was ready to give up is when I found them.

Anyways my original concept for the Stanley Squarepants episode was to deal with the gag that Stanley magically destroyed everything he touched which annoyed me as a kid. I actually really like this episode but it could have been better. One of those things is that gag since it wasn't very funny to begin with and it was dragged out through the episode but it would kind of mess up the plot of the episode because that's what started it.

The main idea of the episode is that Stanley was sent to live with spongebob because he has no skills, work, or anything and uncle sherm was frustrated by it. So through the episode spongebob tries to help Stanley find a skill but he mainly tried to force his own hobbies and skills on Stanley, as did everyone else. There was also the factor that everyone saw Stanley as a spongebob number 2 so they treated him as such like Mr. Krabs hiring him at the Krusty krab or plankton being enthusiastic to hire him too. At the end of the episode, they find that Stanley destroying things is a skill and is used to sabotage plankton who blindly hired him thinking he'll be like Spongebob. The Chum bucket gets destroyed because of this much to Mr. Krabs glee.

My og idea to fix this episode was to give Stanley a skill that he never got to fully express unless on his own. Like writing or whatever. And the gags are mainly the nonsense of spongebob and others trying to find Stanley's talents and failing in goofy ways. Not because of Stanley. Stanley might get distracted by other things or do his own thing that is successful. The gag is focused on how caught up people are to make him interested in partaking in their hobbies and their skills and for them it failing. The resolution of the episode would be Stanley being able to express that he appreciates what everyone did for him but the things they try to share and teach aren't him. He has his own thing that he's good at and finding success in his own hobbies and being able to move out.

I also had a little redesign of Stanley too, along with some spongey doodles.

These are ANCIENT drawings but- I can't draw spongebob as good as that anymore xD

Stanley's original design really stood out and looked awkward in the show. Tbh I like his OG design but the gag of the episode was that people thought Stanley was a Spongebob number two so he ought to look the part. My design had him be slightly taller than spongebob and his clothes would he like Spongebob's concept art design (if you seen it, his original outfit was green and blue) also the ridges (the little waves on spongebob) like Spongebob has a pattern.

To make this easier to understand, imagine a box. Excluding the corners. The number of ridges for the height is 4. For the length there are 4 on the top and 3 on the bottom. For the width, there is only 1. That's spongebob. You can pause the show whenever you like to count but he always has the exact same number of ridges.

Stanley is the same except his width would have 2 ridges like how spongebob had in the pilot episode.

Stanley has less of an overbite but more of a tooth gap and his dad is uncle Sherm. We've seen him in the show. He has brown eyes so Stanley should have brown eyes too.

Still I like his OG design. I think I'm biased because I would slap a lanky body type on a character and think its perfection. Also the hair and cuffed pants (I like his disaster homosexual look okie) its weird and out of place but I still like it so its not something in need of change.

I'm not a huge fan of my original idea to "fix" the episode because the biggest problem I have with the episode is Stanley's self worth. Everyone placed value on skills he did have and things he couldn't do. Mr. Krabs only hired him because he thought he could exploit him like Spongebob and by the end of the episode he managed to. Plankton hired him because he thought he could use him like a spongebob 2.

Everyone either saw him as a second spongey or trying to force teach him how to be like them but what about Stanley? The original episode only manage to use his destructiveness in a controlled way like a bomb. My original resolution isn't better because I feel like the resolution became "see? There is some way we can use him!"

Not everyone knows what they're good at right away. You're not magically skilled at some things. It takes time and practice. you won't be perfectly good at on your first try. Your skills and hobbies don't need to make millions of dollars in order to be worth something. Your interest doesn't automatically have to be useful to others to be worthy. It can be something only you are good at or enjoy doing and that's okay.

I feel like that would be a better message with the episode. There's also the fact that episode showed Stanley often messed up stuff because he was nervous with all the pressure of doing it "right" similar to how spongebob always failed his boating exam in the pre movie seasons because he was nervous despite passing the written portion perfectly.

Stanley does have some hobbies. We've seen photography and scrapbooking in the episode.

He was good at something (also the disaster homosexual moment here is gold). He just didn't realize since he was so caught up in the fear of failing and not being able to do what other people do. The entire episode he felt bad because he couldn't be like Spongebob or have a routine like him.

It's funny since he didn't need to be. He could create his own routine and do his own thing. The episode could be better with Stanley finding self confidence in himself. He isn't a spongebob 2 and he is good enough. Even if he doesn't have the skills everyone has. Idk how he'd come to this conclusion though. Probably the frustration building up of not being how everyone expecting him to be? And he finally snaps.

I can see the end of the episode him going off to do his own thing and to work on things that make him happy now with his new found confidence. He may not be perfect but he finds joy in what he does and that's good enough for him.

If he needed a job, he could find work relating to his passion. He's not magically perfect with some talent agent recognizing him and hiring him on the spot like a movie. Its slow steps but we can see change is there and he's a lot happier.

I know this is quite a lot but I hope I got my ideas across well. It was fun to write!

#I had to upload this on my computer since it kept deleting itself from the tumblr app #spongebob #spongebob squarepants #ask #the spongebob theorist #spongebob theorist #about the spongebob theorist #sneakyarachnids #Stanley S. Squarepants #stanley squarepants #@sneakyarachnids #Reply #Sneakyarachnids

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detectivejigsawpines · 4 years

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Ford vs. His Family-part 4 (Welcome home)

Everything hurt.

Yelling everything out like that left Stan feeling torn apart inside, like he’d ripped himself open down the middle and pulled his heart out, laying it on the table in front of him for all to see-and it not only hurt...he was terrified.

Specifically, he was terrified about what his brother would do next.

Probably not laugh at him, he wasn’t that much of a bas...ketcase.

...But maybe say something scornful to trample Stan’s heart, bared and laid out for him as it was, into the dust. Or walk away and go hide in the basement-that was certainly Ford’s style, just run away from things he didn’t want to deal with and try to pretend they hadn’t happened-

He definitely didn’t expect Ford to finally let out a long exhale, reach into his coat, and pull out an old, crumpled photograph, which he set on the table between them.

Even though it was faded and torn and stained, it was obvious who was in it, and what boat they were standing on. And it hadn’t been in the house for the last thirty years; Stan would have seen it if it was.

Stan stared at it for a few seconds...and then gave Ford a disbelieving look.

“You just happened to be carrying this in your pocket when I came here?”

His brother shrugged, and a few spots of color rose in his cheeks. “I didn’t realize it at first either.”

He let the implication ‘but I kept it all this time’ hang in the air between them unsaid.

So. Ford had missed Stan enough to keep one of their old photos, even when he got sent to another dimension.

It wasn’t much...but it was something. It was maybe enough to make Stan’s heart-treacherous, optimistic piece of crap that it was-jump a little in his chest, and stir with the beginnings of hope. But he tried to push it down again just as quickly, because every time he did that with Ford it just meant fresh disappointment, betrayal and hurt.

Maybe this photo meant Ford wasn’t completely indifferent to him-but it didn’t get rid of the possibility that he hated him instead. And Stan wasn’t too clear on which one was worse, because while arguably someone hating you meant you were still important to them, as opposed to their not caring about you at all, in his experience that also meant they were more likely to actively try to hurt you.

*********

Stan didn’t look convinced.

He at least didn’t seem ready to start throwing punches again, but his expression hadn’t relaxed either. There was still visible tension in his shoulders and his eyes. Not to mention, Ford realized, pain.

It wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to think about too hard, but Stan was in just as much pain and fear of being hurt again as he was.

Somehow, even though he still wasn’t sure what to say, that made wanting to say the right thing to help fix this a little bit easier.

Ford sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I may have been...a little too hasty in my initial decision about the house.”

Stan looked surprised...but then he asked sarcastically, “May have been?”

“...You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

He smirked a little. “Nope.”

Again, Ford swallowed his pride. “I was too hasty in my decision.”

“That’s better.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but continued, “I had convinced myself that the solution to my problems with Bill, and to finding out that I was back in my own home but no longer in the time that I left, was to bring things as close to how I remembered them as possible. Which...was not realistic or viable. And it was unfair. So. I am willing to discuss other options.”

Stan sighed, releasing even more of his tension. “...Thanks.”

“I maintain my stance that what you did was incredibly reckless.”

It seemed only fair to be honest about what he felt. Stan bristled again, but Ford hurried on, “If you know about Bill, and what he wants to do if he finds a way into this dimension, then you should understand why. No one person is worth risking the fate of the world, and you had no way of knowing if I was even alive.”

The glare lessened. But Stan shook his head stubbornly.

“I’d still do it again. If it meant there was any chance I could find you and bring you back, I’d do it. Maybe you wouldn’t have had a problem leaving me there, but I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

Ford gulped. Put like that, it did sound...a little more than a little extremely heartless.

And therefore not something he should ever have expected from Stanley, for all his faults.

At last, he swallowed and said hoarsely, “Your stubborn loyalty defies logic sometimes.”

“It does not-it defies logic all the time!”

He rolled his eyes again, and let out a croaky kind of laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a knucklehead.” The retort came out in what seemed like a knee-jerk response; as soon as it did, though, Stan’s eyes widened nervously, and he shrunk back in on himself, looking like he was ready for Ford to lash out at him again or say something full of icy hostility-

Ford just laughed again, even more genuinely. When he finished he admitted, voice soft, “...I don’t think I could have left you there either. Believe it or not.”

Stan clenched his teeth down on his lower lip, eyes shining behind his glasses, before he twisted to the side, burying his face in his hand.

For the first time in forever, Ford reached out to his brother, gently touching his shoulder. To his relief, Stan leaned into his touch; he squeezed the muscle, while rubbing a circle in his back with his thumb.

********

It wasn’t hugging it out like Mabel had ordered them to, and there was still a lot of old crap they had to dig up and talk about even though it would hurt...but hearing that Ford would have done the same thing if he’d been the one sucked into the portal was still something. It was like there’d been an old, rusty razor blade stabbing him in the heart all this time, getting twisted and digging in further every time Ford gave him a cold stare or made a cutting remark about his business or the size of his gut or how he spent his time with the kids-and at last, it had been removed. The area was still very sore and probably infected, but maybe now there was a chance for it to heal.

“‘M sorry,” he whispered, without looking at Ford. “I’m so, so sorry, I-”

His shoulder was squeezed again. “I know. I am too.”

********

From the doorway, Dipper pulled his sister away before she could squeal with excitement and spoil the moment.

“They need privacy, Mabel,” he whispered as he hustled her downstairs. “Let’s...make them a celebratory dinner or something.”

Mabel covered her mouth with her hands and released her delighted squeal into them. “Let’s make pie! Grunkle Stan loves pie! And bacon, let’s make bacon! Oh man, I don’t know what kind of food Grunkle Ford likes! We should have asked him what kind of food he likes!”

“We spent the last two days not talking to him, remember? We’re just gonna have to guess.” Dipper towed her towards the kitchen, on the way grabbing Soos and Wendy. “Do you guys know anything about cooking? They seem like they’ve made up, or at least started to, so we’re gonna celebrate.”

“Well, my grandma’s tried teaching me how ta make burritos a few times,” Soos said, chubby face lighting up happily, “and they’ve only been charred on the outside and raw on the inside, like, seven out of ten times, so those are definitely good odds! This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, it’s gotta be an opportunity where my thirty-percent success rate will be a thing!”

Wendy shrugged. “We don’t cook much at home, but I can open cans and things. I can give it a shot.”

“This will be the best celebrating-our-grunkles-making-up dinner EVER!” Mabel proclaimed, giving everyone a round of high-fives.

****

Twenty minutes later

Everyone ran screaming, searching frantically for where Stan kept the fire extinguisher, as two-foot-high flames rose from the stove.

“LOOK FOR A BUCKET!” Mabel yelled, running to a cupboard and throwing it open-only to have a pile of junk fall on her.

Soos flung open a cupboard and filled every cup, bowl and tupperware he could find with water, before throwing them at the fire, which sizzled but determinedly continued to burn.

“How!” Wendy yelled, looking under the sink for the extinguisher, “How the heck did we manage to do this using tortillas and beans?!”

Dipper scrambled onto the counter and grabbed a pitcher, which he filled to the brim before running at the stove and hurling the contents.

Water splashed everywhere...including right in the faces of their grunkles, who had just entered the kitchen to see what all the commotion was.

Everyone froze in a mosaic of horror.

Water dripped from Stan and Ford’s glasses and the tips of their noses.

Dipper’s mouth flapped helplessly.

Mabel extricated herself from the mess, and the broom clattered against the linoleum.

At last Soos coughed.

“Sorry dudes.”

Stan examined the chaos, and snorted.

“We leave you knuckleheads alone for just a little while…”

“Dare I ask what... this is?” Ford prodded gingerly with the tip of his blaster at the twisted blackened mess on top of the stove, which resembled something out of a horror movie.

“We were trying to make celebratory burrito pies,” Mabel said, standing up. “...It didn’t work as well as we thought it would.”

“Obviously.”

She flushed, and looked at her feet. Ford felt his heart twinge a little.

“Who wants Chinese?” Stan asked, heading for the phone. “I’m gonna order takeout.”

****

Ten minutes later

Working together, they were able to finish cleaning up the mess just before the delivery guy got there with their food. Then they gathered together in the living room to eat.

The only real chair was the yellow armchair, which of course Stan claimed for himself, with Dipper and Mabel perching on each of the arms.

Mabel was startled when Ford came over to her side, where the dinosaur skull was, and asked softly, “...Is this seat taken?”

Part of her wanted to say that yes, it was for either Soos or Wendy. The fact that he’d called her relationship with Dipper suffocating, and taken it for granted that she’d be fine with having her brother unexpectedly taken away from her without even discussing it with her or their parents first, still stung.

But the nervousness in his eyes, and the fact that he was probably trying to be apologetic in his own way, were enough to make her shrug and say, “Nope.”

Ford smiled, perching on the skull with his carton of Chinese food.

Stan pulled the remote control out from between the cushions, and flipped the television on, going through a few channels before settling on some mindless game show.

And for the first time in days, things in the Pines household were comparatively peaceful.

********

There are more details that need to be dealt with, of course, but at least for now they just want to enjoy some quality time together without anger or tension or resentment or excessive hurt. Since the rift has been taken care of, Ford finds it easier to relax with his family without worrying about Bill disturbing them again. He begins watching Stan's tours more, making his brother growl that he's gonna start charging him for admission. But he doesn't seem too serious about it. Ford retorts by complaining about the silliness of some of the exhibits-the names alone are ridiculous. I mean, a Cornicorn? Really? Stan gives an understanding nod, and says that ohh, of course, he should give them more serious, scientific names, like the plaidypus, or beard cubs, or the leprecorn. Ford blushes sheepishly, and stops complaining about the quality of the exhibits.

He also tries to make things up with Mabel by letting her paint a turkey on his hand, and telling her about some of his adventures in other dimensions. He apologizes to both twins for hurting them and trying to split them up before they were ready for it, and he and Dipper agree to maybe talk about the apprenticeship again when he's at least had a chance to graduate high school.

By the time of the twins' birthday, things are relaxed enough for Stan and Ford to work together to plan a surprise party for them in the yard. And when the kids go home the next day, Stan's a little nervous about getting kicked out despite everything, and wonders if he should've taken them up on their offer after all, but when Ford makes no effort to make him leave or close down his business, he allows a little bit of his newfound optimism to stay.

If Bill had any hair, he’d probably be tearing it out by the roots, but nobody cares what he feels.

#pre-weirdmageddon au #gravity falls #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #dipper pines #mabel pines #gravity falls soos #wendy corduroy #knuckleheads reconnecting #reconciliation #kids nearly burn down the house #oops

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thelastspeecher · 4 years

Text

Stanuary ‘20 - Week Three: AUs

I’ve been busy working on my Master’s thesis and thus haven’t been able to do any Stanuary yet. But now that I’m basically done (just gotta drop my thesis off at the thesis library Friday) I’m hoping to do all four weeks. Just....not in chronological order. Anyways, the prompt for week three was practically MADE for me. Not to brag or anything, but I’m basically the non-binary ruler of AUs.

So, to really go whole hog with the AU prompt, I went with a crossover between two of my favorite AUs: the MerGucket AU and the Stay-at-Home Stan AU. I’ve written something for this particular crossover before, so this is a follow-up to that. Basically, Ford does research at sea, and when he has his big blow-up with Bill, jumps overboard, only to be rescued by Stan, who has somehow become a merman during their time apart. Not just a merman, but a father, too. Here’s Stan explaining how that came about.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ford stared intently at the multicolored cuttlefish idly swimming by.

It looks similar to the kraken I saw last month. Do kraken crossbreed? Or do juvenile kraken resemble cuttlefish?

“Uh, Ford?” Stan asked, startling Ford free from his thoughts. Ford looked over.

“Yes?”

“We’re here,” Stan said. He jerked a thumb behind him.

“You live in a cliff?” Ford asked.

“Yeah.” Stan looked over at the cliff. “The door’s hidden, though. Gotta make sure scuba divers or submarines or whatever don’t find us.” Promptly after offering for Ford to stay at his place temporarily, Stan had led Ford into a partially submerged hidden cave, walked into the water, and transformed into a merman. The casual nature of the act was off-putting to Ford, but not as much as the mumbled charm Stan had then cast on Ford to allow him to breathe underwater.

Stan knows spells. Well, at least one spell. How is this reality? How is my high school dropout twin brother a merman with a capacity for magic? Stan’s daughter, Molly, still nestled in his arms, snored loudly. Stan looked down at her with a fond, loving expression. Ford’s stomach turned over. Stan’s not just a merman now. He’s also a father, and a doting one at that. Stan whispered something to Molly in a different language.

“So, um, the door is hidden,” Ford said. “Where is it?” Stan looked up.

“I’ll show you, but I need to get Angie’s brother outta the house, first.”

“Pardon?”

“We can’t just leave the eggs unsupervised,” Stan said.

That’s right. Stan mentioned something about eggs.

“Angie’s older brother offered to watch ‘em while we went on our walk. Swim. Whatever. But he had a bad experience with a human not too long ago, so I don’t think he’d wanna see you. Just hide behind that rock or something.” Stan nodded at a large boulder near Ford. “Once he’s gone, I’ll let you in.”

“Okay, but-” Ford started. Stan ignored him and swam over to the cliff. Ford let out a sigh. He ducked behind the boulder and pulled out his journal, flicking through the pages idly. He landed on the page where he had started a drawing of Stan, before he’d recognized the merman he was observing.

At least I’ll be able to finish this sketch. I wonder if I can get Stan to sit in this pose again.

-----

After about fifteen minutes, which Ford spent writing about this latest development, the sound of voices carried to where Ford was hiding. Stan said something in the same foreign language he’d spoken in before. A second voice, which sounded very familiar to Ford, responded in the same tongue. Ford closed his journal and held it close to his chest. He could make out a flick of a green tail with light yellow fins as Angie’s brother passed the boulder. The merman disappeared quickly into the distance.

“All right, you can come in now,” Stan said, appearing next to Ford so suddenly it startled him. Instead of being carried in Stan’s arms, Molly was now nestled in a sling draped across Stan’s chest. Ford stared. “C’mon, Sixer. I gotta put Molly in her actual bed or she’s not gonna sleep well. She wakes up way too often as it is.” Ford nodded silently. He followed Stan to the cliff face, where Stan, with a practiced motion, slipped his fingers into a crack in the rock and pulled. A portion of rock the size of a door swung open.

“Slick,” Ford said. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Shut up and get inside.” Ford hurriedly swam in. Stan followed, closing the door behind him. Ford looked around in interest.

“How is it so light in here? Do merfolk have lamps?”

“Uh, sorta,” Stan said, already heading off, deeper into the house. “They use, um…I don’t know the English word for it. They grow stuff that glows.”

“Bioluminescent?” Ford suggested. Stan shrugged.

“You can ask Angie. She might not know the English word, but she can explain it better than I can. Anyways, we have some lamps, but we don’t need them right now. Enough light gets through the windows.”

“Windows?” Ford spun in a circle. His eyes widened at the sight of a window above a couch. “I didn’t see this from the outside. Are they specially designed?”

“Nah, stole ‘em from sunken ships,” Stan called from wherever he was. “You can’t see ‘em from the outside ‘cause of an optical illusion thing. If you get close to the cliff, they’re more obvious, but not from a distance.”

“Remarkable,” Ford muttered.

“Ford.” Ford turned around again. Stan’s head was sticking out of a room down the hall. “You’ll wanna see this.”

“Not that I doubt you, but why?”

“Don’t you wanna check out a mer egg?”

“A- yes!” Ford swam over. When he entered the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the large basket leaning against one wall. The basket held two things: Molly, fast asleep and curled up into a ball, and one large, red fish egg. Ford frowned. “You said eggs. Plural.”

“Slip of the tongue. We haven’t been down to one egg for very long.”

“Why is the basket so large?”

“It’s called a guppy basket,” Stan said. “It’s where eggs go and the baby mers sleep until they outgrow it. Normally, mers have a bare minimum of ten kids at once. But when one of the parents used to be human…” Stan trailed off. Ford looked over at him. Disappointment had settled on Stan’s face. Stan noticed Ford looking and cleared his throat hurriedly, wiping away his saddened expression. “When that happens, there aren’t as many kids. Angie laid fifteen eggs. Usually a clutch has at least twenty. And of those fifteen Angie laid, only two are gonna hatch.”

“What happened to the other eggs?”

“Duds,” Stan said flatly. “Clutches have a lot of duds. That’s why mers have so many eggs at once.” He sighed. “It’s fine, though. I can handle two kids a lot better than I could handle ten.”

“This is…I’m completely astounded,” Ford said, shaking his head. “You- how-”

“They taught me a lot,” Stan said with a shrug. “Even taught me their language, Mermish.”

Oh, that must be the language he was speaking earlier.

“Kinda had to,” Stan continued, “since I was born human, not mer.”

“Yes. You were.” Ford looked at Stan inquisitorially. “How did you become mer?”

“I told you. I fell in love with a mermaid and ate a magic plant.”

“Give me the unabridged version. I feel I’m owed that much.”

“Fine.” Stan looked over at Molly and the last egg. “Let’s talk in the living room. Molly’s a pretty heavy sleeper, but I don’t wanna roll those dice. Babies are the complete monsters when they get woken up.”

-----

Ford settled himself on the couch, attempting to ignore the way his clothes floated upwards, tugging on his skin. Stan sat across from him in an armchair. He snickered.

“What?” Ford asked.

“You’ve got a cape on, like you’re Super Nerd or somethin’. Why did you bother wearing that underwater?”

“I-” Ford looked back. Sure enough, his trench coat was spread out behind him like a wedding train. He scowled and tucked it under him. “Don’t tease me, Stanley. I’ve been too shell-shocked by all of this to act upset with you, but by no means am I going to brush what happened ten years ago under the rug.”

“You’re in no position to make any threats towards me,” Stan said. “I’m the one who cast the spell so you could breathe underwater. I can remove it any time I want.” Ford swallowed. “Anyways, you wanted to know how I turned into a merman.”

“…Yes,” Ford said softly. Stan ignored his brother’s obvious unease.

If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have threatened me first. So what if what I said had a bit more of a bite than he probably expected? That’s what happens when you mess with merfolk. Stan sighed and settled into his armchair.

“All right. Well, when Pops kicked me out, I took the Stan O’War out to sea. Not my smartest idea. Prob’ly shoulda taken the Stanleymobile. I mean, I sailed into a storm pretty much right away. I kept trying to bail her out, but it was raining buckets. I went overboard. Next thing I knew, I woke up on a beach. My clothes were soaked, I had no idea where I was, but I wasn’t too worried.”

“…Why not?”

“‘Cause one of the prettiest chicks I’ve ever seen had my head in her lap.” Stan grinned at the memory, clear enough to have happened yesterday. “And I just…I just stared at her.”

-----

Stan stared up at the young woman with his head in her lap. She seemed like a personification of the sea, with eyes as blue as the ocean and hair the color of the beach he used to play on with Ford. Faint freckles spilled across her nose and cheeks like she had spilled cinnamon but not bothered to wipe it off. The young woman stared back at him, smiling like she had a secret as she stroked Stan’s hair.

“Hi,” Stan finally croaked. The young woman’s smile broadened.

“Hello. You almost drowned, do you realize that?” Her voice was sweet and melodious, comforting like waves crashing onto the shore.

“Figured. Since I went overboard and woke up on a beach. Did- did you save me?”

“Yep.”

“H-how?”

“I’m a good swimmer.”

“What’s your name?”

“My full name’s awfully long and I ain’t too fond of it. But I go by Angie.”

“Angie. I’m Stan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet ya, Stan.”

“Your accent…are you from the south?” Stan asked. A twinkle entered Angie’s eye.

“One could say I’m from the deep south, yes.”

“Kinda weird way to say it, but whatever.” Stan began to slowly get up. Angie stopped stroking his hair and scooched to the side, allowing him to sit up on his own. He looked over at her. “So where…” He trailed off, catching side of Angie’s bottom half. Instead of legs, she had a large, ostentatious yellow tail with pink fins. His jaw dropped. “You- you’re-”

“A mermaid, yes,” Angie said softly. Stan continued to gape at her. “I- technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to let you see me, but I wanted to make sure you woke up.” She looked away. “Even more technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to save you in the first place.”

“Then- then why did you?” Stan asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. Angie looked at him, her eyes soft and compassionate.

“I couldn’t let you just drown when I saw ya go overboard. I mean, yer only my age. Yer fam’ly must be worried sick about you.”

“Not really,” Stan mumbled, looking down at the ground. He idly flicked away a seashell. “They couldn’t care less about me.”

“…Really?” Angie asked. Stan nodded. “What makes you say that?”

“For one thing, they kicked me outta the house.” Angie was silent for a moment.

“They shouldn’t have done that,” she said finally. Stan snorted.

“Yeah. I fucking agree.” He sighed. “Whatever. Uh, thanks for rescuing me, I guess.” He got to his feet and looked around. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“I don’t know the human name for it.”

Of course she doesn’t.

“But it’s uninhabited.”

“It’s-” Stan stared at the mermaid. “You- this is a desert island?”

“No. It’s got a tropical forest. It’s not a desert.”

“No, not- a desert island is an island that doesn’t have people on it.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Shit!”

“Look, it’ll be fine.”

“How?” Stan demanded. “I’m not some survivalist nutjob. I don’t know how to build shelter or kill squirrels or whatever. I can’t-”

“I can help with that,” Angie said, standing up as well. Stan huffed.

“Yeah, right. Like you can help me make a little hut outta sticks. You don’t even…have…legs…” Stan stared at her. Angie grinned cheekily. “Wh-” He looked down. Her tail had been replaced by two slender, pale legs. Stan looked away immediately upon realizing that she was completely nude from the waist down. “How-”

“It’s a long story. But merfolk can shift into a human form if need be.” Angie looked down at the sand and wiggled her toes. “I don’t take a human form often. Don’t really feel the desire to. But I want to help you out.”

“The best way you could help me out would be to…” Stan trailed off. Angie looked at him curiously.

“What?”

“No, that’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you- if you can turn human, can I turn into a merman?” Stan asked. Angie eyed him. “I- honestly, I don’t really see a reason to stay on land. I don’t have anyone who cares about me, I don’t have any plans, there’s nothin’ tying me to staying human.” Stan could feel dread and sadness sinking heavily onto his shoulders.

Pops wouldn’t ever let me back, even if I did make a million dollars. And why would I go back anyways? Ford? He’s never gonna forgive me. Shermie and Mom? Mom let Pops kick me out, and the age gap with Shermie was too big for us to get close. I don’t have anyone. I don’t have anywhere.

“It- it might be kinda nice to start over. Somewhere else,” Stan continued. Angie pursed her lips.

“You should sleep on it,” she said finally. Stan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his drenched pants.

“That’s a no, then?”

“Not necessarily. I know there’re ways fer humans to become mer. I don’t know the details, though. I’d have to ask my parents. And I’ll have to explain why I’m asking.” Angie chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “It’s- it’s possible. But you’d have to prove yer worthy of becomin’ mer first.”

“How do I do that?” Stan asked. Angie shrugged. “You can’t give me any details? Really?”

“Look, I- yer the first human I’ve ever talked to fer this long. Even if I knew everything about the process of turnin’ humans mer, I’d have a moral obligation to be quiet until you’ve earned our trust.” She looked out to sea. “And like I said, you should sleep on it, first. Givin’ up bein’ human to become mer is not somethin’ you should take lightly. And it’s not somethin’ you should do just ‘cause ya have no other options. You should want to do it fer a stronger reason than that.”

“Like what?”

“Well, my ma did it fer love.”

“Your mom used to be human?” Stan asked, aghast. Angie nodded.

“Yes. She fell in love with my pa and became a mer so they could be together.” Angie looked at Stan. “I ain’t sayin’ ya need to fall in love with a mer, but ya need a reason just as strong.” She shrugged. “Anyways. First things first. I’ll help ya make some shelter, maybe even help ya do some foraging. And tomorrow, I can come back with my folks. They’ll help figure this thing out.”

“Sounds good,” Stan said with a nod, his heart racing.

I can’t believe a mermaid rescued me and might make me a merman. What the actual hell is going on right now? A small smile tugged the corners of Angie’s mouth.

“What?” Stan asked. Angie shook her head.

“Oh, nothin’. Just thinkin’ ‘bout how odd you are.”

“Really? You think I’m odd?”

“You asked to be turned mer within five minutes of meetin’ me.” Angie grinned. “That’s odd.” Stan managed a smile back.

“Fair.”

-----

“That’s how you met your wife?” Ford asked.

“Yeah. But, technically, she’s not my wife. Merfolk don’t really have marriage. Angie and I are mated.”

“Does being mates still involve a union ceremony of some sort?”

“Yes.”

“Well, as far as Mom would be concerned, then, you’re married,” Ford said with a small smile. Stan chuckled. “Stanley, I’m honestly flabbergasted by all of this. It seems…”

“Impossible?” Stan suggested. Ford nodded. “I feel the same way.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands. He saw Ford immediately zero in on the red webbing between his fingers. “Some days I wake up and I can’t believe where I am. I’ve got the most amazing person in the world as my mate, I’ve got a daughter, and I’m gonna have another kid any day now.”

“Also, you’re a merman.”

“That, too.” Stan eyed Ford. “And now, you’re gonna be sleeping on my couch until we figure out how to get Bill off your back.”

“Yes.” Ford paused. “Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem. I’ll take any chance I can get to stick it to a mer hunter. Angie lost one of her aunts to a mer hunter. And I damn near got killed, too.”

“Wait, really?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. He laughed, but it was clearly forced.

“Turns out Carla McCorkle went into that business. My own ex-girlfriend was about to kill me and sell my scales to the highest bidder. Good thing Angie intervened. If she hadn’t threatened to down Carla’s ship, I’d, well. You can figure it out.”

“Sorry, did you say that Angie is capable of sinking an entire ship?” Ford asked, holding up a finger. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“She’s a siren, Sixer. That’s what they do.”

“Are you a-”

“Oh, hell no.” Stan tilted his head. “Well, technically, I’m a siren. That’s the kinda mer I am. But that’s not my job. Sinking ships requires singing, and even magic can’t fix a voice like mine. It made me extra persuasive when I talk, but if I try to sing, I still sound like a frog in a bucket.”

“Siren is both a type of mer and a career?” Ford asked. Stan nodded. “Hmm. Interesting. If you don’t sink ships, then what do you do? Do merfolk need to have jobs?”

“Usually, yeah. Mine is taking care of Molly. And when the other egg hatches, taking care of Stanley Jr.” Stan grinned. “It’s gonna be a boy, I can tell.”

“You-” Ford stared at Stan. Stan stared back.

“What?”

“You’re a stay-at-home dad?”

“Yep.” Stan stretched languidly. “Best job in the world.” Ford shook his head, trying to hide his astonishment. The front door opened. Stan looked over. “Hey, babe.”

“Hello, darlin’,” Angie crooned, swimming over and kissing the top of his head. Stan grinned up at her. “I stopped by Fidds’ place to check on him and his clutch. He said the egg was movin’ ‘round a lot today?”

“Yep. Stanley Jr. is gonna hatch any day now.”

“Oh, hon. We aren’t namin’-” A small squeak came from the couch. Stan and Angie looked over. Ford was as pale as a sheet. “We have a visitor,” Angie said mildly.

“Yeah, Ford got on the bad side of someone pretty nasty, so he’s gonna stay here for a bit,” Stan said.

“Understood. I’ll go check on Miss Molly. She’s prob’ly hungry.” As if on cue, crying sounded through the house. Angie chuckled. “Speak of the devil.” She nodded politely at Ford. “Pleasure to meet you, Stanford. We’ll have to have a proper introduction once I take care of Molly.”

“Yes,” Ford mumbled. Angie left. Stan looked at Ford, concerned.

“What’s wrong, Sixer? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I-” Ford took a steadying breath. “Angie is very similar in appearance to my former first mate, who disappeared from my ship a month ago. While we were in the middle of the ocean.”

“Okay…” Stan said slowly.

“He- Angie mentioned someone named ‘Fidds’. My former first mate, he sometimes went by that nickname,” Ford continued. Dread began to build in Stan’s gut. “Angie’s last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘McGucket’, would it?”

“No,” Stan said. Relief broke across Ford’s face. “It’s MerGucket. But when her older brother pretended to be human to work for some researcher, he used McGucket instead.” Ford groaned loudly. He put his head in his hands.

“Oh, no.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.”

#oof didn't want that long of an intro but I need to Explain lmao #Stanuary #MerGucket AU #Stay at Home Stan AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Stangie #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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softuris · 6 years

Text

wanderlust || part 1

stanley uris x reader * ✩‧₊˚

———

masterlist... (-)

request here... (-)

IT prompts... (-)

————

Doing spontaneous activities with some of your closest friends is always secretly on everyone’s bucket list, but then it’s planned, thus no longer spontaneous. Likely for you, the oppurtunity to take a chance was handed to you on a silver platter,,, or more so shouted at you over the phone by a trashmouth.

“Y/N get up! I shit you not, we’ll be by your house in 10 minutes to pick you up, and if you aren’t out there by the time we get there,,, GOODLUCK! We’re going to California!”

The moon was still out, and as you grabbed a duffell bag and stuffed it with your wallet, some shorts, and a Tshirt, you tiptoed your way your bedroom’s only window. Carefully you slide up the latch and threw your bag through the opening onto the roof, crawling out right after it. Just as you adjusted your pajama top you heard the sound of Bill’s van screech down the street. Shimming down the lattis on the side of the house, you did your best to hurry to the maroon mini van that pulled up to your driveway.

“Move your ass!” Eddie shouted, smacking the outside of the van from inside. You scrambled to the door that was swung open upon your arrival.

You scooted across Eddie’s lap and found yourself seated between Stan and him. Stanley. The boy you’d hopelessly wish would wisk you away to some place far from Derry one day, making you the happiest person in the world. To some extent, this dream was becoming a reality; You and Stan traveling to California,,, in an old mini van , along with your 6 closest friends. At this point, you’d take what you could get.

Bill was driving, it being his van and all. Technically it was his mom’s, the one she drove Georgie to soccer practice in on Sundays, but none of the Losers would ever say. Mike was in the passenger’s seat, fiddling with what looked like a GPS. Eddie was seated to your left, and the golden boy Stanley to your right. Richie sat in the back with Ben and Beverly.

“Here let me take that for ya,” Bev offered, gesturely to your duffell bag you held sheepishly in your lap. You gave her your bag, and heard her toss it to the trunk.

You were surprised everyone was here; It was almost 2:30 AM yet not one of your losers were missing. Did they even know where what the plan was? Where they were staying? How long they’d be gone?

Stanley seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Does anyone know where we’re going?” Stan asked, making eye contact with everyone around him but yourself.

Mike scoffed in the front seat. “This was all Bill’s idea.”

Bill gasped dramatically, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. “Nuh un! This was a-all Eddie! I only have the v-van,” he shot back defensively.

“Don’t put this on me! This was all Richie’s idea!” Eddie squeeked, shooting out of his seat anxiously.

Richie chuckled lazily in the back seat, chewing on what looked to be popcorn from a bag in his lap. “You guys know by now I’m usually the one with the dumb ideas.”

Ben laughed along with him. “Yeah. Emphasis on dumb,” he giggled harmoniously with Richie. Stan uncomfortabley shifted his weight in his seat, nudging you slightly.

“But does anyone know where we’ll be stopping along the way? Did anyone even bring money?” he asked again, reaching behind him to grab the bag of popcorn sitting in Richie’s lap, and absent mindedly shoveling some into his mouth.

“I brought my credit card,” you interjected, making eye contact with Stan. You held eye contact with the anxious boy until Beverly spoke up.

“I have cash,” she chirped.

“I have my credit card as well,” Eddie shrugged. Mike nodded, insinuating he too had his.

Bill looked to the back seat through the rear view mirror. “Rich. Ben. What about you two?”

Ben shrugged. “I’ve got cash.” Everyone’s eyes were on Richie, still staring absent mindedly out the window.

“Richie?” Eddie spoke, getting his attention back from said window. “Money?”

“Woah woah woah woah. I thought I told you guys I had food taken care of,” he said holding his hands up to defend himself.

Stan handed you the bag of popcorn, keeping his scournful eyes focused on the trashmouth in the backseat. “Uh that usually means more than a half eaten bag of popcorn!” Stan scoffed.

You leaned into Eddie, away from Stan, concealing a giggle at his fuming expression. Eddie held your shoulders as the two of you gawked at the jewish boy’s anger. Richie stared back at Stan, his words hanging in the air. “Well shit, I guess you’re right,” Richie said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyeing the bag of popcorn in your lap.

“Welp! Looks like Richie doesn’t stay in our hotel room,” Beverly said, leaning forward and snatching a hand full of popcorn from the bag.

“Wait wait wait wait wait wait. I have cash,” Richie stumbled, moving his hand to his pocket to retrieve a torn up leather wallet. “I just thought I could get away with the popcorn.”

Stan turned back around, his red expression facing the front, and Eddie pushed you off him into Stan, unexpectedly. You braced yourself against him and quickly sat up in your seat, heat rushing to your own cheeks.

From the passenger’s seat , a soft *beep* came from the GPS in Mike’s hands. “Yes!” he hissed. “I got this old thing to work! California here we come!”

The van errupted in clapping and applause. “Nice work, d-dude,” Bill said slapping Mike’s back affectionately. The beaming expression on Mike’s warm face seemingly lit up the car. “I guess we can s-st-start taking the freeway. If someone w-wants to look up cheap hotels that are o-on our way, that’d be c-cool. We’ll have to share a r-room, because of our s-sit-situation.”

Beverly sat up in her sit, pulling out her smart phone. “I can look for hotels!”

Mike clapped his hands together and chuckled deeply, a wide smile across his face. “This is so exciting!” he beamed.

Richie leaned forward and tugged and played with Eddie’s hair in front of him. “Keep your hands to your yourself, asshat,” Eddie said, swatting the boy behind him’s hands away. Eddie flinched and swung back at Richie, causing you to lean into Stan beside you.

Upon your touch, Stan wrapped an arm behind your back as you sunk into him involunteerily. “My bad,” you apologized, your face flushing. Stan grinned back at you warmly, keeping his arm on the seat behind you as you sat up properly.

Bill peeked at the scene behind him through the rear view mirror: Bev’s face was burried in her phone, Richie pulling on Eddie’s hair from behind, and Stan’s arm slung behind you comfortabley. “Alright well. I’m thinking w-we stop at a store in the n-n-next 4 or so hours, to p-p-pee and get s-supplies,” he stuttered, looking back once to get our full attention. “I’d s-s-suggest getting some sleep before then.”

“Agreed,” Mike nodded, propping the GPS device in his hands onto the dashboard. “Goodnight ya’ll,” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the dash lazily. Bill cleared his throat, catching Mike’s attention before dozing off, and giving him the ‘get-your-feet-off-my-mini-van’ look. Mike hummed again, gliding his feet off the dash.

You looked around the car to find the Losers all passed out, besides Stan and Beverly, who had her head stuck in her phone. “Y’know, I’m actually a good pillow,” Stan teased, pretending to wipe imaginary dust off his shoulders.

“Ha Ha, Uris,” you mocked, poking his belly, earning yourself a breathy chuckle. You leaned back, feeling Stan’s arm on the seat behind you, and revelled in his subtle heat. Sure it was kind of pathetic. But who knew how much time you’d have before this roadtrip took a turn for the worse. This was your dream!

This moment was on that unjust bucket list.

And you were going to take full advantage of your time with the golden boy.

—

You wake up to the voice of the one you dreamt about. Stanley. You dreamily regain consciousness, and realize you are lower than where Stan’s voice was coming from. Sure he was tall. But you didn’t think i’d make much of a difference seated in a car. Your head is nudged, and you jolt your eyes open to see Stanley’s soft face gazing down at you. You had been sleeping with your head in Stan’s lap, and his expression was surprisingly neutral as hell. “Rise and shine,” he teases, and looks up at the sound of Bill speaking.

You anxiously sit up from where you were laying and scan your surroundings. The van was parked in an empty parking spot, and the Losers were all bright eyed and alert. Focusing in on what Bill was saying, you felt someone playing with your hair behind you. Beverly.

“Alright guys. W-Walmart opens in two mi-min-minutes. We should devide and conquer,” he stuttered, turned around in the driver’s seat.

Beverly’s hand shot up from her place in your hair. “Me and Ben can get toiletries,” she grinned, a blush appearing on Ben’s face.

Bill sighs. “That w-w-works,” he shrugs, his attention going to a whiny Eddie and Richie both doing dances in their seat.

“Billiam let’s fucking get in there! I need to urinate!” Richie shouted anxiously. Eddie whined in the seat next to you agreeing with Richie.

Mike is looking out the window of the passenger, and you witness his expression switch from annoyed to grateful. “Lucky for you two, they just opened up!” He pointed at the sliding doors gliding open after what looked like an employee unlocked it.

Eddie did not hesitate to whip open the van’s sliding door and run to the doors. Richie impatiently climbed over the seat, kicking Bev in process. “Watch it, Trashmouth!” she warned. Stan opened the door on his side and slide out.

You shimmied out of your own seat and stood next to Stan, followed by Ben and Beverly who walked side by side to the store. “I’ll put you two on s-sn-snack detail,” Bill pointed at you and Stan from the other side of the car. Mike opened his door and leisurely followed the dramatic Eddie and Richie inside.

A pinched look spread across Stan’s usually stern expression. “I guess,” he shrugged. Bill slammed the sliding door that Richie failed to shut and got back into the driver’s seat, and saluted to Stan.

“I’m heading to g-get g-g-gas.” And just as suddenly as you woke up, Bill was whipping out of the parking lot in his beat up maroon mini van.

You stood next to Stan in the parking lot, dust flying around hazily, from a nearby kick up. “Alright uhh. Shall we then?”

Being inside a squeeky cart while Stan pushed you around felt breathtaking. The tall boy rolled up his sleeves and was slowy pushing you up and down the aisles of snacks and soda pops, scanning for the perfect choices.

“Ok ok,” Stan chuckled, getting your attention from the treats that were passing you. “Don’t laugh but-“

“But? But what Uris?” you said leaning up to hear him better in the cart.

“Butttttt,” he slurred, “I’ve never actually had cheeto puffs before.” Stan shut his eyes bracing for your reaction. You stared open mouthed at the boy.

“Never?!” you gawked, a tint of red rushing to Stan’s cheeks. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had Cheeto pu-“

“Well I’ve had like regular Cheetos. Even the flaming hot ones! But never the uh,,, never the puffs,” he interuptted, scratching the back of his neck. His sweater rode up the slightest, revealing his toned, thin stomach. You glanced quickly from the miracle that is Stan, back to the snacks appearing beside you.

You knew Stan saw you look, but before the gears could turn in your head, you interupted yourself. “Then I guess we’ll have to get some Cheeto Puffs,” you sighed, dreamily.

Stan pulled two packs off the shelf and tossed them down to you. You caught them and giggled at his bitter expression. “Oh don’t tell me you’re gonna be sour with me, Stanny,” you teased, scooting on your knees in the cart to get closer to him, navigating the cart. Stan bit his bottom lip, trying to conceal a grin, achieved only by your pressing stare. “Look at me,” you giggled again, trying to act serious. Stan swung his head to look at you and failed to hold back his laughter. The empty store echoed with you and Stan’s chuckles.

Stan calmed down, averting his eyes back to where the cart was going. “Eddie said the same thing y’know,” Stan continued.

You shifted back into the cart comfortabley, surrounded by snacks. “About ahat? The Cheeto Puffs?” he asked.

“Yes! Even Eddie, the dude with the strictest mom, has had Cheeto Puffs,” Stan chuckled lightly. “He laughed just as you did. Maybe it’s a Jew thing?”

You scoffed. “You think you know Eddie until until you don’t,” you joked, earning another small chuckle from the boy, as Mike, Eddie, and Richie turned around the corner in view of you and Stan. “Welp, speak of the Devil.”

Mike approached with his arms crossed. “Phew! Nothing like sweet sweet releif!” Richie sighed, tugging on his privates through his gym shorts.

“Ew gross,” Eddie gagged, swatting Richie’s hand away from himself. “Those bathroom’s were disgusting, by the way,” he said matter-of-factly. There’s the Eddie you know.

“Have you guys seen Bev or Ben anywhere?” Mike asked, uncrossing his arms to adjust his shirt.

You turned to look at Stan, who shifted his weight on his feet. “No we’ve been uh, getting the snacks,” he said, placing a hand on the cart’s handle, as if he was proud of the assortment we had in our cart.

“Mhm! Betcha got the stuff that you like, huh Stanny Boy?” Richie said, sliding his thick glasses back up his nose.

Stan looked at me questioningly, as if what Richie had said was a trick question. “Well, yes?” You looked Stan up and down, still in shock of how cool he was trying to look in this situation.

“INCLUDING Y/N?” Richie snorted, nudging Eddie who chuckled along side him. Stan grunted, so you avoided looking back at him from the cart. “Hahaha! Get it! Cause she’s in the fucking cart and— oh nevermind,” Richie began nudging Mike, trying to get him to join in on the teasing, ear splitting laughter coming from both himself and Eddie.

Stan began pushed the cart around Eddie and Richie, followed by an unamused Mike. “So uncalled for,” Mike whispered to Stan behind you. You fixed your eyes on the rotating wheels off the cart beneath you, pretending to be more interested.

“It’s not a big deal,” Stan whispered back to Mike. Why would it have been a big deal to him?

At the checkout, Stan placed a hand on your shoulder to get your attention back from the now stationary wheels. “Here let me help you out,” Stan said, offering his hands to you. You obliged and he helped you rise to your feet, before grabbing you by your hips to lower you out off the basket. You flinched at his hands at first, before him moved his thumb back and forth comfortingly as you relaxed.

You exhaled dreamily and adjusted your shirt, as you were still in pajamas, and thanked him. You weren’t sure if he could see the pink that covered your cheeks, but swerved beind Mike, not wanting to risk it. Stan paid for the groceries, earning a dirty look from the old cashier from all the junk food.

Beverly and Ben exited a checkout lane just as you, Mike, and Stan did. Mike waved to them as Stan pushed the cart beside you. The group met up with Richie and Eddie who were waiting outside the store.

“Anyone see Bill?” Ben asked, squinting out into the barren parking lot.

You poked out from behind Stanley. “He said he went to get gas,” you sighed. Stanley rubbed your back and traced small circles as the gang stood there, plastic bags in hand.

“He didn’t leave us here, right?” Eddie asked, looking back and forth between his tall friends.

As he spoke a sound like a whistle flooded the parking lot. The familiar maroon van skidded into the parking lot widly, and screeched to a holt in front of the group. Bill got out of the driver’s seat, car still running, and popped opent he trunk. “You all weren’t w-w-waiting long were you?” he asked out of seemingly out of breath. Giving him not answer, you all silently scattered to put the Walmart goodies inside and filter back into the van.

When everyone was settled, and buckled up, Bill looked at you all through the rear view mirror. “So where we h-headed Beverly? Did you find a-a-any hotels?”

Beverly patted my seat a few times excitedly. “Ow ow! I do!” she gleamed, getting everyone’s attention. “Next stop, Montpeliar Vermont!”

The van cheered and you sighed contently, leaning into Stanley you instinctly wrapped an arm behind you.

You could mentally cross ‘spontaneous adventures’ off your bucket list. However you had something to take it’s place on the list: Make this the best roadtrip in the history of the Losers Club.

This would be the story you’d be reminiscing about in your old age.

PART 2?

———

taglist🌈 @eddiesshorts @loverss-clubb @fiestatozier @neibolthoes @juliroseennis @makloveswriting @aizeninlefox

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randomnoteforfuturereference · 6 years

Text

Aftermath: Bombshell

So… this story and its counterpart was made at the beginning of this year. However, 4.2 and 4.3 ended up revealing that Dex and Nursey weren’t back in Maine/NYC during Game 7, but in Samwell/Providence. Because I’m a neurotic mess who likes my stories in a single canon-complaint headcanon-verse, I have zero qualms about going back and retconning. I continue to thank @kleeklutch for helping not only beta the changes but make the whole thing flow better.

**Warning: this fic contains explicit homophobic language, bullying behavior from an adult, mention of past physical trauma, anxiety, and allusion to the current opioid crisis.**

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320069

There some moments in your life when you know that something catastrophic is coming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

You have to bear that feeling of helplessness despite your mind tearing itself apart playing out all of the possible scenarios that could unfold. Despite the constricted breaths, sleepless nights, and twisted insides weighing on your body as you get closer to zero hour. Despite everything, you just have to suck it up.

I’ve done it before. I can do it now.

I’m with over half the village crammed into Aunt Trish & Uncle Jim’s diner, and all eyes are fixed on the diner’s new bigass screen; where my former captain is about to make a seventh-game overtime shot that will earn the Providence Falconers the Stanley Cup.

I know who is going to win as this scene already played out over a week ago. Championship games tend to finish late, so we just record them so we can focus on work — in the process, we do our best to avoid to avoid news — until we all get together for a community watch party. After all, unless there’s a personal investment, there’s no point in losing productive sleep before a work day.

This year though, I was able to not only watch the game live but did so in Providence.

Unlike the alumni who had seats with Bitty, I held down the fort with Chowder and Nursey at Jack’s apartment. Though I bet that any stranger could have waltzed right in and eaten our snacks right next to us without being noticed. While I can recall the play-by-play, that night still went by in a cuss-laden blur. The only lasting evidence of how I felt were the scratch marks along my arm and slight crescents in my palms. I do know that we never let our eyes leave the screen as it went into fucking overtime.

Through overtime, I never noticed how much I’ve been holding my breath until Jack made the shot that brought the Falcs victory. At that moment, that held breath exploded out into a scream and joined the screams of my friends into a collective holler loud enough to be heard back in Samwell.

We were still celebrating — as was everyone else, evident by the chorus of shouts and honking of car horns pouring in from outside — when we saw Bitty running across the ice right into Jack’s arms. Because of course. Still, even as I rolled my eyes, I smirked and raised my bottle to them. Jack not only deserved the Cup; the two deserved all the happiness they can get.

Still didn’t prevent me from wanting to make a chirp out of Ransom and Holster probably being bummed that they can’t charge fines anymore.

Then the chirp died in my mouth, a horrible weight settled in my stomach, and blood drained from my face as realization hit.

Bitty was leaning back and gazing straight into Jack’s eyes. Something was said, and the serious look between the two turned into smiles.

Then they kissed.

Not the affectionate pecks that garnered so many fines. No, it was the intense lip-locked version that they indulged in whenever they thought nobody was watching; their expectation was frequently not the reality, but hey.

After the game, I didn’t say anything about what happened on the center ice. The state of Bitty’s phone was testament to the fact that he and Jack already had enough on their minds. And everyone else was so happy and showing them support. Nobody needed me barging in with the kind of issues that will just raise all kinds of questions.

In any case, that scene is about to be replayed here.

As the puck goes into the net, the diner erupts into cheers. Even if my village didn’t know that Jack was my captain, the Falconers being a New England team is reason enough to root for them. But honestly, I think they’re making a bigger deal about this championship than prior ones because of my connection to the Falcs.

As I add my voice to the collective cheer despite having been spoiled already, a part of me hopes that connection won’t cause them to make a bigger deal about other more personal concerns.

Though maybe they won’t have to.

As footage transitions to the postgame, I take my chance and scramble for the remote. With the focus now on celebration and general conversation, nobody should notice me turning the television off.

As I mash the remote’s buttons, the room goes silent.

They’ll probably tell me off for messing with the controls. I don’t care. It’s not like there’s anything to watch now since it’s just the post-game. All I’m doing is keeping the electricity bill down.

Then I see the blue light reflected off the countertop. No. This isn’t happening. Nonono…

As I raise my head, my stomach drops.

In grabbing the remote, I hadn’t turned off the television. I only muted it.

A delusional part of me still hopes that the camera will cut away. That those fucking journo seagulls will find something else to focus on other than my two friends being able to happily embrace without fear.

Of course, the cameras don’t turn away.

So I turn away instead.

And immediately regret my decision.

Everyone in the diner has their eyes locked onto the screen. There’s no more joy on their faces.

Just shock.

For some, their surprise is muted and hints that they got the news beforehand one way or another. However, even they watch the scene unfold in disbelief.

A disbelief being expressed in wide eyes and frozen expressions.

I steel myself for what will come after that shock. I hope that they’ll accept Jack and Bitty. I hope that they will accept the player they were cheering on just minutes beforehand. Either way, at least I will know where they stand.

Finally, Pa breaks the silence:

“Huh.”

… What.

I wait for him to add onto that. Any kind of elaboration. Anything. Anything!

Uncle Miguel looks in my direction. As does everyone else. Dammit, anything but focusing on me.

“The blond boy…” he notes, “that’s your captain next year, aye?”

I almost gag in my attempt to get my throat unstuck. “A-ayuh.”

“… Huh.”

Oh for FUCK’S SAKE!

Aunt Meg chimes in: “I mean, from what you told us about the blond one, I can kind of see it? Didn’t you say he’s a bit…?” She makes a limp-wrist gesture.

I’m saved from answering that by Uncle Jeremy. “Yeah, no surprise there. But Jack Zimmermann?”

By now, the whole diner is overcome by a low chorus of questions, bafflement, and speculation… most of which is aimed at me as if I have all of the damn answers. That’s not getting into those damn noncommittal grunts, as well as a bucketful of confusion from my younger cousins; one just asked me if that means Bitty is the girl.

While there are some comments of disapproval about how Bitty and Jack are making a scene, nobody’s explicitly disparaging or condemning the two. Which I guess is good? But nobody’s offering notes of support or at least acceptance either; though I suppose the comments about the “gutsiness” of the move count as a positive.

Overall, nobody seems to know what to think about this. If they do know, they certainly aren’t letting their thoughts be heard.

It’s pissing me off.

“So Zimmermann’s gay,” states a cousin.

“Bisexual,” I correct.

“Huh.”

Okay, that’s it! I all but throw my hands up as I move for the exit.

“You knew.”

The hissed accusation stops me in my tracks. It’s from the one person who would have a stance. I turn to see Uncle Owen glaring right in my face.

“I… I—“

“I’m not just talking about l… that." He punctuates his statement with a grimace of disgust and gesture at the screen. “You knew those two were screwing each other.” Each syllable is accompanied with him jabbing his finger into my chest.

In this moment, it doesn’t matter how much hockey has built me up. I feel like I’m a scrawny ten-year-old again, and each jab forces me backwards. With each step back, the diner gets more and more quiet as all attention focuses on the two of us.

“How long, boy?” he spits. “How. Long?”

“Since…” I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate how those around me, even though they downright loathe Uncle Owen, are curious for an answer. I hate how part of me wants to give more information than they expect but… can’t. “Since December.”

Actually longer, but nobody needs to know.

Nobody needs to know anything.

“Only two years in that libtard ‘school’, and you’re just full of surprises,” Uncle Owen muses. “Wasn’t the captain elected unanimously by the team?”

“Yes.” Shit! My answer comes out just as I realize why he asked that question. But it’s too late to take it back.

“So you knew the little shit’s a pervert and still voted for him?”

“He’s not a pervert.” I grit out as my hands ball into fists.

“So you say,” he sneers. “And I hear you’re spending the next year in the same house.”

A small part of me feels relief that he doesn’t know that I’m going to room with Nursey. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to control myself right now if the shit he spews goes in that direction. “The rent’s better.”

“Hah. Of course that’s your excuse: ‘The rent’s better.’” There’s a gleam in his eyes that’s too knowing for my liking. “What other faggy secrets—“

“That’s enough, Owen,” Pa growls while shoving his way through the crowd. “Leave my son alone.”

My father may be leaning his cane and may have kept his right arm back home. But in this moment, he looks ready to kick any able-bodied asshole’s ass.

Uncle Owen sputters, “You’re willing to let this Cultural Marxism—“

“I don’t give a flying fuck if Billy has a Little Red Book in his back pocket. You say another goddamn word to him tonight, and I’ll convince Shannon to finally cut you out of her life for good.” Pa doesn’t even raise his voice, but it’s enough to make everyone take a step back. “That will be after I rearrange your face to be as ugly as mine.”

I don’t know how long the standoff lasts. I only know that Uncle Owen is the one to back down and storm out… and that the bloody crescents in my palms are going to last a bit.

As if to enforce a sense of normalcy, the collective conversation picks right back up where it left off. This is despite the subject of the conversation being anything but normal. Pa nods to the door, and the two of us take our leave to begin the walk back home.

As the sounds of the diner fade, I check my phone. Besides the general rambling of everyone, Nursey’s making cryptic suggestions to check the national business news in the coming week.

Finally, I look up from my phone and back at Pa. “… You do know I’m no tankie, right?”

Pa chuckles. “Ayuh. Was just making a point.”

Heh, yeah. A point. He’s just saying that he’d love me no matter what. But would his love really be so unconditional if I actually started spouting commie, nazi, or beardie propaganda? I know mine wouldn’t.

So then why did he bring it up?

Uncle Owen was the one who said ‘Marxism’ first, and Pa was just taking the statement to its logical conclusion. Don’t think too much of it.

But did Pa rebuke Uncle Owen because what was being said was wrong? Or was it just because I was attacked?

If Uncle Owen made his language just focused on “them gaysexuals”, would Pa make the same statement except with the Little Red Book replaced by a rainbow flag? If he did, would that mean he considers being queer as bad as a communist?

I know that I should really be giving my father more credit than that, and there’s a heavy weight in my stomach at the fact that I would even have doubts. But still…

Pa nudges me. “Something on your mind?”

“Just…” Okay, deep breaths. “Just thinking about the coming year.” Which is technically the truth.

That gets a nod from him. “It will be interesting. No doubt about that.”

Yeah… interesting. I can just see the attention Bitty will get between him being Jack’s boyfriend and the first out NCAA ice hockey captain. Media may even come to Samwell.

People will know Bitty lives at the Haus. People will know where the Haus is; even if the media doesn’t divulge the location, it’s not like it’s hard to find due to all the damn kegsters.

What if we get paparazzi waiting for Jack whenever he comes to Samwell? What if there is paparazzi obsessed with Bitty himself? What if we get assholes who decide that spewing shit in a comment feed won’t cut it?

We don’t even keep the door locked. But even if we get the Haus secure, we have to walk to campus. Even in school, it’s not like they gate off the campus and limit access.

We should put in new locks and give out a limited set of keys. Convince the frats to install a surveillance system along the whole street. Maybe we’ll even have to stop hosting kegsters so often.

We should do something. We need to do something. We need to do something now! We need to try to keep several steps ahead of them even though they’ll keep trying to find a new way. That includes at our games.

The away games. Fuck. I forgot about the away games. FUCK!

Shit. We’re fucked. We’re so f—

“Billy!”

Pa’s voice forces me to stop walking, and it’s then that I see that I’m at least twenty yards ahead. Billy, you fucking idiot. Hell of a son you are.

“Shit,” I blurt out while rushing back. “I-I’m so—”

Pa cuts me off: “Enough of that. Right now, I just need you to breathe.”

It’s only at his request that I realize my breath are coming in rapid gasps. I try to do as I’ve been taught but can’t seem to get anything under control as my vision blurs and pressure builds behind my eyes. Oh, now you’re gonna cry about it? You gonna cry, you fucking little p—

A gentle pressure settles around my wrist, and I feel my trembling hand firmly pried away from my arm. The action forces me to look up and see Pa heaving deep even breaths to focus on. It’s not easy, but eventually I force myself back on track.

Once stability’s restored, Pa tentatively asks, “What’s the matter, Billy?”

This time, I don’t have to make the truth a technicality: “Just wondering how the school’s going to deal with the media and security issues.”

Pa nods and thankfully doesn’t ask me to elaborate. “I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

I’m also thankful that he leaves it at that and doesn’t try to further any reassurance as we continue walking in silence.

A silence which only lasts for another few minutes. “So… your captains are together.”

When Pa comments like that, without the crowds around, the situation feels even more naked than before.

Maybe I can get something out of it though.

“Ayuh,” I mutter. “Did you know? Before this?”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t have time to read the news.”

While I believe that he didn’t find out until now, I have a harder time accepting his explanation why. However, now’s not the time to get into that. “What do you think?”

My question comes out as a whisper that keeps any emotion in reserve.

Pa looks off at some unspecified point. “Well, I can say that my bombshell doesn’t compare to the one they set off,” he remarks with a wry smile and a waving of his forearm stump around the right side of his face.

Jesus Christ… “Jesus Christ, Pa.” It’s not like he hasn’t made similar jokes before, but I still fail to find them funny.

Pa rolls his eye and thumps me on the back. “To answer your question… I don’t know what to think. Though it’s not like it affects us,” he states with a shrug.

It affects us more than you think. “You know that a lot of queer folk come Downeast, right?” Hell, everyone here knows about, and plenty attend, the pride event in Bar Harbor.

“Ayup, and I know they help keep this economy afloat. Make great music too. Most are still just passing through. I mean, sure, there are plenty staying up in Mount Desert. But still…”

So is that how it will be okay? As long as distance is maintained?

“Well one's going to be officially leading me.”

Pa creases his brow. “He is, isn’t he.”

“The other did lead me, and it’s not like he became magically bi after graduation.”

“Hm…”

My jaw clenches. At least it’s not fucking “huh”.

Our porch light shines into view and guides us inside. Once we get to the kitchen, Pa takes his prescribed painkillers while I watch; I know it’s irrational of me as he hasn’t gotten hooked so far, and it’s not like I’m here all the time, but I can’t help it after a few recent cases.

As he sets his glass down, Pa sighs, “Look, Billy. I know they’re your friends. So maybe I don’t get it. Doesn’t matter. I trust your judgement.”

It does matter.

But still… “Thank you.”

“Hell, they’re welcome to stop by.” Pa barely finishes his statement before barking out a laugh and shaking his head. For a brief moment my stomach clenches until he murmurs, “Like a Falconer would come here…”

I hide my relief with a huff: “You never know. You saw how full of surprises they are.”

That gets a much warmer laugh from him. “Ayuh. They really don’t do anything halfway, do they.”

For once, I allow myself to join in on the laughs. Maybe everything can be alright. Maybe it will be alright.

Maybe… just maybe… “Pa, I—”

“Anyways, I’m not sure if I can handle any more surprises,” Pa chuckles before looking up at me. “You say something?”

… it will be a disaster. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

I say goodnight, Pa pulls me in for a one-armed hug, and I make the obligatory noises of protest when he kisses my forehead.

Then I walk to my room and shut the door to whisper into the darkness enveloping me:

“Nothing at all.”

#william poindexter #check please #omgcp #omgcheckplease #FFR Makes Prose

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skeletonscribbles · 6 years

Text

At Least It’s Not Sports (Part Two: Sophomore Year)

continued by popular demand :)

Title: At Least It’s Not Sports (High School Drama Club AU)

Pairings: Reddie, Stanlon, Benverly, some blip on the radar Billverly

Rating: we’re in T territory still because they’re only sophomores

Summary: “Things will work out,” Ben continued, sweet and reassuring. “For both of us.”

“I hope you’re right, Ben,” Eddie sighed. “I’m going off headset now.”

“Fair enough,” Ben said. “Talk to you when Stan freaks out midway through the act one closer.”

“I can hear both of you,” Stan said flatly.

Warnings: some almost sexual situations, the pacing is shit, and I made myself sad :( oh well

Part One - Freshman Year / Part Three - Junior Year / Part Four - Senior Year pt. 1 / Part Five - Senior Year pt. 2

Read on Ao3!

Sure enough, as soon as Eddie got the e-mail about drama club starting up again, he marched over to his calendar and circled the date of the first workshop in red sharpie. He had been cooped up with his mother watching Jeopardy virtually all summer, and he was more than ready to see his friends again. Bi-weekly trips to the diner or the park were fun, but not enough.

He was so desperate for their company, he was almost ready to overlook the dread he felt at the thought of seeing Richie.

He’d been careful during the summer to only attend group hangouts that he knew Richie wouldn’t go to. The idea behind this was that not seeing Richie would help his crush subside before he went back to school, and that everything would subsequently go back to normal. Of course, Eddie’s life being how it was, things couldn’t be that simple. Absence was unfortunately only making the heart grow fonder, and Eddie found himself daydreaming about Richie during the moments that his mind wasn’t occupied with anything important...which was most moments, in the summertime.

Eddie’s last and only hope, then, was that Richie had miraculously either grown ugly or adjusted his personality severely over the last three months. It was a long shot, but barring that, Eddie was going to have to suck it up and deal with his feelings, so he held out hope for it.

Said hope was, of course, in vain.

“Spaghetti, thank God.” It was the first day of school, and too early in the morning for Eddie to be properly prepared to see Richie. God fucking damn it. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been asking after you all summer.”

Eddie looked at him, and immediately wished he hadn't. Richie had grown several inches since Eddie had last seen him, and his freckles had gone dark from the summer sun. He was wearing a tye-dyed Ben and Jerry’s t-shirt, his hair was pulled back in a sloppy, low ponytail, and there were a few bristly hairs around his upper lip and chin. His glasses were, somehow, thicker than ever. The combination of all of those things should have been absolutely horrifying, but for whatever reason, Richie’s new eyesore status was making Eddie’s heart do jumping jacks. What the hell.

“Take a hint, asshole,” he said, biting his lip and going back to hanging up flyers for the first drama workshop.

“You can’t escape me that easily, Eds.” Richie cornered him, putting his hands on either side of the wall around Eddie so that he was trapped. Eddie clenched his fists and looked at the floor, trying to pretend that he wasn’t affected by their new position. “I thought we were friends. I missed you.”

“You’ll see me,” Eddie muttered, waving the flyers in his hand for emphasis. “I know you’re going.”

“Of course,” Richie grinned, still boxing him in with his arms. “And probably in English, and maybe some other classes, too. Es muy emocionante, si?”

“I don’t take Spanish,” Eddie said, frowning.

“Exciting,” Richie explained. “Eeez veddy exciting, Señor Spaghetti.”

“Go to class, nerd.” Eddie could feel a blush creeping up his neck. If he spent any more time with Richie, his whole face would be red, and he absolutely could not have Richie see that. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“It’s a date,” Richie winked and pulled himself away from the wall, moving to adjust his backpack. “Nice tan, by the way. Brings out your scowl.”

“See, I went out and got the tan to emphasize this, so...” Eddie held out his middle finger threateningly, but Richie was already walking away.

Fuck. Eddie had expected things to be awkward, but that was a whole new level of emotional badness.

Maybe his ticket to getting out of this whole feelings nonsense was to push Richie away. He was going to have to step it up with the insults.

----

Insults worked, but only kind of.

The first workshop was much like Eddie had remembered it being the year before, only this time he didn’t have to participate. Instead, he sat smugly with Stan on the sidelines.

Richie was in rare form; he was obviously trying to show off for the freshmen, and he kept glancing back at Eddie excitedly. Eddie returned his excitement with scowls and rude gestures, trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach at bay.

“I take it you haven’t discussed your feelings,” Stan said, watching Eddie disapprovingly.

“What feelings?” Eddie lied, tightening his shoulders. “I don’t have those anymore.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Stan turned in his chair a little bit so that Eddie could better see the exasperated expression on his face. “It’s not healthy to bottle your feelings up. You’ll explode.”

“What feelings?” Eddie asked again, wishing that Stan weren’t so goddamn observant.

Stan watched him for another minute, and then turned back to the stage. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hey Eds!” Richie was waving at him from the stage. “This is a partner game that requires a lot of touching. Wanna team up?”

“If I was actually an artist and you were the clay I was supposed to sculpt with, I would change professions,” Eddie snapped.

Richie looked back at him blankly. “So...no?”

“Leave me alone, Richie,” Eddie all but yelled, sliding down in his chair.

That seemed to sting more for Richie than the insult. He went back to the group of acting hopefuls, shoulders a little more slumped than they were before.

“And now you’ve embarrassed him.” Stan rolled his eyes. “Very nice, Eddie. Great rapport with the actors.”

“Everyone else likes me just fine,” Eddie muttered. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You better,” Stan warned. “My job is yours next year, and I don’t want to find out that I chose the wrong fucking kid to mentor.”

“You didn’t,” Eddie said stubbornly. “It’ll be good.”

It wasn’t as good as he imagined it would be.

Because tactically avoiding Richie seemed to work better than insulting him outright, Eddie tried his best to steer clear of his bespectacled crush for the first month and a half of school. He could tell that Richie was pretty hurt by his behavior, but Eddie figured he’d get over it after a while and move on to annoying someone else...so that was fine.

What was less fine was the fact that his rift with Richie was affecting their friend group. Bev and Bill didn’t really understand what was going on, but felt a little bit like they were being forced to take sides...and so instead of doing that, they chose to isolate themselves, becoming closer to each other and spending less time with the other members of the drama club. Richie didn’t really know what to do, and so was apparently biding his time with upperclassmen, and Eddie...Eddie was alone, which really pissed him off. The whole point of getting over his crush was to not ruin the friendships he’d made last year, damn it - and not only was this process actively tearing those friendships apart, but he still couldn’t shake the fucking crush. Un-fucking-fair.

Stan was the person that paid him the most attention on any given day, but Eddie knew that he was disappointed in him, too. Stage managers were supposed to be building trust with the actors, and Eddie was effectively doing the opposite of that. Letting Stan down hurt just as much if not more than losing friends, and by mid-October, when the fall play was going into tech, he was considering quitting the drama club, just so he could escape the scrutinizing gaze of Stanley Uris.

That was when Stan gave him The Assignment.

Stage management was technically not supposed to do stage crew work; they had enough responsibility in making sure that the actors, the lights, and the microphones were all doing what they were supposed to. This show was meant to be no different...except that there weren’t really enough crew members to cover all of the menial things like prop resetting. Stan really had no choice but to give Eddie a task.

“Eddie,” Stan came up to Eddie and pointed to a place in his heavily annotated script. It was about halfway through the first Saturday of tech weekend, and the entire crew was stressed beyond belief. “You’re not supervising anything during this stretch of Act One, so I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” Eddie asked, pulling out his own script to make a note.

“Richie has a quick change here that he can’t make by himself.” Stan indicated a specific line on the page. “I need you to help him.”

Eddie felt like Stan had thrown a bucket of ice water on him. “Me? It has to be me?”

“It has to be you,” Stan confirmed. “There’s a scene switch there, too. I need the rest of my crew on stage.”

“I--” Eddie started to protest, but Stan held up a finger.

“I don’t care about your self-destructive feelings, Eddie. I care about the show. Get over it.”

Eddie swallowed, nodded, and tried in vain to silence his singing nerves.

An hour later, Richie sprinted offstage to change costumes, and all of Eddie’s “progress” in getting rid of his crush was undone.

“Eds?” Richie asked, confused and out of breath. “What--”

“You need a dresser for this, dumbass.” Eddie flushed and held out a pair of pants, already unbuttoned and ready for Richie to step into. “Strip.”

“Well, shit.” All the bravado seemed to drain from Richie’s face. He stared at Eddie, seemingly frozen to the spot. “Uh.”

“Now,” Eddie hissed, brandishing the pants again.

“Right, okay.” Richie made quick work of his suit jacket and pants, and was left in his boxers and a collared shirt. He started in on the buttons, which gave Eddie a couple of seconds to take in the sight of Richie before him, semi-undressed.

It fucking sucked to be fifteen and hormonal. Eddie was grateful for the dark as he discreetly reached down to adjust himself in his jeans.

Fortunately, Richie didn’t seem to notice. He got the shirt off, and stepped towards Eddie cautiously. “Uh.”

Shit. They were already almost out of time. “Okay, that took too long, I’m gonna have to help you with it next time.” Eddie shivered at the thought. “Now, pants.”

Richie folded his hands over his almost naked body, seemingly...embarrassed? “As much as I wish I were that tall, Eds, you’re, uh….gonna have to kneel down for this.”

Fuck.

Quickly, Eddie sank to his knees, holding out the pants and trying desperately to think of anything but his proximity to Richie’s crotch. Richie all but leapt into them, apparently also hoping to get the moment over with as soon as he possibly could. He reached his hands down to get the button, but Eddie swatted him away. “Put your shirt on instead. I got it.”

“You really don’t have to,” Richie said quickly, voice cracking a little on the last word.

“It’s fine.” Richie’s aversion to Eddie’s hands around that area soon became apparent; to Eddie’s surprise, Richie was noticeably half-hard himself. It wasn’t weird, though - in fact, it was kind of a relief to see that he wasn’t the only horny idiot around. Eddie chalked it up to puberty, and used his deft hands to do up the button and zipper swiftly and neatly.

“Fine?” Richie asked warily, with his t-shirt half over his head.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Eddie stood up and helped him pull the shirt down. They didn’t have to talk about it. There was nothing to say.

“No reason.” Richie took half a second to look at him curiously, and then turned to the stage. “Gotta blast.”

“Break a leg,” Eddie whispered after him, watching fondly as Richie’s face lit back up as soon as he was under the stage lights.

He’d been an idiot, hadn’t he?

He could live with keeping his stupid crush to himself if it meant that he could have his friends - have Richie.

Why did it take being inches from Richie’s dick to bring him to that stupid conclusion? Christ, being fifteen was the fucking worst.

The rest of the week saw things veering closer and closer to normal. Richie realized after about two days that Eddie wasn’t flinching away anymore (from his boner or otherwise) and slowly but surely, their banter resurfaced, as well as Richie’s flirting and casual touches. This drew Bev and Bill back in, and by the time the show rolled around, the group of them were sitting together after rehearsal again, trading jokes and insults like nothing had happened.

Most friends wouldn’t be so forgiving, Eddie knew. He was lucky.

Stan told him as much before the first curtain. “I see you took your head out of your ass, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie nodded, sliding his headset off of his ears and around his neck. “I was being a moron. But you know that.”

“I do.” Stan adjusted a newspaper on the prop table. “That’s why I gave you the task of changing Richie’s pants.”

Eddie groaned. “Stan, that’s hazing.”

“No, it’s strategic.” Stan was having trouble hiding his smile. “And nobody else around here has as much of a vested interest in Richie’s penis as you, so it made sense.”

Eddie pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt up and over his head in horror. “Stop talking, oh my god.”

Stan smiled, satisfied that the prop table was in order, and turned to Eddie. “I don’t care about your terrible taste in men, Eddie. I’m just glad you got your priorities sorted.”

“Did you ever have to dress Mike?” Eddie asked, changing the subject.

Stan scoffed as he exited towards the dressing rooms. “Have to? I volunteered, every time. Eventually he got the hint.” He paused before he left, looking back at Eddie. “It’s a legitimate strategy. Just a thought.”

“I’m done with pants duty after Saturday,” Eddie said hotly. “Mike probably didn’t subject you to Smurf pattern underwear.”

Stan didn’t stop laughing until he was all the way down the hall. Eddie listened to it echo, and felt warm.

He did end up volunteering to dress Richie for both the winter play and the musical, to Stan’s great amusement. It was less and less awkward for Eddie with every show, but Richie never really stopped being flustered about it - and for whatever reason, he’d become increasingly flustered around Eddie in general as the months went by. It was so out of character for him that for the musical, Bill and Bev came around to watch the ritual clothes change.

“Having fun, Rich?” Bev called, leaning on the prop table in amusement as Eddie tugged Richie’s belt through the belt loops of his jeans. “Haven’t you had this exact same fantasy the last few times you went into the bathroom to--”

“Shove it, Marsh.” Richie gritted his teeth. “You and Denbrough get up to kinkier shit, I’m sure.”

Bill wrinkled his nose. “Is that what you thuh-think about when you’re jacking it, Rich?”

“Your stutter’s getting better,” Richie commented, ignoring Bill’s remark.

Bill and Bev had announced in January that they were dating. Nobody was surprised; they’d spent virtually all fall together in an attempt to ride out the wave of Richie and Eddie’s rough patch. They were sort of a strange couple, though, in that they didn’t really have anything in common - they just sort of drifted together, connecting but not really connecting. Eddie imagined they’d be finished by the time the drama awards came around.

“I’ve had some help,” said Bill, giving Bev a small smile.

“Richie!” April, the junior girl Richie was playing opposite (they were the B-plot romance, which was pretty impressive, given that Richie was only a sophomore) ran over, clearly frazzled. “They’re like, three lines away from our cue.”

“Gimme my hat, gimme my hat!” Richie grabbed for the ridiculous straw cowboy hat in a hurry, abnormally eager to escape his friends. Eddie watched him, concerned.

“Richie?”

“C’mon, April!” Richie said, ignoring Eddie and taking April’s hand to pull her over and around to the back entrance of the set.

Eddie looked back over at Bill and Ben. “Was that weird?”

Bev shrugged. “Kinda. But she and Richie are close now, or whatever. They’ve been spending all kinds of time together.”

Eddie had noticed that, too, and it didn’t make him very happy. Bev bringing it up was really just the cherry on his paranoia sundae, and it led him to check in with a third, more honest source.

“Yeah, something’s up with Richie.” Mike Hanlon’s character had a break during the ballet in act two, and so Eddie was able to catch up with him quickly and easily. “He’s been like...agitated...since whatever happened between you guys in the fall.”

“Is he mad at me?” Eddie asked, trusting Mike to tell him the truth.

“He might be,” Mike admitted, adjusting his plaid costume shirt. “I don’t think he realizes if he is, though.”

Eddie sighed miserably. “I’m not ignoring him this time, though. I’m even trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well.” Mike looked up at Eddie, shrugging. “That might be the issue, actually.”

“What does that mean?” Stan was saying something to Ben Hanscom, the new lights guy, over the headset. Eddie willed himself to ignore it.

“I don’t think Richie ever expected you to flirt back,” Mike said softly, “and he’s probably kind of scared of it, you know?”

Eddie didn’t understand, and told Mike as much.

“Well,” Mike tried, “fantasy and reality are really different, right? Like, when I had a crush on Stan, I was totally freaked when Stan started showing interest, because it was just...my mind hadn’t actually let me think that positively about it. I didn’t know what to do. I’m not the type to run from stuff, though. Richie...I don’t know.”

“What about April?” Eddie asked, wringing his hands.

“I don’t know about April,” Mike admitted. “She likes him, that’s obvious, but I can’t read Richie well enough to say.”

“Eddie,” Stan’s voice yelled through the headset, “stop flirting with my boyfriend backstage and get to your goddamn station.”

“Fuck you too, Stan,” Eddie called, rolling his eyes. “Thanks, Mike. Sorry to drag you into all this.”

Mike smiled, and Eddie fleetingly wished he had fallen for somebody with the kind of gentle countenance Mike had. “Happy to help, Eddie. Come back anytime.”

“Eddie!” Stan yelled, and Eddie hightailed it backstage.

He spent the next week trying to dial back his kindness to Richie, but it seemed the damage was done. Richie was barely interacting with him at all; instead, he was spending most all of his free time with April. Any suspicions Eddie had before were well on their way to being confirmed.

“Why her?” he asked himself quietly during the first night of the show, watching the two of them onstage and feeling a little bit like throwing up.

“You know your headset’s on, right?” Ben Hanscom called. Eddie groaned, mortified.

“No. Sorry, Ben.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said softly. “I know how you feel.”

That was new. Eddie hadn’t paid Ben much mind over the course of the last year (which he felt bad about, but it was hard to pay attention to anyone but Richie most of the time), but from what he had seen, he hadn’t picked up on Ben having a crush.

“Things will work out,” Ben continued, sweet and reassuring. “For both of us.”

“I hope you’re right, Ben,” Eddie sighed. “I’m going off headset now.”

“Fair enough,” Ben said. “Talk to you when Stan freaks out midway through the act one closer.”

“I can hear both of you,” Stan said flatly.

“Bye,” Eddie said, switching off his headset and returning to wallowing alone in his feelings.

When the end of year awards rolled around, Eddie hadn’t talked to Richie in three weeks, and it hadn’t been his prerogative. Richie hadn’t been talking to anyone but April. Needless to say, his feelings were hurt, and watching Richie win award after award after award wasn’t helping. Stan was really the only thing keeping him grounded - and this was Stan’s last night in the program. He was a graduating senior, and that fucking hurt, too.

“I’m sorry,” Stan whispered, after the ceremony concluded and all of the awards were passed out. Eddie had won a fair amount of them himself, but he still felt shitty, and Stan’s leaving was pushing him over the edge a little bit.

“Don’t be,” Eddie whispered back, pulling him into a hug. “Thanks for everything, Stan.”

“You make it sound like we won’t see each other over the summer,” Stan mumbled, voice uncharacteristically shaky.

“Also, I have your number,” Eddie said, blinking back tears, “so really, you’re never getting rid of me.”

Stan pulled back and looked seriously at him. “You’re coming back to this next year, right?”

Eddie didn’t have to ask why Stan was asking. He could see Richie and April laughing together in his peripheral vision.

“I’m not gonna like it,” Eddie said honestly, “but I promise you that you didn’t waste your time with me.”

Stan smiled, eyes watery. “I know I didn’t.”

“Go suck face with your stupid boyfriend,” Eddie smiled back weakly, patting Stan on the arm.

“I will.” Slowly, Stan turned on his heel and departed in search of Mike. Eddie watched him leave, feeling heavy with the knowledge that a chapter of his life was ending. Things wouldn’t be the same without Stan and Mike.

“Eddie?” Eddie heard Bill and Bev walking up behind him. He turned to find that they had their coats on, and were looking at him piteously, for whatever reason. Ben Hanscom was also with them; he was not looking at Eddie, though, preoccupied instead by staring wistfully at Bev.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh.

“Let’s go get pizza,” Bev suggested softly, taking Bill’s hand. Ben looked away sharply.

“Why?” Eddie looked back at the three of them, suspicious. “Why are you being so--”

They stared at the ground, uncomfortable, and Eddie’s heart sank. He turned around.

Richie and April were tucked away in a corner of the auditorium lobby...and they were kissing.

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly, unable to tear his eyes away from them, “pizza sounds good.”

“Let’s go,” Bill suggested, guiding Eddie towards the doors. Bev came around his other side to wrap an arm around Eddie’s waist, and Ben followed the three of them out.

It was a good thing he had such good friends, Eddie figured, because there was no way he was going to survive junior year otherwise.

Theatre was great, except when it wasn’t.

Tag List: (this is everyone who liked my tag list post. lmk if you want off.) @nymphadora @sun-nugget @reddieaddict @peonyromance @should-i-gay-or-should-i-go @its-stranger-than-you-think @forever-a-lonely-valentine

#reddie #reddie fanfic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #stanlon #stanley uris #mike hanlon #losers club #it 2017 #it movie #stephen king's it #theatre kid au #mild angst #:(#deep sigh

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darrowwyrlde · 6 years

Text

Dr. Pines’ Experiment: Idea Pitch

So I was reading ‘Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment’ for my Literature class and got an idea for a fic. You don’t need to know that story to understand this though. Wanted to see what y’all think.

Prologue

It was a pleasant day. The sun was bright and the salt air crisp. On the deck of the modest sailing ship sat two older men. Brothers. Twins. They sat in silence this particular morning, the one content with his fishing, and the other his studies.

The younger brother -although he would insist there wasn’t a difference- was the one with the rod, and as he waited for a bite he let his mind drift. It was relaxing, routine, and still he couldn’t help the thought that it was all too good to be true. Then again, he had been thinking as such for the past two years of exploration and the other shoe was yet to drop. He smiled. Today was nice.

The elder -who insisted there was a difference- was in deep concentration. He had a multitude of books, notebooks and various devices strewn about the bench where he sat. This was not uncommon, and was in fact as his brother would say, his default state. However, this morning’s study was not common, and his mind was engrossed in the topic. He was searching for something, as always, but this time it was different. He wasn’t merely searching to pacify his boundless curiosity. He was searching more intently than he had ever before. For his current quarry, if found, would change his and his brother’s life forever. It was his brother’s life in particular he hoped the subject would improve.

The morning went on. Fish were caught and pages turned. The sun rose high in the sky and the younger brother decided that his elder needed a change in scenery.

“Hey Sixer, it’s ‘bout time for lunch. You wanna help me clean these fish?”

“You catch the fish, you clean the fish,” Stanford Pines replied automatically, not looking up from his book.

“Yeah, but I was thinkin-”

“I help you once Stanley, and you’ll never let me keep to the rule again.”

“Fine,” Stanley Pines grumbled. “Just wanted you to move your nerd butt before it grew to the seat.”

Stanford didn’t hear or recognize this sentiment and continued his mental digging as if the exchange never happened.

Stanley sighed as he realized that was how his brother was to be that day. Standing with a groan, he picked up the heavy bucket of fish. He shuffled towards the other side of the deck where his cleaning board lay.

Stanford remained ignorant of it all, still striving to find his answer. At some point a plate of fried fish was placed beside him. Some point after that the empty plate was taken away and a lantern placed behind his head as it grew dark.

Before Stanford knew it, the notes he was taking were yanked from his hands.

“Earth to Sixer! I’ve been talking to ya for the last five minutes. Didja even hear anything?”

Stanford reflexifly stole the notes back, an annoyed huff escaping his lips before looking up at his twin. Stanley’s mixed concern and annoyance was clear. Stanford reigned in his frustration at being interrupted and softened his expression.

“Sorry Lee. I was just-”

“Falling down the nerdy rabbit hole?”

“Um, yes.” Stanford grinned sheepishly. Looking about he saw stars. “How late is it?”

His brother raised a humored brow. “Why don’t you tell me?”

It took a moment for Stanford to register what his brother meant before looking down at the bulky watch on his wrist. It was very late indeed. Stanford sighed and said as much to his brother.

“That’s right. Now you’ve been sitting there all day and I’d be surprised if you don’t have a pounding headache from being hunched over reading like that all day. I think it’s high time for you to eat something and go to bed.”

Stanford’s neck was sore, and there was a faint throbbing behind his eyes. Normally, he would fight his twin on the point of going to bed, but he was tired. Perhaps Stanley was right, this time.

“Alright,” Stanford stifled a yawn. “Help me carry these in?” he asked as he started to gather the mess about him.

“You read the books, you pick them up,” Stanley replied.

“What?”

“You know, ‘cause earlier you - oh whatever,” he bent over and picked up a couple of loose pages from the deck. Within moments, all the academic materials were balanced in the brothers’ arms and were carried inside the cabin where they would be safe from potential rain and the salt air. The cluttered desk just inside found itself with a dozen new occupants.

“What were you reading about that had you so occupied?” Stanley asked as he crossed the cabin to the small table by the kitchenette. Two plates of fried fish and assorted canned vegetables awaited the brothers. Stanford slid into the booth across from his brother as he decided to answer the question.

“How much do you know about the Spanish invasion of the Americas?”

“A bit,” Stanley shrugged. “Y’know, looking for El Dorado and massacring the natives and stuff.” He paused, then his expression became one of excited hope. “Are we looking for El Dorado?! Sure Atlantis was a bust but-”

“No,” Stanford interrupted. “Well, not exactly.”

“Stanford…?”

“El Dorado wasn’t the only discovery the Spanish eagerly sought out. Do you remember learning about Ponce de León?”

“Sounds full of himself.”

“Stanley,” he groaned. “No, he was a Spanish explorer, conquistador and eventual general who traveled with Christopher Columbus on his second voyage in 1493. Discovered and named Florida. Ponce de León is however most famous for…” Stanford paused his lecture. He contemplated the pros and cons of fully discussing his quarry with Stanley.

“Famous for what? Having special friends?”

“No! He…” A decision was made. “Stanley, I’m tired. Let’s just eat quietly so I can go to bed.”

Stanley raised a suspicious eyebrow at his brother. “What was Poncy Lion famous for Ford?”

“Tomorrow Stan, please.” Stanford produced an atrocious fake yawn.

Stanley’s skeptical expression did not drop but he nodded in submission. “Okay, but tomorrow first thing or I’m asking Dipper.”

Stanford’s eyes widened in fear. The kids were not a complication he had previously thought of. “No!” He bit his lip at the sudden outburst. “No, don’t involve the kids. It’s...a surprise! A surprise I’d rather they didn’t know about yet.”

“You’re a terrible liar Sixer, but” Stanley shrugged. “Alright, I’ll stop asking. One question though, is it something to do with why we’re sailing for Florida?”

“Yes,” Stanford finally smiled. “Yes it is.”

So, what did you think? Should I work on this and post to here and AO3?

If you want things to remain a surprise I suggest that you don’t look up Ponce de León. If you already know what I’m talking about, way to go! You know your classic lore!

#gravity falls #stan o war #sea grunks #fic ideas #tell me what you think

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