#stanley is pretty much the only one who can comfort him if he’s sad or having a panic attack

[thechaotichorselord]

”Here with me.”

[as8bakwthesage]

Tired (Narrator/Self Insert)

Content Warning: Suicide idealization, discussions of grief, attempted suicide, car accidents/crashes

This is for my own comfort, so imma write some pretty fucked up stuff (my mental health is draining so i wrote this as a hurt/comfort fic for myself)

Sage couldn’t do this anymore.

They couldn’t stand the pain, the sorrow, the anguish. They had sat in the special room that The Narrator had invited them into. It was colourful and bright and warm... but it barely helped.

Several times now The Narrator had to ask them not to go to the staircase. But as they sat and thought, what else was there for now? Their parents didn’t like them, their family didn’t care, they had no friends, and the only person who gave a damn, their brother, was dead.

They could almost hear the sound of his car crashing into the pickup truck. They could see the way it could have smashed. They could picture him getting thrown back and forth, bashing his head...

They weren’t there, but they had seen enough car crashes, been in one, to picture it.

And their brain was merciless. Their emotions were racing, their entire being hurt more than anything. The exhaustion from constantly doing these resets didn’t help either. It was a constant. What end was there? Was there even an end that didn’t result in them getting sent back to the office?

The stairs...

They could try.

After all, what purpose was there to living?

They stood up.

Walked down the hall.

Into the tall room with the stairs.

Up the stairs.

They could hear The Narrator saying things. Mostly about himself and how he didn’t want to go back, how everything was good, how they both should go back to the room.

All about him. All about anything but Sage. That’s how it always was.

It fueled their anger, their emptiness. The Narrator didn’t care about them, he only cared about himself. He wouldn’t miss them, he was too preoccupied with wanting Stanley back. He hadn’t even called them by their actual name even.

“Please, Not-Stanley, think about what you're doing!” He pleaded.

Sure. They knew exactly what they were doing.

They jumped.

“NO!”

Sage hit the floor. Hard. Everything hurt, but especially their legs. They supposed they wouldn’t die from just a simple fall now would they? No, they needed to try again.

“Oh... thank god. You lived. You had me worried there for a moment. Now, can we please get back to the other room?”

So they climbed up yet again.

“You heard me before, didn't you? You. Will. Die. What about this isn't getting through to you?” The Narrator yelled.

But Sage didn’t listen, didn’t care. Why did he pretend to care anyway? He clearly didn’t.

“No! No, no! What are you doing?! Stanley, please I'm asking you not to take this away from me. I can't go back to what I was before! If you die, we won’t know if you will go back! Why are you doing this?!”

Was it really all about him? How could this man be so fucking selfish? Nothing was more important than his own happiness. Besides, he was living in this hell longer than they did, why should they suffer the consequences?

They jumped.

This fall didn’t kill them either. Their legs hurt so much, and they could swear they broke their leg and their spine in some way, but somehow they could still walk. Perhaps The Narrator was keeping them alive somehow? They shook their head, no! He couldn’t take this from them!

“My god, is this really how much you dislike my game? That you'll throw yourself from this platform over and over to be rid of it? You are literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy? Am I reading the situation correctly?”

He sounded... sad, anguished, terrified. But yet it was still about him. Always about him. Him. Him. Him, him him him him him HIM!

They walked up the stairs again.

“You haven’t spoken at all. Please... can you answer me?” He was pleading, his voice was high and he sounded utterly alone. Sage stopped mid-step and froze. The Narrator seemed to recognise this.

“I...” Sage started, before thy sat down and curled up into a ball. Their body ached and their leg was burning, but none of it compared to the sheer emptiness within. “I’m... tired.”

“You’re tired?” The Narrator asked in disbelief. “If you are tired, you could rest, we could rest in Stanley’s apartment! I don’t understand why you are trying to kill yourself-”

“Are you really so stupid?!” Sage snapped, glaring up at the ceiling, failing to notice the tears running down their face. “Use your fucking brain for once, Narrator!”

“I... I don’t understand, what’s going on?” The Narrator asked, his tone hard before it turned soft and gentle. He truly had no idea what Sage meant nor what they wanted. They sniffed.

“I hate myself. I hate this world, not your story, reality. I hate the constant repetition, I hate being alone, I hate thinking about how once I get out of here, there will be nothing left for me when I go back.”

“You shouldn’t hate yourself, and you aren’t alone, you have me. Also, what are you talking about? Don’t you have family or friends?”

Sage snorted, unamused. “There’s a lot to hate, Narrator. And you have never been close to me, you are just a voice, and you don’t actually care about me! All you care about is how I’m an imperfection in your story and how you can’t fucking wait to get rid of me! And no, I have nothing, the only person I loved, the only person who gave a damn about me back home, he is fucking dead!”

They were screaming by the end, their voice was starting to hurt as tears streamed down their face. Eyes blotchy and red, nose runny, lips curled in a snarl. They knew how ugly they looked and they couldn’t stand it. Fuck, the very idea that The Narrator was seeing them cry made them frustrated and annoyed.

There was a long period of silence. Uncomfortable, tense, silence.

Sage started to stand up, going to walk up the stairs again.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m getting rid of the parasite in your story.”

“Sage.” The Narrator’s voice stopped them instantly as their eyes widened in shock. But before they could say or do anything, he continued, “You are not a parasite. You are not unwanted, you are not an unwelcome part of my life or my story. You make this story interesting, and I miss Stanley, but you add colour to it all in a way Stanley couldn’t.”

“Narrator-”

“Furthermore, there is much about you to like, let alone love. You are funny, kind, determined, intelligent, and always thinking. You are enchanted by the simplest of joys, and you are easy to speak to. The way your eyes light up when you draw, when you laugh, when you sing. You are worth keeping if you wanted to stay.”

Sage was silent as they simply stared into space. They heard what he said, but it wasn’t... registering fully? At least not yet.

“I’m so sorry I did not see this sooner. I did not see how much pain you were in, how much pain you are currently in... Who was he?” He asked softly, as if he were standing right beside them.

“Pardon?”

“Who was the person you claimed was the only one who loved you?” The Narrator elaborated. Sage’s breath hitched in their throat as they recalled his face, it instantly came up. 

“He was my brother. He died in a car crash not too long ago. The last time I saw him was in the hospital.” Their voice was shaking, wavering. The Narrator said nothing as he seemed to take it in. “The last time I saw him, he was in a hospital bed, ventilator was helping him breathe. He wasn’t really alive. I thought he would make it until the nurse told me he wouldn’t.”

“I’m...” The Narrator’s voice was shaky, high pitched and full of emotion. It seemed he himself was struggling to process such an idea. Sage felt the tears coming back.

“He was only 22... he was supposed to keep going, he was supposed to be with his partner, he was supposed to finish his comic, he was supposed to live after so many years of not wanting to and then finally finding reason to.” Sage was sobbing once more.

“And he’s never coming back...” The Narrator finished for them, and Sage could have sworn they heard his voice break. He seemed to be feeling it full blast just as much as they were. Their eyes watered as they let out a guttural sound, a scream that never quite reached their ears.

They felt something wrap around them, but didn’t bother looking. It was warm and gentle, but it was welcome. It was a shoulder to sob into regardless.

“You are not worthless, and I’m sure your brother would never want you to join him prematurely. I know it may not mean much, but I care for you too. I think you are a wonderful person, and you should too.”

The entire time he spoke, Sage was sobbing yet was slowing down, due to just how much they were crying and how intense it all was. The entire time, The Narrator held them in his invisible embrace.

“Let’s go back down...”

Sage couldn’t help but nod as The Narrator slowly helped them down the stairs once more.

And the story reset once more.

[laurenairay]

What Love Feels Like - S. Crosby

Summary: your boyfriend Sidney, the surprise romantic?

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: established relationship fluff, cheesy romance, essentially a 4+1

A/N: I’ve been in an absolute writing rut since before Christmas, so I just want to thank @danglesnipecelly​ for reminding me how much I love soft sexy sid 😘 also, how have I never written for him before?!

~

No-one ever said dating Sidney Crosby was going to be easy.

They also didn’t say how much of a romantic he was either.

It was like at every turn, he had a new way to make your heart beat a little faster, to make you face heat up warm, to make your stomach fill with butterflies. Whether it was buying your favourite sweet treats as a pick me up, or the kisses that would leave you breathless in passing, or even the way his tongue flicked at your bare body just right, Sidney always kept you on your toes.

But it was his words that affected you the most.

You hadn’t expected much verbal affection from him at the beginning of your relationship, the rumours of his hockey robot status the main thing you knew about him – but you were quickly proved wrong. Maybe it was the media training that kept him so hockey-bland in interviews, because the minute he wasn’t in hockey mode, he immediately turned sweet, suave and so sexy. And it wasn’t just flirting talk, to prelude to sex (although the first time he murmured all the things he wanted to do with you after the team event you were at, you almost lost your mind then and there) – it was the sweet loving statements that sent your heart pounding.

How could you ever have known about his way with words?

*

Today had been a stressful one. Work had been full-on without any warning, and you were just about done with people. You’d even hesitated when Sidney offered to cook you dinner at his house – but eventually the temptation of being pampered by your boyfriend had been too good to resist. Maybe he’d be able to turn your day around. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

And as you suspected, Sidney had taken one look at the exhaustion on your face and ushered you to the sofa, only disappearing to come back with a large glass of wine for you.

“You are an absolute gem,” you groaned, tilting your head back to look up at him.

He just grinned, taking the silent cue for what it was and leaning down to kiss you gently. Yes, this was just what you needed.

And the evening had only gotten better from there. Sidney had made the two of you a simple but delicious coq au vin dinner (the recipe definitely came from Vero Fleury, and you knew that you would definitely need to text her your thanks later), followed by a chocolate tart that you swore was the best thing you’d ever tasted (that one was from a local bakery, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last time you’d get something from there now!). And all throughout the evening, Sidney had kept the conversation flowing, telling you hilarious stories of grumpy Geno and naïve rookies from the recent road trip he’d had, as well as about the cute dog that his neighbour had recently adopted, and you felt yourself relaxing more with each passing moment.

Sidney had indeed turned your day around just like you’d hoped.

After eating, Sidney had insisted on clearing the plates by himself, making you roll your eyes fondly but accept a gentle kiss as he walked past. You could at least get the two of you a fresh glass of wine each. You were tired, not incapable. So with that in mind, you picked up the two empty wine glasses and followed your boyfriend into the kitchen, opening the fridge to pick out the open bottle of white wine he’d opened earlier.

But just as you finished filling the glasses, you felt a pair of arms slide around you from behind, making you jump slightly, earning a soft laugh.

“Menace,” you complained fondly, putting the wine bottle down on the side.

“Couldn’t help myself, I needed you in my arms,” Sidney said simply, squeezing you in a little hug.

You leant back into his chest, smiling to yourself. How could you say no to that? The two of you stayed silent for a few more moments, just enjoying the comfort of this embrace, until Sidney sighed softly.

“You make me want things I didn’t think I could have,” Sidney murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

What the hell?

You spun around in his arms straight away, the frown on your face making Sidney laugh softly.

“What things? And who says you can’t have them?” you demanded.

“Always so protective,” he mused.

You batted at his chest, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious Sid! What do you mean, things you can’t have?”

He bit his bottom lip, making your frustration soften a little. This was something he’d really thought about, wasn’t it?

“I just…I never expected to find someone while I was still playing hockey,” Sidney started.

What the hell? He was just going to wait, until he eventually retired? What?! But as you opened your mouth to protest, Sidney pressed a finger to your lips, a fond smile on his.

“No, I know what I’m like. My routines are so set in stone, I’m away so often, I have so many more responsibilities as Captain and well, just because I’m me. I was told from a young age that anything other than hockey was a distraction. So I just…shelved the idea. Didn’t even let myself hope,” Sidney explained.

“Sid…that’s so sad,” you said softly, clutching at his sweater with both hands, “to just resign yourself to being lonely, I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I can’t say it hasn’t paid off with hockey,” he mused, “and besides…I met you, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip, your face heating up warm, Sidney’s hand rising to run a knowing thumb over your cheek.

“So I wasn’t a distraction?” you asked hopefully.

“Oh, you absolutely were,” Sidney said, laughing softly, making your heart sink a little. He saw your hesitant expression, and shook his head. “It was a distraction that I didn’t know I needed. You help me break out of my intensity, to separate the rink from home. Without you, I would just eat, breathe, sleep hockey, and meeting you made me realise that I can have hockey and love. You give me a reason to live, and I couldn’t be more grateful for that,”

You couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to your eyes, nor the smile that spread across your lips. “Sidney…” you murmured helplessly.

“Thank you. For making me whole. For making me a better person,” he said seriously, hand still cupping your face so you couldn’t do anything but look into his eyes.

Your heart clenched at his words, and there was nothing you could think of to say that needed to be added. So you just lifted your head and pressed your lips to his in a kiss that said everything.

*

A good run of games, with far more wins than losses, always put your boyfriend in a good mood. So good, that after the latest game, which was another win where he’d gotten 2 goals and 1 assist, he’d even suggested going out for drinks. You were more than happy to agree – not that you didn’t love your evenings in with him, but sometimes it was nice to go out and try something new, y’know? These plans quickly turned into a couples’ drinks with Kris and Catherine, and Geno and Anna, and the six of you ended up in a private booth in a fancy cocktail bar.

You’d immediately ordered some lethal manhattan cocktails with Anna and Cath, leaving the guys to their own devices as the three of you toasted to the success of the men in your lives. As you surveyed the bar around you, you felt yourself relax a little. This was exactly you needed, with exactly these people. These two women had welcomed you so quickly into the Better Halves group, and you couldn’t be more excited to spend time with just them. Well, them and your rapidly tipsy partners. 

It had only taken the three men a couple of hours to be giggling messes. 

Kris, the troublemaker that he was, had indulged Sidney’s sweet tooth with so many sugary cocktails, that he was already pretty far gone, eyes glassy and skin flushed. Sure, he was going to feel it tomorrow morning, but the fact that he actually got the chance to let go, to just relax with his just closest friends? That was the most important thing.

How often did Sidney get the chance to do that?

The six of you were still in the booth, Geno having just come back with a fresh round of cocktails, and Sidney was started to lean against you a little heavier, making you frown slightly.

“Hey, are you good?” you asked softly.

Sidney leaned back to look at you properly, hair a little ruffled and his top two buttons undone, distracting you slightly.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…and I’ve held the Stanley Cup three times,” Sidney slurred, his lips stretched in that beautiful crooked grin.

Kris, Cath, Geno and Anna all just burst into laughter, making you laugh too.

“I’m serious! The cup is so beautiful…but you, you are the most,” Sidney said firmly.

“He’s serious,” Kris snickered, “crisse Sid, what a romantic,”

The sarcasm just made Sidney pout. Bless him.

“Okay I think it’s time for some water,” you giggled.

“Oh no please, let him carry on. It’s been so long since drunk Sid made an appearance,” Kris grinned.

“Drunk Sid is most fun!” Geno added, nodding enthusiastically.

You looked back at your boyfriend to see him still smiling at you like the sun, and you couldn’t stop the butterflies erupting in your stomach. How were you supposed to react, when he looked at you so brilliantly? You didn’t have to look at Cath or Anna to know that they were smiling fondly at you – you’d had enough wine nights with them to know how sweet they thought Sidney was with you.

“He may be fun now, but he’s going to be an absolute grump tomorrow and you know it,” you mused, shaking your head.

“Won’t be grumpy,” Sidney insisted.

Oh jeez. “Yes you will,” you teased, “But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide,”

“You think I’m cute?” Sidney said happily, before looking at his teammates, “she think I’m cute!”

That just sent Kris and Geno into fits of laughter again, making you sigh fondly. Oh he was definitely going to feel this tomorrow.

Worth it though.

*

The summer brought you back to Nova Scotia with Sidney. Well, you’d taken two weeks off work in August to be able to spend Sidney’s birthday with him, but you were so glad you did. Spending some proper time with his parents and with Taylor was so worth it, and you didn’t miss the little smiles he sent your way when he thought you weren’t looking – Sidney loved you being home with him just as much as you loved it.

The best part though, was definitely waking up to that sleepy morning sunlight, the lake only a stone’s throw away, Sidney warm and content and at peace. 

“Mm happy birthday Sid,” you murmured sleepily, curling further into his body.

“Shh, if my body doesn’t know that I’m getting older then I won’t get any more grey hairs,” Sidney groaned, not opening his eyes.

You just giggled, running a hand over his bare chest. What a drama queen.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that, baby,” you teased, “you know I like your grey hair, the little grey of it that there is,”

What? You did!

Sidney lifted his head to look down at you incredulously. Of course that was what made him wake up properly.

“You like it?” he frowned.

“It makes you look…distinguished. It’s…sexy,” you shrugged. There was no reason to lie to him after all.

“Sexy?” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

Oh now that wouldn’t do. You slotted your leg between his thighs, moving to hover him slightly where he was lying on his back, waiting until he was looking at you properly. He swallowed heavily at the seriousness in your expression. Good.

“Yeah, Sid. It’s sexy,” you said softly, “you’re sexy. Clearly I need to tell you that more often,”

Sidney’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours as he processed your words.

“If I’m so sexy, then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

The desire in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but to grin. You leant your head down to kiss him softly, leaning up on your elbow for a better angle. Sidney groaned softly at the sweet kiss, one hand sliding into your hair with the other resting on your waist. You kept the kiss slow, gentle, intense, with only light brushes of your tongue, taking your time to enjoy yourself. You loved early mornings like this, when it was just the two of you with nothing to do for hours, and today you had nowhere to be until well into the afternoon, so you were going to indulge yourself with these kisses while you could.

Eventually you broke away, lips feeling as swollen as Sidney’s looked. Wow.

“Is that better?” you mused, stroking the hair at his template.

“Hmm, I don’t know. That’s all I get?” he murmured, “on my birthday?”

Tease. You licked your bottom lip, Sidney’s eyes flashing darker, and you rolled off of him, tugging your sleep-top over your head and lying down sultrily on your back. Sidney’s eyes immediately fell to your bare chest, yours flicking down to the hard line of his cock in his boxers, before you grinned.

“Get over here birthday boy…” you purred.

Sidney didn’t waste another second.

*

Sometimes things weren’t perfect. Sometimes Sidney had a string of bad games where he got too much into his own head. Sometimes he wouldn’t communicate in any more than a couple of words or grunts. Sometimes you had to prioritise a work deadline over time with him. Sometimes things between the two of you were extremely tense until one (or most often, both) of you cracked and talked it out.

But that’s what made your relationship work – the talking. Being with Sidney meant being in such a mature adult relationship, and it was refreshing to be able to work through things with a guy that wasn’t just going to fly off the handle or sulk around. Sure, Sidney had his faults, but he always tried not to take his frustrations out on you. You knew that the highs of dating a hockey superstar came with the lows too – you knew that when you agreed to go on that very first date way back when, but he’d proved time and time again that he was worth it. He was always worth it.

Right now, Sidney…no, the Penguins had been on a bad luck streak, and you could see the pressure piling up on your boyfriend, from management, from the press, from the fans, from himself. But not from you. There was no way you were going to add to his stress, not when he needed your support more than anything.

And you knew he appreciated more than anything else.

Like today, for example.

Sidney had turned up at your apartment a couple of hours earlier than you thought, having come straight from the airport rather than going to his house first, just looking bone-tired. So you’d immediately drawn him a bath with your favourite lavender-vanilla bath bubbles, Sidney insisting that you join him too.

Well, you weren’t going to deny him that.

So that’s where the two of you were now, you lying between Sidney’s legs, your back leaning against his chest, your hands clutching at his forearms where his arms were wrapped around you.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You just smiled softly, tilting your head back to press a kiss to his jaw before leaning into him again.

“I’m just sorry we’re doing this in my shitty apartment rather than your lovely bathroom,” you shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter whether we’re at your place or mine. You’ve always felt like home,” Sidney murmured.

Oh god, if your heart could be any more full it would be. Wow.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you said softly, not wanting to break the moment, “I’ll always be here for you,”

Sidney smiled into your neck, pressing the lightest of kisses into your skin, making you shiver despite the temperate of the water.

“I mean it, you are my home and I couldn’t be more grateful. You’ve shown me what love feels like, sweetheart,” Sidney murmured, “I love you,”

You tried desperately to blink away the tears that sprung to your eyes, squeezing his hands. “I love you too Sid. So much,” you whispered.

As his arms held you a little tighter and he buried his face in your neck a little more, you knew there was nowhere else you would rather be.

*

Another morning, another day waking up in Sidney’s arms. No matter how many roadtrips he went on, countless by the point, it still felt weird sleeping in your own bed without him. Your apartment felt cold, felt empty, despite it holding all your possessions, but you knew that was just because it didn’t have him in it. When he was home in Pittsburgh, whether it was in your apartment or at his house, you had never slept better than when you were with him. You could only hope he felt the same.

“Good morning,” Sidney said softly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Good morning,” you replied, smiling up at him.

He smiled back, leaning over to press a few gentle kisses to your lips before leaning back.

“That was a real serious face you had a moment ago,” Sidney said, lying on his side with his head propped up with his hand.

Busted. “I was just thinking,” you shrugged.

“What are you thinking about?” he mused.

“Nothing much. Just…”

You trailed off, biting your bottom lip. Sidney’s hand slid to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your trapped lip until you let it free.

“Just…” he prompted.

“I could get used to waking up beside you,” you blurted,

Sidney’s face looked a little stunned. Damn it. Was that too much?

But then his face shifted into the biggest smile you’d ever seen, making your hopeful heart beat a little faster.

“Why don’t we make that a reality?”

W-What?

Sidney saw the confusion in your expression and hesitated, before turning and reaching into the bedside drawer beside him. He paused slightly, as he grabbed whatever it was, making your heart beat a little faster. What was going on? But after a couple of beats, he rolled back over to face you, hand clenched in a fist.

“Move in with me?” he murmured.

He opened his fist, revealing a shiny key, making your jaw drop a little. Oh wow.

“For real?” you whispered, eyes not moving from the key.

“Yeah, for real,” Sidney mused, although you could hear the strain of nerves in his voice, “I would really love for this to be your home too. You already have a ton of your clothes here as well as make-up and your shower stuff…so why don’t we make this full time?”

You choked out a laugh – he did have a point there.

But was it too soon?

No.

“If it makes a difference, I’ve wanted to ask you for months,” Sidney admitted.

“You have?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re it for me,” he said simply.

He really did have such a way with words.

“I would love to, Sid,” you said softly.

“Yeah?” he grinned,

“Yeah. I want to build this life with you. So let’s do this,” you nodded.

Sidney whooped, making you giggle, and he dropped the key into the bedsheets in favour of pressing a deep kiss to your lips. Yeah, you could get used to this.

[stanchonkyman]

Can you do a fix where stan is jealous or a “treat you better” inspired one??

☆Treat You Better☆

♡Stanley Pines x Reader♡

I'll see what I can do!

TW: Abuse Mention!!

-•☆~~~~☆•-

You had been with your husband for 3 years now. He was such a sweetie. At least, that was how you saw him. Although, everything seemed to change once you both had gotten married. He wasn't as sweet anymore. He wasn't kind or gentle with you. He started pushing the idea of kids, even though you told him multiple times that you weren't ready. He just didnt seem to care about you or your feeling anymore. You felt... trapped.

So, one day you headed into work at the Mystery Shack. You weren't exactly in your prime at that moment. You had a forming bruise over your eye, heavier on your cheek. You had tried to cover it desperately with no luck unfortunately. As much as you hated to admit it, your husband wasn't who you thought he was. Last night was only showing the increasingly worsening situation. You had decided to raise your voice at your husband after he raised his to you. Bad idea.. he hit you sqaure in the face. It was not a good feeling.

You were terrified that people would mention it. That was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was for everything yo go back to normal. So, you slid yourself into your space behind the counter, ready to ring up customers for their purchases. It was only a few moments before your boss appeared in the doorway with a group of tourists. You flashed your famous worker smile with a light wave. Some tourists gained worried faces while others waved back.

Stan turned to face your counter with his big shot grin. But once his eyes met your face, his smile faded. He walked to the counter while tourists explored the gift shop behind him. Stan had grown a soft spot for you over the years, and he didnt always ignore it. He laid his arm over the counter, looking over your face. You looked to the side quietly, not wanting to give any attention to the injury. "I'm sorry, I tried to cover it.." You mumbled. Stan shook his head. "No, no. I don't care. What happened?" He questioned. You bit your lip as the panic began to rise.

"I.. got hit with a baseball." You said, lying. "I was walking to work and some kids were playing. It was a hard hit.. but that's okay." You gave him a hopeful smile. Stan huffed slightly and stood up straight. "I see. Kids can be careless. Why don't you come with me for a moment?" He asked you. You gave a little nod as you moved out from behind the counter. His hand curled around your forearm as he pulled you towards the door.

He stepped outside and pulled you away from the Mystery Shack. You looked back toward your work place with a new feeling rising in your stomach. You just prayed that nothing bad would happen. You hoped to god that Stan wasn't upset with you. Stan then came to a stop and you looked over to him slightly. "Take a seat." Stan said, sitting down on a log in front of an empty firepit. You nodded and shyly sat beside him on the log.

Stan didn't even hesitate as he spoke. "So, who hit ya, kid?" He questioned, motioning to your face. "I-I told you.. I got hit with a baseball.." You mumbled quietly. He shook his head. "(Y/N), I know what a punch looks like when I see them. That is no ball bruise." Stan told you. "Besides. You've changed. You've seemed a lot more quiet and sad lately. What happened to you?" Stan asked. You froze, tears beginning to blur your vision. You merely looked down at your lap, trying hard to stop the tears. Stan reached over and pulled you closer by him. "So, I was correct." He rubbed your arm in a comforting way.

"Who did it, kid?" He asked you again. Warm tears began to roll down your cheeks, you tried your best to keep quiet about it. "You know I just want to protect ya', kid." He told you in a low voice. You took a deep breath and turned to.him, burying your face against him in light sobs. Stan looked at you, hesitant, then he carefully wrapped his arms around you. "You know I care about ya'. It hurts me to see you hurting." He told you, rubbing small circles on your back.

It took you a few moments to collect yourself.

"M-My husband.. he did it.."

You could feel Stan freeze. He stopped rubbing your back. He lifted his head and looked at you with near disbelief. "Your husband?" He questioned. You gave a small nod. "Yes.. my husband.. He just.. hasn't been the same since we got married." You mumbled. "I really messed this one up." Your voice cracked and you nearly broke down in tears again. Stan shook his head. "No. No. Tr his isnt your fault. Not your fault at all." He told you, standing up and taking your hands in his. "Come with me." He lifted you up and guided you down a path.

You held onto his hand as if it was the only thing protecting you in the moment. He guided you out to the lake, standing on the dock with you. "Now, I want you to take off your ring." He told you, letting go of your hand. You looked at him, then down at your hand as you began to shake slightly. "I-I don't know..." you mumbled. "Trust me, (Y/N). If he's hit you.. he could easily do it again. This ain't good for you or your safety." He told you. "But.. where am I going to go..?" You question softly. "You'll stay with me. I'll help you get back up on your feet." He said. "I could treat you far better than that dick."

You looked at him quietly. He gave you a reassuring smile with a nod and a thumbs up. You looked out on the lake then took off your ring. You took a deep breath, then chucked it out as far as you could. It fell into the lake. Never to be seen again. You felt where it used to be on your finger. It felt so empty now.. but you didn't feel quite as empty as your finger. You turned to face Stan again. "Good job, kiddo. Amazing start." He grinned. You smiled back, then heading forward and wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Thank you so much, Stan.."

Stan smiled toward you, wrapping his arms around you in return.

"Anytime, kid."

☆2 Months Later☆

You had been living in the Mystery Shack with everyone for 2 months now. Your 'husband' had been blowing up your phone and trying to put you up as a missing person. Although, Stan had already confirmed that you werent missing, and you explained your situation to the officers. So, you were living a lot better. You had become so much happier and so much more comfortable. You were finishing up ringing up the last customers of the day when Stan appeared in the doorway. You looked at him as you finished ringing up the customer.

"Hey toots." He greeted, walking to your counter. You chuckled and gave a bright smile. "Hey Stan. How was business with the tours?" You asked, sliding out from behind the counter. "It was pretty good. Another day." Stan smiled toward you. "I'm happy to hear that!" You returned the smile as there was a harsh knock on the door. Both of your heads whipped in the direction of the door as it opened. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the familiar face of your husband.

"Well. Hiding behind your boss, I see." Your husband snarled at you. "You're really trying to divorce me without even looking me in the eye?" He asked you. Stan grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him. "Hey. You're not allowed here. Get out before I take you out myself." Stan barked at him. "You're really going to try and stop me from seeing my partner?" He snarled. "They ain't your partner anymore, pal! Scram!" Stan shouted at him. "I just want them back." He barked back at him. "I said, they ain't yours!" Before you could process, Stan punched your husband straight in the face. He stumbled back, his cheek bleeding slightly from Stan's brass knuckles.

"Get outta here before you end up in prison." Stan snarled. Your husband snarled and left, holding his cheek. Stan looked back at you. Your eyes were wide and you were visibly shaking. "Hey- Hey. Its okay-" Stan moved forward and took you into his arms carefully. You laid your head against his chest softly. "Are you alright?" He asked. You nodded. "I'm fine, are you..?" You ask. He nods. "Everythings fine. Dont worry about it." He said, pulling you back into the house part of the shack.

Throughout the next few months, Stan and you would stick together. You truly cared for one another. Stan helped your officiate the divorce with your now ex husband. And about two years later, you were ready to start new. Stan was right there with you for the ride. He would always support you no matter what. Maybe that's why you loved him so much. You both were already so close and barely did a thing without the other. So, yes. The both of you ended up together. He loved you. You loved him. And the both of you were happy to spend the rest of your lives together

[portalford]

I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well.  That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right?  Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately.  He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now.  Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup.  No sense of fashion.  So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six.  Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find.  Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now.  Old-man glasses, at six.  But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up.  The twin thing sucks, sometimes.  

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now?  Is his hair going silver?  It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen?  Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been.  He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive?  Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him.  Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!”  Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph.  “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking.  “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old!  Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls.  He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit.  “Grunkle Stan?  Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says.  He smiles and ruffles her hair.  “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine.  That’s his name.  That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles.  Lays it on thick.  “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does.  His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say.  “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more.  Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst.  Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it.  They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words?  But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really?  What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response?  Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now.  He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned.  Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts.  “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes.  “Being me.”

Stan shrugs.  “Wasn’t hard.  We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts.  A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges.  “Very funny.  I saw your lease renewal.  You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap.  You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.”  Stan grimaces.  That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine.  “Yes, well.  That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut.  They’re both too comfortable to argue right now.  “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.”  Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going.  “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t.  I didn’t want to be.”  Stan shrugs.  “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him.  “I understand.  I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.”  Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair.  More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs.  “Yeah?  Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked.  “Fair enough.”  Ford stretches, rolls his neck again.  “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.”  A wry look.  “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch.  Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take.  “Yeah, yeah.  Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet.  “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open.  He didn’t realize he closed them.  “What, learnin’ physics?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes.  “For saving me.”

“Hm.”  Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one.  “I dunno.  Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right.  Thank you for saving me.  You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford.  He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.”  Stan’s eyes are closed again.  He figures he’ll just leave them closed.  “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6.5

After 8:00 pm Stanley hadn't expected any more customers- Mrs. Earnshaw had told him he could close just after 9:00, which was a mere 30 minutes away. Curled up behind the counter with The Shining held in shaking hands, he was letting the time slip slowly by as the sweet aroma of flora and fauna soothed the otherwise expected fear from his veins. Despite the steadily rising intensity of the book, Stan simply couldn't feel afraid. Even as Jack Torrance ran from bloodthirsty hedge animals, the atmosphere was too pleasant to be spoiled by nerves. Roses on Deane was a beautiful little shop and Stan had discovered a newfound interest in plant life because of it; with only one day of work experience, he was already captivated by the leaves and the petals, the different soils, the surprising amount of knowledge and care it took to nurse and mother a plant. The shop wore dark Jacobean-toned paneling, shelves and shelves of flourishing plants lining each and every one. The lights were dim during the evening, allowing the red-hued artificial ones to feed the plants as needed throughout the course of the night, giving everything the feel as if he were disconnected from the world. If he let his imagination wander, he could convince himself that this building, his building, was floating in a state of suspension, where time had stilled and he could sit, silent, for the rest of eternity.

Ever since he was a child he had used this state of suspension as a getaway. From the ages two to seven, the trigger, the gateway, the one thing that allowed the disconnect had been his nightlight. To Stan, that nightlight in the shape of a star, giving off it's warm gold hue, had meant safety and youth. As he grew, the nightlight passed away and instead his trigger was the space in his closet, where he had stuck small luminescent stars and hidden away whenever anything grew difficult. He'd go through his bird books and drown out the sounds of his parents fighting downstairs in the kitchen. After the closet, the disconnect came with more of a scenario than a place or an object. This scenario was harder to achieve, but when it happened, when he managed to let his mind float away, he had felt safer than ever before. This scenario was the feeling of the Barrens with Eddie and Bill. The endless hum of the Kenduskeag rushing on it's endless course often grabbed hold of his thoughts and carried them away right with it, down towards the ocean and out to sea. It often washed away everything except for his two closest friends. Together, in silence, the three would do nothing but sit and bask in the still nothingness, the timeless sense of being with one another and needing not to worry about school or bullies or the future. Roses on Deane was already emanating the soft, enveloping comfort, the warm tones and safe hues of a gateway. Without needing to debate it, Stanley knew that he would never be harmed here, among the plants and the flowers, surrounded by the rich scent of life and growth.

With his nose in his book, minutes passed though he hardly felt them. To be entirely honest, Stan could have sat there until long past closing time, time both entirely unmoving and racing past him all at once. The only reason he didn't was because he was given a customer- at least, he thought it was a customer until he placed his origami crane, folded out of deep blue gold-star speckled paper and used as a bookmark, into it's place and glanced up to greet them with a smile. That smile grew soft, surprised, almost, at the sight Bill Denbrough rather than anyone else who would have actually been interested in plants.

"H-Hey," He said with a gentle grin, approaching the counter, "Just w-wanted to stop by and say h-hello," Stanley rose from his seat, setting the book aside. He was about to greet Bill right back, maybe ask what he was doing out so late at night, but before he could Bill swiped the book from the countertop and flipped open to where Stan had left off. Reading a few lines with gently squinted eyes (it was difficult for Bill to read in the low-light, especially since he would soon discover he needed low-prescription reading glasses) he was reminded of exactly what had happened up to that point, and returned the book once more. "Great book, hu-huh? It only gets bu-better, trust me." Bill hopped up onto the counter, "So, h-how was the fir-irst day?" Stan had expected the tender atmosphere to wane, or maybe to shatter completely, at the sense of another presence- but Bill's being here only made it better. Stan leaned forwards, forearms rested on the aged wood of the cashiers till, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Slow, but... pleasant." A silence fell over the two like a weighted blanket. They didn't need to speak. If anyone understood Stan's need to retreat into silence, into this other world of the disconnect, it was Bill. He had never judged or laughed or mocked- Eddie hadn't, either, of course, but anyone could tell that he sometimes thought Stan to be... almost silly, in the way that he so often craved the quiet, the slowness. "What are you doing out so late?" At last Stanley voiced his question in a gentle, fuzzy tone, delicate like the soft pink petals of the flowers on display beside his elbow. They stood tall and proud from an intricate blue-glass vase, flourishing in the perfect conditions the shop provided. Just as it promised safety to Stan, it promised it to these plants. Bill scanned around, soaking in the details, relishing in them in the same way as his friend, and then finally responded, his voice just as light,

"Me and Eddie went to Richie's for dinner," He explained, "There aren't any leftovers but I can help you make something for yourself when we get home." Quirking a brow, Stan was met with a soft wave of questions, popping up like small green buds breaking from the dirt.

"You and Eddie? Willingly?" Stan asked with a hum, tilting his head and running his fingers gently through his curls, "And what do you mean 'we'? Are you... staying here?"

"It was... actually Eddie's idea, for dinner. Well... he got the call from Richie. I think he just wanted an excuse to hang up on his mom. She called him," Bill toed off his shoes and pulled his feet up onto the counter to sit cross-legged, in order to better look at Stan. The soft lighting bathed his face in an orange colour, giving him the image of a statue of gold. "It was actually pretty nice. We watched The Birds. I was thinking of how much you would've liked that movie the entire time- horror might not be your favourite, but I think you'd actually laugh," With a chuckle, Bill flashed his handsome grin, "It's stupid. And," he moved on to address Stan's last question, "If you didn't mind, I thought, maybe... I could stick around until you have to close up. I have nothing else planned and I missed you today."

"Oh," Stan straightened up, clasping his hands together, "I," He struggled for the words, something he rarely did, and then swallowed the lump in his throat and recomposed himself, "That would be nice, I think. If you really don't mind." Joining Bill on the counter, Stan removed his own shoes. Now, the two were sitting facing one another, legs crossed. It was no secret, at least to himself, that he had a crush on Bill. He had known it for years now- Bill was... perfect, in every form of the word. He was handsome and smart, and he had an extroverted self-assurance that Stan envied more than anything; but what Stan had really fallen for was the kindness, the endless fields of it. Bill was always kind. It amazed Stanley sometimes. There was music in the shop, so silent that he had hardly noticed it until now, in the total stillness. Mrs. Earnshaw enjoyed classical. He enjoyed classical all the same. "Hey, Bill?" Stan asked, his hands clasped in his lap. Bill met his gaze with his own, steady, steady.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... miss Derry? I know we haven't been gone for long, but..." Stan shrugged. He suddenly felt very silly for even asking. Again, Bill chuckled, a low sound that was anything but mocking. It was almost sad, the timbre of it, and Stan realized he wanted to take Bill's hand. He didn't.

"Yeah, I do."

"What do you miss most?" For a moment, Bill pondered, and then he said,

"The Barrens." Stan agreed with a small nod. Silence again, warm and comfortable. "What about you?"

"Probably the river. Sitting in the sunlight, surrounded by the nature and the water, even though it didn't always smell the best." As if having read his thoughts, Bill reached forwards and took both of Stan's hands in his. Bill's blue eyes were the same shade as the sky above the Barren's treetops. He didn't have to explain what he meant when he spoke,

"We'll find a new place like that here, I promise. It'll happen, soon, I'm sure. A new place where we can all just... sit. And be. Maybe a place where everyone else can be with us, too." Stan felt that this moment, right now, with his hands in Bill's, their faces inches apart- he felt like this moment was more important than it seemed to be on the surface. Like there was more to it than just a promise between friends. It felt almost like the day before, in Portland Authentic with Richie, with Ben, with Mike and Eddie and Beverly behind the counter. Something similar yet drastically different from the disconnect weighed on his shoulders, something else that was comforting but in an entirely different way. The disconnection comforted him because he felt nothing- this new weight, the overbearing presence he had felt for no more than a moment, had been like that of a mothers love. For the briefest moment the solidity fell out from under him and he really was floating- but then, he was right back there with Bill in front of him and his whole entire future stretching wide and endless like the oceans led to by the Kenduskeag.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 14/14

“FORD!”

The scientist in question snatched his hand back, just before the carnivorous plant he had been studying snapped at him with a second slime-coated mouth. A second mouth! It was located under the bulbous head’s primary maw, smaller but sharing the larger one’s distinctive jutting spines that seemed to function like teeth – hooked back to prevent prey from getting away. The infant plant was only as long as his forearm but when it was fully-grown the secondary mouth could easily be large enough to pick up small mammals from the forest floor, maybe even large raccoons or the occasional gnome.

Hmm. They might make for good pest control. Ford studied where the plant’s stem met the forest floor, trying to ascertain how deep the roots ran. If he could get his hands on a pair of good, sturdy gloves for protection he might be able to replant it in a pot and take it back to his lab for further testing. That would certainly be easier than trying to run tests on the fully-grown specimens dotting the forest. How old was this one, anyway? Ford pulled out his tape measure to record its size.

Stan slapped his hand away when it neared the hissing plant. “Don’t touch it! Didn’t you just say this thing was poisonous?”

“Venomous, not poisonous.” Ford corrected.

“You know what I mean.”

Ford waved away his brother’s concerns. “Don’t worry, it’s only a juvenile. Its venom hasn’t developed enough to do any damage. The worst it’ll do is itch.”

“I still wouldn’t be touching it if I were you.” Stan said doubtfully, hunkering down next to Ford to get a good look at the creature. The plant hissed and spat at them and generally made a nuisance of itself.

Ford smirked. “Look Stanley, it’s just as friendly as you are.”

“Hey!” Stan brandished a finger in Ford’s face. “I’m a friendly guy! Just not to weird-ass plants that try to bite my brother’s hand off.”

“It’s not like you didn’t try to bite my hand off when I reached for the ice cream yesterday.”

“Fuck you Ford, I called dibs and you know it.”

Ford rolled his eyes, reaching for the spade in his pack. He’d missed the easy banter between them. It had been missing during the whole Rebus fiasco, obviously; there was only so much sarcasm a wolf could convey through its eyes alone, and only so much a scientist could babble to his canine friend without it being… just sad. Even once the brothers had reconciled, Stan’s mind restored, Ford had worried that after nearly ten years apart the differences between them were far to great to bridge.

But in seemingly no time, Ford had fallen back quickly into the habit of trading quips and joking insults, laughs and rolled eyes and body language that sometimes spoke more than words. It felt far more natural than the forced conversations he’d attempted to make during his time in college. Ford had forgotten the comfort of having his brother nearby.

Of course, an adjustment period was necessary – perhaps made longer by the added factor of Stan readjusting to having a human shape. It was rather concerning, the number of times the man would forget to cook his food and instead tear into it raw and bloody. The first time that had happened Ford had been in the kitchen as well, and he’d stared with popping eyes as Stan nonchalantly sank his teeth into a raw steak.

Stan had hesitated, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking in his gravelly voice, not bothering to wipe away a trail of blood rolling down his chin.

“…okay, yeah, I see what I did there.”

And of course, they were wildly different people who were bound to have disagreements. It had taken Ford quite some time to convince Stan that while they may argue, he was in no danger of losing his family again. He wouldn’t be sent away, punished or abandoned again. Not while Ford was still breathing.

The plant’s hiss brought him back to the moment. Ford frowned, considering his plan of action, before settling on the plain approach. They could simply carry the thing home.

“Can you get out one of the sample bags? I want to bring this specimen to my lab and they should be large enough to hold its roots.”

Stan rifled through the pack while Ford sized up the agitated plant. He would be able to dig up the roots if the darn thing would stay still! He would have to design some kind of muzzle appropriate for two mouths when they got it back to the house.

Ford made a lunge for the creature, trapping its stalk against the ground with one hand so it couldn’t bite him as he dug up its roots. The plant snapped at him fruitlessly. Ford quickly loosened up the soil enough to lift the whole thing and settle it roots-first in the awaiting sample bag.

Stan groused at having to carry the plant all the way home (one hand gripping behind its head, obviously, to stop it from biting). The whining was pretty unfair considering Stan had demanded to carry it so he could keep an eye on the snappish thing, but Ford supposed he could appreciate the intent.

(…on the other hand, that left Ford to carry the heavy pack. He was beginning to think that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on Stan’s part.)

“When I took the job I didn’t realize ‘research assistant’ meant ‘gardener’.”

“I don’t pay you to whine, Stanley.”

“You don’t pay me.” Stan countered.

“Oh – don’t I?” Ford could have sworn he had been. Stan tended to handle the money so Ford had just… assumed that Stan was receiving some of it. He frowned. “Why don’t I pay you?”

“’Cause I live in your house? That’s kinda payment enough.”

“No it’s not!”

“It was when you thought I was a wolf.”

Ford spluttered. “That – that’s because you were a wolf. Wolves don’t need to be paid to act as research assistants-”

“Oh, are you saying wolves don’t deserve to be paid equal wages?” Stan shook his head in mock disappointment. “Gosh, Ford. My own brother-”

“Oh, shut up! You know what I mean!”

Stan snickered. He only laughed harder when Ford punched him lightly in the shoulder, careful not to jostle the creature in his grasp.

Ford glanced at his watch, taking note of the time. At this pace they would reach home well before dark. Maybe they should take a detour to check on the size-altering crystals? Ford had covered the Warped crystal with a tarp to prevent the light reaching it, but he really should check that the covering was still in place after the blustering winds that had recently swept through. He didn’t want any unsuspecting forest life to wander into its beam.

Then again, that could wait for another day, and they had a carnivorous plant to re-house.

“…I really do need to pay you, though.” Ford muttered as they walked.

“You really don’t.” Stan shrugged. “I’m not doing anything useful anyway.”

The nonchalance with which he spoke made Ford want to sigh. Stan never acknowledged his own value or input! Ford wanted to shove it down his throat and force his brother to acknowledge that he was important, goddammit!

For the moment, he settled on arguing his point.

“Shopping for food is useful; plus, the people in town know you better than me and I’ve been living here for years, so you’re basically handling public appearance. And collecting data from my monitors is useful.”

“That’s just walking and taking readings.” Stan argued right back. “A monkey could do that data-collection stuff.”

“Babysitting Tate while Fiddleford and I are busy is useful.”

“The kid’s easy, he just wants to spend time with a dog all day.”

“Defending the house from griffins is useful.” Especially since they seemed to have it out for the Pines twins and would come by every so often with claws and beaks bared.

“You woulda just found a better way to keep ‘em away.”

Ford gritted his teeth. “You handle the money and pay the bills.”

“It’s your grant money, I just budget it.”

“Exactly! That is exactly what I should pay you for!” Ford flung up his arms in exasperation. Stan merely shrugged, and – smirked? He was enjoying Ford’s misery! “Ugh, whatever.”

Stan continued to look smug. Ford silently resolved to start paying him, even if he had to sneak the money into his brother’s bank account. Or just leave some around the house. Apparently Stan was too proud to accept payment but the guy never passed up an opportunity to take it if it was there.

“…anyway, about the whole money thing, I was thinking.” Stan mumbled, a little more subdued. Ford glanced across.

“Yes?”

“Eh – well, y’know how there are so many cool things around here? If Pa’d let us come, we woulda loved it here when we were kids.”

Ford imagined himself as a child – bright-eyed and eager to learn, marveling at everything around him – and was inclined to agree.

“And just yesterday you were sayin’ about how no one appreciates this stuff. Really, I’m kinda surprised no one’s made something of this place before, snatched it up for a tourist attraction. I was thinking that it would be pretty cool to give… tours or something?”

Ford opened his mouth but his brother was already rushing ahead, a nervous scowl affixed to his face.

“It’s all good if you don’t want me to – probably something about the scientific integrity of the place or whatever – but, it’s kinda something I’m good at. Tours, selling stuff, talking to people, that stuff. A-And I know you love teaching people about things, so if you wanted to help? Like, write up information sheets or – or do classes or whatever. Obviously I’d be spinning some yarns, that’s the fun of these places, but I know people would love to see some of the weird stuff here and actually learn about it too, so I dunno, I think it would be cool?”

All of this was said rather quickly, with few breaths taken in between, so when Stan finally ran out of things to say he took a few heavy breaths. Ford blinked and took a few moments to process this.

“Stan, are you asking my permission to open a tourist trap?”

The werewolf cringed, grip tightening fractionally around the uselessly-wriggling plant creature. “No, ‘course not. I’m just… seein’ if you’d be open to the idea.”

“Well…” Ford adjusted the straps of his pack. “So long as it doesn’t interfere with my research, I think it’s quite an interesting prospect. It would be nice to be able to share some of the things I’ve learned. If you think you can pull it off I believe you. You don’t need my permission, of course, but you certainly have my support.”

“Wait, really?”

Ford laughed as his brother perked up. That was another thing he’d had to adjust to since their reunion – canines tended to express themselves heavily through body language and Stan had apparently picked up that trait. He had no tail at the moment but from the straight posture and slight vibrating, Ford imagined it would be wagging.

“’Cause I’ve got so many ideas.” Stanley gushed. “I was thinking I could get a place set up, probably in the woods closer to town – maybe contract that lumberjack guy you talked about to built it? Anyways, I’d fill it with attractions, some of the cool shit that lives around here. Like, you know that weird-ass bird we saw the other day, the one you said we shouldn’t bother to look into?”

“Having a second head is a fairly common mutation. I’ve studied several animals with that phenotype in my time here.”

“People eat that stuff up, Ford! And I could do tours around some of the harmless places – and charge a pretty penny for it too. You know how many shmucks are happy to get ripped off by dodgy fake tourist attractions? And this one would be real! I’d have a source of income, and you’d have somewhere to put the stuff you’ve finished researching, and people to teach if you want to. Plus this crummy town could use some tourists to give business a boost.”

Wow. Stan had evidently thought this whole thing out – and the excitement was contagious. Ford wondered if this was how his brother felt, when he himself became giddy about a new finding or breakthrough. Stan was grinning like a kid.

Ford laughed and elbowed him playfully. “It’s a sound plan. And it’s nice to see you’re putting aside your history with Dan. You growled at him last time we came across him – you weren’t yourself then, of course.”

Stan shot him a weird look. “Who?”

“Dan. The lumberjack.” Stan continued to look confused. “Matilda’s boyfriend?”

All at once the werewolf’s eyes widened. “The shovel guy.”

“Er – shovel?”

“He hit me with a shovel.”                                                    

“Oh.” Ford had almost forgotten the circumstances of their meeting, with himself rescuing Stan from being beaten to death. Ah – with what he knew now, the situation seemed a lot more dire. He strongly resisted the urge to grab up a shovel and see how Boyish Dan like being smacked into the ground.

Obviously Dan didn’t know it was a person he had assaulted, not a wolf, but still. It would make Ford feel better.

When no words came to him, Ford said the first thing on his mind. “Didn’t you try to eat his mother’s dog?”

“Dog? Fuckin’ thing was more of a bug than a dog. I was starving anyway, gimme a break!”

“I’m not judging. Anyway, I’ve seen you try to eat so many things-”

“Can it, Poindexter.”

Ford began to count on his fingers. “Squirrels, gnomes, the mayor’s hairpiece, our father, my kitchen cupboard, a whole watermelon for some reason-”

“I was outta my mind for half of those!”

“My phone, the multibear somehow, several lemons – why you kept coming back to them after knowing you hated them remains a mystery to me–”

They arrived back at the house before Ford could continue his list.

“We should get this thing planted before it dies or somethin’.” Stan shuffled the plant around in his arms to hold it more comfortably, ignoring its hiss of displeasure. “Where do you want it?”

“The porch should be fine. I don’t know how much energy it gets from its prey as opposed to the sun ­– it might need sunlight to live.”

“Right. You got a pot around? I can get Chompy here planted while you find something to stop it biting anyone who gets close.”

“’Chompy’? You named the plant?”

“You were too slow.”

Well, Ford couldn’t argue with that logic. He’d just have to be faster with the next creature they came across. They had a lifetime, after all, to squabble about names – among other things.

 (For example, whether Ford was terrible for pretending to toss Stan the car keys but hiding them behind his back instead. It took Stan an embarrassingly long time to realize and once he did, Ford could barely see the withering glare he received through his snickering.)

(That evening, in revenge, Stan fell asleep on the couch lying across several of Ford’s books. Upon attempts to remove him Stan simply shifted into a wolf and thus became heavier and harder to move.)

(But these are stories for another time.)

[instantlyexhaustedowl]

"He was my first love... And only one."

Summary:

Old photos, one old love and two not that old twins. A bit of talking after Weirmaggedon. Stan listening to his bro-bro memories about college lover.

Notes:

Please be kind to me, it's my first fanfic in English and also my first fanfic i have ever posted.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580418

Ford was nostalgically sorting old photoes. Wrinkled paper gently rustled in his weary hands. All those memories, forgotten things with distand feeling of lost love, whole past in his worn out hands. "Ya look sad, bro," Stan's voice broke the silence of Ford's room. His twin was looking at him with curious brown eyes covered with thick glasses. He leaned on the doorframe.

Older twin  smiled sligtly, running his polydactyl hands thru grey hairs. Fingers touched silver stripe that cut thru dark grey hairs. He felt suddenly old and exhausted. "Just... Overthinking past, i guess." He patted spot on the sofa next to himself, showing that companion is welcome.

"Pics?" asked carefully Stanley. His mind was still a bit wobbly, but he remembered nearly everything. Definitely good sign. Stan sheepishly sat next to Ford on the sofa. Old matress swayed under his weight and caused, that Ford leaned a bit agaist Stan's shoulder. "What? Oh, yeah... Pictures. Old ones." said author of the journals with sigh while his hands gently folded photos on the lap. "Hehe, 'm probably not in your colection,...  Hey that one... that guy looks cute," chuckled his brother. He pointed at picture of tall smiling boy, maybe a bit older than twenty-one. Long sand blond hair, big blue eyes brightly shining with happines were hinding partly behind small round glasses. That noodle nerd had two daysies tucked behind his ear, big smile on his face. He looked like hippie college student. "Yeah... Fantastic old friend of mine. Wait! It...He is a man. Why do you think he is cute?" suddenly asked Ford. Stan was ladies man. Why he would think something like that?! Stanley blushed. His eyes wondered over room. Now seemed every piece of furniture like super interesting. "Ehh...No comment?" "No Stanley. We should be more honest with each other. We spend enought of our time pushing each other away. I just want to know why do you think that. No judgement, only curiosity." Old man mumbled something. Then he scooted away from Ford. Scietinst seemed a bit concerned. His brother was always the one who wanted to feel the others presence, but this was different. He was suddenly so shy. Ford like physical contact too but only from persons he loved and liked. Stanley was different- he loved patting peoples shoulder, hugging them even thou they were strangers. His attention was like contact sport. And sometimes it could change into one when that person made him angry. Ford's attention thou. It was more about reading between lines. "Pardon, Lee? I didn't understand." "I said... That i dated men too," sighed Stanley. His fingers were twiching. Eyes were trying to burned thru the floor into the heart of the Earth. He made himself look tiny. Whole body curled into himself. Ford's mouth formed into small silent "oh". "'m sorry... Gonna vanish, don't worry." "Are you crazy, Lee?! No vanishing, no going away." "But..." it was strange. Stanley could brake a montain with bare hands and now... He looked so vulnurable. Like scared teen he once was- standing outside in the middle of warm spring night hoping that Ford could forgive him. "But 'm nothing just familly disapointment. Stupid big idiot and even gay..." "If you say it one more time, i will punch you. Without warning! You are not disapointment! You are my best friend i have ever had and best twin brother i could wish for!" "Poindexer, i am weird old fag!" "Probably not. And that is absolutely horrible word, do not use it, please! You did loved Carla, hm." "And some other girls..." admited Stanley with blush of embarassment. "So you are bisexual. You like both." "'m not picky type," shrugged younger brother with hint of smile. He seemed more comfortable now. Hands put on his knees, eyes still sticked to the ground but he didn't look like persone who wanted to crawl under the rock and stay there for next few milleniums. "I am fag... At least that would Pa called me... If he had knew about it..." "That explains lots of things... And highschool," mumbled Stan scooting back so they shoulders touched again. "Pardon me?!" shrieked Ford. "You were curious only about science. And why girls didn't talk to you! Nothing was about girls, only why they kept ignoring you," explained Stan. Ford blinked few times, his face making pretty good impression of confuesed owl. Stanley was smugly smiling: "I've knew the whole time that you are not straight. 'm glad that Pa never knew about it thou. He would kick ya out too, maybe beat ya...Ya would never make it out unharm, on the streets..." "You were the one that ended up there... I can not forgive myself," two big tears started to roll down. Ford tried to dry them with his sleeve. "Poindexter, let it be. We are here, we are good..." "And gay," added Ford with tiny smile. Roaring of Stan's laught filled the room: "YEAH, we are gay! SO ... Who was that cutie? First crush?" His eyebrows wiggled in devilish way. "First crush, first love and only one. He took my heart without asking and never gave it back..." His brother wrapped arm around his shoulders. "You are old sappy man, Ford." "I know. I... Everything could be so different." "What happened?" asked younger twin. He hated seeing Ford depressed. "First time he went back to his family, after a while he had one too. And later when we found each other... Portal happened." "Sixer! I ... I caused...! Did I....?" Stanford grabbed old photos. He hold them on his chest, close to his fast-beating heart. "It was my fault, we had huge arguement and split up. I should have listened to him, but i was the biggest idiot on this Earth!" Stanley suddenly gasped. "You were dating McGucket?! Old man MCGUCKET?! Oh holy hot Belgian waffles!" "Kids aren't home," snarkyly pointed out Ford still carressing his pictures. "In that case- FUCK!" Small smile crept on scientist's face. "May i tell you a story, Lee?" asked Ford. He looked way younger now. Shy blush on his cheeks, still a bit teary eyes behind glasses. But they were light up with memories. "Yep, ya nerd. I haven't heard romantic novel for a long time! Ok i saw one last night. But i want to hear yar romance," beamed happily Stan and made himsleft comfortable. He was now sprawled on sofa, legs streched infront of him, hands folded on his soft belly. "So...Tell me yar fairytale, bro-bro." "Lee you are so silly," nudged Stan's elbow Ford playfully. "Fine. Long time ago... Ok, i am really getting old and silly. We were college roomates. I liked him first time i saw him. He was true opposite of me. Emotinal, empathic, wonderfully talented. His genius was amazing. After a while we got closer and closer. Fidds was so carring, nearly motherly. You should saw him when i was ill. I phoned dad, that i needed some money... to see a doctor, cause i felt really awful. He... shouted at me- to be a man and sleep it off. So i tried it. And fainthed during one of our classes we had together. Fidds did knew what to do, he took care about me. Got me to our room, helped in bed where i stayed for next week barely knowing about world. I don't remember much, my fever was too high. All seemed like a dream. After i got better i found him sitting on the window frame. His eyes were looking into starry night, silently crying. He was aftraid about me whole week and...He finally snapped... We started dating few days later." Ford had tears on his cheeks while he hold old pictures like precious treasure. His hands were clutching them, only gems he had from his past. Someone knock on the door frame. Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket stood there. He was dressed in jeans, silly shirt with watermelons and drinks on it. He had crazy bowler hat with daisy that kept danggling. Still with beard that could belong to the oldest wizzard in the Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons, but under it was hidden smile. "I swear Stanferd, ma biggest mistake was leaving ya. And i fool made it twice!" Stanley looked at them with squint eyes trying to seem like he fall asleep. "Stop foolin' us, ya'r great conman, but that's horrible try," laugh Fidds hopping on the sofa from Ford's free side. He covered one six-fingered hand with his small one. They fitted perfectly, like two pieces of puzzles. Maybe their hands were a bit cold, but hearts were still aflame with passion and love. "I guess now i've to keep an eye on two nerds," sighed Stanley. "Have fun ya two, i am gonna go to... Don't know. Want a coffee?" "Yeah we will join you," smiled Ford when Fiddleford hugged his waist. "Yej, coffee is great idea pals!" "Gentlemen, we will have gayffee party!" clasped his big hands Stanley and went to the kitchen, chuckling because he liked that new horrible pun. Ford froze a bit and then shouted: "Do not tell this term in front of Mable! Or we all end up covered in rainbow glitters! I don't mind them but i certainly don't like to drink them with my coffee!" "WHO SAID SOMETHING ABOUT RAINBOW GLITTEEEEEERS???????!" "Mabel, calm down! Honey, put that bottle of rainbow disaster down!"

[misinformedgenic]

The last post on this god awful blog

Hello, I ask everyone who see’s this to unfollow this blog, if you are following me. I can’t look at the reblogs and posts I posted anymore, without feeling incredibly embarassed and I know that I am being aggressive to the people who gave me notes but you know what I don’t care.

(Overall trigger warning: trauma,syscourse,swearing and apologies.)

My message for those who are anti-endogenic:

(tw: abelism,mental ilness)

The truth is, whether all systems are formed by trauma or some can be born that way or it can be formed by something else, it really doesn’t matter. All endogenic systems are just trying to exist and communicate their experiences, and instead of listening and supporting those who might experience their plurality differently from you, you just villanize them and insult them and do the exact same thing that neurotypicals have been doing to us for YEARS. Calling us fake, saying we are trying to get attention, saying we should be ashamed of ourselves for “appropriaiting” from people who had a more severe form of an illness or was priveliged enough to get a diagnosis . If you are traumagenic and you haven’t had that kind of experience, I genuinely envy you. That shit was done to me and it really hurt me. People called me attention seeking for saying I was depressed,or had social anxiety or that I was transgender, or that I was traumatised or plural when all I was trying to do was be myself openly and to accept myself. Why is it that when someone who experiences some sort of plurality and they don’t feel comfortable assosciating their system with trauma, you jump straight to accusing them of something as awful as FAKING or BEING A THIEF!

And yes I know being endogenic means it’s not an illness, but being called a fake for expressing who you truly are when you’ve been forced to hide who you are is such a awful experience. How could you be so callous and careless to even risk that happening to someone else, even once more, in this cruel world. Even if every single endogenic system, who says I can’t help being a plural, was trauma genic, they still associate themselves with that word, endogenic. When you say something horrible about endogenic systems, you are doing so much damage to those people. I mean, to assume without a shadow of a doubt that every single “veritable” endogenic system is actually traumagenic with the limited amount of understanding of DID/OSDD IN ITSELF, as opposed to how this phenomenon could work outside of a disordered framework, really shows you have your head far up your ass. But even then, it doesn’t matter because whether they ended up being traumagenic or not, according to science, no one deserves that treatment.

Even then,in regards to the post on this blog that got the most notes, we need to understand that people with plurality are forced to label their pluraility as a symptom of a disorder. Many systems who needed psychiatry and systems who didn’t and just masked themselves mingled, and they shared terms. This is still happening today, more then ever.

(Just in case you want to know, fictive is not a term used in psychology or psychiatry. It literally came from the soul bonding community, and people who are anti endogenic are still using it. If you don’t believe me use a web browser, and provide some sources to prove otherwise. I didn’t know this, and I’m not going to tag the OP who told me this,because I’m not sure whether they want to be tagged, but thank you. I felt pretty humiliated but it helped to come to realize what I was doing was wrong and that my opinions were wrong, and it helped me to become a kinder and more understanding individual.)

And we need to understand that systems shouldn’t be forced to be involved in exploring their plurality through a lense of trauma, because for many it doesn’t make sense because thats not how they experience it. Even if it is repressed memories ,sometimes or always, systems need a space to be systems without talking about trauma or applying trauma to it. DID and OSDD spaces are not providing that and in those spaces trauma is going to be talked about. Systems shouldn’t have to force themselves to think about trauma and go through pain, just to be able to call themselves a plural and have people acknowledge and accept them.

My message for any endogenic systems and their supporters:

I apologize for everything that you had to go through, from me and my behaviour. My behaviour was terrible and none of you deserved it at all. You deserve so much more than what you get from the anti-endogenic crowd, and you are absolutely valid, and I hope that in the future things will be easier all of you. You deserve love, acceptance and support, and I hope that nobody will ever be able to take that reality from you. You are doing nothing wrong by just being a plural, and it’s really sad that people were and still are fighting about this. Fuck anyone who says otherwise. 

Conclusion:

(tw: s***** abuse,ableism,self hatred)

I know I was guilty of what I criticized, and that is really embarassing, but I’m glad I realize that now. I admit I was angry because I was jealous and bitter and I didn’t understand the history properly around this community or how it formed. I went through a lot of online g******g and s***al abuse and my experience with being a system was horrible, I had to deal with alters who had horrible del****ns and wanted to incite gruesome s*** h*** and wanted to k*** me. My system has introjects of my a****rs and random men I see on the streets making pe****ted comments at me pretty much all the time, and I was really jealous of systems who could experience the joys of being a system while avoiding the horrible parts. It made me feel worthless and inferior, because all the interesting and fun parts of being a system could be paraded on TikTok or whether and displayed by people who weren’t f***ed *p and dis*****ng like I was. I am not saying that’s the only basis as to why anti-endogenics hold their opinions, but I am saying this because if you ever see those anti-endogenic posts of mine somewhere and I am very passive agressive or vicious, that’s where it comes from and it isn’t objective or fair.

end of abuse trigger warning.

I decided that I am going to delete all the mean comments I made on other people’s posts that didn’t get any response, so that not another person has to see it again, and for which did get a response I am going to apologize to all those I harmed. If you want to respond to my argument, I can’t stop you from reblogging and making a comment, and that’s your freedom on this website, but I am not going to be replying because discourse on here is so nasty and I’m just done with that. I would rather help contribute to a community of people who feel isolated and who will be empowered by building a culture around plurality, whether that be around trauma or not. I’m tired of focusing on my trauma, it’s in the past and I don’t give a shit about it. It just sucks and I hate it and I am done with it. I will need therapy for it of course,yadi ya, but in terms of my limited free time on this earth I would rather contribute to making people feel happy and supported then argue and be angry about something that is kind of pointless anyway.

So bye, I would like to make a normal system blog in the future and we’ll be using the same names but for now I need to shut the fuck up and reflect. 

- Luca

Also hey, on a additional note, my name is Milo and I allowed my name to be associated with this blog and it was irresponsible and unkind for me to do promote this kind of thinking. I am really sorry for any harm I caused by being a part of this blog. Additionally Stanley understands that his post on pride flags was inaccurate and he made some very nasty comments/did some nasty stuff to, he is very sorry to all those he harmed with his previous posts. He is in a really bad situation at the moment, which has gotten worse over time, he is a trauma holder and he is in a lot of emotional turmoil,so neither me or Luca wanted him to be involved in writing this specific post, but that doesn’t mean what he did was okay and all three of us recognize this now.

Best regards,

Milo.

[bowieandqueen11]

It Was Your Fault / Stanley Uris Angst

Request: may i request a uris!reader x bill where she’s there when they see Stan as the spider?? 

Ahhh why you make me cry <3

As always, comments are much appreciated and a great help in this trying time XD

Stepping into the darkness, the slamming of Mike’s hand on the door falters into the background of your mind as your breathe catches in your throat. You feel Eddie’s hand grip painfully tightly into your bicep, the side of his hip brushing up against yours as he whispers, 

‘Is- is that fridge...moving?’

‘What the f-’

Richie swings his light towards the fridge, his eyes widening as he trembles slightly in fear, hoping no one sees him as he takes a large step back.

‘Yep, yep, that fridge is definitely alive. Ohhh, I’m going to throw up.’

This grotty little refrigerator hummed as loud as a small truck warming on a wintry morning, blocking the rest of Richie’s words out as it begins to shake on the spot, moving closer and closer to them like tendrils reaching out, seeking the last remnants of heat before the darkness overcomes the room. The stickiness, the tangy yellow colour, the little bits of black mould that begin to sprout out of the door like little reaching tendrils was enough to make Eddie gag. He had had enough; this wasn’t happening, whatever was in there, he wasn’t doing it.

‘Guys, guys I can’t do this.’

‘Dude, come on, we have to, we have t-t-o e-end this, for Ge-eorgie, for St-st-’

‘For Stanley.’

You gasp at the voice that emits from the metal container, Eddie and Bill slowly turning their heads towards you, their hearts breaking at the slow tears that dripped down your cheeks and left dirty tracks against your skin. Eddie’s fingers dig further into your arm, his thumb rubbing comforting circles as he feels you tremble, not sure what to say or do as your mouth drops open.

‘...Stan-Stanley?’

Richie slides his torch over the rusting metal, his eyebrows rising in surprise as his brain racks to try and place that voice he knew in his heart, not even realising his fingers had begun to shake lightly against the black metal.

‘Why...did you let me die Y/n...why did you kill me?’

Given the state of the outside, Bill prepared to hold his breath as he slowly inched forward to open it, creaking along the tilting floorboards with each step.

‘I-I k-know that voice. I know you. I know you-’

‘I want to go home, I can’t do this.’

But the swinging open of the door made all the words, the fear, the sadness swirling around in your brain dissipate into the air like smoke in the wind.

The house had seemed to become aware of itself, of the history that echoed within the walls, the bodies that lay underneath its structure like a plague, or a deadly moss. Somewhere within, the walls had become one with the rats who crawled and the sticky spider webs.

Nobody could move. Nobody wanted to move. Nobody dared talk, or even breathe as blue jeans and a dirt soaked, blood flecked orange shirt trembled into view, his limbs tangled above his head like a rag doll, before the head fell out of the door and rolled to your feet with a sick, wet thud.

‘It was your fault, y/n...why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you save me?! You were ALWAYS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE FOR ME.’

‘i’m sorry-I’m sorry Stan, I’m sorry’, you manage to stutter out between sobs, not even realising Eddie had fallen back onto his hands and feet, scrambling across the dirty floor with desperate kicks. He couldn’t even care less about the black goop that begins to soak through the floorboards and stain like blood drops against his fingertips as he hits the corner of the wall. He thwacks away the cobwebs that hung from the rafters with a little yelp, his fingers becoming stuck in their sticky goo. They hung like great sheets of hair from an ancient hag, white, dirty looking and tangled. They were on the frosted panes of the windows too, obscuring the little light that struggled through them in the dim of twilight, as you reach down, trying to stop your hands from shaking as your fingers brush against the side of Stanley’s face.

It was cold, so cold, it felt more like plastic than skin. It made your soul shriek as the blood began to seep out from the massive hole in his neck, his mouth twitching up in a distorted, rotting grim grin that reminded you of him. Of the clown.

‘Y/n...what’s happening to me?’

You drop him, rushing backwards and straight into the broad chest of Richie’s open arms as you thump a hand against your mouth, trying to stifle the screams that pry their way out through your fingers. Richie’s fingers leave welts in your skin as you feel his left arm snake around your stomach and pull him closer to you. His breathe is warm in your ear, his glasses smooshed familiarly against your temple as he murmurs sadly, ‘just close your eyes. It’s not real, y/n, it’s not real.’

‘H-he’s right, Y/n, this, t-this isn’t Stanley.’

‘I don’t know Big Bill, this feels pretty real to me.’

Stanley starts laughing wildly, his black teeth making you wince as the laughter turns into whines of pain, fear coursing through your veins as spider legs start bursting out of small holes of his cheeks, his high whines as his eyeballs start pulsating and more hairy, tapping legs hit against the floor from the crinkles of his eyelids finally making you squeeze your eyes shut.

‘Look at me- LOOK AT ME Y/N.’

You shake your head, ignoring the feeling of spiders crawling all over your hands. They scuttle in seemingly random directions. Their feet tickle my skin as the crawl up your arms and begin to surge across your face, their clicks deafening in your ears. But Richie doesn’t let you go, although you can feel the hairs rise and bristle on his arms, and you’re not going to let go either.

This thing, this creature, isn’t your brother. And you’re going to be damned if you allow Pennywise the satisfaction of making you break.

‘It’s alright Stanley, we collected your shower cap, see?’

You open your eyes, stepping slowly out of Richie’s reaching, fumbling grasp to instead take a few faltering steps towards this drooling, growling spider creature that only seemed to resemble the memory of your brother. 

You smile a little, a sad little twitch of the lips as you see the uncertainty flash through his flittering eyes, gazing up at you with a mix of hostility and fear as you take another step closer. He wants to move, he wants to scuttle forward and eat the flesh off your bones, sucking up every last drop just like you sucked the life out of him, but something in the back of his brain makes him stop.

You take another step,

‘And our shower caps, the ones you gave us, protect us from spiders, see? They make us invincible, and it was all thanks to you.’

Another step, another flash, another gleam of hope in Stanley’s eyes as the curls begin to fall familiarly over his eyes, brightening slightly in the dim rays that flash through the cracks of the doorway.

‘I’m not afraid of you, Stanley, because thanks to you, I’m not afraid of spiders.’

‘P-please Stanley, please, it’s me.’

You nearly doesn’t notice the small hindrance in his legs as tap against the floor, his eyes dipping down.

‘Y/n? Everything seems so far away. Everything seems so numb. I don’t want to hurt like this anymore. I just want it to be over.’

Tears rolled down, wetting every part of your cheek before splattering like blood onto his forehead.

Before you can speak again however, you hear a high pitched shrieking from Stanley’s mouth, his lips pursing into a perfect ‘oh’ shape as his head collapses down onto the floor with a wet thud, his legs skidding down over your feet as you glance up at a wide eyed Ben, the knife once held in his hand now firmly planted in the back of Stanley’s head.

‘Wh-why did you do that?!’

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 25 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29 

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Gene makes a housecall; Paul gets some advice from Ace over the phone.

 It wasn’t a long ride over to that dingy apartment complex.

            Gene didn’t know what he was expecting. The place didn’t look any better in the daylight, and when he got out of the car, he saw his driver reach over his seat and start locking all the car doors. He stepped inside alone, walking the craggy flights of steps up to her old apartment number, knocking on the door in what he knew had to be a useless endeavor.

            He was a little hopeful when a different girl answered. A pretty thing, really, with curly black hair and sad eyes. A really pretty thing, he could tell that even from the scant few inches she opened the door.

            “Yes?”

            “Hey.” Gene paused. “I was here a few nights ago. I was wondering if you had a forwarding address for someone who used to live here, Carol—"

            “Carol left a couple weeks ago.”

            “I know. I’m just trying to find where she went after that.”

            “She didn’t pay her share of the rent.” The girl looked Gene up and down, from the baggy sweatpants to the old floral shirt. “We had to kick her out.”

            “I know, I—”

            “Did something bad happen? Are you with the police or something?”

            “I’m not with the police.” Gene tried to think. If the roommates had kicked her out, then that meant she hadn’t been on the lease, right? The apartment manager would’ve had to have her forwarding address if she had been. Wasn’t that how it worked? “She got into some trouble with a rockstar.”

            “Trouble?” The girl repeated, with more innocence than Gene could readily believe, at first. “She kept trying to hex one. Kathy got pissed when she spilled some offering on the carpet…”

            “Yeah, trouble.” Gene tried to infuse the word with its usual meaning. Babies and under the table payoffs. He couldn’t tell if she took the bait or not. “Can you help me?”

            “Her mom lives in Virginia,” she offered. “She’s not from there, though, I think she’s from… I don’t know, Minnesota or Michigan… somewhere that starts with an M…”

            That was barely better than no help at all. He tried to pay attention as the girl kept trailing off.

            “Her mom’s got scads of money from her dad dying. She helps her out a lot. Carol said if we’d just give her a couple more days, then she’d be good for the next three months. Swore it. Kathy and Bunny wouldn’t have it, though, ’cause between the rent and the occult stuff, she was too wild for us, and—”

            “Do you have her mother’s address?”

            “No. Well…” She pursed her lips, thinking, and then held a finger up. “Let me look around, maybe there’s an envelope…”

            And she scurried back from the door, still leaving it open those few inches as she rummaged around, the door chain keeping him from seeing much of the place at all. He waited, listening to her scuffle across the apartment, rustling through papers, until finally that dark cloud of hair peeked back into existence at the door.

            “No. I’m sorry. Oh, but she used to go to discos! You might wanna check CBGB, or the Ice Pa—”

            “I’ve done it already,” Gene said, and walked away.

--

            No good. It had been stupid to hope for any new insight. If he really wanted to push it, there was the possibility of finding Carol at 54 again tonight, but Gene doubted she’d be there, and he doubted Paul would want to go there again. He wouldn’t leave Paul at home by himself for a venture like that, either.

            Gene had his driver take him to the nearest supermarket immediately after. The driver had weakly offered to take him to a better part of town, but Gene hadn’t cared enough to go those few extra miles for a little more security.

            He’d never really gotten his own groceries. When he was off tour, at home, he ate out more often than not, or he went to his mother’s. She always had a smorgasbord at the ready. Always cooking. Gene remembered that early on during tours, when money was tight, Paul and Peter would take it upon themselves to make dinners for the band—they weren’t great—but at least they actually knew what to get and how to fix it. Gene was pushing his shopping cart through the aisles, looking at rows of dried and canned goods and feeling mildly stumped by the whole affair. He’d never paid much attention to how his mother cooked anything, just the end result, so any comfort food from when he’d grown up was out. But maybe…

            He settled on a few bottles of Tab, since Peter and Ace had gotten into Paul’s supply of them prior, and then some spaghetti noodles and canned tomatoes. That seemed depressing, so he doubled back to retrieve some fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions as well. Maybe it wouldn’t be that great of a follow-up to matzo ball soup, if he ended up getting it, but it was definitely an improvement to eating peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner. Then he got a box of vanilla wafers, a package of chocolate-chip cookies, and a bunch of bananas.

            Gene was nearing the check-out lanes when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He stiffened and stopped, opting not to turn around—it was probably some kid who’d recognized him. Funny how, as long as he’d been with Paul, he hadn’t gotten spotted for who he was once, except on purpose. He pretended to focus all his attention on the label on a bottle of honey, picking it up and inspecting it, waiting for the passerby to either come closer or move on ahead. In a few seconds, he had it—a girl actually scurrying past. A small girl, only carrying a shopping basket and a purse. If he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled face, he wouldn’t have realized who she was.

            Absolutely unbelievable. He had to have expended all his luck over the next three years. Quickly, he pushed his cart to the side and tapped her shoulder before she could make it to the check-out line. She turned around, staring at him, eyes wide and stunned. She tried to take a step back, stopping short of even that movement.

            “Good morning, Carol.”

--

            Paul woke up abruptly. The day’s newspaper was on Gene’s side of the bed, the sections separated and askew. He didn’t bother pushing them aside, just reached over to check the clock on the nightstand, finding the note Gene left behind. He reread it once, twice, trying to ignore the paranoid, curdling sensation in his gut, the idea that Gene might have just gotten tired of him and tried to find a quick exit, at least for awhile. He wouldn’t have blamed him, not after last night. Not after four nights and five days of putting up with him.

            But Gene was bringing him back food. No, more than that, he was bringing him back matzo ball soup and probably a deli sandwich, and whatever Gene thought constituted real groceries. If he was really leaving, he wouldn’t have bothered to specify. Gene must’ve assumed Paul would sleep late enough to start the day with lunch, and, looking at the clock, he hadn’t been too far off. It was fifteen until eleven.

            He sighed, stretching out a bit before getting up and pulling on some clothes. All he had left was the dress he’d bought, the one he’d decided wasn’t nice enough for Studio 54. Just a cream and gold colored sundress. Softer colors than he’d usually have opted for. He picked absently at the thin straps. He never felt more fake than when he was alone, even before all this happened.

            The phone rang before he could decide what else to do, whether to wait on Gene or eat something or waste awhile in front of the T.V. It startled him a little. Ever since Gene had come, he’d rarely been in the house enough to hear it ring. Another cushion from reality.

            He ignored it. It kept ringing. Six times. Seven. Eventually, the answering machine tape started up, and he heard his own, actual voice, another piece of bewilderment.

            “Hey, this is Paul Stanley. If you’ll leave your name and number, I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Thanks.”

            “Paul, this is Ace, I—”

            Paul grabbed the phone, sudden relief flooding into him.

             “Ace?”

            “Who’s this?” A pause, and then. “Paul?”

            Paul leaned over the answering machine, gingerly unplugging it to keep the tape from running while he spoke.

            “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

            “Sorry I’m late calling. Gene got you back home the other night?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Still not normal yet.” Ace sighed. “What’s she want out of you? You never told me.”

            “Nothing I can’t do.”

            “Virgin sacrifice?”

            Paul froze up for a second, the phone feeling like a rock in his hand. No way had Gene told the guys. No way. It was a moment or two before he could force a small laugh.

            “You’re not too far off.”

            “Shit, do you have to kill someone? Keep the tits, it’s not worth—”

            “No! I—forget it, man. I don’t have to hurt anybody. I can do it.”

            He expected Ace to push for a better answer than that, but he didn’t. God. Ace knew the fate of the whole band sat right on Paul’s shoulders, and yet he didn’t want to ask for a better explanation. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck. Maybe he wanted to go out on his own. Maybe him and Peter were just chomping at the bit to splinter off from the group. Why shouldn’t they? Paul was ruining everything for them just as readily as he was ruining everything for Gene. Paul took a deep breath, tried to convince himself he wasn’t being rational, but the impressions were still wobbling in his brain even when Ace started to talk again.

            “Peter was gonna check on you, but he’s still kinda…” Ace trailed. “So I told him not to worry about it. You okay?”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You really okay?”

            “Yeah, Ace.”

            “Nobody screwed around with you?”

            “Ace, if you want a play-by-play of two nights ago, I’m sure you—”

            “Okay, okay. Just making sure. Pete’s real worried about you.”

            “’M okay.”

            “He lit into Gene for letting you go off.”

            “He shouldn’t have. It was fine.” God. Gene had told him. Or Peter had called the house. One or the other. Paul swallowed. Something about it hurt, almost made his eyes burn. Weird, how that was. Weird how knowing all the guys really did give a shit about him would be enough to nearly induce tears. Maybe he was just that stressed and worn out. He could almost picture Ace’s mild, affable, probably-hungover look, and that helped him blink back anything incriminating.

            “Oh, and you got in the paper, too.”

            “No shit?”

            “No shit. Not front page, but you’re in the entertainment section—”

            Paul scrambled for the newspaper, flipping through the sections. He nearly didn’t recognize his own picture—funny, when he’d been staring at that face for over a week now—but there he was, arm and arm with Gene in a corner photo. Gene’s face was still covered, and Paul was leaning in heavily against him, mouth parted in a strained attempt at a smile. Two days ago. Two days ago and the firmness and warmth of Gene’s hold, the smell of his sweat, all of that had only gotten all the more familiar. All the more something he needed instead of just longed for. Something secure. Something meaningful.

            “Gene got his picture after all.”

            “Huh?”

            “Nothing. ‘Tongue-waggling KISS bassist Gene Simmons cozies up to a Miss Isen at Studio 54,’” Paul read dryly. “They misspelled my name.”

            “You look sweet.”

            “I look awful.”

            “Give yourself some credit. You make a hot chick.” Ace laughed. Not maliciously. Paul didn’t think the guy was really capable of being malicious. He hesitated, running his free hand down his knee, smoothing the material of the dress, before responding.

            “Can I ask you something, Ace?”

            “Sure, Paulie.”

            “It’s a… it’s a thought experiment.”

            “Don’t get all pretentious and shit. I know you dropped out of college.”

            Paul had never been more grateful that he couldn’t see Ace on the other end of the line. He’d have given himself away already otherwise. He swallowed thickly.

            “Ace—this is all just—hypothetical. Let’s say… let’s say you got told you could have what you wanted.”

            “Then I’d wait on the catch.”

            Paul could feel his mouth twitch up into an unwilling, dry smile.

            “The catch is, you could only get it once, and that was it. Just once. Would you still take it?”

            Ace didn’t hesitate.

            “Yeah.”

            “Why?”

            “’Cause I’d rather have something once than never have it.”

            “I’m not like that. If I couldn’t—if I couldn’t keep having something, I’d never—”

            “All or nothing, right, Paul?” Paul could hear Ace rustling something on the other end of the line. Papers, maybe. “You can’t go through life like that, you’ll never be satisfied. You gotta compromise.”

            “You compromise everything.”

            “’M happier for it.”

            “You can’t be. Compromising… it’s just giving up, isn’t it?”

            “No. Paulie—” Ace made a short, weird sound, almost like he was sucking the spit off his teeth. “You always think you’re figuring on the long term, and you’re not.”

            “I am—”

            “You’re not. Hear me out, man. You think there’s any guarantees anywhere? Look at the band—”

            “This isn’t about the band—”

            “’S just an example. We got our big hit. Now what if—what if that’s the best we ever do? Whether you get your dick back or not, what if that’s as good as it ever gets?”

            “That… that can’t happen.” It felt like something was stuck in his throat. This wasn’t how he’d expected this to go, not at all. “We just got really big, it can’t be over that quick. There’s no way. Ace, we…”

            “What if it is, Paul? What would you say?” Ace’s words sped up in a still-lazy rattle. “What if we go bust a year from now?”

            “Don’t talk like that, man.”

            “You need to hear it. This ain’t gonna last any way you slice it, don’t kid yourself.” Paul’s stomach churned as he heard the click of a pop top on the other end of the line, and Ace taking a swig and a swallow. “We’ll wear out our welcome. Maybe we already have. Nobody lasts in music.”

            “Elvis—”

            “Elvis is a joke, Paulie.” Another long gulp. “And if you get past his age, what else d’you got? You got—you got Bing Crosby dragging his own corpse out there every fucking year for his Christmas special. Been wailing out ‘White Christmas’ since World War II. If we’re still playing ‘Cold Gin’ when we’re forty-five, I hope to God someone takes us out back and shoots us.”

            Paul chewed his lip. He felt grimmer now than when he’d picked up the phone, almost distracted out of what he’d really been trying to ask of Ace. Ace, who kept up with weird shit like space shuttles and went on drunken rambles about the aliens who’d made him small. Ace, who he’d assumed was just along for the ride on everything. Paul felt an odd curdling in his gut, something like shame for assuming he and Gene were the only ones who ever thought ahead. For writing off Ace and Peter like their myriad addictions made them stupid.

            “Shit, Ace, you’re usually a little more positive—”

            “’M just trying to make a point here.” Ace blew out a breath loud enough that Paul could hear it over the phone. “If this is as good as it gets, would you say you don’t want it? Would you say you wanted to turn it all back around? Me and you driving cabs? Gene teaching school again? Pete—”

            “No!”

            “Why not?”

            “Because we’re gonna do better than that, that’s why! I-I’ll write whatever crossover songs I’ve got to, we’ll keep on touring, and—”

            “But you don’t know that.”

            “I do know that!”

            “Nah, Paulie. You don’t know that.” Ace let out an odd sound, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “You’re just betting on it. Ought to bet on something a little more certain.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like Geno getting over you not having tits.”

            “What?”

            “You heard me.”

            “That’s got nothing to do with—did he—shit, what did he tell you?”

            “Jesus, your voice gets real squeaky. Did it always do that?” Ace said it so mildly, as always. Ace couldn’t even bitch properly when Paul had his whole career dangling on the line. “I haven’t talked to him since we came over.”

            “Then—”

            “You’re like a glass of water, Paulie, just see-through. You ain’t fooling anyone. Listen, do what you’ve gotta do. But don’t do it based on anybody but yourself.”

            “I’ll call you back later, Ace.”

            “Okay, girlie.”

            Paul hung up before Ace managed a goodbye on the other end. His heart was thudding harder than ever.

[neargaztambide]

How proud I can be of you...

Summary: after the biggest failure on the ring, Ford feels like a big disappointment. What more he needs?

Words: 993, maybe

Text for the Stan Twins Celebration Month, idea from @thestanbros (week number one: CHILDHOOD)

Lost, defeated, he had failed incredibly. Sore eye, he could hardly (or wanted) to see what was there. Anyway, the darkness of his room was his only companion. Stan to try to comfort him that this had been his first fight and, he just had to think in the next one and then, he’ll be more prepared for it, and his mother tried to encourage him that the eye was going to heal faster than a cock crows. He didn’t believe them: he felt ridiculous to be overcome by a mountain of pure muscle. Ford wasn't getting it: it wasn't his fault... almost. It was very difficult to win because of his poor ability in boxing, and he could barely tickle his opponent before he left him K.O of a hook. He regretted having procrastinated in his lessons (nobody notices the difference between him and Stanley if they both pretended to be the other) for reading his novels.

And the worst thing is that he did not give up. An even greater humiliation, only because of his own stubbornness. Why didn't he say "I give up," and then things would have been easier? He was quite ashamed. But, above all things, it was because his father was present, there: seeing how he fell as well as Nixon's credibility. "Fil, please: let him rest. He had a pretty rough day already! ” The thin wall allowed Stanford to hear Caryn's complaint. In addition to the heavy steps of his father. "Oh no, please." Ford was too embarrassed: what he least wanted was to see his father, especially since his twin was the star of the night. He pricked up his ear to see if his father said anything, but he spoke in a very low voice. Suddenly, the door opened. Filbrick was never gentle enough to open doors without being energetic, and for some reason, his son's situation did not mean that his hobby was anything less than usual. The father closed the door behind him. Ford did not turn around. He pretended to be asleep so as not to have to confront his father, and he did not dare for a second to turn around or show signs of being conscious. But he knew he could sense that Filbrick was in his typical cross-arm pose.

"I know you're awake, Ford." Well, goodbye to trash the acting. But still, he didn't want to turn around and see him. He couldn’t bear the ridicule of having to see his face: ‘Wow: you did not hold even until the fifth round’ kind face. “You lost there. The other boy gave you a big beating, you know? ”All Stanford could do was sinking deeper into the covers to try to hide from the facts. “Well, I'm going say it clear” Filbrick finally said after a silence that seemed to last for hours. Ford knew what was coming: he could barely hold back the tears of fear, unease, broken pride and confidence he had before entering the ring. “: I'm disappointed that you've lost. But I respect a man who doesn’t know how to surrender.” Ford opened his eye that was healthy with disbelief: h-had he heard…? After a few seconds, Filbrick retired in complete silence, leaving those words in the air. Ford put himself in a calmer position, and thought to himself of those words: he held on as long as he could, but he hadn't given up. That... and coming from his father, they were for real words of supporting.

A few minutes passed so that his twin came later and the two had remained there: looking at the opposite. “Well done, Sixer: Dad respects you.” “D-did he tell you?” Stan let out a sigh and looked at his brother for a few seconds: of course he had. “He said I did very well out there.” When I asked him what he said –and you aren’t going to believe me-, he replied: ‘I told to your brother that I was proud of him too.’” Stanley comically imitated his father's tone of voice, which encouraged him even more to Ford. Did he really say that about him? He had never felt so comforted before. Being words that came from Filbrick, they were very important: both Pines twins wanted to be their father's pride. “It can't be…” “I think he does care about us, pal.” Ford smiled, and this time, he cried, not from pain or sadness, but from a debacle of joy. It may be a gesture that for any other only meant few simple words, but for those two boys those words were worth as much as their entire father's pawn shop: it mean gold.

Stan dropped into his part of the bunk, and like Ford, he felt great. He may have won every round, but that didn't matter to him: what actually gave him a very good taste knew that his father respected him. And at Ford’s situation, it felt like as a victory.

Filbrick saw that Caryn was not with him in their shared room. It was one of those few moments in his day to day where he felt absolutely alone. Therefore, and knowing perfectly what he was doing, he put his hand at the level of his heart, and took out a gold chain... #1 Dad, written in red letters. Fil smirked: Despite being as emotional as a stone, he knew he had it all: a woman who, well... was a mythomaniac, but she loved him. He practically lives in a shithole, but he promised to himself to make a complete change on his life twelve years ago. And he also has two children who loves him. Filbrick had those moments where he thought only in one thing: that his life was too full, and in no way did he intend to waste it, at all. For something he was smiling sideways, and that's why he thought about everything he thought... right?

[seancekitsch]

Making up for Lost Time: The Epilogue

Requested by: eh, a few of you wanted this when i mentioned it and i can’t let Stanley the Manley go

Just to be safe....Warnings for the series include: canon issues including self harm, attempted suicide, emotional trauma, mentioned disordered eating, the clown, anxiety, adult Bill Denbrough’s personality, book and movie canon being merged together because I like to play god, a twin peaks reference?? light smut and my terrible vocabulary, canon events.

But this is lighter and fluffier this is basically just being together forever and gross cute

-You open up your apartment to Stan right away, but relationship wise other than living together you move very slowly at first. There is no fear of death or shape shifting clown making you tear each other apart.

-He finds a job rather easily. Being an accountant, his role is necessary anywhere in the country. He could move out within a few weeks, but it would be pointless knowing he would move right back in eventually. He also doesn’t think he could sleep in Seattle without you in his arms.

-Your first date is at a roadhouse dive bar ten days after he arrives. There’s loud live music, which Stan never really cared for, but the way your face lights up when the band plays an updated version of an old Roy Orbison tune... he couldnt picture anywhere else he would rather be.

-Between the French fries and the beers and you gently singing along to him, it’s a sad kind of happy that he realizes this is what he’s wanted his whole life and that he’s missed so much. He vows from then on to start making up for lost time.

-Stanley Uris truly lays on the charm for the entire six months the two of you can last before a poorly planned last minute marriage that only the losers attended. Taking it slowly is short lived.

-You wore the first white dress you could find. It was vintage and it wasn’t formal, but Stan thought you looked like royalty. He wore a suit he would wear to work on any given day.

-Richie officiated; you had joked with him on the phone about becoming a minister beforehand not realizing he would actually get his minister credentials. Bev was maid of honor, Mike was best man. Ben wrote a beautiful short poem and read it in lieu of vows, and Bill gave the beautiful wedding gift of employment in editing his next book turned tv series scripts.

-The two of you settle into married life like it was meant for the two of you. Maybe it was. You pack each other little lunches for work and give each other back rubs after long days. Weekend mornings running errands and having sex after putting away the groceries. It’s all grossly domestic but it feels like instinct.

-Stan is riskier sex wise than he had ever been in his adult life with you. Sure there’s love making, but neither of you feel pressure when enjoying each other’s bodies. You’re not trying for kids, you’re not trying to prove your attraction to each other. There’s just messy hands and lips all over your bodies and exploring.

-You have car sex for the first time since Stan first got his drivers license in high school. You have sex in mall bathrooms. You’ve done some out on your balcony that you’re sure your neighbors did not appreciate. It’s like you can’t get enough of each other anywhere. And you LOVE IT.

-Some nights there are nightmares for the two of you to get through. You dream of him finishing what he started in the bathtub, and he dreams of that moment in the kitchen when his own corpse attacked you and you let it. You wake up crying into each other’s skin and hold one another close, soothing the pain and sealing it back into the past.

-As glad as you are to remember each other and the losers, the two of you have a pretty strict “the past stays in the past” rule besides them. There’s a lot of trauma and bad feelings that don’t even involve the clown that you both wish you still didn’t remember. But that being said, you’re more than supportive to each other when you can’t block it out.

-You see Richie and Bill most often due to work and proximity. It is a quick flight for the two of you to spend the weekend in Beverly Hills with Richie at his house or to Northern California to the set of Bill’s new tv series.

-Richie ends up coming out as bi and ends up with a man who looks surprisingly like dear late Eddie. His ex wives have a lot to say to the press about this relationship. You and Stan really like his new partner and invite them up to Seattle for holidays from now on. When they adopt a little girl, you become the godparents.

-You and Stan go on a lot of vacations together. You like to travel and experience new things and go to museums together. His favorite place you’ve ever taken him is the bird hall in the natural sciences museum in London. He spent three whole hours in there with his notebook sketching and taking notes on rare birds he had never seen besides in paintings. He couldn’t thank you enough for surprising him with that little detail of the trip.

-It works out well because he handles all of the budgeting and logistics like hotels, and you handle the day to day activities. You fill in all of the details that his logistics lay the groundwork for.

-About a year in, you get matching tattoos. Stan never wanted one or saw himself having one, but the scar on his wrist wouldn’t disappear like the one on his hand did and he hated to look at it. You help him design it. It’s a simple black-capped chickadee taking flight. The state bird of Maine and flight promising future and change. Yours goes onto the opposite wrist than his.

-Stan also starts to take Judaism seriously again after all of this. Mostly when things are hard to cope with, he turns to his faith. You always go to the synagogue with him if he wants you to, but sometimes it’s somewhere he has to go to alone. He always comes back a little clearer headed, the logical level headed Stan you know.

-About five years after your return to Derry, Patty Uris actually sends Stan an email inviting them two of you to her wedding. You go, and just like he hoped, he and his ex wife can stay friends. She understood what they both needed, and he couldn’t thank her enough for being the great person she was. And you couldn’t thank her enough for being there for Stanley when he needed her.

-He loves the fall in Seattle with you, it’s rainy and so much colder than his old home in Atlanta and there’s so much time to sit cuddled up in front of your big window and watching the birds fly and the leaves fall.

-There are moments when the two of you have forgotten how much time has past, and you still see each other as the nervous teens you were when you first fell for each other. You never lose that spark of young love, no matter how comfortable you get around one another.

-And when 27 more years roll by, the two of you don’t even notice. You’re looking forward to your 26th wedding anniversary soon, and there’s a party with all of your childhood friends and their kids and grandkids and you have to get ready.

And that’s a wrap i love Stanley Uris 🧡🧡🧡

[honkhonkrichard]

21 with reddie

 21. Best Friends Sibling AU

This got way longer than I thought and I’m calling it ‘Get it right the First Time’ after the billy joel song okay ‘njoy! (WC: 1600+)

“He’s adopted. We all are.” Stan said out of the blue, after dinner. 

“What?” Richie asked.

“Eddie. He’s adopted. So is Ben. Bill is too.” He said again, louder this time. 

“I-I mean.. I guessed.” Richie shrugged. “Cause they’re white and you’re-” Richie threw a hand over at Stan. “Not.” 

“Israeli.” 

“I forgot the word.” 

“clearly.”

“I-I didn’t have to know, dude, it’s not a big deal.” Richie stammered.

“You were staring at Eddie the entire meal.” Stan said loosely, eyes never leaving his book. 

Richie shifted. He was staring at Eddie. How could he not? He was… gorgeous. Big grey eyes, freckled, tan skin, wavy blond hair and the cutest little face. He had a look of perpetual surprise and annoyance, like someone just stole his parking space. 

He sat a the table quietly nearly the whole meal, watching the conversation with curiosity and every now and then, his eyes shifted over to Richie. 

Richie couldn’t take his eyes off of the younger boy. He was so… pretty. The light from the dining room was framing his face this side of perfect, and his sweater was too big and it gave him the sweetest little sweaterpaws- 

“I wasn’t staring at Eddie.” 

Stan’s eyes looked up from his book, sharp and intelligent as usual. “Liar.” 

“So what If I was?” Richie said, probably too defensively. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Give you my blessing.” Stan said from behind his book, light green eyes still locked on Richie. 

“I don’t think I get you, Uris.” Richie lied, because he was quite sure he did. Rich hadn’t been subtle with his idiot grin and enthusiasm with trying to talk to Eddie, who didn’t reciprocate in the slightest.

“I think you do, Tozier.” 

“Stanley?” Someone said from the door. 

Richie looked up to see Eddie clamped around the door frame, sweater paws and cute grumpy surprise in full swing. Turns out he was wearing little shorts too. Richie gulped. 

“Yes Eddie?” Stan said innocently, putting his book down.

Eddie shifted uncomfortably and looked Richie over, the frown in his lips grew. Richie felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Can I talk to you for a second? Alone?” 

“Sure.” Stan blinked, and stood up. He looked considerably older than his siblings, Richie decided, trying not to imagine his hands around Eddie’s thighs. “Rich, you’ll give us a minute?” 

“Course.” 

Stan left the room, and Eddie disappeared with him, leaving Richie alone with himself to think about how much Eddie licking his lips after dinner had drove him crazy. 

I gotta stop. Richie thought, rubbing his face. Gonna go half chub thinking about it too much. He decided to mindlessly fiddle with his bracelets. 

Stan strutted back into the room not longer later, sunk back down into his desk chair, handed Richie a small slip of paper and tucked his hands behind his neck, stretching out like a cat. 

“Get out.” 

Richie’s eyes widened. “Eddie doesn’t like me, does he?” 

Stan shrugged ominously. “It’s me that wants you out.” 

“Rude.” 

“You have a crush on my baby brother.” Stan said simply.

“Baby.” Richie grinned.

“Out please.” 

Richie huffed and grabbed his backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow though yeah?” Stan nodded in response, and Richie left the room, closing the door behind him (He may be a douche but he wasn’t a barbarian.)

Richie silently gazed into the hallway. All the doors were labeled. Ben’s door was closed, Bill’s was half open (Though loud horror movie noises were coming from behind it.) and what Richie assumed was Eddie’s was wide open; the quiet sound of tapping the only sound from it. 

The horror movie paused and Bill swung his door open, eyeing Richie curiously. 

“Sup man?” Richie waved. 

“W-What’re you doing?” Bill asked, voice lower and more angry than it had been at dinner. 

“Uhhhhh I just left Stan cause he kicked me out and then I got lost in thoughts. What’s up with you?” Richie admitted. 

Bill glared him up to down. Richie wasn’t sure why he was angry. They got along fine at dinner, joked about how they had no idea they both worked at the same place (Charlie’s vinyls, Bill had the day shift, Rich took the night shift) and now he was being judged. 

“If you fuck over my brother, I’ll slaughter you.” Bill promised, and then closed the door. 

“What?” Richie mumbled as the horror movie clicked back on. 

Richie made a face and went down the hall, and couldn’t stop himself from peering into Eddie’s room. 

There were lots of knick knacks everywhere, succulents, a big desk and Eddie curled up in his too big sweater, typing away on a laptop. He noticed Richie, clearly looking at him through the corner of his eye (still surprised and annoyed) and took a deep breath, trying to continue typing. 

Richie gave a him a toothy smile. Eddie did not respond. 

“So… Uh… Do you.. like… Did I- Um.” Richie tried. Words weren’t working. 

Eddie sighed and got up from his chair and then-

closed the door. 

Richie snapped some finger guns at the closed door. “Cool.” He said. “Dope I’ll uhhhhh see you later.” 

- 

That night, Richie nodded along to the music blasting through his headphones, and emptied his pockets. Wallet. Phone. Rings he forgot to put on after he washed his hands for dinner. Piece of paper Stan gave him that he never read. Pop can tab. Wait.

Richie picked up the paper and unfolded it. It had a small message written in red pen on it; it looked like it had been scribbled over relentlessly. It also had a snapchat username.

Snap: KasperEddie youre rly hot attractive and it makes me nervous but i wanna keep talking 2 to you - eddie (the small blonde one of stan’s brothers who gets really nervous around you)

Richie didn’t bother fighting the smile off his face. His day was looking up. Even though it was 11:26 at night. 

He nabbed his phone and collapsed on his bed, adding Eddie’s username, and taking a quick photo of him lying in bed and sent it to the cutie patootie. 

Tozier Boy🤙 (Trashrecords): Heyyyyyyyyy got ur message closing the door on me was rly sex c of u

The response was almost immediate. It was a photo of Eddie’s computer. Looks like he was writing an essay.

Eeeeeeee: Sorry you make me nervous I didn’t know what else to do

Richie grinned wildly and stuck his tongue out at the camera, still lying in bed

Tozier Boy🤙: ill let it slide cause youre cute as hell xox

Then he texted Stan.

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:29): you BASTART whyd u kick me out if eddie liked me

And got a snap from Eddie: A photo of his keyboard:

Eeeeeeee: oh!!! 

“Holy fuck.” Richie whispered. “You are fucking adorable.” 

and he sent Eddie a photo of his ceiling saying just that.

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:35): Because Eddie told me to. Said you made him nervous. He also told Bill he liked you and if you started speaking to Eddie Bill would put 30 rounds in your chest.

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:35): hot damn 

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:36) Also; Ben wants you to come back over and give him “Romance Advice” because you seem “With it” 

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:37): u never told me ben was a grandpa

The next image was of Eddie’s face, which was cute enough, except he had drawn blush onto himself. Eeeeeeee: thank you

Immediately following it was a black screen: omg im covered in acne and im sweaty im so sorry

Richie took a photo of him making a desperate face. 

Tozier Boy🤙: can we go out i need to get you comfortable with me holding your cute little face as soon as fucking possible also can u go call Ben a grandpa its very important

A photo of a confused bed tucked into a beanbag chair: Eeeeeeee: he said stan JSUT called him that fjkdhflkjdhfjdkhjkd

Richie smiled against his pillow, trying to breath slowly to calm himself down. Holy fuck this fucking kid. 

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:45) We’ve made Ben very sad. 

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:45) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:46) He told me Eddie called him a grandpa too and made the “:(” face and then told me you just “Walk with.. uhm.. swagger and stuff. [You] just seem to know what he’s doing..” Little does he know-

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:46) who’s gonna tell him im dumbass

Then Richie went back to Eddie, trying to pull himself together, took a photo of his dog. 

Tozier Boy🤙: so…. did u…… wanna …..hmmmmmmm… go out sometime.?

The next photo was of Eddie’s wide eyes, it was blurry, like he was moving as he took it. 

Eeeeeeee: !!!!!! CAN U BRING UR DOG

“God damn.” 

Tozier Boy🤙: which one I got 2 an old man corgi (Amante/Ames) and this baby (Bellissima/Belle) 

Eeeeeeee: BOTH!!!! I WOULD DIE FOR THEM

Then Eddie sent another black screen. 

Eeeeeeee: Fr though I would like a date. Do you like ice cream?

Tozier Boy🤙: im lack toes and taller ants i love ice cream how about this saturday at noon?

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:53): Eddie’s cackling madly what the fuck did you do

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:53) lack toes and taller ants dude

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:54): Cool. Stop it.

Eeeeeeee: sure!!

Richie dropped his phone to the side and danced against his bed. Waving his hands to The Safety Dance. Dates, dogs and cute boys. Okay. 

He spent the rest of the night talking with Eddie, grinning widely the whole time. 

[detectivejigsawpines]

The Third Pines

In which the other Pines sibling is not an idiot; in particular, he’s smart enough to know the difference between his two brothers, even if one is masquerading as the other.

Kind of a character study on Sherman Pines.

Stanford Pines may have been the family genius, but Sherman Pines wasn’t an idiot.

Specifically, even after this many years he could still tell the difference between his two younger brothers, even if one of them was masquerading as the other.

For one thing, there was no way Ford would (or could) ever start a blatant tourist trap and still manage to successfully coerce dozens of people every day to take pictures of all its fake attractions and buy its unbelievably tacky merchandise.  For another, he was calling himself Stan, and not even bothering to change his personality that much, or his voice, for heaven’s sake.  Finally, and this was the clincher, Shermie remembered perfectly well which sibling had how many fingers, and he wasn’t buying that lame excuse about getting the extras surgically removed.

At first Shermie thought his brother was afraid he’d tell Pa about him if he admitted who he really was, or (less likely) that this was an attempt at an elaborate and somewhat tasteless prank, since he’d even gone so far as to fake his own death in a car crash.  So he did his best to make Stan feel welcome during the rare occasions when he visited, hoping that sooner or later he’d open up to him.

It’s okay, he kept coaxing mentally, I don’t care what Pa says, you’re still my family.  You can tell me.

But then, when there continued to be no sign of Ford or of Stan revealing his true identity to anyone, Shermie realized that something terribly, terribly wrong had happened.  And he couldn’t tell what.

*****************************************************************

To his frustration, even though Stan stayed closer to them than Ford had after leaving for college, as the years went by he spent more and more time cooped up in that Mystery Shack of his, still determined to keep his secrets to himself.  It was a relief when he came all the way to the hospital when Shermie’s grandkids were born, even if it meant he had to fight Stan for his chance to hold them.  By that point Shermie had stopped pushing to find out the truth, but he still really wanted to know.

Then his age finally caught up with him, when Dipper and Mabel were eight.

His wife had already passed on a few years ago of a heart attack, at a ridiculously young age for this era; now it looked like it was his turn, this time from the big C.  The doctors did all they could, but in the end he just needed to be as comfortable and out of pain as possible.

At first Shermie thought Stan wasn’t going to bother coming to see him at the hospital.  But then one night, long after visiting hours were over and done with and he was lying awake, alone in his cot, head too full of thoughts to sleep, the window slipped open, and in climbed his brother.  Because of course that was the kind of thing he would do.

“Hey, Sherm,” he whispered, seeing that he was awake as he crept to the bed.  “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but...some stuff came up.”  He looked ashamed as soon as he realized what he’d said, because to him of course nothing should be more important than the fact that his brother was dying.

Shermie gave him a small smile so he’d know he wasn’t angry, just glad he was here.  And then, without considering what he was about to say, he lifted his head and croaked, “Hey, Stanley.”

Stan’s smile froze, and alarm rose in his eyes...before he tried to shake it off.  “Stanley’s dead, Shermie.  I’m your other brother, Stanford.  The good one-”

Shermie reached out and took his hand to stop him.  “Stanley.  I know.  I’ve always known.”

He could see his brother wrestling with himself, trying to decide if there was any point denying it further...until at last his shoulders sagged.

“Guess I’m a worse liar than I thought.”

“No,” Shermie shook his head, “you’re a great liar.  I just know my brothers better than you think.”  He gave Stan’s hand a tiny squeeze.

Stan gave him a sheepish smile...that dropped as soon as Shermie asked, “You mind telling me why, though?  And what the heck happened to Ford?”

Stan flinched, looking like he’d been hit.  But again, this time he seemed to think it was only fair to come clean.

*****************************************************************

To Shermie’s relief, Stan didn’t tell him that Ford was dead.  However, what he did tell him was still pretty confusing: Ford had gotten mixed up in some kind of big trouble almost thirty years ago, and was stuck somewhere far away, and Stan had spent all this time trying to find him and bring him home.  Shermie could tell he was still holding something back, but it sounded enough like the truth that he believed him.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked when Stan finished.  “We would’ve helped you.  I would’ve helped you.”

Stan closed his eyes.  “...I didn’t know that for sure.”

“Stan…”  Shermie squeezed his hand again.

“I-I better go before you tire yourself out.”  Stan tried to slip out of his grip.  Shermie responded by letting his bony-but-still-strong hand clamp vise-like around his wrist.

“Stay.  Please.”

Stan gulped...before pulling over a nearby chair and sitting down in it.

“Okay, okay.  I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“Thanks.”  Shermie relaxed his hold a little when he was sure his brother meant it, but kept holding his hand.  There were many other things he wanted to say-that he was sorry for everything that had happened to his brother, that he didn’t have to be so afraid, that if he just opened up to his family they could work together to save Ford from wherever he’d been taken to, that he loved him-but instead all he said was a gentle, “Night, Stan.”

“Night, Shermie.”

**************************************************

Since in “ATOTS” Stan says Dipper and Mabel are the only family he has left, my personal theory is that Shermie is dead.

Sad, but probably true.

...So, how’d I do?

[emervldroses]

INTRODUCTION  (  NOT  REALLY  SINCE  I  BEEN  HERE  FOR  TWO  MONTHS  )  FOR  RICHARD  TOZIER    .  

okay  ,,  so  for  anyone  that  has  not  seen  IT  or  heard  anything  about  it  .  let  me  introduce  you  to  richard  .  he’s  okay  .  i  think  he’s  pretty  neat  or  else  i  wouldn’t  be  playing  him  but  like  he’s  okay  to  the  general  public  .  under  the  cut  ,  i  will  dive  into  some  bullet  points  for  richie  and  if  we  haven’t  plotted  yet  (  which  is  probably  my  fault  )  then  shoot  me  a  message  on  discord  or  even  tumblr  if  you’re  not  in  the  chat  and  we  can  do  something  !!  i’m  listening  to  sad  music  right  now  so  this  will  probably  get  sad  ,,  not  like  grab  your  tissue  box  sad  but  like  aw  he’s  got  a  sad  life  ,  sad  .  

HIS  CHILDHOOD  IN  THE  EIGHTIES  :  

(  some  of  this  i  am  changing  a  little  from  canon  but  not  so  much  )  

richard  wentworth  tozier  was  born  to  maggie  tozier  ,  an  middle  school  teacher  and  wentworth  tozier  ,  the  towns  leading  dentist  .  richie  grew  up  in  a  small  town  in  maine  ,  it  was  the  eighties  and  he  was  one  of  those  kids  who  played  video  games  for  hours  in  his  basement  and  hissed  at  the  sunlight  .  his  home  life  was  pretty  average  considering  how  rough  his  friends  had  it  with  their  parents  .  the  toziers  were  reasonably  young  still  ,  they  were  high  school  sweethearts  and  had  two  other  daughters  before  richie  (  pamela  and  catherine  )  .  

ever  since  richie  was  young  ,  he  knew  that  he  was  different  than  his  friends  .  he  felt  like  he  saw  things  differently  and  understood  things  differently  .  before  the  summer  that  topped  all  summers  ,  it  was  just  richie  ,  bill  ,  stan  and  eddie  .  years  prior  to  that  summer  ,  richie  had  met  the  three  boys  and  quickly  felt  comfortable  around  each  of  them  for  different  reasons  .  bill  made  richie  feel  strong  like  he  could  be  clark  kent  or  stop  a  bank  because  he  was  friends  with  the  bill  denbrough  .  stan  made  richie  feel  smart  ,  he  was  always  talking  about  different  types  of  birds  or  interesting  facts  and  richie  would  repeat  them  to  his  mother  at  the  dinner  table  .  he  never  told  her  that  he  only  knew  all  that  stuff  because  of  stanley  .  and  then  there  was  eddie  who  made  richie  feel  challenged  ,  whenever  richie  would  get  a  second  alone  with  eddie  he  felt  like  he  was  taking  a  risk  or  stepping  on  burning  hot  rocks  .  being  with  eddie  felt  like  something  he  shouldn’t  like  as  much  as  he  did  .  richie  wasn’t  alone  anymore  because  he  had  friends  and  richie  loved  each  and  every  single  one  of  them  .  sometimes  he  annoyed  them  ,  he  talked  a  lot  but  overall  he  was  excited  that  he  had  people  who  never  left  him  .  

richie  had  a  secret  that  he  hadn’t  told  any  of  his  friends  and  one  he  swore  himself  he  wouldn’t  tell  another  living  soul  because  bad  things  would  happen  .  richie  knew  what  people  like  henry  did  to  people  like  richie  ,  he  was  already  getting  bullied  by  henry  and  he  knew  he  couldn’t  do  anything  to  worsen  that  situation  .  what  richie  was  most  scared  of  though  was  his  friends  finding  out  and  leaving  him  .  they’d  just  let  ben  ,  beverly  and  mike  join  their  club  and  that  was  six  whole  people  who  richie  now  got  .  six  people  who  loved  richie  and  richie  loved  right  back  .  they  couldn’t  know  ,  he  couldn’t  risk  losing  them  not  after  everything  that  they’d  been  through  the  summer  that  georgie  went  missing  .  a  summer  they  never  spoke  of  again  .  

LIFE  AFTER  DERRY  :  

richie  ended  up  leaving  derry  ,  he  went  to  nice  college  all  the  way  across  the  country  and  L.A  was  great  .  there  was  something  he  loved  about  the  ability  to  express  himself  ,  it  wasn’t  long  before  richie  forgot  about  his  friends  and  those  six  pieces  of  his  heart  disappeared  and  filled  up  with  a  heavy  emptiness  he  couldn’t  explain  to  any  therapist  .

richie  never  found  anyone  .  he  never  settled  down  or  got  married  because  there  was  a  part  of  him  that  was  always  waiting  for  something  ,  something  never  felt  right  about  the  people  that  he’d  chat  and  talk  with  .  as  perfect  as  they  could  have  been  for  richie  ,  it  wasn’t  what  he  wanted  because  richie  wanted  someone  a  little  sassier  ,  a  little  smaller  and  a  little  more  cautious  .  

career  wise  ,  adult  richie  was  thriving  as  comedian  that’s  when  he  got  a  call  from  one  of  his  childhood  friends  ,  mike  .  IT   was  back  .  richie  got  the  feelings  back  before  he  got  the  memories  back  ,  he  was  anxious  the  entire  plane  ride  over  and  had  to  take  two  sleeping  pills  .  

first  he  saw  ben  ,  good  ole’  winter  fire  benjamin  hanscom  accompanied  by  none  other  than  beverly  marsh  ,  his  right  hand  woman  .  he  couldn’t  think  of  two  more  gorgeous  faces  to  greet  him  back  from  twenty  seven  years  of  a  seemingly  fake  life  ,  well  ,  maybe  he  could  think  of  one  more  gorgeous  face  .  

being  around  eddie  made  richie  want  to  get  absolutely  sloshed  ,  start  being  mean  to  him  and  then  avoid  him  .  that  was  generally  how  they  handled  things  ,  slipping  right  back  into  a  familiar  routine  which  seemed  to  surpass  twenty  seven  years  apart  .  richie’s  eyes  kept  glancing  back  ,  every  time  the  door  bell  signaled  someone  had  entered  the  restaurant  almost  as  if  he  was  waiting  for  someone  . . . 

and  then  eddie  died  .  in  his  arms  .  one  day  richie  lost  his  best  friend  and  the  love  of  his  life  .  even  though  richie  hadn’t  told  his  friends  ,  he  was  sure  they  knew  by  the  way  that  he  clung  to  eddie’s  body  and  cried  out  his  name  .  he  loved  him  .  richie  loved  eddie  .  he  was  his  greatest  love  ,  even  if  eddie  was  married  and  didn’t  feel  the  same  he  was  still  richie’s  greatest  love  .  eyes  staring  through  his  glasses  at  the  familiarity  of  the  kissing  bridge  ,  r  +  e  in  a  heart  still  remained  from  decades  earlier  .  richie’s  feelings  were  timeless  ,  his  heart  even  then  beat  for  only  one  and  he  lifted  that  knife  to  recrave  over  thirteen  year  old  richie’s  love  confession  .  richie’s  feelings  would  never  change  ,  they  hadn’t  in  all  of  the  twenty  seven  years  because  there  was  something  unconditionally  about  the  way  that  he  loved  eddie  .  

LIFE  IN  TWINRIVERS  :  

richie  arrived  in  twinrivers  with  all  of  his  memories  .  he  remembers  everything  from  fighting  with  bill  to  eddie  dying  .  the  good  and  the  bad  .  he’s  been  in  twinrivers  for  the  past  year  ,  he  had  a  place  to  live  but  fucked  around  and  got  kicked  out  .  he  lives  in  his  car  now  ,  it’s  comfy  though  and  he  has  a  blanket  .  he  works  at  the  local  movie  theater  because  he’s  trash  for  movies  .  umm  .  .  .  he  is  very  much  tired  all  the  time  .  he  plays  the  drums  and  he  wants  a  dog  .  that’s  about  it  right  now  but  message  me  for  plots  .