#@ mutuals: on all levels except physical - biting you biting you biting you biting y

[spark-circuit]

tumblr gave me too much power being able to boop my own blog for the badge counter. it's a quiet work day and I've got three hours left in my shift.

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

Misjudgment

Summary: can you do a losers club x reader where the losers save the reader from the bowers gang so they invite her to the losers club, except stan doesn’t trust her bc he’s stan. so then the reader confronts him abt it and then they become friends?

Being the new kid in any new school is difficult a label designed and slapped on your forehead to follow you around and attrack attention because of it. Derry middle school was no exception, and in fact, to you knowledge, was even worse than any other school you had ever been too. Your parents switched jobs a lot, and with that came moving around heaps of times too, so being the new kid wasn’t a state-of-the art experience for you. 

It still sucked, walking into a school, your peers huddled together in group while you, the loner, picked at your fingernails to appear busy and to not get caught staring longingly as two friends giggled and talked about their crushes to one another.

The first time you spotted Bill, leader of the infamous loser club you would soon become a part of, was the same day you first witnessed Henry’s psychotic behavior, plundering Bill’s book bag and lighting it on fire mere inches away from the poor kids face. You had stomped over, snatching the bag out of Henry’s hands, the books were mostly destroyed and missing, and handed it back to the boy who scrambled up.

‘You better stay the fuck away from me you fucking hoer. You must either have a Deathwish or want to date B-b-billy,’ he mocked,’ enough that you don’t care who you piss of, and that mistake, can be deadly here in my town.’

Bill thanked you, asked for your name and invited you to join in on a birdwatching retreat him and his friend were going on, but you declined. The altercation left you rattled and spooked, and you didn’t know Bill or any of his friends, all strangers in a town of even more strangers, and went back home.

That decision had both negative and positive outcomes attached to it. Bowers awaited you along with his goons, emptying a slushie on your head and spitting in your face and hair, humiliating you to the best of their abilities. At one point, they tried to glue a freshly bought pad to your skirt, their tyranny halted as Bill and his followers threatened to call the police on them.

‘That’s what being brave will get you in this town’, Mike said, staring the bowers gang off as they .

‘Yeah, but luckily there’s strength in numbers.’

‘Yup, welcome to the losers club new kid. Ben, you’ve been kicked off the nickname ‘new kid’, I need to find you a new one.’ Richie pondered, tapping his fingers to his chin as he came up with a new nickname for Ben.

Persuading Richie into giving him a different derogatory name was enough for Ben to accept you with open arms in the group, as did almost everyone else, and you gained six new friends, a huge upgrade from the zero friends you had prior to them. The hospitality showed, and you were never forced to eat lunch or walk to class by yourself any longer.

The losers club consisted of seven people, but to your parents you vowed that there we’re only six friends you engaged with, because the seventh member, Stanley, was not your friend. At most, the two of you were acquaintances, people that hung out because of mutual friends.

He never liked you or made an effort to befriend you, his cold demeaner deterring and dynamite to your time dedicated to the losers. Not once did he address you personally, and if someone inquired a question and you would go to respond, Stanley would talk over you, like you were never there in the first place. The whole situation, that you had no inkling on how you ended up in the first place, put a damper on the blossoming friendship, and you often found yourself nail-biting tense, on the lookout for the day the other losers would be tired of the tense underlying issues themselves and kick you to the curb.  

This unease pushed you to confront Stanley about his behavior towards you, as you did not want to end up alone again, and you adored the friends you had made in the losers club too much to let go without a fight.

The opportunity to do this arose one day after school, when only Eddie and Richie, both lounging in the hammock, and Stanley and you are around in the clubhouse. You’re sketching in the a notebook, the one you and Bill share, to compare  various techniques and color schemes, and also because it’s fun and interesting to observe what someone else is crafting.

No one besides Bill and you know of its existence, but it’s not strictly a secret, it’s more of a - none of the others care so why tell them-? You’re seated in the stack of cushions, plumped up by Eddie, in order to protect ones ass against blisters, since that’s thing apparently, and Stanley is fully emerged in a book, as far away from you as the small, incepted space allows.

The drawing is coming along pretty well, the sketch portraying the clubhouse itself and it’s inhabitants, and you’re focusing on measuring the length between the hatchet and the far wall, when Stanley spots the book in your lap.

‘That’s Bill’s,’ he snidest, crossing the room in no time to protectively grab it and cage it in his arms.

‘I know that’, you secure, reaching for the book but too short to actually clasp it. ‘I borrow it from him.’

Stanley stares you down with a level headed look, ‘Oh, really?’ He says so sarcastically you urge to rip out his tongue and render him silent.

‘Yes really. What’s the problem with that Stanley?’

‘Stan the man, chill out’, Richie laughs on edge, squirming in his place as he and Eddie watch the situation unfold.

‘No fuck that. What the fuck did I do to get you to hate me so much?’

‘You know what you did.’

‘Enlighten me, fucking please Stanley.’  The hostility swarming around the two of you is palpable, and it’s containing to build to a crescendo neither are prepared for. His admission could potentially dissolve the undercover threat, a way for you to explain or fix the thing you display that Stanley contempt. But that can only be done if the thing gets pointed out, which so far, it hasn’t.  

‘You are conspiring with Bowers and Patrick, I am onto you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just admit it.’

‘Okay, I fucking admit I’m colluding with the same douchebags that tried to defoule me. You got me there Stanley’, you’re seething, rage vibrating in every pore. Richie and Eddie attempt to deflate the situations, but glares from Stanley and you dispirited their focus.

‘Stan, come on,’ Eddie pacifies, ‘why would she do that?’

‘Is it not it convenient that she just so happened to be at the same time and place as Bill is getting beat up? And that she gets attacked right after but somehow escaped any physical damage? Who knows what secrets she’s been tattling?’

‘Well I’m sorry, let me go to them and ask if they would be so kind to punch me in the face’, your voice got more and more hysterical with every word, and you bend down your knees making eye contact with Stanley as you mock him.

‘Stan Urine, This isn’t ‘The Soldier’, they’re no such thing as spies, although Miss K in a spy suit is the fantasy to have for all my wet dreams.’ Richie vulgar joke goes by unnoticed, you and Stan involved in a staring match. You’re the one that breaks eye contact, huffing as you slide on your heels and move to leave.

‘Fine, whatever, I pick up on when I’m not wanted.’

‘No wait. Y/N, don’t go.’  

‘Stan the man gets prickly around the time his period is due, chalk it up to that.’

‘Shut the fuck up Richie no I don’t.’

You force the handle up, resting it a bit above your head and pause, sighing. ‘I’m not conspiring with Bowers, I just wanted to make friends.’ The latch gravitates to the floor after you’ve climbed out, and with it a chapter of your life, now it’s back to being friendless.

Four steps away from the clubhouse, the latch opens again and out tumbles Stan, meticulously lifting himself up by the piece of hardwood that is unscathed with dirt from the ground, and sprints to catch up with you.

‘I am sorry’, he says, flabbergasting you. ‘I should have been more open and accepting, and not my judgmental, evil self. I am not myself if I haven’t eaten a snicker and I apologize,’ Stan rolls his eyes.

‘Those lines were fed to you by Richie’, you state matter of fact, a smile tugging up your lips in spite of your earlier mood set.

‘No they weren’t’, elevates from below ground, conforming your suspicions.

‘Okay, yeah partly. But I do need to apologize. Being so antagonistic was wrong and unnecessary. Can we start over?’

‘I mean, give me back my notes and we’ll make a deal out of it?’

‘Of course.’