#they can talk about the kids!! and the stupid shit Stanley saw them pull that Ford never noticed

[inkyrainstorms]

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face this is canon now(to this specific version of AME). it’s what they deserve after everything.

the ‘after a lifetime’ is such a fucking genius way to start this, Kay you absolutely galaxy brained maniac

There is a light, I feel it in me

but only, it seems, when the dark surrounds me

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face do you understand what this post did to my brain chemistry. Do you. You and anon, do you understand. Fuck, man

full comic under the cut!

[takenbyheartstrings]

changing of the seasons | tom holland.

[ tom x fem!reader au || warnings. fluff, swearing, angst, implications of sex, the reader drinking || wc. 5.2k (this is a bit of a long one LMAO)  ] a/n. it’s currently 4:52 in the morning, so my apologies if this is so sloppy, but I’m writing it and heading straight to bed, praying there’s no major grammatical errors. Now, ik that uni doesn’t have frats or whatever, but it’s an au so idrc about accuracy ANYWAY, goodnight to all <3

W I N T E R

YOUR BREATH HITCHED AGAINST THE COLD AIR OF THE NIGHT, this cold of a day in London was not unusual, not welcomed, nor un-welcomed. You sort of loved the cold days, even if it rained so much that it was almost impossible to leave the house. It brings a sense of home to you and your roommate.

The same roommate who tried to join one of those sororities. But then chickened out last minute ‘Those girls are so fucking intimidating... I dunno how anyone does it!’ You laugh as you remember the day she came back to the dorm in shambles, only slightly tipsy. She really was the party type - but you had obligated to stay back at the dorm and watch Netflix or something, she found you coddled watching and reading. It wasn’t an unusual state for you at all, and you partied sometimes, Katie had mocked you previously, for acting as if you’re ‘Not like other girls.’ But you had to disagree, she was being ridiculous.

But that’s not where the story starts, ironically; the story starts at one of those terrible parties. Katie had dressed you in a nice pair of high waisted jeans and a tank top. You felt like you were wearing a little too less, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. You were just a little shy, so you slipped a jacket on top. In your defence: ‘Kate! It’s freezing outside!’

You were at a party where everyone knew you as the smartest kid in possibly the grade - you weren’t bullied or anything, but you weren’t popular either. Everyone knew you, and you knew them. You weren’t friends with them, but you weren’t not friends with them - you were the middle ground; the mediocre.

But in the whole time you were at this party, you managed to see the one person you didn’t like at all, and who didn’t like you.

Tom Holland was a stuck-up brat who didn’t know any better than to slack off in class, drink until so drunk he could barely speak properly, make comments about people that were anything but nice, and to make things even better, cheated on his girlfriend, and still, no matter how much he annoyed you, how much he despised you, how much the two of you tried to avoid each other... the two of you always managed to get in each other’s way.

You didn’t even knew how Tom Holland managed to slither his way into your life. But he did, and although the two of you disliked each other (although, it’s not a strong enough word), he always needed. your. help.

You saw it coming when he walked up to you at that stupid party, “What do you want, Thomas?” You questioned, your arms crossed over your jacket like they had been the whole night, a red solo cup sat in your hand.

“I need your help, passing another class.” He speaks and you can’t help but roll your eyes, you had a tutoring service, you knew what you were getting yourself into - but you didn’t think this one particular person would keep coming back for every test. There had to be something he was good at! How would he have gotten into uni if he weren’t?

You chuckled, “Is there seriously nothing you can do on your own?” You question him airing your thoughts.

You’re sat in a corner, and Tom is a charmer, so naturally, his hand leans onto the wall, keeping you in your place, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt that suggests he’ll be sleeping in it tonight after he’s blacked out on his own bed, “Look, princess,” He almost spits, “Help me out, it’s the least you can do for me, after all, you’re the one making the money.”

and although, ALTHOUGH, you hate Thomas Stanley Holland with almost every single bone in your body...

you can’t help but feel a flutter in your stomach when he calls you princess.

You look him in the eye, almost slightly flustered, biting your lip, “Fine, I’ll teach you, just come by my dorm tomorrow at four and we can get started.”

“I have practi-” You cut Tom’s words off with the knife of your tongue.

“I don’t care what you have, if you won’t pass, there won’t be any practice at all. So I’d keep your mouth shut.” Tom takes note of your poisonous tone, nodding before he leaves you be in the exact same spot he found you in.

That night you went home with Katie, she was sloshed and drunk and could throw up all over you at any moment, but you were so tired. You wanted to hold her hair back, you so truely did, but you tied it up and let her be, despite her saying it was okay and to get some rest - you really did feel bad, and she should’ve taken her own advice.

The next day you didn’t have any classes, so you were determined to cram as much alone time in before Kate or Tom came to the dorm room. So you pretty much just sat on your ass all day, typing away at your computer and laughing at stupid YouTube videos in a pair of bike shorts and a baggy white t-shirt. You could see the black bralette you were wearing underneath it, but you weren’t expecting anyone so you depending on your memory to know when to change your clothes. But you didn’t think fast enough as there was a knock on your door. You walked over, expecting it to be Kate coming back from class or from getting Coffee with her girlfriend, but there’s almost so much luck for the world, and apparently, you didn’t get any at all.

“Thomas!” You shriek as you open the door wide, the dorm room was not far from a mess, but messy enough to say, “Sorry about the mess,” You invite him into the dorm room, hastily putting the blankets and pillows back into their places.

Tom walks into the familiar room, one he had been in many times and not for harmless fun. But to get his grades up. But there was a lot of things that you didn’t know about Tom Holland, a frat boy who’s life depends on the money he just so happens to have passed down to him. But Tom wasn’t the disgusting piece of crap you thought him out to be at all. The cheating? It was a rumour made by his piece of shit girlfriend, who just needed an excuse to dump him to get with her side-piece. But he was paraded for it by his friends, so he went a long with it - knowing that what was happening was so disgustingly gross and out of line. Tom to you was a bad guy, but in reality. He would be one of the nicest people you could ever know. Partially because of you.

To make it even clearer, Tom WAS that kind of guy, he’d been sleeping with everyone in sight before he got his girlfriend, to try and prove to you that he could hold a relationship, to prove to you that he was a good guy. He stopped the comments, convinced his friends to stop the comments as well. He was trying to be better because of you.

Tom tried not to look at how good you looked in your shorts and t-shirt, but his eyes couldn’t help following every inch of your body. He was trying his best, he really was. But he had to force his eyes away.

Finally after tiding up the place, slightly, you stood up properly and spoke, “Shall we get started?”

“Yes, we should.” Tom’s voice rang as you broke him out of whatever trance he was in before. He knew full well that he didn’t like you, but he didn’t know if that was him trying to convince himself, or if it was actually true - anymore at least.

You were sat down with Tom at the desk you had brought from IKEA not too long ago, you had a monitor and PC that sat in front of the two of you as you both worked on Tom’s History assignment. There was a sudden stop between the work-flow when you saw that Tom hadn’t been paying attention.

You looked at him as he looked at you, “Tom, pay fucking attention or there’s no way you’re going to pass and as much as I dislike you, I want you to do good.”

Guess being a nice person kills, huh? You can’t truely hate Tom, because there’s some mindset of yours unable to stop caring about Tom and how he does in school, because you feel bad for him.

Tom rolls his eyes, “Fine... what were you saying?” He tries to pay attention to you but you look way too good to be able to focus, so his eyes just stay on you and your voice drowns out.

You look at Tom who’s still looking at you rather than doing the work, “Tom,” Your voice shakes him out, as you shake him, your hand on his shoulder.

You yourself, didn’t realise how close the two of you were, but as your breath was on Tom’s face, and Tom’s breath was on yours. His hand moved up your thigh - and you let it. He moved closer and closer, his lips finally meeting yours as you kissed him back, the two of you stood up as you’re still kissing the air getting hotter and hotter.

Tom lifts your shirt over your head before pulling away for a minute, “Are you sure you wants this?” He questions you.

“Tom, if you keep talking, I’m going to change my mind.” You say before pressing your lips to his once more.

He unclips your bralette, his warm lips on yours, the winter’s air was nothing compared to what was happening in dorm 4B at this moment, his kisses moving down your neck to your chest, and your soft moans echo in your bedroom, nothing was stopping the two of you.

⏤

YOU AND TOM lay there, completely breathless.

‘What the fuck just happened?’ You asked yourself in shambles before standing up and getting yourself dressed.

“You need to leave,” You tell Tom as he sits up.

He chuckles, “Why?” He smiles coyly.

You roll your eyes at Tom, slipping your white shirt back over your head. You sigh heavily as you look back at him once more, “Tom, I can’t even fathom what happened here, right now.”

“We had sex, Y/N, there’s not much to unpack here.” He speaks softly, “Look, I get that you hate me or whatever,” He stands as he puts his sweatpants and jersey back on, “But I’ve never hated you.”

He grabs his shoes and slides them back on, before grabbing his backpack and leaving you to your own thoughts. That was the first time you’d ever heard him say something like that. That he never hated you. You had just assumed he did because of the way he acted towards you. You fell back onto your bed. 

You started to question your hatred for Tom, but you didn’t know how long it would take before your feelings would soon unpack, it was harder to do than expected. You thought it was black and white. But it’s a lot harder, way harder than you initially thought.

You heard the door open as Katie slammed the door behind her shut, checking in on you as her head popped into your room.

“Katie, I had sex with Tom Holland.” You spoke, almost afraid of the words that came out of your mouth.

S P R I N G

THE FLOWERS HAD STARTED TO BLOSSOM, you hadn’t talked to Tom since what happened in your room and you made every effort to ignore him or avoid him no matter how hard he tried.

What happened with him happened in January, it was now April. It had been four months, four months of just thinking. Debating with yourself and debating with your feelings. Tom didn’t make it easier to think about him either. He was trying to grab your attention so madly that it drove the two of you insane for each other.

Your phone didn’t stop pinging with text messages and emails and phone calls from the boy. It drove you mad. 

You store at your phone for longer than a minute while drinks were happening for a little girls night that Katie had planned, “Stop staring at your phone, Y/N,” Katie’s girlfriend spoke.

“Sorry,” You apologised softly, as Ciera laughed.

“Don’t apologise,” She sighed, “What’s happening for you right now is complicated, you had hate sex and you’re scared of commitment to the person you had hate sex with when he’s more than ready to commit to something you’re not.”

You whacked Ciera over their arm, “OW!” She shrieks.

“Sorry Ciera, but I’m not afraid of commitment.” You tell them, “I’m just afraid of committing to Tom himself,”

Katie walks into the kitchen, three glasses in her hand, “He’s a good person, y’know,” Katie sits down the glasses in front of you and Ciera.

“It’s true,” Ciera speaks, “He’s not as bad as you say he is,”

You end up rolling your eyes at both of their words, “I know, but I’ve just always seen him in the worst light there is, rude to teachers, to people, at parties he gets blackout drunk - always coming to me when he needs help, tries to form a friendship, forgets all about it the next day and comes running back to me again, so sorry if I’m a little on the fence.” You tell your best friends.

Ciera rubs your arm, looking at Katie, “We’re gonna leave you to cool off and think alright, we’ll be at the bar about five minutes away, we’ll see you soon.” Ciera and Katie sigh leaving you to your thoughts.

You walk over to the couch and turn on the TV, sitting down you look at the glass of drink in your hand, placing it down on the coffee table. Your dorms windows were open so you just looked at the night sky through them, it wasn’t cold nor hot. A little warm - you wished you could forget about all of the shit that was happening at the moment. But Tom wouldn’t leave you alone, he texted you asking you how you were doing, trying to grab your attention. You had to admit it, it was kind of sweet of him to text you once a day and ask. To call you to try to ask. He left a voicemail everyday too, and they were filled with nice messages for you to listen to. Just him talking about his day.

You thought of what you had said earlier, being scared to commit to Tom. You sighed as your head turned back to the TV, you felt something in you that you hadn’t felt before. A sense of urgency. You slipped on a pair of shoes and made your way to Tom’s Frat house.

It wasn’t late, so you just banged on the door. Out came Harrison Osterfield, Tom Hollands best friend - not to mention the fact that you also helped him pass a couple of his classes, he was Tom’s best friend and a good guy. He made an effort to say ‘Hey Y/N!’ in the Quad or if he sees you on your way to class.

Why couldn’t you like Harrison? you asked yourself as he met your eyes.

“Hey Haz,” You smile.

Haz chuckled, “Hello, Y/N, what can I do for you today?” 

“Do you by any chance know where Tom is?” You queried, “It’s kinda important? I dunno, but I have to talk to him.”

“Well, he’s upstairs in his room, third room on the right.” He said opening the large door a little more to let you inside.

You made your way into the large mansion (well, a really big house, but extra points for the spiral staircase in the middle of the house), the house looked different with nobody in it. There was lots of room to move around and you didn’t have to sit in one corner of the room. The floor was a pearled white marble, something you hadn’t actually seen before. You made your way up the large staircase and over to Tom’s room.

Before entering, you knocked on the door, when you walked in you saw something you didn’t want to see at all, “WHAT THE FUCK, TOM?” You almost screamed, as he looked up at you, fear in his eyes - he was obviously in bed with some blonde bitch.

“Y/N WAIT,” he hurries to put his pants on before running after you.

“NO TOM, I’M NOT WAITING FOR YOU, I CAME HERE TO BE MORE LIKE YOU’VE WANTED FOR THE PAST THREE MONTHS AND YOU’RE IN BED WITH SOMEONE ELSE, I WAS READY TO FACE MY FEARS AND JUMP INTO THE DEEP END.” You felt like you were on the verge of tears. He had done all this waiting for you, so you felt like you owe him some time, time to talk to explain himself, but it didn’t feel worth it.

Tom’s face goes red, “I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU, Y/N, SO DESPERATELY AND THE ONE TIME I ASK YOU TO WAIT YOU SAY NO-”

“YOU WERE IN BED WITH SOMEONE ELSE, THOMAS,” You groan frustrated, calming yourself down, “I was afraid to commit to you, Tom. I always saw you as some shitty person, but after seeing you wait for me taking your time. I’m still not ready but I thought, ‘Hey! that’s the beauty of something scary, you never know!’” you quote your thoughts, “BUT I GUESS I WAS RIGHT.”

You made your way out the door as Tom grabbed your arm, “Y/N,” His eyes looked into yours, they were clearly sorry - but you couldn’t buy it anymore, “I’m sorry.”

You knew he was, you could hear it in the voice crack, the tears that were now running down his face. He sniffled as he held your arm, knowing that he fucked up. Although you wanted to wait, you knew you should’ve made a move sooner. You had so much time and even going into the frat house today, you didn’t even know but you knew you’d never be ready for something like this without going into it head on.

Tom fucked up by not waiting when he told you was.

Although the two of you weren’t dating, it still hurt like a knife to the chest.

“Fucking, bullshit Tom.” You said it. Immediately regretting it when it came out of your mouth.

You stormed out of the house, Tom’s hot hand leaving your skin.

S U M M E R

YOU, KATIE AND CIERA are on the beach, you’d actually flown to another country to do so, Greece was lovely this time of year.

You store into the clear blue waters as Katie and Ciera swam their lives away staying next to each other. To say the least, you were quite jealous of them. Not just because any chance at a relationship with Tom had flown out the window. You were shattered at the thought. The girls thought a nice getaway would do you good, better than Tom could ever. But they were wrong.

Now that you and Tom weren’t going to be together, you wanted him more than you could’ve wanted him before. You stood up, your toes in the sand as you called out to your friends.

“Guys! I’m gonna go for a little walk around, I’ll catch you guys back here in a little bit,” They both nodded, not giving a second thought before you walked away. This was more of an excuse to get away together and have you be the third wheel.

You walked through the streets looking around at boutiques and stores that line the streets. You walked into a few and ran your hand over the racks. You didn’t buy anything. But the thought was nice, as you walked however, you saw a familiar face standing in an Ice-Cream shop.

“Haz?” You asked as he turned to you with a smile.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, “Hey, Y/N!”

After you and Tom had the argument, you had been avoiding Tom at all costs, you hadn’t however been ignoring the other guys, and the other guys told Tom how you were doing. You would smile and talked to his friends and the second he should show up, you leave Tom in the dust and in the dark.

“So who are you here with?” You questioned Haz.

His smile falters but he catches it, “Just the boys, you know, Tuwaine, Harrison...” he trails off for a moment, “Tom.”

You sigh, “Well, I hope you guys are having a good time, I better get going, Katie and Ciera are waiting at the Hotel for me.”

Harrison groans playfully, “How about you text your friends and come hang out with us?” He smiles, charming.

“What about Tom?” You questioned.

Harrison sighs looking at you softly, “You and Tom need to talk, wether it’s under the influence, or wether it’s sober. You and him need to talk - he’s completely crushed. He has been for four months, you guys haven’t talked in four months, even before that you barely talked.”

“Look, Haz, Tom and I slept together and he pined for me and then I got him in bed with some blonde bitch and the rest is now.” You glared at Haz for even trying, but he was right - the two of you needed to talk. It wasn’t debatable anymore, you let out a heavy sigh, “But, I’ll go, you’re right.”

“Okay,” Harrison smiles, “If you want Ciera and Katie to come, they can.”

“Trust me, they’re probably very busy.” You laugh and wink as he leads you back to where the boys were partying for the night. It came quicker than it left, one minute you were on the beach, the next it was dark and you were at a bon fire, where there were only five partygoers, you and four boys.

“HARRY!!!” you hear three voices chime loudly, as you walk out Haz those cheers stop.

“H-Hey, Y/N,” Tom speaks nervously.

“Hey Tom.”

A few moments later, is what it feels like, after you’ve drunk a few drinks, you’re laughing with Tom, smiling with Tom, getting feely with. Tom. You were telling so many stories about your life during uni, during high-school and embarrassing ones at that. They traded theirs and you traded yours. It was turning out to be a fun time, and then Haz, Harrison and Tuwaine all turned in. You watched as the fire burnt in front of you and Tom, the yellow and orange flame.

You weren’t totally sloshed and neither was Tom, maybe just a little tipsy, a little more relaxed, “Tom, I’m sorry,” You spoke, “What happened between us all those nights ago - It just really hurt, Tom.”

“I can’t keep telling you how sorry I am, I fucked up,” He sighs.

You sigh, “We both fucked up, Tom. I should’ve told you how I was feeling and I shouldn’t have made you wait for me.”

“And I shouldn’t have fucked someone else,”

“You had every right to-”

“NO I DIDN’T.” He raises his voice, “I shouldn’t have slept with someone else, because I am so in love with you.”

You couldn’t believe what he had told you, “Tom I-”

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I just- I needed you to know,” He stands, walking away before you can say anything else.

A U T U M N

ALTHOUGH YOU KNEW HOW TOM FELT ABOUT YOU, you still decided to hangout with him, be friends. Figure out what you wanted to do about it. Do about your feelings for him. You felt like you were leading him on but every time you asked him about it, he assured you differently. He was okay with being friends, but you’ll always know he’ll want more.

You and Tom walked through campus, the leaves that blossomed now orange and yellow, falling from the sky - crunching under your feet, a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands. You had a warm navy winter coat over your figure. Tom linked his arm with yours.

“I’ve got class,” He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket with a reminder telling him about his class.

You smile pulling him closer, “I’ll see you later then,” He hugs you and you tighten it, not wanting to let go of him, but reluctantly doing so. You watch as he walks away, Katie walking up behind you with her own cup of Coffee.

“Where’s he going?” Katie asks you and you look over at her.

“Class.” The word comes out of your mouth, almost as if you’re sad to watch him walk away. That’s because you were sad to watch him walk away.

Katie chuckles, “Let’s get back to the dorm, Ciera bought donuts!” She jumps, excited to go back.

“What kind?” You question your best friend.

She freezes, “Well she’s my girlfriend so,”

“That means that she was clearly thinking of you, so I take it they bought-”

“Jam!” Katie smiles, as the two of you walk, she skips.

This is what you wanted with Tom. You wanted him to buy you donuts and for you to get excited when he doesn’t even ask what type you want - you wanted him to just surprise you with the smallest things. Remember the smallest details. But you had missed it all, every morning, Tom brought you a coffee as the two of you headed to the only class the two of you had together, that he hadn’t asked you for your order at all, or your birthday earlier that month, he brought you your favourite soft drink, even though he hadn’t asked you what it was. Not to mention he wrapped your gift in your favourite colour. But you were so blindsided to all of that. You weren’t seeing it at all.

You got back to your dorm and left Katie and Ciera to watch TV on the couch when you headed into your room. You sat on your bed, as you looked at the shelf that sat across from it, Tom’s present sat perfectly on it. It wasn’t much, it was just a Viynl of your favourite TV Character, he had told you he wanted to get you something else - but they didn’t have it in stock anywhere. To which you assured him it was okay. You sighed at you just looked at it; store at it. Almost a minute had passed - what seemed like the longest minute of your life. So many thoughts had travelled through your head. So many questions.

All of them unanswered.

All, except for one. This question had been everything since the night you and Tom slept together for the first and only time, but looking at the present. Thinking about the late night studies or when the two of you recently developed the stupid habit of meeting in the library when the two of you couldn’t sleep, or just going on walks around the campus - laughing with each other. You were so afraid. But you were stupid for being so afriad. Tom had been a better friend than anyone could have ever been (except for Katie and Ciera of course), you and Tom had a connection that was irreplaceable. Somewhat unbreakable. It’s hard to think that you hated him. hard to think that you found him unbearable. But it was also hard to think that you could avoid him. Ignore him. Stop being friends with him.

But you just ended up together in the end anyway.

So what was the point? What was the point running from something that was always going to catch upto you anyway?

⏤

NIGHT FELL ON THE CAMPUS, you weren’t exactly sure what you were doing but it felt like the night you caught Tom in bed with that girl all over again. But this time you knew you wouldn’t. Because Tom assured you he wouldn’t. Not till you told him no. So you took his absolute word for it.

You looked at the large doors of the Frat House that sat in front of you, knocking violently, waiting for someone to open the door - It was Haz, and although you didn’t say anything. He knew what you were going to do. So he shut the door, and you took a step back composing yourself, readying yourself for what you were about to do and you could never be truely ready, but you had to trust your gut on this one.

You weren’t on the doorstep anymore, you were on the ground, in front of the stairs that lead to the House as Tom walked outside. You weren’t wearing anything special. You were wearing your bike shorts and a white shirt. You were wearing white runners and ankle-high socks. Your hair the same as it always was. You looked at the boy and his curls with a smile.

He knew what was coming - but he let you speak, “Tom, for a long time. I was scared. So fucking scared that I pushed you away. If I’m going to be completely one-hundred percent honest with you, I’ve had feelings for you from the start. But I let my thoughts get the better of me. I let myself think you were some douchebag, when in reality - you’re the exact opposite. You’re the kindest, sweetest, most caring person in the world. God, this is so cliché.” You chuckles as he laughs along with you, however, you start to tear up a little, overcome with emotions, “I always thought I was incapable of finding someone to love, someone who would love me the same way that Ciera and Katie love each other or the same way that Patrick Verona and Julia Stiles love each other.”

Tom smiles at the last reference - you had forced him to watch 10 Things I Hate About You on one of those lonely nights the two of you spent unable to sleep and you told him you cried so much at the movie - he assured you he wouldn’t. But he failed.

“Look Tom, what I’m trying to say is that-” You stop yourself for a moment. It takes everything in your body to finally spit it out. Say what you’ve been wanting to say and when you do. It feels so good.

“I... Love.. You.” You said it.

Tom bolts over to you, pressing his lips to yours it’s more desperate and hungry something that reminded you of the first night the two of you kissed. But it was just as magical, just like every single kiss to come, just like every single peck on the cheek. Every single laugh. Every single smile, hug, handhold. Every single night where the two of you will just lay next to each other. The movie nights, the dates.

All of it.

Because every single time it does. Every single time any of those happens.

You somehow manage to fall in love with him all over again.

[troubatrain]

sober - m. barzal (pt. six)

a/n: so after the hell week we all survived in the good ol’ USA my brain finally decided to let me actually write. tbh i wrote this about four times before i forced myself to just finish it and stop tweaking it.

Five

Mat’s kitchen looked like a tornado had run through it. The usually pristine, absolutely untouched kitchen of the young bachelor was getting more use in the twenty minutes Mat had been awake than it ever had. Truthfully, Mat wasn’t a morning person. Mat slept like a rock, and he thought there was nothing besides the fear of his coach that could get him up earlier than noon, but he was wrong. You had him up before eight, hoping if he could beat you to waking up you wouldn’t have a chance to sneak out on him. He did, opening his eyes to catch you snoring softly beside him. He laid there for a moment, his eyes on you because he almost in disbelief you actually stayed. It was a moment of peace, the complete opposite of the mess you’d both gotten yourselves into. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t debating how he was going to get someone to leave, he was figuring out how he was going to get you to stay.

Mat was an absolute whore, and he didn’t care one bit. Why should he? He was young, he was at the top of his game, and his ego got a little bigger everyday. He was just as guilty as you were when it came to his lack of commitment. Mat had never been able to be a good boyfriend, no matter how hard he tried - so he just stopped trying. His schedule wasn’t made for dating, and he never wanted to put the work in. You were different. Something clicked in Mat when he realized how enraged his body felt hearing DeAngelo talk about you the way he did. He was going to let it go, and in hindsight maybe he should have, but he didn’t want to. That protective feeling took over his body because it was too strong for him to shove back down before it got out.

Mat would have told you he loved you after that game, because he does, but he knew he was playing a dangerous game. The reality of what would happen if this was real scared him, but not nearly as much as he knew it had to scare you. You had something to lose, a life that Mat just wouldn’t be apart of. Mat wasn’t in a position to ask you to give that up, especially for someone who you weren’t even dating. Mat knew if he moved too quickly you’d get spooked and run away without giving Mat a second thought. He’d disappear from your memory like everyone before him.

Mat’s thoughts were broken by the sound of your feet padding into his kitchen, your arms wrapping around his waist while you pressed a kiss to his back, “Hi pretty girl.”

This was uncharted territory, the morning after. You’d always been an expert, leaving yourself enough time to sneak out and leave before anyone would notice you were gone. That kept your heart safe, free from the feelings that were present in this very moment. You couldn’t have left last night, slipping out of Mat’s bed and into a cab in the middle of the night, but something stopped you, “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

“I thought I’d try to make you breakfast,” Mat admits, a smile on his face while he turned off the stove, eggs forgotten to look at you, “I’ll get better at it, I promise, breakfast can be my thing.”

“Your thing?” You muse, letting Mat gently push you onto the island, standing between your legs.

“Yeah, when we fall in love or whatever, I’ll make breakfast,” Mat chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“You’ve lost your damn mind Barz,” You sigh, leaning your head on Mat’s shoulder while you savored the last few moments of peace you were feeling. You were going to have leave his place, off to a four game road trip where Mat was free to fuck whoever he wanted.

Mat’s finger was gently gliding over your face, “If I’m crazy it’s because you made me crazy.”

“You were insane before I met you,” You defend not daring to open your eyes and meet Mat’s gaze, “And now you’re just annoying.”

“I don’t remember being annoying when you were begging me to fuck you last night,” Mat counters back, hands moving to your bare thighs, the warmth from his hands was a stark contrast from the cool counter, “If I’m correct it sounded something like Mat please.”

“Don’t push your luck Mat,” You threaten, his impersonation of you from the night before stopping almost immediately.

“Would I push it if I asked you to stay until my flight later?” Mat asks, eyes full of hope while he tries to hang onto the moment just a little bit longer.

“If you never talk about it again,” You nod, deciding that the damage was already done. You were so far gone a few more hours couldn’t hurt you anymore.

“We can talk about how fucking good you look in orange and blue though,” Mat teases, a grin on his face. You furrow your eyebrows, looking down and realizing just what shirt he had given you the night before. A bright white number thirteen in the corner, with an Islanders logo present on the front.

“Mat if you don’t take this off of me right this second.”

“You never have to ask me twice to take off your shirt babe.”

***

You leaned your head against the window of the private jet that definitely cost more for one flight than your entire salary, taking a deep breath and a break from the laundry list of emails you were due to answer. You were flying to St. Louis for the All Star Game, your plans of a week long vacation somewhere warm with some of the team and their significant others thrown out the door the second Chris stepped in for Panarin last minute. Not even two minutes later, Charlotte strutted over to your desk to tell you that without a need for someone to translate for Artemi, you were the new kid and that meant you had to suffer through the weekend while everyone else took their vacations. 

“At least pretend to be excited,” Chris mutters next to you, taking a break from his own reading and elbowing you in the side.

“It’s hard to be excited when everyone’s on a beach and we’re flying to Missouri in January,” You snark back, pulling your glasses off your face and rubbing your eyes.

“You either need to start sleeping or stop hanging out with that secret boyfriend of yours,” Chris jokes, but it struck a nerve with you.

Mat wasn’t your boyfriend. Mat. Wasn’t. Your. Boyfriend. He didn’t get to have all of you, because he didn’t deserve it - no man does. Nothing about the very small amount of vulnerability that he got to see after that game meant anything. You left that morning and he went on a four game road trip and the world spun on. You could stop whenever you wanted to, move on with some other dumb boy who didn’t care more about you in clothes than without. But did you want to? That was a debate you’d been having with yourself for days.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You grumble, gritting through your teeth. Technically, it wasn’t a total lie.

“So you are seeing someone!” Chris points out, as if your deliberate words were going to make it past him. Chris held most of the intelligence on the entire Rangers roster, and there was nothing that he didn’t pick up, “So, What's the deal? He doesn’t want anyone to know about you or you don’t want anyone to know about him.”

“It’s mutual,” You hum, sipping the coffee that had gone cold.

“Are you a sugar baby?” Chris questions, a cautious tone to his voice, “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it or anything-”

“No I haven’t found a sugar daddy,” You roll your eyes, waiving Chris and sparing him the lecture that there’s nothing wrong with the idea at all, “We’re just in a limbo.”

“For what it’s worth,” Chris says, taking a deep breath before he finished his thought, “You seem happy, you haven’t snapped on Tony in almost a week.”

“Thanks Chris,” You laugh softly, popping a headphone back into your ear so you could finish up some work.

***

Mat was in absolute disbelief the moment he saw you step into the hotel lobby. You weren’t supposed to be in St. Louis, you were supposed to be on some island in a bikini making him wish he wasn’t good enough to be selected for the All Star game at all. Mat scratched his head for an answer as to why you didn’t mention the change of plans, but then the thing that he spent his entire roadie before he left for St. Louis entered his brain at full speed.

You’re not her boyfriend.

Mat owed you nothing, and you didn’t have to tell him anything you didn’t want to. Mat honestly knew about four things about you and all of them related to your job. He was dying to know everything, even the stuff that didn’t matter that much. Hell, Mat would’ve killed to see the inside of your apartment at this point. He just needed one thing, one thing that he could hold onto that you showed him that no one else got to see. He was sure he’d find it, especially after he finally got you to stay at his place, but now he was starting to think maybe he’d never crack you.

You were going to just avoid Mat like the plague. The hotel was swamped with players, their families, and any staff that had tagged along for the weekend. The city was still buzzing from last season’s Stanley Cup win and there was not a chance Mat wasn’t going to be busy all weekend, because Mat Barzal was an amazing hockey player. You hated to be reminded of it, because if you could have Mat feed you stupid compliments and never remind you of his job you’d be happy forever.

hotel sex is on the table

and you look fucking hot today

You roll your eyes, checking your phone while you were standing in line to check in. You look around the room, trying not to draw any attention to Mat who was giving you a shit eating grin from across the lobby. He looked good, a white button up tucked into suit pants that were doing his ass justice. You look at Chris, who was too engrossed in his own phone to even look back at you.

pretend like i don’t exist right now and we’ll talk

wanna play a game?

that didn’t go well for you last time Barzy

if i beat your buddy kreids tomorrow night you give me one night

you won’t

is that a yes?

fine

You turn around, giving Mat one last death stare to remind him you weren’t kidding on your plea to pretend you didn’t exist. Your job was important to you because you weren’t Mat. You weren’t going to get paid millions of dollars to play and then retire with a pretty penny in your pocket. You worked, and the stress of losing your job would definitely break you. Charlotte instilled fear in you like no other boss you ever had could, and if you got caught messing around with someone who played for another team while you were working she’d probably just fire you on the spot. Not to mention the heartbroken faces of your chosen family. Mat somehow existed in both a different and the same world as you. He understood your work life because it was so close to his, but he had his own work family and you had yours. No matter what, there would always be some sort of weird divide caused by that stupid rivalry. For now, it was just going to have to be something you’d worry about later.

***

You turned in the mirror of your hotel room, the lacy black lingerie set fit your body like a glove, and you were impressed with Mat’s taste given all he ever wore was sweatpants. You look in the corner of the room, the last piece of his little gift sitting in the box. Mat dropped it off earlier, a note on top telling you that when he inevitably smokes Chris in the faster skater competition he had something in mind. You weren’t surprised by his confidence, but you were surprised by the gift itself. Folded neatly in the box wasn’t just the lingerie, a bright blue and orange jersey was right underneath it, a shiny white number thirteen stitched into the back. You knew you didn’t have to wear it, because Mat wasn’t going to force you to do anything, but you were wet at just the thought of how animalistic Mat would probably get. You tossed on the jersey, throwing an even bigger sweatshirt and sweats over it before you snuck up to Mat’s floor- hoping Chris wouldn’t catch you leaving from the room across the hall.

You pull out the room key Mat gave you, sneaking into the door and locking it shut behind you. You slipped off your sweats, leaving you in nothing but the jersey and your panties.

“Fuck,” Mat dropped his phone from his hand the second you came into his view, “I didn’t think you’d wear it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” You muse, your confidence boosting while you strutted over to Mat. He had that effect on you, the ability to always make you feel like the sexiest woman in the world - even if you didn’t feel like were, “But then you beat McDavid.”

Mat pulled you between his legs while he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands toying with the jersey while he let the fabric slip through his fingers, “You look so fucking good in my jersey baby.”

“I’m proud of you Mat,” You purr into his ear, playing into Mat’s ego just a little bit. You were proud of him, and for the first time you wanted him to know. You pressed a kiss against his jaw, feeling his own breath hitch in his throat, “Can I show you?”

“Keep that jersey on and you can do whatever you want to me,” Mat admits, slipping his hand under the jersey and tapping your ass lightly.

“I’ll keep it on,” You giggle, pushing Mat on his back and getting to work. Your lips kissed down his chest with every button of his dress shirt you got undone, tossing it in the corner to be forgotten about until later. You unhooked his belt, leaving open mouth kisses just above his pants. You slid off his dress pants slowly, taking his boxers with them to let his cock spring free. Mat groaned at the sight, gathering your hair to pull it back for you.

“Wait,” Mat stops you, holding your hair back to stop you from putting your mouth on him. His finger traced your cheek, a look on his face you couldn’t quite read, “I just want to remember this, you look so beautiful right now.”

You could feel the heat rush your cheeks, Mat had called you to dozens of things but never once did the word beautiful ever slip through his lips, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to blow you.”

“No, baby, I mean it- fuck,” Mat groans, this thoughts halted by your mouth on his cock. His hips snapped up, hitting the back of your throat, “You’re so fucking good princess.”

You moan, hollowing your cheeks and gripping Mat’s thighs a little tighter, giving him the show you so desperately wanted. You head bobbed in a perfect rhythm, taking as much of Mat as your body could handle. Mat pushes your head back, taking a look at the line of spit that was still connected to his dick, your eyes were glassy and your throat was sore but Mat would keep you like that forever if he could, “Let me finish.”

“I’m in charge tonight,” Mat reminds you, the tone in his voice sent a chill up your spine. You knew Mat was rough, and a little demanding but he never crossed that line with you, “On your knees.”

“Like this?” You tease, sitting up on your knees to rile him up just a little bit more.

“More like this princess,” Mat stands behind you, gently pushing you down so your ass was in the air. He was quiet, bunching up his jersey so he could get a full view of the lingerie he went out and bought just for you, “Be good or I won’t let you cum pretty girl.”

Mat’s threat with a light smack to your ass, a moan escaping your lips. He slipped the black lace panties to the side, gliding one of his fingers against your folds while he pressed a kiss to your skin, “So wet for me already.”

“Only for you Mat,” The words tumbled out of your mouth, your eyes widening at your own confession.

Mat was thankful he was behind you, because if you saw the way his gaze changed from your words he’d never live it down. You looked so perfect, spread just for him. His jersey. His number. And in his own fantasy: his girl. He snapped himself back into reality, sliding into your pussy that was practically dripping in anticipation.

“Faster, fuck Mat please,” You whimpered out, trying to move yourself to get Mat to pick up the pace. He chuckled darkly, hips snapping back and forth until the only sound in the room was the string of curses leaving your mouth, “I’m close-”

Mat flipped you over before you could finish, his hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him, “Tell me this pussy is mine.”

“Fuck I’m yours Mat,” You breath out, locking your eyes with his while it felt like time froze around you, “I’m yours.”

“Look at me when you cum baby,” Mat urges, his hand still gripping your chin. He picked up his place, making use of his other hand around your clit, “C’mon princess just for me.”

Your pussy fluttered around him, Mat letting out a groan while he tried to hold onto this moment for just a bit longer. He looked down at you, catching your breath from your own high. You hand snuck down to his cock, pumping it slowly, “Cum on me.”

Mat nods, letting you work on his dick with your hands while he nibbled at your neck. He was going to mark you up, make you remember who you belonged to because he so desperately wanted it to be him. He spilled onto your pussy, head pressed into your neck while he came down from his own high. You both laid there for a moment, your hand gently stroking Mat’s back while you both took a moment to think about what just happened. Mat was possessive in a way he’d never been before, and you ate it up without a second thought - that had to mean something right?

“I need to get back to my room,” you whisper, afraid to break the comfortable silence.

“I know,” Mat nods, finally picking his head up, “Keep the jersey, you might need it one day.”

“Your stupidity is honestly astounding,” You joke, brushing his hair out of his face while Mat’s face turned into a pout.

“Can I take you on a date?” Mat breathes out, hoping he wasn’t reading this the wrong way, “No games, no funny business, let me take you out.”

Say no. Say no and never call him again.

“One date,” You agree against your better judgement, pushing Mat away and looking around the room to find your sweats that you snuck into his room in, “Better make it a good one.”

Mat smiles, teeth on full display while he watched you slide your pants back on, “I’m the best at everything Y/N don’t forget that.”

“Goodnight Barz,” You tease, giving him one more look before you left his room.

The elevator ride down was quiet, most of the hotel’s occupants already asleep or still out partying the weekend away. For your sake, you hoped Chris would be fast asleep like the grandpa he was. You rushed down the hallway, Mat’s jersey still hanging loosely off your frame while you looked in your hand for your room key. Your search was stopped by a throat clearing behind you. You jump, turning around to see Chris’s eyes boring into you.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 9 - A Deal is Made

When Stan ran off, to Ford’s relief – he didn’t think he could handle any more of Bill’s cruelty towards his little brother – the demon didn’t chase after him. After his little display Bill turned to Ford with a wide, unnatural grin and lifted his arms like an actor bowing after a particularly brilliant performance.

“I do a wonderful Stanford impression, don’t I? It’s pretty easy. You’re like a broken record, Sixer, all repetitive and annoying. ‘My science project, my science project!’ But I really think I spiced it up a bit while still staying in character!”

Ford stabbed a finger at the demon wearing his skin. “You – how dare you?”

Bill merely shrugged and rifled through Ford’s pockets, letting out a little ‘ah’ of triumph when he pulled out a pocket knife. “Hah! I didn’t take you for the stabbing type.”

“It’s for self defense!” Ford fumed.

“Sure, sure, don’t wanna get eaten alive by monsters, excuses excuses.” Bill stepped back, sizing up a nearby tree. “I was looking for rope but this will work too.”

“Wait, what are you-”

Bill placed one hand against the tree’s bark and slammed the pocket knife into it, cutting through skin and flesh to bury the knife into hard wood. Ford hissed.

“That should do it!” Bill said cheerfully, watching blood drip down Ford’s wrist. “That looks like it’s gonna be a gusher, Sixer. I wouldn’t take the knife out if I were you. You never know, maybe you’ll bleed to death!”

Ford very deliberately kept his mouth shut about the placement of arteries in the human body. What Bill didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. And getting stabbed through the hand couldn’t hurt that much, could it?

He soon found out, once Bill zipped away and he lunged back into his own body, that it did indeed hurt. Ford bit down a scream and fought to keep his hand still. Every twitch and tremor sent pain racing down his arm and he was very aware of the metal piercing through his hand, sharp edge rubbing up against skin and muscle and nerves.

Ford grabbed the handle of the pocket knife with his free hand (pain pain pain) and wrenched it out. This time he couldn’t smother the scream that bubbled from his lips. He dropped the bloody knife and clutched at his bleeding hand.

Calm. Calm down. He couldn’t help anyone if he was panicking.

Ford fumbled around in his pockets until he found a handkerchief, wrapping it around the seeping wound and tying it tight with his teeth. It wasn’t a long-term solution but it would stop dirt getting under the skin, and hopefully slow the bloodflow. Though the fabric was already getting stained with red.

Move. He didn’t have time to waste, Bill could have caught up to Stan already. Who knew what the demon would do? Ford took off through the trees in the direction he had seen Stan run, every step sending a flash of burning pain up his arm.

By the time he caught up with his brother he was lightheaded, a yellow triangle swimming in his vision – Stan looked so small, so confused in the demon’s shadow. Ford would not fail his brother again.

“STAN!”

 _______________________________________________________________

Ford was here. Stan’s gaze snapped up at his brother’s shout, the traitorous part of him whispering, ‘apologize, make him like you again’. He clenched his fists as Ford staggered into sight, looking kinda pale.

“Stan-” Ford caught a tree and clung to it as he struggled to regain his breath. He looked shaky, and Stan ached to go over and make sure he was alright. He took a few steps past the demon despite himself. “Stanley – listen to me, whatever Bill is telling you, it’s a lie-”

“Well well well well well!”

Stan was treated to the lovely sight of the skin on Bill’s back peeling open to reveal an eyeball, his body contorting and turning inside out until he was staring right at Ford with that neon yellow gaze.

“Just when I thought I’d taken care of you.”

Stan hesitated, the word striking a chord. “…taken care of? What does that mean?”

Bill drifted forward, placing himself in front of Stan but Ford looked right past the triangle, staring at Stan with desperation in his gaze. It made Stan’s stomach twist, made him feel guilty and angry and so very confused. He wrapped his arms around himself and backed away, Ford reaching after him.

“Stanley please. I’m sorry – I was stupid and cruel and I treated you badly because I was angry, but you didn’t deserve it. I saw what Bill said to you in my body and it’s not true, Stan, none of it’s true-”

“Shut up!” Stan stabbed a finger in Ford’s direction, glaring at him through tears. Ford didn’t even look scary anymore – just afraid, and that was the scariest thing. Adult Ford was supposed to be big and determined, he wasn’t supposed to be afraid. “Just – just shut up! I don’t even know what you’re saying!”

“Exactly!” Bill’s cheerful tone reverberated through the trees, making Stan shiver despite himself. “The man’s speaking nonsense, don’t listen to him.”

Stan wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t totally stupid either. He could see the ‘shut up’ glare the demon sent his brother. Bill was trying to be his friend, why was he hiding something from him?

Ford pushed himself off the tree to stand by himself, gaze still fixed on Stan. “The eyes, Stanley! What colour were my eyes, when I was saying those terrible things to you?”

“I dunno!” Stan yelled back.

What kind of stupid question was that? Stan didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about how he was a dead weight and a nuisance and how Ford was better off without him. But something – something about that encounter seemed off…

“Answer me, Stanley!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What colour were my eyes?”

“Yellow!”

Wait.

Yellow?

“Please believe me.” Ford stepped closer, holding his hands out desperately. “Bill took over my body and he made me hurt you, more than I already have. He’s evil, he’s trying to take advantage of you and trick you into doing terrible things. And – I know you have no reason to believe me. I know I’ve treated you badly, since you arrive at Gravity Falls and before that. But please.”

Stan twisted his hands, anxiety swirling in his stomach and making him want to barf. He glanced up at the fuming demon.

“You’re all-powerful, right?”

“Stanley no-”

Bill’s body flashed lemon-yellow, his eye curling into a grin as he spun around to face Stan. “Sure I am kid! I can get you anything you want.”

“…anything I ask for? Anything at all?”

“You bet!”

“Stanley! He’s trying to trick you, he’s evil-”

“Oh shut it, Sixer!” Bill snapped his fingers and Ford’s body lurched sideways, sending him slamming into a tree with a yelp. He slumped to the grass. Stan dug his fingers into his palms. “See, kid? When you open the portal I’ll be even more powerful! Enough to give you anything you want.”

Stan looked between the prone body of his brother and the demon, and he made his decision. His hand reached out to snatch Bill’s.

“It’s a deal.”

Blue flames erupted across their joined hands, flicking over Stan’s skin but not burning, warm and tickly. Bill’s eye creased up in a grin.

“I knew you were the smart one! Now come on, name your price! Anything you want is yours, once you open the portal for me.”

Stan frowned, staring at their joined hands. The fire was the least weird thing about these last few days – it blazed warm and blue, spitting sparks every which way. Hypnotizing, almost. It was so much power – not his, of course – but flaming at his fingertips. He wanted it.

Bill released his hand, letting Stan’s drop down by his side. Stan stuffed them in his pockets, feeling the tingle of residual warmth against his skin.

“Well? I don’t have all day!” Bill heaved a sigh, folding his little stick arms. Stan’s mouth tasted sour. “What’s your price? A galaxy all of your own, right? Or a billion dollars?”

“…I want a hug.”

Silence reined in the clearing.

“Are you kidding me?” Bill’s eye hung open in disbelief. “I’m offering you your own galaxy and all you want is a flipping hug?”

Stan nodded. “Yep. And like you said, you gotta give it to me.” He opened his arms. “I want my hug now.”

Bill sighed in frustration. “I’m incorporeal, kid, I can’t give hugs. Why would I even want to touch a fleshbag like you in the first place?”

Stan put his hands on his hips. “You’re just gonna have to be corp-or-real. I know you can, you can touch and move things around! You gotta do the deal or the whole thing’s off, remember?” He scowled. “If I don’t get my hug you can’t use me to open the portal.”

“Ugh.” Bill’s form shimmered, becoming a little more corporeal – enough, at least, to interact with the physical world. The triangle’s ‘face’ screwed up. “Gross. Let’s get this over with already.”

He extended his stick-arms out with a grimace, and Stan flew in to hug him, wrapping tiny arms around the triangular body and squeezing tight. Bill let out a disgusted noise and patted his back awkwardly.

“There. There’s your hug.”

Stan pulled back enough to grin at him. “You give shit hugs.” Then he jammed the magic capsule into Bill’s huge eye.

 The triangle-

 Screamed.

 There was an explosion of light and colour and searing heat that scorched across his face and Stan was flying back, breath knocked out of his lungs. He slammed into something and that something wrapped its arms around him and swung him away from the blast, shielding him with its body.

 When Stan’s ears stopped ringing and the spots faded from his vision, the sight that met his eyes made him freeze.

 Bill was dripping, fizzling like a dying candle, his eye seeping down his figure and body glitching red in places, showing glimpses of scarlet-colored bricks and bits of muscle and scenes played in sepia like they were being shown on an old TV. The demon lurched towards them, fingers curled into half-melted claws and body pulsing with its deep, distorted voice like an earthquake.

 “STANLEY-”

  There was the pop of a rifle being discharged and a hole blew open Bill’s body. Something crackled like broken glass, and then the demon

shattered.

[kafka-ish]

stanley’s sister has got it going on | r.t.

richie’s got a crush and he’s got it bad. the only thing that’s keeping him from the girl he’s been chasing is his best friend—her brother.

word count: 4,665

warnings/included: nsfw (not explicit), fluff, swearing, fem!reader

a/n: as i was rereading this i realized that this is the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written??? (so far). in comparison to other works it’s probably vv vanilla so pls bear with me

-

In the defense of Richie Tozier, it wasn’t his fault he ended up catching feelings for Stanley Uris’s little sister. There were a lot of things he couldn’t control. Like when his mouth opened and out came a poorly done impression of his chemistry teacher. (Which just so happened to have been done as Mr. Ford was standing behind the boy). 

Richie may as well just start a list of things he can’t help, marking y/n Uris down as number thirty-three. 

“Hey, Richie!” Well, well, well, if it wasn’t the person Richie had been most desperately trying to avoid. “Are you going to Stan’s tonight?” y/n asked. She was standing outside of his car door while he was in the driver’s seat, flicking through the radio stations, trying to find a good song for the ride home. 

Upon hearing the voice, Richie stopped fidgeting with the knob. It was honestly hopeless trying to find a good song at this point. None of the good stuff comes on until later. He turned his head to meet eyes with the accompanying voice from outside his car.

Bad idea. 

Of course, y/n chose to wear a tank top and the shortest skirt possible that day. Hell, any day he’d find his thoughts lost in her. Whether she was wearing a bikini at the quarry or in an oversized t-shirt and checkered pajama pants. 

“Earth to Richie?” y/n laughed. She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to capture his attention. Little did she know, that wasn’t necessary. 

“Actually, I was thinking about being a no-show today. I’ve been neglecting my training.” 

“Oh! You train? Which gym?” She was grinning wide and her gaze burned a hole through his heart. 

“The arcade. I gotta keep my skills fresh if I ever wanna keep that high score.” y/n rolled her eyes, but his comment still made her laugh. 

“Well, can you take me home? Once you drop me off I promise you can have all the time in the world to work on your skills.” Emphasis on ‘skills’. 

“Promise, eh?” Richie repeated, giving the girl a hard time. “Did Stan forget how to drive?” 

“No…” The ‘o’ part was drawn out. “He has his bird watching club today and I don’t feel like sitting in the sun for an hour while I wait for him.” 

Richie smiled to himself, thinking for a moment. On one hand, he shouldn’t be alone with the sister of one of his best friends’, as he had different intentions. On the other hand, he couldn’t just leave his best friend’s sister hanging like that. In hindsight, he had come to the conclusion that there was a possibility of Stan getting mad at him either way. 

Taking Stan’s sister home it was. 

“What are you waiting for, y/n/n, get in.” Richie finally made his decision. 

y/n cheered happily, thanking him, as she rounded his car and opened the door to the passenger’s seat. 

“You have no idea how happy this makes me!” y/n smiled, her expression reaching ear to ear. 

“Oh yeah. I bet you’re over the moon about getting a ride from your brother’s best friend in some beat up chevy.” Richie tried his best to distance himself. He really did. But he couldn’t help but notice y/n’s figure in the tight-fitting clothes, especially when she sat in such a close proximity to him. 

“I don’t think you get it, Tozier.” y/n hummed as she started turning the knob on the dash, finally settling on some rock station. She lowered the volume so they could still talk without yelling over the atmosphere. “We never hang out.” 

“We’re hangin’ out right now,” Richie argued, daring to look away from the road for one millisecond just so he could steal a glance at her. 

“Yeah, but… You hang out with Bill, Eddie, and Stan, and stuff.” She sounded disappointed. 

“I guess it’s different with them.” Richie shrugged. It was different with them. Bill, Eddie, Stan, Ben, and Beverly even, had their group together. They had the same classes together. They faced off a killer clown together. 

“I get that you guys have your own friend group and stuff.” y/n said quickly, not wanting to sound lonely or weird from her previous statement. “But we’re friends. Aren’t we?” She said this with an unsureness in her voice that Richie didn’t know how to reply to. 

I should’ve just left her at school. What’s so bad about waiting in the sun while Stan’s off watching some stupid birds? I guess it is kind of hot out. But a little heat won’t hurt anyone, right? Besides, she’s wearing a tank top. 

Richie peered over at y/n who was looking out the window as her head leaned against it. 

A white, lacy tank top that makes her skin look even more—

“Richie?” Concern washed over the girl’s eyes. Her attention turned to him instead of the scenery that passed by them. 

Richie whipped his head away from her body and stared blankly at the road. It was almost as if he were a ghost. Except he actually had color in his face. 

“What is it, y/n/n?” Richie’s eyes were still on the road. 

“I asked if we were friends.” The girl giggled, not being able to take anything seriously for longer than five minutes. “But that’s a stupid question.” She looked down and began to pick at her nails. 

“Of course we’re friends.” Richie insisted. The only problem is that I want more and your brother would kill me. 

Something inside of y/n calmed at the affirmation. “So we should hang out.”

“Already told ya, y/n/n. I got a date with destiny today.” 

“I don’t mind being the third wheel.” 

To be frank, that was the last thing Richie needed. It was bad enough that middle schoolers would wait lined up behind him, watching as he lost at some silly arcade game that he still had a passion for. He didn’t need some hot girl hanging over his shoulder while he did so, too. But Richie’s mouth had betrayed his thoughts. 

“Only if you want to, y/n/n.” He had avoided trying to call y/n anything other than her name or her nickname. He wouldn’t allow himself to call her any of the cutesy trademark pet names he’d call other girls that he would shamelessly flirt with for fun. He started implementing this tactic in sophomore year once he really started to notice her. 

At first, it was the way she greeted him every time the losers met up at Stan’s house. Maybe he was crazy, but he swore she gave him special attention: always running up towards him when she saw him, her lingering by his side before Stan yelled at her, asking if she had anything better to do. Her smile was seemingly wider and her eyes brighter whenever she held conversations with him compared to the other losers—or maybe that was just Richie looking into things too much. 

Due to drama and false rumors, y/n had started hanging out with the losers more this year. It was an attempt for her to take her mind off of the absence of friends on her part. None of the losers seemed to mind, even Stan. Thus, she became a regular when the group went on swimming trips to the quarry or slept over at each other’s houses. This didn’t really help Richie’s case. Now, he was basically forced to see her figure in a swimsuit and in every other setting imaginable. Not to mention, he couldn’t do anything about it either. 

The two had finally arrived at the arcade. Richie had managed to snag the closest parking spot to the entryway and y/n relentlessly made fun of how he never parked straight until they got in the door.

“Okay, kid. Once you get your license, you can criticize my ‘bad’ parking. But for now, since you’re hitching rides for free, I say you better just keep quiet for now.” 

“But you’re so over the lines! I can’t imagine your coloring if that’s how you park.” 

“I’ll have you know, y/n, I don’t color. For one, that shit’s for babies. And I am way past that preschool shit. And second of all, coloring’s way lame.” Richie had made his way over to the Street Fighter machine and inserted a quarter in the slot. 

y/n watched him thoughtfully for awhile as he fidgeted with the joystick and jammed the buttons. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” she asked, growing bored of watching the same repetitive visuals from over his shoulder. But she didn’t think she could ever grow tired of watching him. 

“Hold on.” His hand smashed against the buttons in rapid fire movements while he simultaneously maneuvered the joystick. A few seconds after, the game played a pitiful noise and the boy let out a groan. Richie had lost. 

“That’s a weird way of saying coke.” y/n hummed before skipping off to the lounge area. 

On her way back, she saw Richie’s face contort in frustration. Once again, he had lost to the game. 

“Cheer up, buttercup!” y/n passed handed him the glass bottle and Richie had finally stepped away from the Street Fighter machine. 

“Easy for you to say. You don’t got an inanimate object beating ya four to one.” Richie pretended to wipe the nonexistent sweat off his brow and looked down to y/n, offering her a smug look. 

“Would a kiss make you feel better?” The girl leaned closer to him and got up on her tippy toes, preparing to peck him on his cheek. 

This was the first of y/n showing any sign of real interest. And while Richie wanted to bask in the glory of his long time crush finally coming around, his thoughts also drew to Stan. What kind of friend would he be if he made a move on his friend’s little sister? Technically she’s the one making the moves- 

Cut it out, Rich!

His internal monologue argued for a while before he realized y/n’s lips were attached to his face. 

“W-what are you doing?” Richie belatedly snapped out of his thoughts and came to his senses. 

y/n pulled away. Her arms crossed tightly around her chest and her posture was now slightly hunched over. Oh. 

“I thought I could make you feel better.” She mumbled. When she eventually spoke, she let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding in. “Can you take me home?” She asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. 

“Of course.” The two started heading for the door and Richie tried to slow his pace so that his long legs would be in sync with hers. “To be honest, y/n/n, I was kinda getting tired of this ol’ dump anyways.” 

A small smile graced y/n’s lips as he talked. Even if she was still embarrassed from the previous events. 

“You’re not gonna be a professional video game player?” 

“Oh no. That dream’s been abandoned for a long time now.” Richie quipped back. He was turning the keys into the ignition and began to drive off. 

The car ride to Stan’s place was silent. Either because of the turn that had taken place earlier at the arcade, or because Richie didn’t wanna open his big mouth and accidentally slip up; ruining his relationship with both Stan the Man and Stan the Man’s hot sister. 

Richie’s old chevy slowly came to a stop at the front of Stan’s house. The sky was cloudless and an unnerving shade of blue today, highlighting how perfectly trim and green Uris’s lawn was. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” y/n finally spoke up. Her voice foreign to Richie’s ears after the fifteen minutes of dead air from the two of them. But it wasn’t that foreign. Her voice echoed through his brain practically everyday. Whenever classes got boring or nights seemed endless, Richie found himself either replaying past conversations between them. Or other scenarios… She was an unhealthy addiction he couldn’t quit. Like smoking, only hotter and way more deadly. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Richie faced y/n, putting on his best ‘I’m-not-interested-in-you’ face, when he really felt quite the opposite.

“Richie, I feel like you don’t like me.” Her accusation was dead wrong, but there was hurt in her eyes. Somehow, Richie had managed to convince the girl of his dreams he hates her when that couldn’t be less true. 

“I don’t.” He forced a chuckle to ease the tension but y/n wasn’t having it. 

“Can I tell you something?” y/n asked. Richie nodded, a quizzical look on his face. Before continuing, y/n swallowed. She didn’t usually get nervous, but Richie was someone to get nervous over. “I like you.” 

Her words felt like something out of a dream Richie once had before. 

“What can I say, kid. It’s impossible not to.” Of course, y/n didn’t really like him. At least, not like that. She was probably just saying this for shits and giggles. Pulling his leg. A classic Richie stunt. 

“I mean, I like you like how Ben likes Beverly.” 

Richie’s eyes then widened at the declaration and his body stiffened. 

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back,” she said with such ease that Richie admired. She shrugged and the thin strap of her tank top fell down her shoulder. Richie couldn’t help but notice, his eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. 

“Listen—” He gulped. His eyes kept trailing down no matter how hard he tried not to. “Listen,” he repeated, now meeting her big eyes, “I don’t not like you, y/n/n. In fact the funny thing is… is—” his words got caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not with Stan’s breathing always down his back (whether Stan was actually there or not).  

“What’s so funny, Rich?” Her soft, sweet voice filled his ears once again. It was like a spell, because suddenly (and conveniently), the thought of Stan was no longer in the back of Richie’s mind. 

“I like you too, kid.” His voice was low, but y/n still heard him.

“So what’s stopping this?” A sly smirk formed on y/n’s face. She climbed over the control panel and her already short skirt rode up to be even higher. 

y/n sat herself on Richie’s lap. The boy had to keep from pinching himself. What was happening was straight out of a wet dream of his he’d probably had last night. 

The girl on his lap was toying with a strand of his hair while looking into his eyes. Her shoulder was still bare from the strap that fell off it.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way.” Richie didn’t think he could help himself any longer with the sultry way she was speaking and the fact that she was on his lap. “Now I can do this.” 

y/n placed a tender kiss to the awestruck boy’s lips. It was slow and steady. She didn’t want to mess things up since they had just admitted their feelings to one another. 

But Richie was impatient. 

As soon as she pulled away, he connected his lips to hers again. He was sloppy and fast paced with his movements, yet still full of passion. 

y/n giggled into his mouth which caused Richie’s heart to skip a beat. She’d been waiting for this moment since she first laid eyes on him. 

The first time Richie stepped foot into the Uris household, y/n had greeted him excitedly. 

“y/n could you get that!” Stan shouted to her from their den. He was busy setting up board games, making sure every last piece was in its designated place. 

“Why do I have to?” y/n grumbled, still walking out of her room so she could get to the door anyway. “You were closer.” 

“I’m preparing for game night. This is the first time my friends are coming over and I want everything to be suitable.” Stan was polishing the game pieces now. 

“I don’t think your friends will mind if one of your little thing-a-ma-bobs is out of place.” y/n jokingly tipped over one of the players to Stanley’s game that he had already put into place but she quickly put it back upon noticing the discontent that marked his face as she did so. 

“I’ll mind.” Her brother replied calmly. 

Another knock at the door. 

“Can you please get that?” 

y/n got up and walked over to the door. She was first met with a lanky boy whose legs were too long for his torso and eyes were too big for his face. 

She didn’t expect Stan’s friends to be hot. 

“Hi!” y/n exclaimed, hoping to give off a good impression on the group.

“I didn’t know Stan had an underaged maid. I guess the Uris’ will do anything for labor work.” No one laughed at Richies joke. 

“That’s Stan’s sister, dipwad,” Eddie said, disgusted at his friend. 

Richie made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth and the group shuffled in, meeting Stan in the den. 

“Stan you never told me you had a hottie for a sister.” y/n could hear Richie’s voice from across the hall. Her intestines turned into butterflies and she could pass for a canary with how red her face had gotten. 

But despite having the hugest crush on Richie, y/n never shared any classes with the boy. She was a year younger than Stan, but in the same grade as him because of the accelerated classes she took. So y/n had to admire from afar. 

Well, not anymore. 

Her lips were now attached to his neck, eliciting a moan from him. She smirked at that and started to roll her hips against his. Her name fell from his lips over and over and over again which evoked her to keep going. 

“Richie!?” An angered voice called from the outside of his car. 

It was the one and only. Stanley Uris. 

It was too late to act fast. Richie pulled y/n off him and looked guiltily out the window to see the face that matched the voice. 

But Richie already knew who it was. 

“Who me? I dink you ghat de wrahng goey.” Richie did his best Irish man accent but it was no use. 

“Okay, Richie, cut the crap.” Stan’s face was twisted up in an expression that almost scared Richie. His hands were folded against his chest and he was waiting for an answer. 

Richie simply couldn’t bring himself to answer the boy. He sat in shame with y/n next to him staring at her brother. Richie may as well have had ‘I’M SORRY’ written on his forehead with the way he was gaping at Stan.  

“y/n get out of the car.” Stan said, breaking eye contact with his friend. 

The girl complied, whispering about how sorry she was to the boy who drove her home before getting out. After that, she didn’t dare glance back at him in his car and Richie didn’t have the energy to even look anywhere besides the steering wheel. 

That was last week. Since then, Stan and Richie hadn’t said a word to each other. Richie hadn’t spoken to y/n since then either. The tension was too thick between Stan and Richie and Richie didn’t want to mess things up more than he already did. 

“I c-cuh-can’t believe yo-you liked y/n.” Bill chuckled. 

It was after school and the two were in the library. The details of what happened that day eventually got out. Both Stan and Richie had told their sides of the story and the losers were respectful enough to not take sides. They just hung out with Richie when Stan wasn’t around and hung out with Stan when Richie wasn’t there. 

“What’s so bad about that?” Richie looked skeptically at his friend, trying his best to defend himself. 

“I mean, yea-yeah sh-sh-she’s cute—”

“She’s beautiful.” Richie cut off but Bill rolled his eyes. 

“What-h-ever. I-it’s just funny tha-hat you wuh-would go after her.” 

“I already told you she kissed me first.” Richie proclaimed, a little too proudly. 

“Sh-he’s Stan’s sister!” That was true. 

“And a good kisser.” That was also true. 

“Gross, Richie.” Bill returned to the book in front of him, but Richie kept egging on the conversation. 

“I don’t see why someone has to be off limits just because they’re related to a friend.” His annoyed tone was evident and Bill gave him a sympathetic look. 

“It-t’s b-ba-basically written in th-the br-r-ro code.” Bill paused for a moment and Richie didn’t know if it was because he was embarrassed of his stuttering or if he was gathering his thoughts. “But i-i-if you li-li-like her… wh-who am I to s-suh-say any-th-thing.” 

If Bill was insinuating what Richie thought he was, then that made him cooler than he already was. 

And that’s how Richie found himself in y/n’s room Friday night. The losers were meeting up at the Aladdin to see the new Jim Carrey movie and somehow Richie had been able to get himself out of it, claiming he was overdue on chores and couldn’t make it. 

“Th-that’s t-too bad, R-Rich.” Bill said over the phone (but he knew better) while the other losers pressed their ear up against it, listening in. “The c-co-omedy should be ri-right up your alley.” 

“Dumb and underdeveloped?” Eddie asked Bill. “I don’t wanna see a movie just to hate it,” he complained. 

“Yowza, Eds. And I thought you appreciated my jokes.” Richie feigned hurt over the speaker. “Anywho, I gotta make like a tree and hang up. The ‘rents are asking for me.” They weren’t. 

“O-okay. Maybe nuh-nuh-next wee—” Beep. 

Richie had already hung up. 

y/n grabbed his hand, which was clamped over her mouth and took it off. She was bursting to the seams with laughter. 

“I can’t believe you’re a liar now,” she tsked, trying to fake an ‘I’m-not-mad-at-you-just-disappointed’ look that her English teacher had given her once. 

“Only under these circumstances.” He was fast to attach his lips to hers. They didn’t have much time and he wanted to make the most of what they had now. 

Richie was on top of her now, his lips still on hers. He kissed her everywhere from the crown of her head to the crook of her neck. If his kisses left a print, her skin would be buried under them. 

“Rich…” She sighed contentedly, eyes fluttering from the pleasure he inflicted on her when he had found a sweet spot behind her ear. y/n kissed him back hard with force and a sort of dominance Richie didn’t know she had in her. 

She flipped them, so that she was on top now. y/n took this liberty of having full control to take off her shirt and Richie’s as well. 

Richie smirked and began to kiss lower. His pace was slower than he originally started. Painstakingly slow. y/n wined at how delicate his lips felt tracing her skin but she needed more. 

“Touch me,” she urged. Richie obeyed, his hands were now on her chest, massaging and caressing her delicate skin. 

There weren’t enough words to describe the thrill and satisfaction Richie gave her. y/n could relish in this boy’s embrace forever with how good he made her feel. She began grinding against his jeans, just like the day they were caught by Stanley, so she could ease the ache for him between his legs. 

Richie chuckled, feeling her press against him. He knew precisely what she wanted but to give or not to give in was the question. 

“y/n/n, we don’t have that long,” He warned. 

“I don’t care.” She started peppering his face in kisses the same way he had done to her. At the same time, she began to unbutton his jeans. Who would Richie be to turn down sex anyway? 

She was fast at getting him inside her. Definitely not inexperienced. But Richie didn’t want fast. Not with y/n, at least. He wanted their first together to be slow, sensual, special—

“You’re amazing,” he grunted and she blushed in response. 

Her pace quickened at his praise. Their movements together felt electric and y/n herself was so hypnotic, Richie felt he could get lost in the thought—or the feeling —of her forever. 

A feeling that was indescribable washed over Richie once the two of them were finished. He had stayed inside of her, and y/n was now laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and tracing circles on his skin with her thumb. Their chests rose and fell together at the same time, a small action that Richie melted at the sight of. 

“For the record, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” Richie said. There was a sort of fear palpable in his tone. 

“For the record, you kissed me first.” y/n eyed him suspiciously before giving him a peck on the cheek. “And what does that mean? Did you…” She shyly decided on her words for a moment. “Did you not want to..?” 

“No, no, no, no.” Richie immediately counteracted the girl’s suggestion. “I so wanted to do this. I’ve dreamed about doing this—” Richie stopped himself before his talking could make things worse, but y/n found his rambling amusing. 

“So, what did you mean?” y/n tried again. She reached out to hold his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. 

“I mean.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “I wanted us to be, like, an official couple and shit before we do this shit.” He motioned between them and to where they were still joined. 

y/n flushed at the sight and covered her face. 

“Hey.” Richie was soft. Softer than y/n had ever seen him be. He took her wrists in his hands, uncovering her face so he could admire her. 

She was stunning even after sex. 

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing.” He was almost embarrassed to admit it, but with y/n he didn’t feel the need to be afraid. “I want us to go on dates and hold hands and tell each other about our day.” He was looking at the ceiling, daydreaming at the thought.

y/n’s eyes searched his face thoughtfully. “Of course, Rich. I want that, too!” She kissed his lips once more, elated at the boy in front of her. Her face fell shortly after she had a sudden understanding. “What’re you gonna do about Stan?” 

“Who’s Stan?” But Richie’s fake grin wasn’t fooling anyone. “Uh, well, we could tell him…” But when Richie saw a certain uneasiness consume y/n’s face, he ruled that option out. “How do you feel about dating in secret?” He offered. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at the time it seemed to be the lesser of the two evils at hand. 

“Okay,” y/n whispered. “So you should leave.” 

“Woah, babe, I just got here.” Richie sat up, looking for his shirt. 

“Yeah, but the movie should’ve ended by now.” y/n gestured towards the alarm clock on her nightstand causing Richie’s jaw to drop. 

He was heading towards the window now, knowing he had enough time to get out, but he wanted to be careful. 

“See you tomorrow then?” y/n giggled at how clingy he could be. 

“I’ll call you.” And Richie just couldn’t get enough of the smile she was wearing. 

“Sounds like a date!” He yelled from outside her house. 

During the drive home, Richie’s thoughts became lost in y/n once again. This was just the beginning.

[cellard0ors]

Fic: Into The Night

This was SUPPOSED to be posted around @nekoaimy BD and Halloween, but then LIFE happened.

With my OWN BD coming up, I felt this was still good to post. Might write more to this one day. For now just a one off. Inspired by artwork aimy did, but with the added twist of Halloween costumes - lol.

Ford stands by the punch bowl grousing and feeling like an idiot. The first is because he's being forced to attend a Halloween party he doesn't want to. The second is because he's dressed like a cat.

Okay, not a complete cat. There's no tail, thank god - but a black headband with felt black ears was slapped on to his head and painted black whiskers were slanted on his cheeks - a little black dot on the tip of his nose.

The culprit? One Stanley Pines, worst twin (EVER) extraordinaire. Maybe a bit overdramatic, true, but this is all Stan's fault.

Ford had been minding his own business in their shared room when he'd been ambushed. What started off as a normal wrestling match between brothers resulted in Stan pinning him down, painting Ford up with their Mom's eyeliner and him begging Ford to join him at Rachel McCarthy's party.

Mainly because Stan is now eyeing Rachel after the whole Carla fiasco and why Stan wants to date anyone is beyond him.

...alright, this is not entirely true either. Ford gets why dating might be fun, but considering who he'd like to date, well...

Ford can easily say having six fingers on each hand is the least freakish thing about him. Not that Stan will ever, ever, ever, EVER know that. Nor will anyone else. Ford will take his secret shame to the grave.

Grave. Halloween. How fitting.

Regardless, Stan tossed the cat get-up on him, begged him to go to this thing, and now here Ford stands, everything full circle.

Stan, for his part, seems to be having a grand old time. Their mother's green eyeshadow is powdered all over his face and his hair has been lightly slicked down. Screw bolts have been tacked to either side of his neck to complete the monster ensemble and frankly, Ford worries about what kind of adhesive his twin used to accomplish this.

It wouldn't be the first time Stan got something almost permanently stuck to him. Ford keeps hoping for a last, but knows that will probably never happen...lovable, infuriating fool...

Ford really does need to start thinking seriously about looking into colleges. He's been playing Stan, saying he'll join him on their ship, but he knows that's a recipe for disaster.

Stuck alone on a ship with the object of his forbidden desires? Yeah, thanks but no thanks. Sure, Stan will be sour about the whole thing, but better they part then Ford potentially do something unforgivable.

Like kiss the breath out of the big, handsome, stupid-!

"Bro, what are you doing?"

Ford snaps out of his thoughts as Stan approaches him. He blinks and tries to be normal, "Nothing "

"Exactly. Nothing," Stan throws an arm around him, shakes him amiably, "Come on, join the party! You're next to the punch bowl - grab a drink, mingle, have fun!"

Ford carefully extracts himself from his brother's grip, frowning, "I agreed to come with you, Stanley. Not engage in the festivities. The punch is heavily spiked, there's no one here I wish to talk to, and this is miles from what I would constitute as 'fun'."

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sixer! Loosen up!” Stan pulls a face, bottom jaw jutting out, eyes rolling upwards as he growls, “Frankenstein say party gooood.”

“...you know you’re not Frankenstein right?”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Stan tugs at one of the bolts, “Think I did a pretty good with the costume last minute an’ all...”

“Frankenstein is the name of the main protagonist in the novel, Stanley. The doctor. The creature he creates is not, in point of fact, named Frankenstein.”

Ford once again questions how he can love someone who can give him such a blank face only to follow it up with a raspberry and an eye roll, “Yeah, like anyone past nerds’ll think of that.”

“Are you calling me a nerd?”

“I’ll call you whatever you want if, you know,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “You play it a lil’ cooler.”

Ford scoffs, “And why on earth should I do that?”

“Because you’re bringing people down, man,” Stan whispers this to him as if it’s a terrible secret, “Missy Caldwell told me that Rachel was thinkin’ about busting out some kissin’ games! You know, like Spin the Bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven and the like. but then she saw you over here, looking like the kid picked last for dodgeball and it kinda killed the mood!”

Ford looks over to see that Rachel is, indeed, standing with Missy and a large group of girls. They are whispering to one another and looking in his direction. Rachel, in particular, is wearing a sort of judging expression. The fact that Stan would take her concerns over his...

And why shouldn’t he? His thoughts whisper. You’re his brother. You’re supposed to have his back. Be there for him as much as he’s there for you. He wants to kiss Rachel. It’s normal for him to want to kiss Rachel. He can’t know that you want to kiss him. He should NEVER know that. Should never even consider it.

Ford knows his thoughts are correct. They are smart. Logical. Everything he has always vowed himself to be. And yet...

...and yet.

“Look, just...” Stan waves at his face, “Give ‘em a smile. A little sign that you’re fine.”

Ford doesn’t feel much like smiling, but he gives it his best shot. It must be pretty bad, because Stan winces, “Yeesh.”

His lips drop, “No good?”

“You look like you just chugged the kool-aid at a cult meetin’.”

That actually gets a genuine smile, a laugh, and Stan beams, pointing at him, “See? That’s much better!”

Ford shakes his head, “What can I say? You always manage to get a rise out of me.”

The words leave and he feels a whiplash of heat wash over him. Shoot! Was that too suggestive? Apparently not, because Stan’s grin just grows, “That’s my job, bro! Keepin’ you from being too stuck in the mud! Now come on...”

He puts a big arm around Ford’s shoulders and drags him over to the group of girls. Rachel appears much mollified now, as do Missy and the others. They’re all girlish giggles and coquettish smirks and Rachel sends some of the gals to collect the other boys, to set everything in order for a game of Spin the Bottle.

While she does this, Stan drags Ford to one side again, hissing, “Alright, Sixer - now’s the time I need your big brains.”

“Wh-? How-? Why?” Ford stumbles over the questions, because as far as he can tell, they’re all intrinsically linked together. Stan explains, “You can like, tell me the best way to spin the bottle. Use maths and wind velocity and science to tell me how best ta make sure it lands on Rachel.”

“I...” Ford starts, but then someone walks up to them. It’s Becky Gilmore, another girl from Rachel’s pack, and she bats her eyelashes at them as she plays with a strand of her dark hair, “Hi! Hey, uh, can-can I talk to Stanford for a sec?”

“He’s Stanford,” Stan points to him even as Ford says, “I’m Stanford.” Both sound surprised as they give this information, but Becky is unfazed, “Um, yeah - I know. Look, can I just-?”

She sneaks out one slim hand to grab at one of Ford’s wrists, dragging him away from Stan who - clearly thinking this is a good thing - gives his brother a big smile and two thumbs up. Once out of Stan’s earshot, Becky says brightly, “’Key, so, Rachel’s like, all about your brother. Like, he has acne and whatever, but she totally wants to kiss him.”

Ford does his best to parse her words, separating the good from the bad, and doing his oh, so best not to comment on the bad, because it really gets his goat, teeth on edge at the acne remark. But Becky, clueless, just continues on, “I think maybe she’s trying to make Joey jealous, ‘cause I know they broke up about three weeks ago and she’s pretty sure he’s running around with Cheryl Manchino and we all know about Cheryl Manchino-”

(Actually, Ford knows nothing about Cheryl Manchino.)

“-but my point is, we definitely need to get your brother to lock lips with Rachel, but with the way the circle’s looking that might be problematic with you there, not to mention I mean, you’re - I mean, you’re cute and all and totally smart but like, I mean, I would never want to offend you or anything, but, okay - you get what I’m saying, right?”

Ford, amazingly, does get what Becky is saying.

His face colors and he hides his hands behind his back and feels like complete trash. Becky, seeming to pick up on this somewhat, lightly taps one of his shoulders, “Aw! There, there, kitty kitty! You wouldn’t’ve enjoyed this game anyway, right?”

“...no.” his voice is so soft as to be near silent, “I suppose not.”

“Great!” Becky returns with the same amount of sparkle she uses on the cheerleading field, “Then how’s about you set your brother riiiiiight-” she drags the word out as she looks around the circle, before pointing to a certain spot, “-there! Rachel and us girls are going to make sure the bottle picks him for sure. And you can stand on the sidelines in case we need an assist, ‘kay?”

Ford nods numbly and Becky bounces off. When he returns to Stan, he does his best to play stoic.

He fails miserably.

“Whoa,” Stan breathes, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“That ain’t ‘nothing’,” Stan says pointing at his face, “That’s ‘Crampelter gave me shit’ face and he ain’t here. So? What is it?”

“I told you,” Ford hisses, “Nothing.”

“What did Becky say to you?” Stan asks and there’s such heat in the question. Anger and accusation and Ford pushes up his glasses and pours on the ice, “It’s not important. You’re going to miss out on the game, Stanley. Now, you asked for my help and considering the curvature of the bottle and the state of the floor I would suggest sitting-!”

“I suggest you tell me what she said before I make a scene,” the words sizzle out of Stan’s mouth and close to Ford’s ear, nearly scalding it and Ford can feel the barely leashed fury rolling off his brother in waves and he starts shaking his head, “You know, maybe I just don’t want to talk about it, Stanley! Did you ever think of that?”

Stan actually stands up straighter, looking startled, “Holy shit...what did she say?”

Ford lets out an aggravated breath and points to the exact spot Becky indicated, “You want your kiss? You want Rachel? SIT. DOWN. THERE. I’ll be outside!”

With that said, Ford exits the house. He starts walking down the neighborhood street, but he doesn’t get far before he’s being yanked back, Stanley’s hand turning him around roughly, “Just where the hell do you think you’re-?!”

“DO YOU WANT TO KISS HER OR NOT?!” the shout escapes Ford before he can leash it and it seems to echo in the empty streets. Thankfully Rachel’s neighbors seem to be tucked in for the night and no one left her house to follow them. 

Stan, regardless, shushes him even as he seethes, “Not more than I want to know whatever the hell is up with you! You’ve been sulking all night, Sixer - hell, you been sulking the past couple of weeks if we’re gonna be honest about it!”

Ford looks down at his feet, kicks at the pavement even as Stan charges on, “Then Becky pulls you aside and whatever she says seems to be the last straw and I don’t get-!”

“She said I shouldn’t play, alright!” Ford snaps, “She said I should-should sit the game out and that Rachel wants to kiss you and-and...” he falters, drops off, because he doesn’t want to hurt Stan’s feelings. 

He doesn’t want to tell him about the comments on his acne or how he might just be a ploy in some plot to make someone jealous because he does want his brother to have something nice - even if it’s fleeting, “And you should go back in there and get what you want!”

“...Becky said you shouldn’t play?”

“She-she figured I-I wouldn’t enjoy it anyway and she’s...she’s not wrong...”

“No,” Stan breathes in loudly through his nostrils, his hands curling into fists, “She’s wrong. She’s very wrong and if she wasn’t a girl, I’d pound her right in the face!”

“Stanley,” Ford sighs, suddenly very, very tired, “You shouldn’t want to pound anyone in the face. Boy or girl. And certainly not for my sake.”

“Whose sake would it be for then?” Stan returns, “I’ve told you time and time again, I’m here for you. I’ll protect you, I’ll-!”

“You won’t always be there for me, Stanley.”

This remark stops Stan short. Makes his eyes widen in alarm, “What-? What does that mean?”

“...I think you know.”

“I sure as fuck don’t!”

“Language, Stanley.”

“Fuck your language!” Stan growls and comes closer. He gets in Ford’s personal space and Ford can feel the heat radiating off him. He’s very much the monster he’s dressed as - exuding power and force and deadly seriousness as he looks at him, “I will always be there for you. Always.”

Ford lets out a sad, watery sound. He looks away and there’s a restless wind that seems to rise up, to play with his hair and suddenly Stan touches his chin, directs his face back to him, “Look at me.”

The touch is clearly just meant to direct his eyes, but Ford feels it zip throughout his entire central nervous system, feels it shoot out his toes as he looks into Stan’s eyes and his twin says, “Stanford, you ain’t never got to keep anything from me. Alright? You ain’t gotta hide or-or keep to yourself. Thinkin’...thinkin’ maybe now this is why you’ve been poutin’ so much lately, huh? You think we’re going to be apart?”

“Stanley...”

“That I’m not going to be there for you? Because I will be, Sixer. Always and forever. You should know that.”

Another sigh, “Rachel...”

“She’s just some broad,” Stan promises, and then, with a chuckle, “A cute one, but just the same. She’s not as important as you are. Never will be.”

“You-” Ford swallows around a big lump in his throat, his heart aching, “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not? You’re family.”

And it’s that, that last word, that helps Ford grab a hold of his senses. He gulps and lets out a shaky laugh, “Uh, yeah - yeah. I am. And, uh, as your family - I...I think you should go back in there. Get your big kiss.”

Stan seems to thinking it over, but more for show than anything, as he cracks with a laugh, “Nah, forget it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

The breath that leaves Ford sounds as if he’s pushing off a sob. Which makes sense. Ford feels like sobbing. He feels strangely vulnerable and exposed. More so when Stan just. Keeps. Pushing. “’Sides, if they’re not going to let you play...”

“I told you,” Ford manages weakly, pathetically, “Becky wasn’t wrong. I don’t want to play.”

Stan doesn’t say anything for awhile and it’s good. It’s great. Ford can feel his lungs filling with air, can feel his sanity returning, can feel himself pushing away from the ledge of tears. Stan didn’t mean for the things he said to sound so-so romantic. So much what Ford wants to hear.

He was being a good brother.

Ford wants to do the same - needs to do the same.

But then.

“Stanford, any...any of those girls would be lucky to kiss you...”

And that’s it. 

It’s the funniest thing.

That’s the thing that breaks Ford. That’s the thing that pushes him over that ledge. That’s the thing that leads him to cry out, “I don’t WANT to kiss THEM, Stanley! I WANT-! I want-!”

And Stan’s looking at him as if he’s never seen him before. As if Ford is some stranger - raving and demonic and he is - he truly is. Because with an anguished whimper, he grabs Stan and forcibly tugs him over. He seals his lips over Stan’s.

He kisses him.

He kisses him.

Ford kisses Stanley.

The sound of pure shock that leaves Stan sears Ford’s soul and Ford catches a glimpse of Stan’s eyes - big and round and white. Startled. Stunned. Maybe even terrified. So he closes his own as he brushes his tongue against his twin’s inert mouth, as he eases just so between the seam of them to get the taste he’s always feverishly dreamed of and then-!

Ford pushes him away as hard as he can, as hard as he tugged him over to begin with. He pushes him away and with a choked ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ he runs. He runs and runs. He runs off into the dark Halloween night and prays that Stan will forget what happened. 

[stanleyitssummer]

Rubik’s Cube

Pairing: Stanley Barber x Reader

Summary: Another boring day in your boring life. But when you happen to bump into none other than Stanley Barber, things just might become a little more interesting.

Wc; 749

A/n: ♡ Comments/Reblogs are very appreciated! ♡

Part 2

Beep Beep. Beep Beep.

Fuck. Me.

Beep Beep. Beep Beep.

Fuck. You.

Beep Beep-

“Fine!” You jolt up quickly, reaching over for your alarm clock, only... You miss the button, successfully knocking it out of reach. Groaning, you threw yourself out of bed and picked up the clock.

“Y/N Y/L/N! Turn that goddamn thing off, or I’m going to come in and turn it off for you!”

You weren’t exactly sure what that threat meant, but you figured when it came to your Father, it was better safe than sorry.

Finally turning the sound off, you sighed, throwing your head back.

Good morning Brownsville.

Alright, first order of business, get dressed. You liked getting dressed, it might, arguably, be the best part of your day.

Is that sad? You wondered. Could your life really be so dull that the part of your day that brought you the most joy was simply putting on clothes?

Maybe. Maybe not.

You decide to shrug it off for now. You really need to get out of your own head. You reach into your closet and decide on some mom jeans with a tee-shirt tucked in and some black combat boots. A simple, easy outfit. Plus it’s stylish and it’s comfortable. There’s something about putting on a good outfit that just... makes you feel good about yourself. And hey, feeling good about yourself can be nice for a change!

Okay. School. School sucks, but... It’s better than being in your crappy home (that doesn’t have a heater or air conditioning) and it’s better than being with your crappy Dad (Who doesn’t give a shit about anything you say or do). So yeah, school’s kind of an upgrade.

So here you are, walking to your locker, not knowing that your life is about to change forever. Is that dramatic? Who gives a fuck. Your life sucks, you’re allowed to be dramatic. As you walk, you take note of the people around you. The kids around you were being kids for the most part. Some just talking, some having full on make out sessions.

Yup. That’s high school.

Average, average, average. Wait... Hold on.

Somewhat interesting.You think to yourself.

Blinking, you see Stanley Barber (Your neighbor), Walking by with Sydney Novak (Also your neighbor, but not quite as close.) You’ve never seen them talking before. This is a new development. Stanley Barber is something else, that’s for sure. He’s so weird. But he’s funny, and interesting, and smart, and maybe kinda cute-

“Oof-”

You collided with something. Someone.

“Shit a-are you okay?”

What the fuck?

You look up to see Stanley, standing over you. Just standing. Blinking.

You stared at him as well, trying not to blush. This might be the very first time he’s actually looked at you. And he’s really cu-

“Jesus Stan, I told you not to use that stupid cube in the halls!”

You looked over and saw Sydney, smacking him upside the head.

She looked down at you, “Are you okay?”

Get it together, Y/n. Snap out of it!

“Oh- Uh... Yeah, yeah, I’m fine...” You started to push yourself off the ground.

“Ow-” You heard Stanley mumble. (Sydney must have smacked him again) “Oh... Sorry! Here!” He scrambled to offer you his hand, but by that time you were already halfway off the ground.

After you stood, a few awkward moments went by before Sydney stepped between the two of you, smiling uncomfortably. 

“We better get to class. So... We’ll See ya’ around...”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

That happened in unison. Unison! With none other than Stanley Barber. You blushed. Stanley Barber knew your name?

Stanley coughed when he realized that both you and Sydney were practically staring bullets into him.

“Yeah well- We uh... We have a few classes together and-”

“We’re neighbors!” You smiled.

“Right.”

“Well anyway,” Continued Sydney, “We gotta get to class. See ya around!”

Stanley gave you a small smile before being pulled away. So far away from you.

Whatever. Nothing new.

You stared at your peers, trying to make out their quiet muttering as they walked down the hall together.

“Huh.” You said allowed. You wanted to be annoyed, but, you couldn’t help but smile. Stanley Barber knew your name.

Looking at your watch, you realized it was way past the time you were meant to be in class. So you bent down to pick up your books. But while you were hanging out down there, you noticed something that was left behind.

Stanley’s Rubik’s cube.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Part two?

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3/19/2020

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Writer’s Month Prompts Day 26

Day 26: Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU

I know, it took me this long to write up the prompt that was officially supposed to be written on Day 1 XD. Hope you enjoy it!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Aw, c’mon, baby, why don’t we talk it out over a drink?”

“Fuck off,”

“Ooh, nice mouth. What else do you use it for?”

“I said fuck off!”

Heather sighed and turned to smile amiably at the customer she was assisting. “Would you excuse me for a second?” She left the counter and went across the flower shop to the door, where outside was Paul and the stupid tattoo artist from across the street. “Hey!” Heather snapped. “He said fuck off, so fuck off, Sixx.”

Nikki scoffed and rolled his eyes at her. “C’mon, I was just having a little fun—”

“Yeah, you’ve been giving me that lie for three days straight now. Try it again and I’ll call the police and make a harassment complaint.”

Nikki was silent as he glared at her, no doubt trying to think of something to say. Heather just crossed her arms and glared right back. Finally he sighed, looking more like a lectured teenager than a grown man. “Fine.” He turned around to stalk across the street towards the tattoo parlor. He was about to enter when he turned around and, in a rather childish move, aimed his middle finger right at her Heather made a big show of rolling her eyes and turned away.

Paul sighed. “Finally. I thought he’d never leave.”

“I bet if you just ignored him he’ll go away,” she suggested as they headed back into the flower shop.

“I should start bringing my lunch from home,” Paul just mumbled. He smiled at her gratefully. “Thanks for stepping in.”

Heather smiled at her best friend. “No problem.” She went back to the counter while Paul went into the greenhouse. “Sorry about that. Now where were we?”

She finished helping the customer fill out their order, and after sending him on his way she went to go help Paul in the greenhouse. She pulled on her gardening gloves and went over to the zinnias. “How’s everything looking?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Good so far.” Paul was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Is it bad I keep thinking about earlier?”

Heather turned in his direction. “Why?”

“Just… How do you handle a situation like that? Someone refusing to leave you alone? Without hurting their feelings?”

Heather frowned at him. “Well, for one thing, don’t care about their feelings. They’re the one harassing you. Second, just stay away from the tattoo parlor.”

“How can I do that when they’re right across the street from us?” Paul deadpanned.

“Just avoid them whenever possible. You’ve seen everyone who works there, and how they act. All those guys are nothing but trouble.” Heather calmed down from her small tirade and smiled reassuringly at him. “We could call their manager and complain about Sixx harassing you.”

Paul brightened. “That would work, probably. Just call him and let him take care of it.”

“Yeah, exactly,”

Heather would later wonder if some divine power had heard her comment on how all the artists at Motley Crue Tattoos were nothing but trouble, because at that moment they heard the bells above the door ring.

“I’ll get it,” Heather wiped her gloves on her jeans. “You prune the dahlias.”

“But you do such a better job on the dahlias than me,” Paul grinned at her. “They’re your pride and joy.”

Heather grinned back. “I think you’re finally ready for the responsibility of pruning them. Do not prove me wrong, Paul Stanley.”

“I shall not fail you!”

Laughing, Heather opened the door to enter the shop floor. She caught sight of a man looking over the flower pots, looking like he was trying to blend in with the surroundings. It was a bit difficult for him, though, since he was clad in all black, with a black leather jacket and black boots, as well as sunglasses. He looked about as invisible as a drop of black ink on a sheet of paper. There was also a sketchbook tucked under one arm. He looked rather familiar, but Heather wasn’t sure where she had seen him before. She still put on a smile and headed towards him. “Hi there. Welcome to the Dahlia Shoppe. I’m Heather, how can I help you?”

The man looked at her for a second. What was he doing? He finally said, “I was wondering if I could go back into your greenhouse.”

Heather blinked at him. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I’m, uh… an artist. I take commissions. And a lot of people request flowers. And I knew you grew good flowers here, so…” The man shoved his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t be bothering anyone. And I wouldn’t touch any of the flowers. Just thought I’d ask if I could come by and practice drawing ‘em sometime.”

Heather thought for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t be a problem. Come on, I’ll show you the greenhouse.” As they were walking over to the door, she asked, “By the way, what’s your name? Just so I know who you are if you stop by again.”

“Mick Mars,”

“Heather McMann. Nice to meet you, Mick Mars.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth lift up in a smile. She opened the door and showed him inside. “There you go. Just go tell Paul,” she pointed over to where Paul was meticulously pruning a dahlia plant, “I said it’s okay for you to be back here, and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Sure. Let me know when you’re leaving.”

Heather closed the door behind him and went to go straighten up the racks of seed packets. Customers were always rifling through them and putting the packets back out of order. But she hadn’t even been doing her task for five minutes when the door opened and she looked up to find Paul hurrying onto the shop floor.

“Heather,” he said quickly. “That guy you said could sketch the flowers in the greenhouse…”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He’s the manager of the tattoo parlor!”

Heather froze. “What? Really?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen him closing up before. I think he owns the place.”

“Oh…” Heather set down the seed packets she was holding. “Stay here. I’m going to go tell him right now.”

“But I thought we were going to call him!”

“Paul, the manager of the tattoo parlor where the guy who’s been harassing you works at literally just walked into the shop. On the same day. When’s this going to happen again? I’m going to go tell him right now.”

“But I don’t know if you—” Paul began, but Heather was already striding briskly to the door of the greenhouse. “—should,” he finished, and sighed.

Heather shoved open the door and stalked over to Mick, who had his sketchbook out and was in the middle of starting a sketch of the daisies. “Hey,” she demanded, making him look up. “Are you the manager of Motley Crue Tattoos?”

Mick looked taken aback by the question, but nodded. “I own the place, actually,”

“Yeah, okay. Tell your tattoo artists to stop harassing me and my friend.”

Mick frowned. “I didn’t know they were…”

Heather crossed her arms. “We are directly across the street from each other, and you just happen to not notice your one worker, Sixx, harassing Paul in broad daylight for three days in a row? If he does it again, I will call the cops on him. Tell him to stay the fuck away from my store, and from Paul, or I’ll have the cops do it.”

To her surprise, Mick got an annoyed look on his face. Then he sighed frustratedly. “Fuckin’ teenager went and fucked up again,” he grumbled, then he looked up at her. “I’m sorry about him, and I’m sorry he did that. I’ll talk to him about it.”

Heather frowned. “You’ll talk to him? Forgive me, but that sounds too much like a simple slap on the wrist to me.”

“Then how about this: I’ll talk to him today, and tomorrow morning when you open I’ll drag his ass over here so he can apologize. Trust me, I know how to get through to that kid.”

Heather clenched her jaw. “What happens if I don’t accept his apology?”

Mick sighed. “You’ve got every right to not accept his apology. I’ll suspend him from work. I mean, I was already going to, but I didn’t tell you that.”

For a moment, Heather was taken aback. She had been expecting him to argue with her, even say some crap like “oh he’d never do that”. But no, he wasn’t. He actually believed her. From how he was acting, it didn’t seem like this was the first time Sixx had gotten into trouble. And he seemed genuinely sorry…

“I… I guess that’s fair,” Heather finally sighed. “You’ve got a deal. Suspend him from work, and drag him over here to apologize to Paul, and I won’t call the cops on him.” She let Mick relax for a second before continuing. “But… if he ever does it again, I will file a harassment complaint.”

Mick nodded and held his hand out to her. “Deal,”

After a moment, Heather reached out to shake his hand. “Okay then. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to keep sketching.”

She turned and walked away to exit the greenhouse. Paul was still waiting by the seed racks, drumming his fingers against his leg anxiously. “So what happened?”

“I talked to him, and he said he was going to talk to the guy and make him apologize to you.”

Paul blinked. “Really?”

Heather smiled. “Yeah, really. He was really understanding about it.”

“I can believe it. He was real polite when he came over to ask where the best flowers to sketch were.”

“He was? That was nice of him.”

Paul grinned at her. “But I thought you said tattoo artists were nothing but trouble,”

“They are… but this guy’s not. There can be exceptions.”

“Or maybe he likes you,”

Heather gaped at him and smacked him on the shoulder, laughing. “Shut up, he does not!”

Little did she know, Mick couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, and flinched a bit at Paul’s teasing words. Shit… was it obvious? So maybe he had just a little tiny thing for the blonde owner of the Dahlia Shoppe. That didn’t mean anything, or that it would go anywhere. Besides, Heather was probably out of his league anyway.

Mick sighed and went back to sketching. He could wait until after he finished and left to figure out his stupid feelings.

[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.

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

I Swear, Bill

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, slight mentions of Reddie and Benverly

Requests opened

———————————————————————

It was a normal night, Patty was finishing up dinner and Stanley was doing a puzzle in light of stimulating his mind.

As he went to place a piece into place, his phone buzzed on the glass table, scaring him. It was an unknown number from Maine. “Hello, this is Stanley Uris.” Stan answered.

“Stan it’s Michael Hanlon from Derry.” The unknown caller responded.

Stan’s mind tried to recall, Derry? Where had I - oh. Oh shit!

“Mike, Oh My God! It’s been what 30 years? What’s up man?!”

“27 actually. But unfortunately it’s not good news.”

Stan almost immediately dropped the phone once he hung up. He had a good life, he didn’t want to return. He had a wife, a good job, a lovely house, wealthy. Why would he want to go back to that ghastly place?! Sure there was some great memories, the Losers, the quarry, Bill. But the bad outweighed the good.

Pennywise

Pennywise was back and terrorising Derry?! Stan couldn’t give two shits about it but this was a chance to see his friends.

“Patty, I’m just going to have a shower.” Stan called to his wife, while he was half way up the stairs.

He turned the tap, for the bath, on and got out a razor blade. He didn’t want to but everything that was coming back to him pushed on his mind. It was overwhelming but then he thought back to Bill.

“Oh lord! I’m just as stupid as fucking Richard!” Stan whispered to himself. He placed the razor blade back where he found it and simply just had a bath. “I swear, Bill. I’ll come back.”

**

It was a 2 day trip for Stan. He knew he missed the happy reunion before the bullshit that was to follow.

Stanley pulled up at the only inn in town. It was maybe just as old as he was as it was a newish inn back when he was a kid and now here it was 27 years later. The paint was chipping and asbestos was obviously laced in with the paint. Great, he thought, I’ll probably have cancer from breathing that shit in. Maybe Eddie is also freaking out, he was a hypochondriac afterall.

He checked into a room and walked up the stairs only to hear screams. He ran up and was faced with a bleeding Eddie, a Beverly who looked like she was about to pass out, a Richie who was concerned for his life long crush (literally) and was pissed off at whoever did that to Eddie and Ben who had no clue what happened.

“Stan?!” Ben asked.

“Oh my god Stan! We thought you weren’t coming!” Bev chimed.

“Yeah yeah hi Stanley Urine, it’s great to see you again but can we focus on Eddie who was almost fucking killed!” Richie huffed.

“Ah, still the same old pining Trashmouth.” Stan retorted.

“What?!” Eddie demanded, confused with what Stan had said.

“Been a day and you still haven’t told the fella.” Richie was about to throw hands at Stan’s comment. “Gee Rich thought you got some balls after you kissed him at graduation and asked him out!” Richie removed himself from Eddie and was about to hit Stan but Bev and Ben stepped in between them.

“You’re one to talk. What happened with you and Bill? Never told him your feelings?”

Stan recoiled and walked in shame towards his room.

He loved Patty, she was great. She was everything he ever wanted. Even though she didn’t cook often, she was a fantastic chef. But then there was Bill.

Stan’s heart pounded whenever he saw Bill’s photo in a bookshop advertising his latest book. He always wondered why Bill looked familiar and now he knows.

Stan realised his crush on the ringleader back in senior year of high school. It was only minor at first and thought it was just one of those man crush things that will pass.

But as time went on, Stan was turning down girls left right and centre in hopes that Bill would notice him.

Sure enough graduation came and Stan worked up the courage to finally tell Bill but Bill had gotten himself a girlfriend a few weeks prior.

He had watched Ben and Bev kiss while getting their robes. Bill kiss his new girlfriend during Stan’s valedictorian speech. And finally Richie kiss Eddie deeply during the hat toss.

He could’ve sworn that Richie and Eddie got together and same with Ben and Bev but clearly that never happened. Or maybe it did but the further away they got from Derry the more they forgot.

As Stan forgot about Bill, he found himself saying yes to more dates and finally settled on a nice woman in his final year of college and married her 4 years after. No other man was as attractive as Bill was back when they were in high school. Or maybe it was just a man crush.

A knock on the startled him, making him jump a little. “Stan, we’re going to Neibolt.” Ben said, “Bill’s gone there already.”

“Okay.” Stan called back.

He had to quickly get his shit together before going. He had to be in the right mind to face tge blasted clown.

*

As they all walked to Neibolt, Stan got massive anxiety. Flashbacks of the 7 of them standing in front of the boarded up abandoned house. “Eddie, do you have the asthma puffer still?” Stan asked.

“No.” Eddie replied, “all I’ve got is an empty one that I’m throwing in as part of the ritual.”

“I have his spare.” Richie replied. Eddie watched as Richie handed Stan the inhaler.

“Did you make a stop at the pharmacy to get that?!”

“No, I’ve held onto it after high school. I couldn’t part with it, I never knew why.” Richie shrugged. The spare puffer had no expiration date but it’s ingredients proved that it would never go off. So Stan took a few puffs.

“Oh my god! Just admit your feelings to each other!” Stan yelled.

Eddie and Richie looked at each other in horror. It wasn’t a secret that they liked each other and Stan’s birdwatching hobby and attention to detail (his OCD in other words) helped him realise the signs. The signs that Richie and Eddie liked each other. It was also the same with Ben towards Bev and in the end Beverly to Ben.

“Bill you don’t have to do this alone!” Bev stated as soon as they reached the gate.

“You guys didn’t have to come. I want to kill this fucking clown!” Bill huffed. Classic Bill, always the hero.

“He didn’t stutter once.” Richie muttered like he had 27 years prior. “Bill. You made us walk through shitty water, you punched me in the fucking face when we were kids. You also made me beat the living shit outta the clown to save your sorry ass!”

“We’re killing this motherfucking clown once and for all, with you!” Eddie finished.

The 7 grown adults entered the building. It was worse than Stan remembered. There was dark green goop everywhere coming from upstairs. Parts of the stairwell were gone as were some of the floor.

Richie had said something to the whole group but Stan was too caught up in his regret to hear it. Just like it was back in the day, he didn’t want to go in. He didn’t want to go down into the sewers. The only time he voluntarily went into the house was when Eddie, Richie and Bikl were attacked which led to a fight between Richie and Bill because of Eddie almost bejng killed.

As the group went down the well, 1 by 1, Stan tried to regain his courage he had when he left his home. He knew that if he didn’t find it soon, he’d be killed in a heartbeat.

He watched as Bill stopped walking for a split second, so that he could walk with Stan. “You didn’t have to Bill.” Stan whispered.

“I wanted to, besides you weren’t there last night.” Bill retorted. “Tell me what you got up to.”

“Well, I became an accounted, I married a wonderful woman and have a beautiful house. You?”

“I became a writer and I married Audra.” Bill said. So that was the girl that Bill started seeing in high school. Great! “But I’m not happy.”

“What?! Bill?”

“I love Audra but there’s always been someone else that I’ve loved. He’s a renown birdwatcher but I don’t know if he still is. He had this lovely dirty blonde hair that could pass off as brown in certain lighting.”

“Bill I -” Stan was cut off by seeing a rise in the water levels. It was bare back when they defeated the clown the first time.

Stan stood back as he watched all the others swim towards the mound of wood in the centre of the sewer. But Bev was pulled under, Stan’s instincts kicked in and he dove after Bev as did everyone but Eddie.

*

After the ritual failed and everyone came back together aftrr facing their fears. Well Bev, Ben, Richie and Eddie. Richie was put into the deadlights. “Hey asshole!” Eddie screamed, he aimed a fence post, that Bev had broken off, and threw it into the clown’s mouth.

Richie dropped but Stan knew what woukd happen and by the look on Richie’s face, he knew too.

Next thing Stan knew, he was bolting towards Eddie, pushing him off Richie and moving the two men away just as the claw from the clown’s spider like body came down. Richie escaped with a small puncture to his forearm but he too was safe.

“We need to make him small.” Eddie said. “He could resize himself but we need to find a way to make him small and weak.”

“He didn’t like it when I called him a ‘sloppy ass bitch’.�� Richie noted.

“You’re just a clown! Nobody fucking likes you! You’re a motherfucking loser!” Stan started screaming. More and more insults left his mouth, none of the losers could say much as they watched Stan’s confidence grow.

Richie ripped off a leg and started wacking Pennywise with it. As Pennywise deflated, Bill grabbed the supernatural being’s heart and popped it. IT shattered and the walls started collapsing.

*

They all ran far from the Neibolt house and down to the Quarry. “Before we go in, I’d like to show you all something.” Richie announced. They all followed him to the kissing bridge, not too far from where they were.

There in big block letters was a ‘R + E’ the E was faint but there. Stan watched on and looked at Bill, but wasn’t smiling at what was happening, his face was pulled in a frown.

“Bill?” Stan questioned.

“Audra ... she uh. She was taken by IT.” Bill started. “They found her car at the gas station in town, and her uh, her body looked as though someone had eaten her heart.”

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry Bill!” Stan hugged his best friend.

“Yeah but um, seeing that Richard has gotten his confidence. I feel like I should tell this man.”

“Dude your wife has just died!”

“I know but I was still going to tell this man and divorce Audra.” Stan was slightly uncomfortable, he knew Bill was talking about him but he loved Patty. Although any feeling that Stan had towards Bill, wasn’t completely gone.

“Bill I’m married and so are you, technically.”

Stan quickly caught up to the others who were waiting for Stan and Bill to show up so they could jump as a group.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“No, Bill admitted his feelings towards me but we’re both married and I don’t want a divorce.” Stan admitted.

“For godsake! You wanted him throughout all of senior year.” Ben said.

“We get it, you love Patty but you love Bill.” Richie said.

“Choose who makes you happy. Don’t listen to these dickwads.” Eddie stated.

His first thought as he pulled out the razor was Bill. The first person he mentally apologised to was Bill. The person he was most excited to see was Bill. As much as he loved Patty, she was way down the list of people he was apologising to.

In fact she wasn’t on the list at all! On his mental apology list was first Bill (his crush), then Richie (his first ever best friend), Eddie (his second best friend) and then Ben, Bev and Mike who later followed in the Summer of ’89.

As Bill finally entered the clearing of the cliff, Stan kissed him. He knew who made him happy and as much as he wanted it to be Patty, Bill was there for him in his moments of need. Much like Richie for Eddie.

“You’re my Richie to my Eddie.” Stan said to Bill, loud enough for the Losers to hear. Bill cracked a smile and kissed him again.

“Oh good lord! I’m offended!” The Trashmouth said fakely and placed a hand over his heart.

“Beep, beep, Richie.” Eddie said. “We jumping or what?!”

[eleventhdoctorsangel]

You can’t wake up this is not a dream

"This is so stupid. The school is out in three days for summer break why are you making go?" I asked staring out the window. "Because you need to see what these kids where like and see of there's any reason why they would go missing." Sam said. "We need a man on the inside." Dean said looking in the rearview mirror to look at me. I let out a sigh. "Come on just do it kiddo please?" Dean asked. "Ok fine I will." I said as dean pulled up to Derry high school. I stepped out and grabbed my black backpack. “Did you really have you wear that outfit?” Dean asked. I was wear a black and grey tank top with black shorts with black biker boots. “Why does it brother you?” I asked. “ Yes.” Dean said. “Then yes.” I said smirking. “I hate you do you know that.” Dean said. “I know you mean love.” I said laughing. The three of us walked into the school and to the office. Of course we were asked why I was getting enrolled with three days left. I smiled and watched as dean gave some bullshit excuse. But much to my dismay I got enrolled into school anyways. I was handed a schedule and that’s when sam and dean left. But before they left they gave me a hug and kissed my forehead. The office lady lead me to my first class. The name of the teacher was Mr. Paul. Once we got to his class room she knocked on the door and we waited on him to open the door. Once he did the lady started to explain the situation to him. Of course he asked why some one would enrolled with three days left. I simply told him that sam and dean were idiots. That's when the office lady left and Mr. Paul let me in his classroom. “You can take the seat in back in between Mr. Bowers and Mr. Criss.” Mr. Paul said. I nodded and made my way to the back of the classroom. I sat down in the desk in between the two boys. I sat my bag on my desk. Mr. Paul sat back at his desk and went back to working on what ever he was before I walked in. “So Why did you move to this shit hole of a town?” One the boys asked. “My brothers work did.” I said. “What do you brothers do?” The other boy asked. “They work for the government.” I said. “So why did they enroll you for three days?” One of the boys asked. “Because of they are idiots. What are your names?” I asked. “I’m henry and that's Vic. What’s yours?” Henry asked. “Y/n Winchester.” I said. “Like the gun.” Vic said. I nodded. “You know your really hot right.” Henry said. “Don’t let my brothers hear you say that. They might kill you.” I said laughing a little. “Are they protective or something?” Vic asked. “Very.” I said. Then the bell rang. “Come with us and we’ll introduce you to the other two morons.” Henry said. I nodded and got up from my desk following the two boys out of the classroom. I followed them to an hallway where two other boys where waiting. One was very tall and lanky while the other was more one the heavier side. “Well well who’s this?” the tall one asked. “Leave her alone Cockstetter.” Henry said. I rolled my eyes at his attempts at flirting with me. “Oh come on henry I’m just trying to get to know the new face. I want a name to go with this ass.” The taller guy said as he grabbed my ass. I felt my knuckles pop as I clenched my fist. “Ohhhh looks like you made her angry Patrick.” Henry said laughing. I grabbed the front of Patrick's shirt as I hit him in the face. I could hear shocked gasps around us as I walked away to my next class every through I didn’t know where the hell I’m going. I bumped into a boy around my eyes who was wearing thick glasses. “Watch where your going hot stuff.” The boy said. “Richie be nice.” A boy said who was a little bit short than the two of us. “Listen I just hit a guy named Patrick. So Richie I have no problem hitting you.” I said. “Wait you hit Patrick Hockstetter?” The other boy asked. “I’m guessing that’s Patrick’s last name Henry called him cockstetter.” I said. “Henry Bowers?” Richie asked. “Oh my god you two are hopeless.” I said as I walked away. “Wait.” Both boys said as they caught up with me. “I’m Richie Tozier and that’s Eddie Kaspbrak.” Richie said. “Are you new I've never seen you before.” Eddie said. “I’m new my idiot brothers decided to enroll me for three days.” I said. “Why?” Richie asked. “Their work. They wanted a inside man.” I said. “What do your brothers do?” Eddie asked. “They work for the government. They came to help with all the missing kids.” I said. Both boys looked at each other. “What?” I asked. “Our buddy bill’s little brother was one of the first kids to go missing. We really don’t like to talk about it with him.” Richie said as the bell rang. “Who do you have next?” Eddie asked. “Mrs. Torrance.” I said. “I have her with our other friend Stanley. I can show you.” Eddie said. “Thanks.” I said. “Come on.” Eddie said as he showed me the way to my next class.

I walked along side Eddie as he showed me to my next class. I could hear people whispering to each other and looking at me. “So Eddie how many people do you think knows about me hitting Patrick?” I asked. “Probably the whole school. Bowers and his gang makes life a nightmare for almost everyone here so someone putting one of them in their place is going to travel fast.” Eddie said as we walked in the classroom. “Wait so no one has put those boys in their place?” I asked as we took our seats in the middle of the classroom. A curly haired boy rushed in and made his way over to Eddie and I. “You’ll never believe what happened. A new girl hit Patrick and gave him a bloody nose.” The boy said as he sat down. “Well he shouldn’t have grabbed my ass.” I said as the boy look at me in shock. “Stan this is...What was your name?” Eddie asked. “Y/n Winchester.” I said. “No one has ever hit one of the bowers gang members ley alone a girl hitting one of them.” Stan said. “So I've been told.” I said. “Their going to be after you.” Stan said. “Please those boys are not that scary. Those type of kids only bring fear to other kids to make them feel stronger after someone made them feel small.” I said. “Try telling that to them.” Eddie said. “Please I've fought scarier things than a few school bullies.” I said. “Class can I please have you’re attentions.” Mrs. Torrance said. I look to the front of the class and saw Sam and Dean. “These two FBI agents would like to talk to you.” Mrs. Torrance said. “Thank Mrs. Torrance. Now kids I’m agent Geddy and this is my partner agent Lee.” Dean said. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why they called the FBI on all the missing kids cases.” Sam said. “Well since the police here has found anything on any of the cases they called us. Now if any of you have seen anything strange please don’t be afraid to tell us. We will be here for the rest of the day. But for now we would like to talk to her.” Dean said pointing at me. “Ok miss Winchesters please go with the Agents.” Mrs. Torrance said. I nodded getting up from my seat. “Should I bring my bag with me agents?” I asked. “No we won’t keep you long.” Sam said. I nodded and follow the boys out of the classroom. 

“I’m guessing you wanna talk to me about the kid I hit.” I said. “Why did you hit him and give him a bloody nose?” Sam asked. “The guy grabbed my ass. What was I supposed to do. Just let him.” I said. “Wait the guy grabbed you’re ass.” Dean said. I nodded. “Well then there is nothing left to talk about. Now get back to class kiddo.” Dean said hugging me then kissed my head. “Dean we can’t be done talking about this.” Sam said. “Come on Sammy. Was she supposed to just let him touch her ass. Just be lucky she didn’t have any weapons on her because she would have killed him.” Dean said. Sam let out a sigh. “Fine. I guess you’re right just try not to give anyone else a bloody nose.” Sam said hugging me. “You know I can’t promise that. You better hope another guy doesn’t grab my ass.” I said. “She right.” Dean said. “Alright. Alright. Go back to class.” Sam said. I nodded and headed back to class making my way back to my seat. “What did they want to talk to you about. You don’t know any of the kids that went missing?” Stan asked. “Maybe they wanted a outsider look of things.” I said.

Taglist: @darkqueennox

[sachigram]

Rewrite

((click here to read on ao3!))

As soon as Eddie steps back into Derry, Maine for the first time in years, he feels like a clock starts ticking. It's not the first time he's felt he has a finite timeline, but it is the first time it's felt more like an hourglass running quickly out of sand. He doesn't really know what's going on at all, but he can't shake the feeling he's going to die here, and soon.

Everything looks exactly like it did when he left—not that he remembered it before he got here. Now it seems crazy he didn't remember. The Barrens, the quarry, the library, the fucking pharmacy, the arcade. He grew up here. He belonged here, once. How the hell did he forget?

When the phone rang, Eddie didn't know why he felt compelled to answer. The area code said Maine, and he just...acted without thinking. It was unlike him, and he knows that, and Myra knows that, and this entire thing is just so bizarre but somehow so right at the same time. He booked his plane tickets immediately after dealing with his car crash situation, even with Myra chattering and nagging in his ear, and he never once doubted it was what he was supposed to do, despite the fact the name Mike Hanlon didn't ring any bells aside from a cacophony of alarm bells Eddie couldn't explain.

Still, here he is outside Jade of the Orient, and he's steeling himself to go inside. It feels like the pieces of a puzzle sliding together inside his head. Most people he's met as an adult don't understand how he's forgotten so much of his childhood, and somehow Eddie never really questioned it much, but now he's suddenly got a lot of questions.

“What the fuck am I even doing here?” he mutters to himself. Strangely enough, it feels like someone else is listening.

He grits his teeth and goes in, doing his best to shake his spike in anxieties, but it does about as well as it ever has. His hands are shaking as he goes to the hostess stand and asks about the Hanlon party, and if she notices, she doesn't say anything, only smiles and leads him to the back, and to make himself feel more in control of the situation, he starts listing his allergies to her at breakneck speed.

Eddie doesn't know what he was expecting to find, but childhood friends he didn't remember never once crossed his mind. Mike and Bill, so different and so recognizable at the same time, and Eddie remembers being right there with them, a member of the group.

“Holy shit,” is all he can say.

When the stupid gong signals the official meeting of the Loser's Club, all of whom just remembered the other member's existed, Eddie finds himself looking into the leering face of Richie goddamn Tozier, and all of a sudden he's a kid again with a personal vendetta for bothering the fuck out of him.

It's insane, how easily he can fall back into the role.

Who the fuck has he been, up until now?

Memories return slowly, but not everything, and not everyone. Stan's chair remains empty, and Eddie can't help glancing at it periodically, even as everyone chatters around him, throwing insults and swapping anecdotes. And Eddie participates, because how could he not? He remembers these things. He remembers them. He remembers Stan.

And Stan is missing. Something feels wrong about it in the same way that being back in Derry at all feels wrong, and all if it makes Eddie's hair stand on end, even as he's tipsy and full and telling a twinkling eyed Richie to go fuck himself.

At some point after he's laughed more than he has in years, Eddie is wiping tears of mirth from under his eyes and he once again glances at Stan's empty chair, only this time it's occupied. Stan is there, looking at him calmly, and Eddie doesn't know how, but he immediately knows Stan is dead. Eddie's mouth drops open and he looks around to see if anyone else notices, but they're all talking amongst themselves. Stan gives him a little wave.

“Been a while, huh?” Stan asks, and he smiles in that way he used to where his eyes crinkle in the corners that lets Eddie know he means it, and then suddenly Eddie is aware he's crying.

“Eddie? Honey?” Beverly says, noticing. A hush falls over the table as they all look over at him.

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

“Stan...” Eddie moves forward and tries to touch him, but his hand goes right through. He doesn't know why that sends more tears pouring down his face. “Fuck, Stan, why'd you— Why can I see—?”

“Easy, Eddie. It's okay.”

“Fuck you, it's not okay! You're fucking dead! Why the fuck are you dead?!”

Stan sighs and he looks up at the ceiling, tongue in cheek. “I guess I was the weakest.”

“What kind of cryptic ass bullshit is that supposed to be? Weak? Like, in the bones or some shit? What?”

Stan sighs again and closes his eyes. “Why couldn't it have been Bill that sees me? Talking to you is exhausting when you're freaking out.”

“I'm seeing the fucking ghost of my dead friend in a Chinese restaurant, Stanley! How did you think this conversation would go?!” Eddie screeches.

“It could definitely be worse. Richie would be the worst to see me. He listens about as well as a toddler.” Stan looks back at Eddie and shrugs a little. “You don't remember why Mike called us all here, do you?”

“I don't know, a reunion?” Eddie needs a tissue, but he also doesn't want to touch anything in the bathroom. It looks clean enough, but he doesn't buy it.

“Pennywise,” Stan says softly, and Eddie's brow furrows because he doesn't know what the hell that means.

But then he does.

What are you looking for, Eddie?

“Shit!”

Forgetting his avoidance of touching the bathroom, Eddie suddenly finds himself bent over the sink, wheezing as memories flood back to him. Stan watches him sympathetically, unable to do anything.

“The fucking clown...” Eddie digs into his pocket and pulls out his inhaler.

“We all made a promise,” Stan says as Eddie works at catching his breath. They both look down at their hands. “I guess I still have to honor it even like this.”

Eddie isn't hearing him much anymore as he panics. The bad feeling he's had since coming here finally makes sense, and it takes a moment for him to understand why he's so pissed all of a sudden.

He storms out of the bathroom and beelines for the room their party is in, hands clenched into fists.

“Eddie—“ Mike stands, hands immediately flying up as if he can tell by Eddie's face that he's remembered. “Let me explain.”

“You bastard. You fucking asshole, you—“

“What is it? What's wrong?” Bill asks, standing as well. He gets between Eddie and Mike as Eddie moves forward. Mike is taller and stronger, but Eddie is fairly sure he can get a few punches in.

“Guys, come on,” Ben says, moving to pull Eddie backwards. He looks at Beverly and Richie, who are still seated. Beverly just looks confused, and Richie is giving Mike a hard stare as if to say “I don't know why Eddie is so pissed off at Mike, but I guess I am too, now.”

“The fucking clown! The clown!” Eddie yanks out of Ben's hold and shoves his finger into Mike's chest. “Why the fuck didn't you lead with that when you called me?!”

“The clown...” Bill says softly, and Mike looks so guilty that Eddie considers launching at him.

“Pennywise,” Beverly whispers, and then Richie is on his feet, also moving towards Mike, his jaw set.

“Guys, please, let me explain, okay,” Mike says. “We made a promise. Don't you wonder why you've forgotten mostly everything about where you grew up? Why you can't remember the things most people can?”

“I just figured it fucking sucked and I blocked it out,” Richie says. He brushes against Eddie as they stand side by side. “And I was right!”

“W-when were y-you gonna...” Bill stutters, and he blinks in alarm. Eddie looks at him, some of his anger fading as he recalls Bill was speaking clearly before they all started remembering It. “Gonna tell us.” Bill finishes, speaking slowly.

“When we were all here!” Mike says. “Stan's not here yet!”

“Stan's dead.” Eddie feels all their eyes on him, but he stares determinedly up at Mike.

“What?” Mike asks.

“He's dead, Mike! He's dead, he's not coming!” The tears resume, but Eddie fights through them. He shoves Mike, but it doesn't do much. Mike barely budges. “He remembered as soon as you fucking called him!”

“Oh god,” Beverly says, and they all turn around to see she's crying as well. “The bath.”

“How do you know? How can you know that? He...he answered the phone. It was him! How is he dead?” Mike says wildly. Eddie locks eyes with Stan, who is standing in the entrance of the room looking sullen.

“He killed himself,” Eddie says, and he scrubs at his face as all the fire leaves him. Ben goes to sit with Beverly, his hand on her back. Bill is looking at Mike helplessly, and Richie is still looking at Eddie.

“Is that what you saw?” Mike asks Eddie softly, and Eddie debates telling them he can see Stan now, but before he can, a crunching noise captures their attention. It came from the bowl of fortune cookies.

***

In the aftermath of being attacked by It in the middle of the fucking restaurant, Eddie decides fuck it. He's getting out. Leaving Derry did the trick once, right? Why wouldn't it work again? While Beverly calls Stan's wife to get the truth, Eddie and Richie lash into Mike, and Richie agrees leaving is the best option as Beverly gets confirmation that Stan is dead. Stan is dead. Why the fuck can Eddie still see him?

Eddie clamors into his car, breathing heavily as his hands grip the steering wheel. He doesn't look over, doesn't need to, to see Stan staring at him obviously. Mike and Bill are in the middle of the road talking animatedly, and Richie has already started his car. He revs his engine at Eddie, and Eddie goes through the motions, starts his own car, and then he's following Richie back to the townhouse, refusing to look over at Stan.

“Eddie,” Stan says, and Eddie loses it.

“How the fuck do I know you're not him? Huh? How do I know you aren't Pennywise?” His knuckles go white from where he's gripping the wheel. His hands hurt. “This is exactly the kind of thing he does. Use someone's pain against them”

“I can't prove anything,” Stan says. “Do I feel like I'm Pennywise?”

“No,” Eddie says, and his voice breaks. “That's what hurts so fucking badly.”

Streetlights blur as Eddie looks straight ahead, and he can't tell if it's because he's driving fast, or because his eyes are filled with tears. Either way, Stan reaches over, his hand on Eddie's shoulder, and fuck it, Eddie can feel it. He can feel Stan's touch. It's not even cold or wrong or otherworldly. It's him.

“I'm me, Eds. And before you can say you hate that nickname, I already know that. But it's catchy.” Stan smiles, and Eddie sobs.

“Why? Why? Why the fuck would you kill yourself? Stan, you—we needed you.”

Stan shifts in the passenger seat. “Yeah. I know. I know you did. It was just—it was so much. I was scared. I was terrified. Mike called and I just, I knew. I remembered. It's so weird to me that you guys are all taking so long to get everything back. I heard Mike and I knew it all immediately.”

“Why is that?” Eddie asks, not to Stan specifically. “I'm still getting random shit.”

“I think it has to do with the order,” Stan says.

“Order?”

“When we die. I was first. I knew that as soon as Mike called me. I was the first to go.”

Eddie's breath catches. Stan was always so soft. So logical. Stan knew better than them all, only went along with things to appease the rest of them. He was always the fucking best. And fighting Pennywise, disrupting whatever rhythm Pennywise had going—was this the punishment? Dying one by one for daring to stand up to him?

“Who was next?” Eddie finds himself asking. Stan is looking at him intently.

“Do you want to know for real?” Stan asks.

“No,” Eddie says, watching Richie park his car. Eddie wasn't even paying attention to the fact they made it to the townhouse.

“They say those who are close to death are closer to the dead,” Stan says. “You can see more. Hear more.”

Eddie parks behind Richie, barely seeing as Richie exits his car and waits for Eddie, hands in his pockets.

“So I'm next,” Eddie says, his voice calm despite how he feels.

“I was the weakest,” Stan reiterates, and Eddie finally looks at him.

“What does that mean? The weakest? Of what? Will? Strength? What, exactly?”

“It means I knew too much and couldn't handle it. And then after me, there was...”

Knowing too much. Eddie was always cautious. Sure, most of his health facts weren't correct. He knows that now, looking back. But Stan was right there with him. Stan, who loved nature, thought every plant was poison ivy, and was scared to hurt anyone's feelings. Eddie, meanwhile, was paranoid, terrified, and thought he had to fight tooth and nail to argue a point no one else was tying to prove.

Stan was nicer than him. Better than him.

Is that why Stan was dead first?

“Do you know how it happens?” Eddie finds himself asking. Richie is looking at him now, outside the car. Richie makes a vague what are you doing gesture. Eddie shrugs.

“Yes,” Stan says.

“Can you tell me?” Eddie asks, not really wanting to know.

“No. Not outright.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Shut up for a while. They're all gonna think I'm crazy or that you're really Pennywise.” He exits the car.

“Who were you talking to?” Richie asks.

“No one,” Eddie says. “I had my wife on speakerphone.” It's a lie, but a believable one. Richie makes a sour face.

“Oh yeah? All eight-hundred pounds of her?”

Eddie bristles. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Guys,” Stan says softly, sighing. Richie, unaware of Stan, huffs.

“I'm just saying. If old Mrs. K was four-hundred pounds, shouldn't the new one be twice as much?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says, and Richie throws his hands up, exasperated. Stan, to the side, covers his face in his hands.

“Fuck me? Fuck me? Do you even know all that we've been through? Do you remember everything yet? My jokes are the least of your concerns—“

“They're still a pain in the ass, okay, and no wonder you don't write your own shit since all you have in your repertoire is your mom jokes—“

“What the fuck is a repertoire?” Richie swipes at him, and Eddie dodges, not wanting to get caught in a headlock. Stan is rubbing his temples.

“You illiterate fuck,” Eddie hisses, and then he's marching into the townhouse, stomping a bit despite himself. Somehow being around Richie makes him revert to a pissed off kid. He never fights Myra like this. Usually he's quiet and lets her do or say whatever because it'll be over faster. Richie Tozier makes him feel downright feral.

“Eddie,” Stan says tiredly.

“Shut up, too,” Eddie says.

“I didn't say anything!” Richie says from behind him.

Eddie climbs the stairs and starts gathering his shit, not wanting to stay a second longer than he has to. He hears Ben and Beverly chatting downstairs and Richie is probably getting his own things together judging by the thumps coming from next door. Stan sits on Eddie's bed, watching him. Eddie pointedly ignores him.

“You can't leave,” Stan says at last.

“I'm not staying. I can't do this again. If I'm next to die, I should just not even be here.”

“It doesn't work that way. I wasn't here either and I'm still dead.”

“You killed yourself,” Eddie argues. It still hurts to think, let alone say. He can't be mad at Stan for it, and he's not, not really. He just wishes it hadn't happened.

“It doesn't matter how it happens. You'll die either way. The only way to stop it from happening is to—“

“I can't do this!” Eddie shouts, and it's suddenly very quiet. He doesn't hear Richie thrashing around next door, or hear the murmuring of Beverly and Ben. Stan is watching him still.

“You don't have a choice.”

Eddie curses and kicks his luggage. There's a knock at his door.

“Eds? You okay in there?” Richie asks. Eddie laughs, borderline maniacally.

“I'm great. I'm fucking fantastic.” He kicks his luggage again, and it's so dense it hurts his toes, but that's the least of his concerns. He keeps kicking.

“Okay, fuck, I'm coming in,” Richie says, and then he's picking Eddie up and pulling him away from his kicking fit. Eddie tries to wrench away from him, but Richie is stupidly strong.

“Get off me, you—“

“Goddamn, you're scrappy,” Richie says, and it's absurd he sounds so jovial about it. Eddie tries to claw at him and it doesn't work, so soon enough he's resigning himself to being manhandled by a large man baby in a hideous shirt. “You're gonna break your toes, dude. You're an angry, tiny thing.”

Eddie glares at him from over his shoulder. “I'm going to slit your throat.”

“Okay, yeah, you need a few more minutes in the arms of casa de Tozier.”

“Are you guys okay? We heard screaming,” Ben says, appearing at the door. Beverly is by his side, smiling at the scene of Eddie being restrained and cradled by Richie, who doesn't seem fazed in the slightest.

“Eds is having a tantrum.”

“It's good to know after all this time, you guys haven't changed,” Beverly says.

“Fuck you, I changed,” Eddie says.

“You didn't get any taller,” Richie says, and Eddie starts trying to break away from him again just to get one good punch in his smug fucking face. Richie just smiles at him and then looks to Beverly and Ben. “You guys look grim.”

“We were having a, uh. A pretty serious conversation,” Ben murmurs. He glances at Beverly. “She knew about Stan. She knew before we called. She even said the bath.”

“So did Eddie,” Beverly says, looking curiously at Eddie, who stops fighting Richie because this seems like a serious matter.

“Yeah, what's up with that, anyway? How'd you guys know?” Richie asks. He finally lets Eddie go, and Eddie slaps his arm for good measure before straightening up his clothes.

“I saw it. In the...the deadlights.” Beverly shudders as she says it. She closes her eyes. “I saw us all die.”

“Fucking yikes,” Richie says.

“But Eddie... You didn't see the deadlights. Did you?” Ben asks.

“No.” Eddie looks at Stan, who is still on the bed. “It's hard to explain, I guess. I just knew.”

“We were talking...” Ben says, glancing between them all nervously. Beverly is still looking intently at Eddie. “We were talking about what it might mean. That maybe there's a...a reason we have to stay.”

“Fuck that,” Richie says.

“What else do you know, Eddie?” Beverly asks.

“Just that we're all gonna die one by one if we don't kill It. Nothing major.” Eddie shrugs as Ben pales and Richie curses again.

“So Stan was the weakest,” Richie says.

“Fuck you too, Richie,” Stan huffs, and Eddie laughs. They all look back at Eddie as if worried for his sanity.

“So then, is there an order?” Richie asks. “Is this something we should know?”

Beverly glances at Eddie, who suddenly feels the need to leave the room immediately. “I don't know about an order,” she lies.

Eddie very quickly exits the room and goes down the stairs two at a time to the bar, where he finds the fanciest looking bottle he can and opens it. He's yet to see an employee here, but he did talk to someone on the phone for the room, so he's assuming someone is here. They can add it to his tab or something.

“Eddie,” Richie says as he joins him. “You okay—“ He enters the room in time to see Eddie toss back a shot of Blanton's. Richie puts his hands in his pockets and watches Eddie carefully. “Damn. Well, I can't let you drink alone, can I?”

Eddie pours him a shot, and they stand in quiet solidarity for a moment.

“This is good shit,” Richie says. “Usually I just drink cheap since I like a lot of it. Quantity over quality, right?”

“I usually drink gin and prune juice,” Eddie says, and Richie snorts. “I fucking hate gin.” Eddie sets his glass down with more force than he should, and then he's refilling it, his hands shaking. “I hate so much of my goddamn life.”

“Eds—“

“And I knew it before, you know? I knew I wasn't happy. But I didn't know why. I forgot just like everyone else did, and I never knew I had it better. I never knew I was brave before. I just let everyone boss me around like mom did because it was all I knew how to do.” He throws back another shot, grimacing. “I fought a fucking demon clown and ran away from my mom to do it. I threw out my medication and then I just... God, I fucking went back to get it. Like as soon as fighting It was over, everything was already starting to fade.”

“Hey, man, me too. Like I knew there was a hole or something but I didn't know...what it was. I didn't even know when Mike called. I just saw you and then—“ Richie pauses, his eyes widening. “I saw you all, I mean.” He frowns as Eddie pours another glass. “Dude, take it easy.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says.

“You're shaking.” Richie takes the glass from him and then takes his hands, which is bizarre as hell, but also it's not. Richie has always been touchy. “Come on, talk to me here.”

“I think I'm having a mental breakdown,” Eddie says as he watches Stan come down the stairs. Richie looks over too, seeing nothing.

“Is he finally making a move?” Stan asks, and Eddie flushes because they are holding hands.

“I'd ask if it was because of the psycho horror clown thing, but that'd be a weird question. I'm with you, man. If you wanna sit here and get trashed, I'm down. Just let me know,” Richie says, and he looks so uncharacteristically serious that Eddie doesn't know what to do.

“I don't know what I want,” Eddie admits. “I don't ever know. That's why I let everyone decide for me.”

“That's bullshit,” Richie says easily. “You always know everything, at least to hear you tell it.”

Eddie flushes. No one ever believed in him like Richie Tozier. It's something he just now remembered.

“I think I want to get trashed. But it's a bad idea, since I don't know what we're doing tomorrow, and I get really bad hangovers.” Eddie looks at his empty glass and immediately regrets the shots he took. He's got enough of a buzz to want to tell Richie everything, but he also knows it'd be a bad idea.

“Then let's get rid of this,” Richie says, taking Eddie's glass away. Eddie considers reaching for it again, but decides Richie is right.

“Since when are you so sensible?” Eddie mutters, and Richie beams at him.

“I've always been sensible, Eddie-Baby. You just never listened to me before.”

Eddie grimaces, and hates how much he likes the nickname. He likes all of Richie's stupid nicknames and always has, but he'll never admit to it. He looks down to see Richie is still holding one of his hands. Eddie also hasn't let go. Maybe it's the alcohol, or all the trauma, but he doesn't want to let go.

“I'm not going to start listening to you now. It'll break this thing we have going,” Eddie says with a shrug. He tightens his hold on Richie's hand.

“You're already drunk,” Richie says with a smile. He looks thrilled about it.

“I am not.”

“It's because you're so tiny.”

“I will literally snap you like a twig and everyone else would thank me for it.”

“Oh my god,” Stan says from his corner. “Just fucking make out already.”

Eddie sighs and sits in a bar stool, looking from Stan to Richie, who immediately hops up to a stool beside him. It's strange how easily they can fall into their old routines despite the many years between their last interaction. Eddie remembers always fighting with Richie, who liked to egg him on in every possible way, but when things started to go sour, or one of them was actually upset, they always gravitated together and communicated without actually talking. They've always been RichieandEddie to their group, even when they were clawing at each other with no real intent to draw blood.

“I feel bad for yelling at Mike,” Eddie admits. He taps at the bar nervously.

“Nah, dude, he had that coming. He should have said something,” Richie says breezily.

“But what could he have said? How do you word something like that over the phone? I think he—he wanted to wait until we were all back together. We were always stronger that way and It hated us being together.” Eddie sighs and glances at Richie. “We left and Mike didn't. Mike never got out of this hellhole.”

“I don't know which of the situations is better or worse, Eds,” Richie says, and when Eddie looks at him curiously, he shrugs. “Was it better to forget or to remember? Seems like none of us ended up happy.”

“You're not happy, Rich?”

Richie barks out a laugh and shakes his head, shifting nervously in that way he always did when the focus was on him and he wasn't trying to be funny.

“I think I've had my highs, yeah. I mean, I made it. I've got dates—tour dates—in Reno. I've got a lot of fans and talks for a Netflix special, but, ah. It's not my own shit, so it's basically being a figurehead for someone else's jokes. It's like I'm touching everything with gloves on. Feeling it and not feeling it at the same time.” Richie doesn't look at Eddie while he talks. He looks down, and he tries to smile, but it's easy to see through.

“Yeah, the glove thing. Going through the motions. I think we all did that,” Eddie says.

“I guess we all something was missing. And Mike was the only one who knew what it was,” Richie says.

“I'll apologize to him. Not that my shoving did much. Pretty sure I broke my finger when I poked at his chest. The motherfucker got ripped.”

Richie laughs loudly. “Oh, god, right? And Ben...”

“Dude, yes! Ben!”

“Maybe that's the real price we paid for fucking with It. Like a, uh. That monkey thing. We get good stuff with bad things attached forever.”

“The Monkey's Paw?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah! We all got irresistibly hot but in return we live shitty lives.”

Eddie looks over at Stan, who is watching them with an amused glint to his eye.

“I wonder what Stan's wife was like,” Richie continues. “Bet he got all cute and shit as an adult. Wish I could talk to that fucker one more time. He pretty much always knew what to say.”

“Stan was happy,” Eddie says, and it hurts to say because he knows it was true. Stan was happy with his wife, and even with the missing pieces, he managed to thrive. Stan was the one of them who was most eager to forget. Stan never wanted to fight in the first place. And Eddie didn't either, but he also would have followed their group anywhere. Stan existed the most on his own outside of them, knew who he was and what he wanted. Eddie needed their club to thrive. For the others, it must've been the same.

“You think so?” Richie asks softly.

“Yeah, I do. I think he was smart enough to say 'fuck It and his stipulations' and be happy anyway. Like a big 'fuck you' to the clown.”

“Stan never was down with the clown,” Richie agrees. Eddie snorts with laughter. They sit in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. A throat clears behind them, and Eddie thinks it might just be Stan, but it's actually Beverly, who is smiling widely.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks, and it's only then Eddie notices Richie's hand is still linked with his own.

“Hell yeah,” Richie says. “Want a shot? Eddie's buying. Being a risk gas-lighter is lucrative work.”

“Analyst!” Eddie snaps.

“Whatever man, sounds like you hype people up about scenarios that never happen and then take their money for it.”

“My job is to think about things other people don't think about for safety measures and—“

“So you've been doing this job since birth and are only just now raking in the bankroll?” He scrunches up his face and makes his voice go high and whiny. 'Guys, come on, it's gray water and it's filled with so much bacteria and all your skin's gonna fall off and I'll get grounded—'”

Somewhere in the flurry of limbs that is Eddie trying to launch at Richie, they let go of each other's hands, but Eddie feels the warmth for a little while after.

***

Mike and Bill return, and Bill is one-hundred percent on board for whatever Mike's plan is, which means the rest of them are too. Eddie knows well enough he'd follow Bill back to Hell if Bill asked him to, because Bill has always treated Eddie like a person, and when Bill puts his mind to something, the rest seems like an inevitability.

They trek behind Mike, all of them riled on manic energy and a desire to end It for good. Unbeknownst to the others, Stan is there too, walking beside Eddie, who trails behind so he can murmur to him without being overheard.

“What do you know about Mike's plan?” Eddie asks, and Stan smirks.

“It's amazing how much you really believe me. I thought as soon as you were the only one who could see me, I was fucked,” Stan says.

“Well, you haven't tried to kill me yet. Pennywise would've by now. And besides, I already said you don't feel like him. He was—is—really bad at imitations.”

They walk for a bit longer in silence before Stan answers.

“Being dead is weird,” he says, and Eddie doesn't know if it would be wrong to laugh at that, so he settles for saying nothing. “It's like time isn't linear to me anymore. I can be pretty much wherever, and I see other things happening, and then I have to straighten out what applies to the here and now. Here and now for you, not for me. Because I'm not here anymore so I don't have a now.”

“I...think I get that?” Eddie says.

“The ritual isn't going to work,” Stan says.

“I didn't think it would. Why does Bill think it will?”

“Because Bill needs for It to be dead. And he only knows half of what Mike knows.”

“So Mike's lying?” Eddie asks, getting pissed off at Mike all over again.

“Mike needs to believe it will work. It's all he has, really.”

“Jesus.” Eddie sighs and shuts up for a second when Richie turns to look at him curiously.

“I don't know why I'm still here. I keep trying to figure it out, and what I've guessed is that I need to stop you from being killed. I can't...change a lot about what's going to happen. If I do too much, I could mess everything up, so I can't tell you all I know. Maybe it'll make things much different, maybe not. But things aren't going to be fixed if we both die,” Stan says.

“Neither of us should die,” Eddie mutters, and Stan doesn't look at him, just keeps walking.

“One of us was going to. You don't get to have a perfect ending, right? I wish I could change everything, I do. I wish I could go back in time and stop Georgie from dying too, but it doesn't work that way. I can only interact with you. So you're the one I'm going to save.” Stan's eyes soften, and he looks affectionately at Eddie. “I love you, Eds. You don't deserve to die, and I'm going to fix it.”

All over again, Eddie is crying. The people he loves most in the world are walking with him, and one of them is dead. It isn't fair.

“I'm sorry, Stan,” Eddie says softly, wiping at his eyes. “I don't mean to keep being a baby, it's just a lot. It's a lot.”

“I know,” Stan says.

“The others, what happens to them? When I die?”

“Some of them work it out,” Stan says. “They don't get over you. Or me. But I think you're the straw that breaks the camel's back. Richie, um. He's especially not okay.”

Eddie looks at Richie's back as they walk, his hands clenching into fists.

“He gets about two more years,” Stan continues quietly. The implications hang.

“Oh god. Does...does he...?”

“He doesn't do it to himself, like me. Not intentionally, anyway. He drinks too much and ends up crashing his car. But he's a wreck the entire time. I never want to see him that way again.”

Stan and Richie were always best friends in a way that used to make Eddie's hackles rise on instinct, and...still does. He bristles in that familiar way because Stan knows Richie so well and cares so much for Richie, and Eddie selfishly wants Richie's attentions that way, too. He's still remembering new things, and being desperate for Richie's attention and then being overwhelmed when he got it is something he's recalling with alarming intensity.

“That can't happen!” Eddie hisses, filled with fury at the thought of Richie being so broken up about him that he never gets over it. And the others will lose three friends? It's not something Eddie can bear to think about. “Why does— Why's he lose it so much over...?”

“Are you really asking me this?” Stan asks tiredly, and when he looks at Eddie in that way he always used to, annoyed and exasperated, Eddie finds himself losing it all over again, just like he always used to.

“No, fuck, no, that's not okay, you can't just fucking spring shit like this on me and then— What the fuck does that even mean, I don't know shit.”

“Eddie?” Bill asks, and Eddie whirls back to face the group, who got a little ahead of him. Eddie didn't even realize he stopped walking. “W-what is it?”

Eddie glances between their worried faces and settles on Richie's, whose eyes are wide with worry behind his glasses, and Eddie starts hyperventilating.

“Fucking shit, fucking—nnghh!” He reaches for the inhaler he knows he doesn't need, and he considers throwing it as hard as he can, but the thought passes because he does need it, just not in the way he thought he did. Instead he clutches it like a precious fucking artifact and doubles over as he uses it, inhaling the water vapor like it's an actual drug.

“Eddie!” Richie is suddenly there, patting his back, his shoulders. “What's wrong, what is it, c'mon—“

“It muh-might be...Pennywise,” Bill says.

Eddie shakes his head furiously and tries to force himself to breathe, getting madder when he can't. Isn't it such bullshit that even knowing something is all in your head doesn't make it stop? It's only worse somehow because his own mind is playing tricks on him. He both pushes Richie away and clings to him at the same time, and he settles for a death grip on Richie's sleeve.

“I can't—can't breathe,” he rasps, and Richie's arms fly around him, not too tight. He smells like cheap cologne and fake leather and it's the best thing Eddie's ever smelled in his pathetic life.

“It's okay, just focus on me. Focus on what I'm doing. Try to breathe when I do, okay? Yeah, that's good, you're doing good, Eds,” Richie says in a soothing voice. Eddie sobs at how much he loves the stupid nickname and how much it calms him down.

He thinks of how it would be if things were reversed, if he learned he was the one who had to go on without Richie in the future. He doesn't think he'd make it a whole two years, and that knowledge makes his heart break even more.

“He's okay,” Richie says to the others. Then, softer, to Eddie, “Just hang on to me, man, I'm here.”

“Richie,” he sobs, his voice wrecked. Richie curses and holds him tighter.

“Let's all just rest a minute,” Beverly says, and Eddie loves her. “It's been a long night and none of us have slept. It's amazing we aren't all having an attack.”

“But,” Mike starts, and Bill puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Just a f-few muh-minutes, Mike.”

Beverly lights a cigarette and Ben trails after her, looking lovesick as always. Eddie, meanwhile, realizes his hands are fisted in the back of Richie's jacket, but he doesn't let go because it's helping to ground him.

“Did you see something, Eds?” Richie asks quietly.

Eddie considers telling him, because Richie wouldn't think he was crazy. He doesn't know why exactly he isn't telling the others. They could probably help him figure things out, and surely they'd have things to ask Stan themselves. But if Eddie was going to tell any of them, it'd be Richie, because even Bill is willing to risk everything for a ritual that won't work out of pure desperation, and Richie is the only one as pissed off to be here as Eddie is. So, face still buried in Richie's neck, Eddie nods.

“What was it? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone else.”

“It's not...It. Since I got back here, since the restaurant, I... I see...” He sighs and breathes in Richie's scent more, letting it steel him. “It's Stan.”

“What?”

“He was there, sitting in his chair, and I just knew he was dead. I knew before anyone else. And I thought it was crazy, because I didn't remember Pennywise, but then I did and this—isn't that. It's not the clown. It's Stan, and he's dead, and only I can see him.”

“Eddie...”

“I know how it sounds, and I need you to believe me when I say it's not a trick. I can feel it.”

“But why would you be the only one who can see him? We all made the oath. We should all see him.”

“I think we will, one by one, when it's...the next one's turn to die.”

Richie's breath hitches, and he pulls back from Eddie, face stricken. He shakes his head.

“Bev said there wasn't an order!”

“She said that because it was in front of me, and she already knows I'm next. Stan was the weakest, and I'm the next one to go, so I can see him. After me, I don't know. Apparently Stan and I weren't supposed to survive this and everyone else was.” Eddie looks closely at Richie's face, and he makes a soft noise in his throat at all the anguish and fear he sees there. He reaches up before he can think better of it, his hand brushing Richie's cheek. “I need you to believe me.”

Richie leans into his hand almost desperately, his wild eyes searching over Eddie's face. “I do. I do fucking believe you, and I'm scared, okay? I can't—Eddie, I can't lose you too. I won't—“

He won't make it. He doesn't say that last part, but Eddie hears it anyway, and he hates that he knows just how true it is. The look on Richie's face and the way he holds tightly to Eddie screams implications that Eddie longs to believe, but he's scared to, because what if he's wrong?

Are you really asking me this? Stan had asked, like Eddie should just know why Richie can't let go of him. And maybe deep down, he does know why. He knows he wouldn't be able to let go of Richie, either. He knows it's why he's telling Richie, and no one else about Stan.

But now isn't the time to think about these things. Not when Pennywise is alive. Maybe not even later, because Eddie is married and too much of a coward to let himself have what he wants.

Maybe there will be time, at some incredible point, and since Stan said time isn't linear, he might know for sure when that is.

Eddie will remind himself to ask later.

***

They find the clubhouse and listen to Mike talk about the ritual that won't work. They remember Stan and his worries, always practical in a way Eddie never could be, and Eddie looks at the hammock with a blush on his face that's mirrored similarly on Richie's.

They stand side by side, shoulders touching. No one else comments on it. When Mike tells them they need to split up to retrieve their artifacts, Richie scoffs and throws an arm around Eddie's shoulders.

“No fucking way. We were together all that summer.”

“Not all of it,” Mike says, and they remember the fight. Richie glares at Bill.

“Oh, yeah. You punched me. You bastard.”

“Sorry,” Bill says in a way that says he's not all that sorry about it. “You said Guh-Georgie was d-dead.”

Eddie wasn't there for this fight, but he did hear about it. Richie had crawled through his window the night it happened, after Eddie got his arm set and was on pain pills, grounded and miserable. Richie was suddenly in his bed, sobbing, holding Eddie for dear life and saying he was sorry over and over for letting Eddie get hurt. Eddie was high off his mind but he pet Richie's hair and murmured it was fine and then Richie said Bill punched him. “You nearly died, Eds, you almost died and he didn't even fucking care and I was just so mad...” They didn't talk about it afterwards, because Eddie woke later to find Richie gone, and he wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a dream.

Richie narrows his eyes at Bill as if to say, “Yeah, well he WAS dead.” Eddie nudges Richie with his shoulder and gives him a look to shut him up. To the side of them, Beverly snorts.

“A lot of bad things happened,” Ben says nervously. “Getting mad about it now won't help. What do we need to do exactly, Mike?”

“You need to remember the rest of our story,” Mike says. “We've all got a good chunk of it now, but we have to know all of it for the ritual to work.”

Richie meets Eddie's eyes, his face sour. Eddie glares back at him, and they argue silently.

“No way we're separating,” Richie's face says.

“We have to,” Eddie's says in return. “This is why no one ever tells you secrets, because you're bad at keeping them.”

“What?” Richie's face says, because he doesn't understand the eyebrow thing Eddie just did. Eddie huffs and looks away from him. Richie is always missing important signals.

The others reluctantly go their separate ways, and Eddie stands with Richie and Stan in the middle of the Barrens, hands in his pockets.

“I'm going with you,” Richie says.

“I don't think it works that way,” Eddie says, looking to Stan. “Stan says we can't change too much. It'll fuck up the timeline or something.”

“What the fuck does that mean? Stan! Stan, where are you, you bastard, if you're as stubborn in death as you are in life you can talk to me, I'm sure of it!” Richie throws his hands up. Stan looks warily at him.

“C'mon, Rich, surely you know about some of this stuff. You get an opportunity to go back in time and kill a bad guy, but then you go back to your time and find out some other bad guy exists now and is even worse than the other one and you caused it? I don't know shit about time and ghosts and—stuff, but Stan seems adamant that only a few things can change. Right now, we need to separate.” Eddie gives Richie a smile that probably isn't convincing.

“What if it happens now?” Richie asks weakly.

“If what happens?”

“If I leave you alone and you die!” Richie barks. He looks almost unhinged. “I can't fucking live with that!”

“It's not now,” Stan says.

“Stan says it's not now,” Eddie repeats. Richie doesn't look convinced.

“How the fuck do we know this is even Stan?”

“Rich...” Eddie says tiredly.

“No, for real. I know you say it doesn't feel like Pennywise, but it's been twenty-seven goddamn years since we've seen the guy. He could be better at hiding it. How do we know it's really Stan? I'm gonna ask a question only the real Stan would know.”

“Go for it,” Stan says. Eddie just motions at Richie to go on.

“That same summer we thought we killed It, what did I tell him in confidence when we were alone in his room?” Richie asks triumphantly.

“Tell him he does not want me to answer that in front of you,” Stan tells Eddie. Eddie frowns and repeats it to Richie, whose eyes go wide and frantic.

“Not that!” Richie elaborates. “The other thing! It was when I stayed for dinner and his mom made pasta and...” Richie gestures a vague motion with his hand.

Stan makes a face and then wrinkles his nose. “The thing about him finding Tom Selleck's mustache attractive? I thought he was joking.”

“Something about Tom Selleck and his hot mustache?” Eddie asks Richie, whose mouth falls open.

“Shit,” Richie says.

“Mustaches are not attractive, for the record. Do you know how much bacteria gets caught in them daily? Think about how much you eat and drink in a day. Fucking gross,” Eddie says.

“Think about all the flesh eating bacteria in the razor you use to shave with, though,” Richie counters, and Eddie gapes at him, lost for words.

“Oh my god,” Eddie finally says.

“Yeah. You don't know everything. Should expand your risk analyst repertoire.”

“Did you fucking Google that word, you piece of—“

“Guys,” Stan hisses, exasperated.

“We're splitting up now,” Eddie says, pointing at Richie warningly. “So don't fucking die, okay, or I'll kill you again.”

“Really rich, coming from you. Aren't you on death row or something?” Richie asks.

“I'm telling you to be careful!”

“Then just say that!”

“This is Hell. This is Hell, and I must've been a horrible person,” Stan says to himself, and Eddie decides, yeah, okay, it's time to go.

***

Remembering just how badly his anxieties were and just how much adults used to enable him is somehow a highlight of his journey. Getting barfed on by the leper is the definitive low point. He marches through the townhouse, passing Beverly, covered in black filth.

“Are you okay?” Beverly asks.

“Fine, I'm fine,” he says flippantly, passing her quickly. He runs into Richie outside his room.

“Eds! Fuck, what—what's all over you?”

“Leper barf,” Eddie says in a far more level voice than he feels. “I need to shower now, immediately.”

“Yeah, okay, you do that. Um. Are you okay?” Richie asks uncertainly. Eddie laughs, and something about it must be unhinged, because Richie doesn't stop him  from going into his bathroom again.

Honestly, Eddie should have expected Bowers to be there with a knife, but as a risk analyst he knows better than most how hindsight is always twenty-twenty.

***

“Oh, fuck,” Beverly says as she examines the hole in his cheek. Ben is inside Eddie's room, looking for Bowers. Richie is looking at him, expression terrified.

“Is it bad?” Eddie asks.

“Looks rugged, Eds,” Richie says. He gives a shaky thumbs up.

“He's gone,” Ben says when he emerges. “I saw him drive off in his old car. How the fuck is that thing still running?” He looks down at Eddie with soft eyes. “You okay, buddy?”

“I'm great. Always wanted a hole in my face,” Eddie says.

“It went right through. Nothing major,” Beverly says.

“If I keep swallowing blood, I'm going to vomit,” Eddie says.

“Spit it out then,” Richie advises, his face still white, his hands in his pockets.

“Not to be dramatic,” Stan says, “but someone needs to get to the library, or Mike's gonna die.”

Eddie stands and ignores Beverly's attempts to wipe at his face with the rag.

“I'm fine, we can bandage it in the car. Right now, we have to go, okay? Please trust me.”

***

Seeing Richie kill a man is one of the worst things Eddie's ever seen in his life, and he's seen very questionable things in New York.

It's not so much the act itself. Eddie's seen far more blood and gore than the average person. It's seeing Richie do it that hurts so bad. Richie, hands shaking, launching to save Mike because the rest of them are frozen in fear.

“It's how it was supposed to happen,” Stan says, but Eddie doesn't feel relief. He feels sick with shame, because it should be him with blood on his hands. Richie doesn't deserve to live with this.

“Rich!” Eddie cries when Richie doubles over and vomits. Ben goes to Mike's side, and Eddie scrambles to Richie's. “Fuck, are you okay? Wait, no, that's stupid, I'm sorry. Just—what can I do?”

“Stan sucks as a fucking spirit guide,” Richie hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” Eddie asks, staring at him blankly.

“You got stabbed! You could've been killed! And I just fucking killed a guy! Isn't all this, I don't know, things that could be avoided by people who know the future?!”

“Richie, we can't change that much. I told you that.” Eddie glances at Stan, who looks guilty and small. “I'm fine. You're fine. Mike's fine. It was him or Bowers, and you made the right call. I would've made the same call.”

“Eds,” Richie breathes. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Eddie's, his eyes closed. He looks so tired, and so stressed. Eddie hates all of this, but he knows there isn't much he can do to fix it.

“You're the best part about all of this,” Eddie says, because he needs to say something. Richie blinks owlishly at him. “I mean it, okay? Even back then you made it...easier. You'd say stupid shit, and make me mad, and it would distract me from the worst of it. I don't guess I ever thanked you for that, but I'm doing it now.”

“I need to...to tell you about what I saw today. When I got my artifact,” Richie says, and Eddie nods.

“Okay, yeah, I'll tell you what I saw, too.”

“Guys!” Mike's voice cuts through. “Bill's going to fight It alone. He's on his way to Neibolt.”

“This is it,” Stan says, and Eddie's hands grip tight to Richie's shoulders.

“We're going to talk later, okay? And we're going to walk out of that fucking house knowing It's dead this time. We're never going to wonder again.”

“Okay,” Richie breathes, looking dazedly into Eddie's eyes. “I'll fucking agree to anything you say, as long as you keep looking at me like that.”

“Now isn't really the time,” Stan says weakly, but it does nothing to dull the moment.

***

Honestly, going back down under Neibolt is a lot like the first time. They're all sure they're going to their deaths, and they know they have no choice. They hold each other a little tighter, argue a little less, and do their best to stay together.

But it doesn't work out, just like the first time.

The ritual fails, just as Stan said it would. They all get thrown apart, aside from Eddie and Richie, who get hurdled toward Pennywise's same old tricks.

For an eternal demon space clown, he sure is redundant.

Eddie's hand is in Richie's as they run from Pennywise, who until moments ago was a very cute Pomeranian. Eddie grips him desperately, afraid to let go. Eddie almost let Richie die because he was so scared. He's never going to let Richie go again.

“Fuck, fuck!” Richie shouts as they run. “It's tonight, right? It's gotta be tonight! When am I supposed to know when this shit is going down, if only you can see Stan?”

“Because you're clearly staying with me!” Eddie shouts back.

“Well fucking duh. Never leaving your shitty, fake asthmatic ass again!”

“Fine! Whatever! Don't then! See if I fucking care!”

“You fucking care alright, you stupid fucker—“

And then Mike is screaming, and a lot of things happen very quickly after that.

Richie taunts It, and gets caught in the deadlights, floating from the ground, blood from his nose rising through the air. Eddie realizes very quickly no one else is going to stop this from happening, and he swallows every fear he's ever had and launches forward with the spear Beverly gave him.

“BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!”

He throws the spear, and barely notices it lands in It's gaping mouth, because Richie is falling to the ground, and Eddie only cares about that. Eddie lands on all fours over Richie, and he slaps at Richie's cheek as gently as he can.

“Hey! Richie! Hey! There he is, buddy!” Eddie says excitedly as Richie blinks awake from his stupor. “Hey, I think I got—“

“MOVE, EDDIE!” Stan yells, and Eddie doesn't think twice, just rolls off Richie and lays beside him, side by side. They watch as It's claw soars over their heads, swiping at where Eddie was moments before.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes.

“I think... I think that was...”

“Get O-OUT of there!” Bill shouts, and they're rolling over each other to scramble away towards the little alcove out of reach of Pennywise's frantic swipes.

“Eddie!” Beverly sobs, launching into his arms even as Pennywise shouts and curses them. “You—you were... You were going to...!”

“I know. It's okay now. I think we're all going to be fine.” He holds her as tightly as she's holding him.

“I knew... I knew you were supposed to be next. I didn't know how it would happen. I didn't remember Stan's until after I already knew he was gone.” She sobs. “I'd never let you die if I knew how it'd happen, Eddie, I swear.”

“Bev, I know. Stop crying, okay? I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere.” It all has to do with how much they're allowed to change. Eddie was supposed to be dying now, so anything that happens after this is new. He looks back, and for some reason, Stan is still there, looking as confused as Eddie is about it.

“I know how to kill It,” Eddie tells them. Richie's hands grip his shoulders.

“Stan?” he whispers for Eddie's ears only.

“No. This one's all me,” Eddie says, smiling at him, and Richie holds his gaze for a moment before looking down, suddenly shy, and Eddie thinks despite everything, it's one of the best things he's seen.

***

In the aftermath, when It stops screaming, all of their hands, even Stan's, crushing It's heart together, the fog immediately lifts.

It's almost like all of them wake up after being asleep, and everything they ever forgot about their town comes flooding back. Bill stops stuttering. Somehow, Eddie swears he feels the entire town waking up with them, though they were all much more asleep than the Losers. Maybe on the news later, instead of saying an earthquake or a sinkhole caused the old house on Neibolt street to cave in, the anchors will actually say it was something unexplainable.

Then again, Eddie isn't going to hold his breath. Baby steps, and all that. He'd be happy with them mentioning it at all.

Bill decides they should clean off in the quarry, and Eddie bites his tongue on his reservations. After everything, it seems counterproductive to lecture them all on the brain-eating amoeba, and it's definitely not hot enough for them right now anyway, and there aren't a whole lot of recorded cases in Maine, but just in case, he tells them all they should avoid getting water up their noses.

“Oh, Eddie,” Beverly says, looking at him. “I love you. I'm so glad you're here.”

Eddie grins at her, and then she jumps first, just like the first time. But this time, Eddie holds Richie's hand as they jump together, and even when they hit the water, they never lose their grip.

“For the record,” Eddie tells them, “I hate this.”

“Cleaning off in dirty water?” Beverly asks.

“Imagine how fucking pissed I'm going to be if I helped kill a psychotic horror space clown just to die from a bacterial infection.” He points at his cheek. “This thing is fresh. I swear to everything that might exist, I will haunt you all. I'll take turns between you.”

“Isn't he cute, guys?” Richie asks, looking down at him fondly.

“The cutest,” Ben agrees. Eddie splashes water at him.

“Eddie, I have to ask... How did you know all that you did? This whole time, you never saw the deadlights. I'm certain of it. And you knew more than me.” Beverly watches him with pale green eyes, and Eddie decides they should all know now that it's over.

“Stan. He's been here this whole time. He wanted to change our ending.”

“Stan?” Bill breathes.

“I was supposed to get skewered back there, that's all I know. Stan says time isn't linear, and things get mixed up sometimes, but if I'm lucky I'll stay far the fuck away from that alternative timeline,” Eddie says. “It's over. I'm alive because of Stan.”

“Oh,” Beverly gasps, her eyes filling with tears.

“That time... When we found him with that woman from the painting, do you think...?” Mike asks.

“Yeah. I think he saw the deadlights. He was never the same, after that,” Bill says.

None of them ask how Beverly saw them so long ago and is still alive. They don't need to. Stan was a kind, soft-hearted man, and Beverly is a loving, fiery woman who has had to fight all her life. Things are different, people are different. Comparing them would be a disservice to them both.

Eddie looks over at Stan, who is watching them sullenly. He looks so out of place, and Eddie years for him to be part of this, or to pass on. He wants Stan to be at peace. He's earned it.

“Love you, Stan,” Richie calls to where Eddie is looking. All of the Losers call out to Stan, though only one of them can actually see him.

Stan sobs and waves from the shore.

***

Going back to the townhouse isn't ideal.

For one thing, Eddie got stabbed in the bathroom, and it's probably still covered in his and Bowers's blood. For another thing, despite loving his friends, Eddie is ready to get the hell out of Derry.

He's sure the others feel the same way.

It's overwhelmingly sunny outside, and Eddie has been up for over twenty-four hours by this point. They're all still riding their adrenaline rushes, but they're all going to crash very soon. Eddie waves to them before bounding up the stairs as fast as he can to retrieve some clothes and find a clean bathroom to shower in, but somehow, his bathroom is clean, and a new shower curtain is hanging up.

“So someone does work here...” he says to himself, but he can't question it too much, because if he doesn't clean himself off now he's going to lose his mind. He scrubs himself until his skin is pink and agitated, and then he dresses in some sweatpants and calls Myra for the first time since arriving, deciding now is as good a time as any.

He puts his wedding ring on the dresser, knowing he's not going to pick it up again.

The call doesn't go well. He finds himself caring less and less about what she's saying but he holds the phone to his ear and offers little mm-hmm's as she rants at him, and at some point he just passes out, completely and totally exhausted, phone still in his hand.

***

His dreams shift back and forth between things he recalls vaguely, and things he never knew. A life that isn't his flashes before his eyes, and while he sees himself in these memories, he knows he isn't seeing himself through his own eyes.

A creepy house on Neibolt street, Eddie's arm breaking, Eddie being lifted into Mike's newspaper basket and then being carted off by his angry mother. An argument with Bill, heated words that end in him laying on the ground, overwhelmed with hurt and betrayal.

Richie. These are Richie's memories.

Richie in an arcade playing with a boy with sandy blond hair, both of them laughing until Bowers shows up and all but chases Richie from the building, the word faggot following in Richie's wake. Fear, sick shame, the words echo in Richie's mind as he sits in the park and sobs into his hands.

Pennywise. A secret.

The kissing bridge. Richie's shaky hands as he carves letters into the wood that mean more to him than anything in the world, but he can't bring himself to say it. His hands linger over the carving. He quickly gets on his bike and peddles away, ignoring pain from the multiple splinters he got.

Reuniting. Killing Pennywise the first time. Holding Eddie's bloody hand and hating how much he still likes the excuse to do so.

Things after that look fuzzy, and it's parts of Richie's life Eddie never knew about, because this was after their memories of each other were gone.

Doing stand up for small crowds and having to stay and clean the floors after, drinking so much he barely knows how he makes it home some nights, sketched out buildings and copious drugs as he tries to rub elbows with the right people. Bigger crowds, more drinking, signing a contract hiring writers because his own jokes are too controversial, but you're hilarious either way, Rich.

Getting pushed into walls, thrown into beds, sobbing quietly into his hands in the aftermath because no one feels right, and he's looking for a certain shape he can't remember but he knows is real.

A phone call. A promise. Feelings returning as soon as he sees a dark haired man with big brown eyes standing across a restaurant. The same man above him, torn through with a claw in his middle, his blood all over Richie, his mouth sobbing Richie's name.

Eddie cries because he knows what's coming. This is the life that Stan saw. The reality that could've been, had Stan not saved him.

Richie, dragged away from Eddie's body, kicking and screaming, because he'd rather die with Eddie than live without him. A breakdown in the water. Re-carving something he knew twenty-seven years prior but knows all the more now. Going back to his old life and drinking himself to death day by day, blocking calls and numbers and texts from concerned friends, dreaming every night of Eddie and breaking down every morning, though it's exactly the same dream every time.

Getting behind the wheel of his car when he's wasted and accelerating even as he nears a sharp curve because he just doesn't care anymore...

Eddie wakes with a sharp cry and struggles to breathe, but he doesn't reach for his inhaler. There's warmth behind him, and he turns to see Richie sleeping next to him, his arms around Eddie, his brow furrowed from his own bad dreams.

The room is darker than it was when he passed out on the phone with Myra. He has no idea how much time has passed, but his body feels stiff, like he's been sleeping for a long time without moving. He groans softly and rolls over, putting his hands on Richie's face and smoothing out the worry lines.

“N-no...Eddie... Please, no...!” Richie whimpers, and Eddie wonders if they were seeing the same thing. Those alternate timelines. He wonders if it was Stan that made them see it.

“Richie. Hey. Rich!” Eddie shakes him and Richie's eyes fly open, wild and frantic, and they settle on Eddie. “There he is.” Eddie smiles at him.

“Eds,” Richie sobs, and he lunges at Eddie, scooping him up and clinging to him so tightly Eddie worries for his own spine. He pets through Richie's hair and tries to be soothing, though he's not the best at it. “You died. I saw you die. I saw me live without you and, I...”

“That's over. It's not happening, okay? We avoided that. I'm here, and I'm with you.”

Richie puts his hand over Eddie's bare chest, his breath stilling when he feels the steady thumping of Eddie's heart. He looks broken up and terrified.

“I got into your bed,” Richie says after a while, because he always has to say something. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I figured I didn't carry you here, asshole.”

“I wasn't planning on it. I wanted to pop my head in to ask, at least, but you were asleep, and some woman was yelling at you on the phone. I hung up on her for you.”

“That was Myra. I told her I want a divorce.”

Richie nods, and his hand finds Eddie's left hand, his thumb swiping over Eddie's fingers to feel for a ring that's no longer there. He's still being so careful, like he's afraid he's misreading things between them.

“Guess she didn't take that well, then,” Richie says.

“No shit. She threatened to sue me.” Eddie grins when Richie snorts.

“For what?”

“I dunno, breach of contract? Like, I signed up to love her forever and I lied? I told her divorce exists, and has for a long ass time, and then she yelled at me for cursing at her.” Eddie sighs. “Christ. When I think of how much time I wasted. I never knew I could do better. Have better.” Eddie curls his fingers into Richie's hair, scratching lightly and lovingly at Richie's scalp. Richie shivers.

“So after I hung up on her for you, I just decided, I wanna spoon Eds, so I did. Sorry if that's creepy. I mean, I know it's creepy. But I had to be with you, okay? I have to be with you,” Richie babbles. “You're the most important thing in the fucking world to me.”

“You carved our initials in the kissing bridge.” Eddie grins at Richie's shocked expression. “We had the same dream. I saw you doing it.”

“Guess the fucking cat's out of the bag, then,” Richie says. “Why'd we have the same dream? Do you think everyone did?”

“No. I think Stan needed us to see that. I think we needed to know what it would be like to...lose each other. What we could have missed out on.”

“Stan.” Richie nods. “Is he still here?”

Eddie doesn't even look around. He knows the answer without checking. “No. I don't think he's coming back anymore.” Stan needed them to all be happy. He saved Eddie, and he left Eddie in Richie's arms. Stan knows they'll all be fine, now.

“Eds,” Richie breathes, and then Eddie leans forward and kisses him.

“I love you,” Eddie says, because Richie needs to hear it. Richie's face crumples in a way that worries the hell out of Eddie for a second, but then it's like a dam breaks, and Richie is hovering over him, pressing him in the bed, and kissing him like his life depends on it.

“I fucking— I've always loved you. Even when we were kids and I didn't know that's what it was. Even when I couldn't remember. No one was ever right, because no one was—“

“I know,” Eddie reminds him. “I saw.”

Richie seems to suddenly comprehend their position, and he looks bashful for all of a second before Eddie is pulling him back down, kissing him harder, rubbing up against him with intent. Richie melts on top of him, groaning into Eddie's mouth in a way that shouldn't be as ridiculously hot as it is. Richie pulls back to look at him, pupils wide, hair wrecked. Eddie imagines he looks the same.

“You're fucking beautiful, Eds,” Richie whispers, sounding emotional about it. “I've always, just— I've wanted this for so long, and...”

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs. “I want this, too. I want you. Stop thinking so much.”

“Sounds crazy, coming from you. How are you the calm one, here?”

“I don't know. Maybe because this is finally happening? Maybe because It's dead for good now, and being scared to have what I want is too bizarre to even think about. I fucking earned having this. We both did. And nothing else matters because even if you're bad in bed, I'll still love you because you're you and...” Eddie laughs softly, shaking his head. “I've been yours for as long as I can remember. I don't think that's going to change.”

Richie's mouth hangs open comically, and then he's glaring down at Eddie, no real heat to it. “First of all, I'm great in the sack.”

“Okay.”

“Second of all, you're goddamn right you're mine.” Richie pauses. “But, uh. To reiterate the first talking point, I don't think I'm gonna last long.”

Eddie peers up at him. “Really?”

“Dude, you're literally every wet dream I've ever had. I've never really planned to get this far.” Richie grinds down against him, and Eddie's eyes slide closed at the friction. It's overwhelming how hard Richie already is just from kissing him.

“Fuck, Rich...” Eddie licks his lips, nervous now. “No one's ever... I mean, I guess I never thought of myself as the kind of person someone could have wet dreams about. I'm not exactly Ben, you know?”

“Oh, baby,” Richie coos, “I'm gonna show you just how much I want you.” He reaches down and slides Eddie's sweatpants off. “It's a good thing Stan passed on. I don't think he'd wanna watch what I'm about to do to you.”

It is over quickly, but Eddie can't make fun of anything because he's the one coming first. Richie presses him into the bed, his big hand pumping both their dicks, his mouth against Eddie's ear murmuring filthy things one second and loving praises the next. Eddie's nails rake down his back because it's so much and they're barely even having sex at all.

Is this what it could have been like all these years?

“That's it, Eds, fuck, you're so good, so good for me,” Richie gasps as Eddie trembles under him, crying out curses and Richie's name. Eddie bites down into Richie's shoulder and Richie seizes above him, groaning loudly as he spills himself into his hand. He falls gracelessly onto Eddie, who's too blown apart to even comment on the mess between their bodies.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes. “You're even scrappy in bed. I fucking knew you would be.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, but he pulls Richie even closer and runs his fingers soothingly along the scratch marks on Richie's back. “You've got about five minutes before I'm dragging you to the shower.”

“Mm. Enough time to bask, I guess,” Richie hums, and he lifts his head to lick into Eddie's mouth, and it ends up actually being about ten minutes, but who's counting anyway?

***

“Hey bitches,” Richie announces as they arrive at the restaurant and meet the other Losers. He holds up Eddie's hand. “Me and Eds are fucking now. Please contain your disappointment at missing out on the chance to get with me, I know I'm hot stuff. Looking at you here, Ben.”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie!” Eddie hisses, yanking his hand away and shoving Richie hard enough that he actually stumbles.

“Well, it's about time,” Beverly says, a wide smile on her face.

“Wait. You aren't kidding? Like, I always thought it was a weird courting thing you were doing, but it's also Richie, so it's hard to tell,” Mike says.

“He's my rebound,” Eddie says. “I'm getting divorced.”

“Hey, me too,” Beverly says. “Let's order a few drinks and toast to that.”

“I'm happy for you guys,” Bill says, looking at them with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle in the corners, and Eddie still feels weightless just from Bill's approval.

Ben moves forward and actually picks Eddie up, and Eddie squawks in protest.

“Damn, Haystack, if you want Eds, you gotta take me too. We're kind of a package deal now,” Richie says.

“I'm just so happy,” Ben says, putting Eddie down and moving to hug Richie, who reciprocates much better than Eddie did. “I love you guys so much.”

“Ben's had a few celebratory mimosas today,” Beverly explains as Ben weeps a little.

“Get a man drunk and toss him my way,” Richie says. “I like how you think, Marsh.”

They order drinks and way too much food, and they laugh and talk and celebrate the proper way, no demon clown looming over them this time. Ben leans into Beverly and keeps kissing her hair, and Mike announces he's moving to Florida at the beginning of the month. Bill is going to go home and take Audra on the fanciest date he can, and then he's going to start a new book.

“Is the ending gonna suck?” Richie asks, and Bill tosses a napkin at him.

“What are you two lovebirds gonna do?” Beverly asks Richie.

“I'm gonna go back to Cali and work on my act. I'm already in talks with Netflix for a special but I think I'd like to write my own jokes for it. Gotta see if I can let go of my writers without getting sued or something. I'm not exactly in the good graces right now since my stage meltdown.”

“And I've gotta go back to New York and file for divorce. Or maybe Myra's already done that. I'm sure she's going to try and take me for all I'm worth, but that's fine. I just want to get away from that life.” Eddie takes a sip of his wine. “I want a fresh start.”

“You can always come live with me,” Richie says. “I kind of love you.”

“I was already planning on it, asshole. I've been Googling jobs in LA all morning.”

“Fuck yeah. Gonna shack up with my Eds here, gonna be a hot comedian. Life's looking up for old Richie Tozier.” He smiles at Eddie, and they both know the other is thinking about that life they saw before, the one that could've been if Eddie had died. Eddie leans forward and kisses him, squeezing Richie's thigh under the table, because that future is never happening. Eddie's going to make sure of it.

“I wanna toast to Stan,” Bill says softly, watching Richie and Eddie fondly. “We owe a lot to him. We always did, but...even more so now.”

They raise their glasses to Stan, and even though Stan's gone for good now, Eddie looks over to Stan's empty chair, still present at their table, and he feels like Stan is there, with them, happy for them all.

***

Eddie drops off his rental car and then clamors into Richie's, stuffing his suitcases in the backseat.

“Should've just taken my rental to the airport. This car is fucking ridiculous, Rich.”

“You chose a different rental place. I got this baby from the airport. Makes more sense to take mine. Besides, you better get used to this car, because I've got one just like it at home,” Richie says.

“Of course you do.”

They drive past all the old sights, which aren't much to behold, but they're full of memories. As they near the kissing bridge, Eddie squeezes Richie's shoulder.

“Stop the car. I wanna see it for real.”

Richie hesitates, but he pulls over, and Eddie exits the car and goes to the end of the bridge where he saw a younger Richie carving into the wood twenty-seven years prior, almost sick with fear, but so determined, too. Eddie runs his fingers carefully over the carving, a smile on his lips.

“Do you have a knife with you?” he asks Richie, who nods and hands it over, his hands going into his pockets as he watches Eddie lean over and refresh the carving.

“There,” Eddie announces. He added a little heart next to it, and it looks a little wonky, but it looks pretty cute, too. He turns back to Richie, who is all but blubbering silently into his hands.

“I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm just— I'm really happy. These are good tears, man,” Richie says, and Eddie moves into his space, pulling him down into a tight hug, letting him get it all out. “I love you so much,” Richie adds, and Eddie laughs softly.

“Love you too. Now c'mon, let's get the fuck out of Derry.”

As they leave the bridge and the rest of the town behind, Eddie pulls out his phone and laughs at what Ben added to their Loser's group chat. He reads it out to Richie, who tells Eddie what to type in response, and Eddie grins at him as Richie threads their fingers together and kisses Eddie's hand.

So many possible endings, but this is theirs now, and they won't have to wait long until they're back together again. Eddie knows he won't ever leave Richie's side again after they reunite, just like when they were kids and clumsily always sought each other out, not knowing why.

Now they know well enough.

[spideyy-girl]

Training ~ Richie Tozier

Requested by anon: Hey, first of all, LOVED the Richie imagine and I love the fact that you write for The Umbrella Academy. My sister likes MCR and got me into that show and I love it! Anyways, I’d like to request a Richie x Reader with 9, and 21 I think? It’s: “I hate you” “Love you too, darling” and: “Sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you” Or something. Anyways, thank you love!

9: “sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you”

28: “I hate you” “love you too, darling”

Summary: Richie wants to play at the arcade but Y/N wants to sleep in and some things are said.

Fandom: IT (2017)

Warnings: lots of swearing (this IS a Richie fic), love confession, cringey writing

Word Count: 1984 (5.3 pages)

Date: May 10, 2019

A/N: Ok this took way too long, and I am so so sorry about that. I was having major writing block but I’m feeling back on my game again now. Also, the new IT Ch2 trailer has me sCrEaMiNg.

Y/N laid on her stomach in her bed, head borrowed into her pillows as soft snores left the girls slightly open mouth, a small wet spot of drool forming on her pillow. The sun shone brightly through her large window beside her bed, birds chirping loudly on the branches just outside her window, yet she slept on. Today was the first day summer vacation, and the teenage girl was more than happy to sleep in until past noon like she currently was.

Well, that was the original plan. But suddenly she feels cold water crashing down onto her mess of hair and down her back, startling the girl awake as she sits up straight in her bed. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes to see what caused the chaos, only to see one of her closest friends, Richie Tozier, standing at the side of her bed, a wide smirk on his face as he holds back his laughter.

"What the fuck, Richard?" She almost screams as she quickly throws the covers off of her and getting out of her bed. At this point, Richie's smirk had only grown wider, putting the now empty glass on her bedside table and leaning against the wall, pushing op his glasses as he examined her.

"You weren't answering my calls," said Richie simply, shrugging his shoulder. "So I thought I might pay you a visit to see what was so important to be ignoring your favourite person in the world." He smiled at her as she stopped and just stared at him in disbelief. After glaring at him for a few seconds, she shook her head and went over to her closet to find something to wear that wasn't completely soaked. 

"How the hell did you even get in here?" She asked as she pulled out a shirt and signalled for the boy to turn around sh=o she could change, which he did after some silent arguing. 

"Easy. You hide a key under the mat in front of your house," he says, still facing the wall. "You should probably move that to a safer place, you know. That's like the most simple place to keep a spare key."

"Just shut up," Y/N said as she turned Richie around to face her again once she changed into a new outfit that didn't consist of fuzzy pyjama pants. "What do you want?"

"Training starts today!" He says, hitting her shoulder and looking at her like she was dumb. The look was given right back to him as she sighs and walks out of her room and downstairs, Richie following close behind.

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" She asks as she goes into the kitchen and takes out two bowls and starts pouring cereal into both of them. "You woke me up over this bullshit? What do you mean by training?" She pours in the milk and grabs two spoons, putting one in each bowl and handing the cereal to Richie, who gladly accepted it and started chomping down.

"Street Fighter, duh," he says as he chews on his cereal. Y/N grabs his free hand and puts it in front of his mouth, telling him to "cover up your mouth, that's disgusting." to which Richie only rolled his eyes back as a response, but kept his hand held up. "C'mon, Y/N. I told you about this literally yesterday. You said you'd come to the ar ade with me cause the guys are ditching me!"

Y/N groans as she slams down her bowl of cereal, some of the milk splashing out of the little bowl. "Rich, it's the first day of summer! I was supposed to sleep the entire day away. You know my sleeping schedule has been shit for months."

Richie looked down, starting to feel bad for waking her up. It was true, ever since the kids in Derry started disappearing, starting with one of their best friends little brothers, Y/N hasn't been able to get out of her head. She has told him that she was getting usually less than 3 hours of sleep per night, and it only got worse from there. Richie sighed, and looked back up, making eye contact with her beautiful Y/E/C orbs. 

"Alright, let's crack a deal then," he says, his voice sounding not so cocky anymore. "We go to the arcade, and you battle me on Street Fighter. And if you manage to beat me, we'll go home and sleep for the rest of the day."

"Richie, that's so unfair!" she says, throwing her arms up before putting them back down to her sides. "You know I'm shit at Street Fighter! I'm shit at all video games!" He smiled at her, grabbing her hand and dragging her out the door.

"Yeah, trust me I know," he says as he goes to grab her bike for her and hands it off to her as he gets on his own. "And that is exactly why we need to do some training! You'll be the best Street Fighter out there by the end of the summer!" Y/N groans as she gets on her own bike, buckling her helmet.

"You know what Richie, I hate you," she says as the pair starts peddling off the driveway and onto the street, making their way to the arcade. Richie looks over to the girl he's known for as long as he can remember and smiles at the all too familiar phrase.

"Love you too, darling," he replies, just as he always does whenever she says that too him. Y/N can't help the smile that stretches across her face, wondering if one day maybe he would say that to her without the sarcasm behind it. 

Y/N had to admit that she had a little crush on the four-eyed boy. Well, that would be an underexagguration. Y/N had practically been in love with the boy riding down the street beside her for almost two years now. It started as a small crush in 5th grade, but young Y/N quickly dismissed it, remembering her other small crush on Stanley just a few months before and that was still slightly present. But as weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, Y/N had to admit to herself that this was more than just a slight infatuation. 

Soon enough, the teens had made their way to the arcade, the bright neon sign flickering the words 'Derry's Best Arcade!'. They walked in and firstly got a slushie from the counter and some tokens to spend on the Street Fighter game. Once they were set with extra large slushies in their hands and a solo cup full to the brim of tokens, they started on their so-called "training" as Richie called it earlier. They were in the dimmed arcade for at least an hour and a half, but neither of them were really keeping track, both of them determined to win. Y/N wanted to win so she could get back into her comfy bed as soon as possible, while Richie was continuing to win to make sure that didn't happen, and he could spend more time with the girl.

After three-fourths of the tokens in the cup have been used up Y/N groaned and started walking away from the machine, pacing back and forth through the aisles of other games. "This is useless, Richie!" she yelled at him once she came back to stand next to him. "It feels like I'm only getting worse at this stupid game! Why did I even agree to come here with you! This is so dumb!"

"Hey, calm down," says Richie, grabbing her shoulders in a way to try and calm her down. "Don't worry about it, Y/N. It's about having fun!"

"Well, I was having plenty of fun before, IN MY BED, where I wanted to be!" she yells back, the sleep deprivation starting to get to her head, quite literally and giving her headaches. "God, sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you," she says, still not thinking straight, and quickly covering her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut once she realizes what she said. Richie only watched the girl, his mocking face falling clean off to an unreadable one, something Y/N has never seen on the boy.

"Y-you love me?" he asks, his voice going so quiet that the other sounds of the arcade almost drowned it out, but she somehow still heard him. She felt tears starting to well up in her eyes. "oh fuck oh fuck, what did I do?!" she thinks to herself. She tries to cover up by laughing, her head facing down so he couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yeah, of course silly," she says, trying to act casual. "We've discussed this. I love you and Bill and Eddie and Stan-"

"I don't think that's what you meant," he said as he walks closer to her. "And I know that's definitely not what I meant." he stands right in front of her now, hoping she would look up at him and tell him the truth he wanted to hear. But all he got was hearing the small sniffles coming from her, and he knew she was starting to cry. He took her arm gently and brought her outside, bringing her down to sit on the curb. "Hey, baby, please can you talk to me?" he asks quietly. Y/N was shocked by his tone of voice, Richie was never soft with anyone, and it was odd hearing this side of him.

"I'm sorry, Richie," she whispers, still not being able to look up at him. She didn't want him to see her like this, and she knew she couldn't face him after her confession. "Can we just forget this ever happened? I didn't want to say anything because I don't want to ruin our friendship. I can't lose you."

Richie reaches up and grabs her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. He could feel his heart break as he saw her already red puffy eyes. He gave her a soft smile. "You could never ruin our friendship. Besides, you didn't even ask me how I felt?" He suggests, his famous smirk growing back onto his face as he looks back at the girl. She laughs, shaking her head.

"I really don't think I want to do that," she says, biting her lip.

"Trust me, I think you'll want to hear what I have to say," he says to her, smiling still. After a moment of silence, in which Richie realized she wasn't going to say anything, he spoke for himself. "I love you too, Y/N. Like, a lot." This caught Y/N's attention, looking up at him in surprise, her mouth falling open slightly. He laughs at her, using his index finger to reach up and close her mouth. "Don't keep your mouth open, darling, you'll catch flies." Y/N can't help but laugh, shaking her head. Suddenly she flew herself at the boy and engulfed him into a hug. He could only smile as he wrapped his arms around, his grin widening as he felt her put her head into the crook of his neck.

"Thank you, Richie, for everything," she mumbled into his neck as he laughed and pulled away, still holding her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, doll," he says, his old demeanour coming back as he helped her up. "Now, let's forget about Street Fighter. I'm starting to think an all day nap isn't that bad." He smiled as she laughed. So the two head back home and crawled under the still damp covers of the girl's single bed, and as promised they slept the whole day away.

[dearophelia]

it’s that time of year where I unearth banshee!verse and try to knock some plot into it. so have an excerpt I wrote last year, which I found while trying to figure out where, precisely, the fuck I’d left this story.

[context: Kat has just “woken up” after “sleepwalking” and she and her partner and investigating the creepy-ass alley next to the creepy-ass building Kat “woke up in”] 

“They’re in trouble,” the voice says, “you need to help them.”

“Shut up,” she hisses.

One of the lumps moves, drawing her attention, and a pair of green eyes stare back at her. The eyes almost glow, like animal eyes reflecting the light. Only there isn’t any light.

“You need to help them, Katherine. You’re running out of time.”

She blinks. An actual voice, from an actual person. Maybe. The voices in her head sound real, too. Just because this one comes with eyes doesn’t mean it’s real.

The eyes pulse with an inner light, sparkling like an emerald. “Hurry.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she abruptly yanks the blankets away. She jumps as the scrawny orange cat hisses at her before running deeper into the alley.

Metal clangs against metal, echoing loudly against the narrow walls. Katherine shrieks, though thankfully most of it is lost in the awful noise. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Found another door!” Deck calls. “Locked like the other one. Same spray paint though.” She tugs on the chain. Clenching her jaw, she glares at the chain and yanks hard. The chain easily breaks, falling away.

“Way to Hulk out,” she says.

“Must’ve rusted through.” Despite Deck’s yanking, the door doesn’t open. With a deep breath, Deck braces one foot on the wall, grasps the handle with both hands, and pulls. She lands ungracefully on her ass amidst dead leaves and old newspapers, but the door stands open before them.

Katherine offers her a hand and then turns on her phone’s flashlight again. The light barely penetrates three feet into the dark hallway, but it’s enough to light up the eyes of a family of rats, startled during their meal. They look up at her, eyes glowing red, and then all scatter, claws scrabbling on the concrete floor. She makes the mistake of squinting into the hallway to see their meal: whatever it was, it’s mostly bone and gore now.

Every survival instinct she has, not to mention every horror movie she’s ever seen, screams for her to step back out into the alley, and then back out into the sun, get in the car and forget this ever happened. But the faint buzzing in her fingertips she hasn’t felt since Mark Stanley, and that she had written off as a fluke, returns, drawing her – leading her – inside.

But going inside a condemned building she inexplicably woke up in, that was locked at every entrance, that looks like the set of several horror movies her high school girlfriend dragged her to, where she saw a cop who wasn’t at all who he said he was, where a cat told her to help someone, after screaming in her sleep for two weeks and hearing voices and feeling dead bodies, seems like a tremendously bad idea. And if she’s going to lean into the bad idea – she’s already taken three steps toward the door without noticing – she’s not quite so stupid as to do it without telling her partner about, at the very least, the general weirdness plaguing her life recently.

“Before we go in,” she turns to Deck, “swear on whatever deity or force you believe in this week that you won’t repeat what I’m about to say to anyone, especially Morgan.”

Deck’s brow furrows, but she draws a little x over her heart. “Sworn.”

“This is gonna sound nuts.”

“You took the subway across town in the middle of the night, walked into an abandoned and, frankly, horrifying building I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen before, and woke up talking to a dude who claimed to be someone who’s been dead for ten years.” Deck gestures with her hands open as if to say please top that.

Katherine bobbles her head a bit. Deck has a point, and she’s pretty sure she’s about to knock this morning down to kinda strange. “Weird shit has been happening since that night David died. I’ve been,” she pauses, “hearing things. Voices. And waking up screaming. And now sleepwalking, apparently.”

Deck stares at her in the alley’s gloomy light and Katherine gets the distinct feeling that her partner is looking for something specific. Shadows settle around them, casting Deck into even dimmer light than before. The wind picks up, blowing papers and a crumpled beer can down the alley. Despite the heat, Katherine shivers.

The wind settles and the shadows pass, leaving them again in the grey half-light as the sun creeps across the sky.

“You’re working a serial case without any leads, and IAB’s down your throat about the kid,” Deck says, after what feels like an hour. “Your stress responses have always trended toward psychosis,” she reminds her. From anyone else, it’d sound like a dismissal. From Deck, it sounds kind.

Katherine nods and takes a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she agrees. It’s what she’s been trying to tell herself for two weeks, and hearing it from someone else makes it sound rational. Oh, and the voices have been asking for my help and I’m pretty sure I flashed back in time by two hours to see Mark Stanley’s heart ripped out by a monster.

“Let’s go check this out,” Deck says, gesturing to the door Katherine’s now standing just inside, “see if we can find any reason your subconscious decided you needed to be here, then get the hell out of this creepy-ass area and I’ll take you home.”

Nodding, Katherine takes a few steps further inside as Deck props a series of stones by the door to keep it from shutting on them. Sidestepping the rats’ meal, she heads deeper into the dark, dank hallway.

If she were just exploring, if she weren’t looking for something specific, Katherine suspects she’d be a lot more terrified than she is. They pass rooms sealed by metal doors, tiny windows just at eye height showing pitch black interiors. Hallways branch off, filled with rusty pipes, broken furniture, and small rodent bones cluttered in the corners. Water stains cover the walls and almost every step is through a puddle.

Find me.

“All this place needs is some flickering lights,” Deck says as she ducks underneath a broken section of ceiling and exposed tangled wiring.

Katherine flicks the flashlight on and off a few times with a grin.

“I hate you.”

The buzzing grows steadily stronger until they make it to a door pulled off its hinges and the staircase it’s blocking. As she reaches the flashlight around the door, checking the integrity of the stairs, the buzzing starts to pull upward. Katherine sticks her phone in her pocket and motions at Deck. “Help me with this.”

Deck hands her a pair of latex gloves and snaps on her own pair before touching the rusted metal. Katherine does the same: god only knows what’s been down here, and for how long. With a little tugging, the two pull the door the rest of the way off its hinges. They push it aside, but it slides out of their grasp and crashes down to the floor with a loud bang, startling both of them and splashing stagnant water up over their shoes.

The two women look at each other and then back down the hallway, hands on their sidearms.

“Good thing we weren’t trying for stealth,” Katherine says after a few minutes of silence and no movement from the shadows.

“Anything living here noticed the minute we walked in,” Deck murmurs, following Katherine up the rickety stairs.

Katherine pauses and looks over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. Deck’s looking away, shining her own flashlight down toward the stairs behind them. Clouds drift over the sun and what little light shone through the broken stairwell window diffuses into grey. Deck momentarily blends into the empty darkness below. Katherine blinks, the clouds clear, and Deck gestures for her to keep going.

The buzzing keeps pulling her upward until the third floor, and to the room she was standing in this morning.

“This is where I woke up,” Katherine says absently. The buzzing shifts into a strong vibration, climbing up her arm to her shoulder, pulling her toward the wall by the upturned chair. She distantly registers Deck standing by the window, looking outside and talking through how someone might have seen her from the street, but Katherine reaches up for the peeling wallpaper.

Find me!

“Hang on,” she mutters in irritation as she starts pulling the faded floral wallpaper back, revealing crumbling plaster walls.

Deck’s phone rings. “Deckard,” she answers.

Katherine’s fingertips brush over the plaster, tracing the spiderweb cracks emanating from a small hole just above her head. Little pieces crumble to dust and fall to the floor. Curiously, the vibration falls silent. She peers at the wall and picks at the wall. Larger pieces come away along with the dust and she closes her eyes against a small shower of plaster.

“Kat!” Deck says, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Katherine holds up a finger and then sneezes. “Yeah?” She steps away from the wall, the cracks, and the hole now the size of her hand.

“Morgan wants us back. Full coroner reports just came in.”

Katherine doesn’t look back as she follows Deck down the stairs and out the way they came.

Found me, a voice echoes behind her.

[exyrpf]

ravey with 19 i would actually die

Hello, yes, here’s some fluff and pining.

Prompt: “I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me” that became a slight friends to enemies to friends to lovers.Era: Modern AU

Word count: 3,287

Warnings: just a bit of swearing

Other things: nonbinary Albert (they/them), side Kid Blink/Mush, Elmer/Jojo, Albert/Finch, Jack/his feelings

Race had never been in love. He’d had relationships, had thought it was love - in the end, it was all physical, or just a fleeting attraction. Nothing like the TV tried to sell, or scientific journals tried to explain.

Breathlessness.

Racing heart.

Sweaty palms, butterflies in your stomach.

He’d never felt desperate to be with someone, nor felt such fervent desire that it was near unbearable.

There was even scientific proof that if you’re in love you don’t feel physical pain as severely.

He was shaken from his reverie by two hands slamming down onto the coffee table where he had all of his books - that he was definitely reading - spread about. Maybe shaken wasn’t the best word actually -

“Fucking hell, Al, I nearly just shit myself,” Race’s heart was beating a mile a minute - wasn’t that a sign of love?

“Charming.”

Race felt his shoulders clench at Davey saying a simple weird. Like always, he resorted to being mean. “Well, if you don’t like how I talk to my friends, you can just leave.”

Race saw a flash of something in Davey’s eyes that made him almost regret how harsh his words were. Almost. Davey had just walked through the door, and he was already being cruel to him. He’d just told him to leave his own goddamn apartment, which - even for Race - was a bit much.

He had no idea why it all started, but it was an accepted truth - Davey and Race did not get along. They’d grown up together, had been best friends, until junior year of high school, when Davey had started to pull away. Eventually growing apart had turned to this, something just shy of hatred.

“Jacobs,” Race said flatly.

“Higgins,” Davey responded just as flatly. “Tidy up when you’re done pretending to study. It’s movie night and we’re hosting.”

With that he headed towards the kitchen.

Albert sighed. “Racer, why you gotta be so cruel to him?”

“What?! He was cruel first!”

“He literally just made a comment about how you shitting yourself was gross, and you told him to leave his own apartment,” they sighed again. “If I had made the comment, would you have yelled at me?”

Race turned back to his books and ignored the look Albert was giving him.

~

“Have you tidied your mess?”

“If you would use your eyes, you can see that I have,” Race snapped back. “What’s the point of wearing glasses if you don’t use your eyes?”

“I was just asking, Higgins. You don’t need to be rude.”

“I don’t need to be rude? I can’t go five minutes without you judging me.”

Davey did what he always did and stalked into his room, slamming the door. Point Race.

The rest of their friends arrived an hour later; Jack was either carrying an action film, or a sad pretentious one, depending on if he had broken up with his newest fling.

“Pizza rolls?” Elmer yelled towards the kitchen.

“You will have nothing until you remove your shoes, Elmer. And you don’t have to yell.”

“Alrighty, mother dearest.” Davey rolled his eyes with a smile.

“So, Jacky,” Davey said as he placed a tray of pizza rolls on the coffee. “I see that the film you brought is in black and white. What was her name again?”

Race couldn’t help it - he burst out laughing. Davey turned to him with surprise and a small smile.

He felt himself flush - due to the heat of having so many bodies in a small space, he was sure.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” he said quickly. “Feel free to start without me.”

~

“So,” Elmer said, drawing out the word. Race didn’t realize he had been followed and jumped. “You know how it’s my birthday next week? And that you still don’t know what to get me?”

Race looked towards the ground. “What are you trying to get me to do, Elmer?”

“Be nicer to Davey.”

He looked up so suddenly he nearly broke his neck. Elmer’s patented puppy dog eyes were lethal.

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because I know you don’t like fighting any more than he does. Because if you were friends we wouldn’t have to separate you during film nights. Because you know you’ve been bottling up the pain that is actually causing this,” Elmer replied. His grin was huge because he knew he had won.

Race nodded after a moment, to which Elmer gave him quick a hug and walked back. “Don’t want to miss the break up film. Or the pizza rolls.”

When Elmer had gone after his flying visit, he sighed to himself. It was small, a throwaway grin. It didn’t make up for the years of antagonistic behavior from both of them.

He walked a few minutes and sat on a bench farther from the apartment block and thought back to the mean things he’d said to Davey Jacobs over the last three years.

He could admit it; he had been a bully. He’d belittled him, made fun of his interests, started fights over the smallest things. But now, after Elmer’s comment, he saw a different side to their interactions, saw it from a different view. From a different emotional perspective.

That the animosity was to cover the ache of heartbreak. The loathing was a poor bandage for the ache of losing the most important part of him.

He wasn’t stupid. Losing his best friend with no explanation, explanations he so easily could have asked for, had slowly broken his heart. Every time Davey would be laughing near his locker with some Tom, Dick, or Stanley, but could only spare a nod in his direction. It hadn’t happened suddenly, he hadn’t woken up one day to a note in his locker that said they were done. Race should have been able to move on; Davey wasn’t the only friend he had lost in his life, but he was Davey.

As children, they were David and Anthony, giggling at recess together. David and Anthony building pillow forts, names near one entity.

Middle school came, and they were David and Anthony, sitting in the back of the class most definitely paying attention. David and Anthony, passing notes back and forth.

Then high school came, and suddenly they were Davey and Race, walking to school together. Davey and Race, tossing carrots at each other during lunch. Davey and Race, tutoring each other in subjects they didn’t understand.

Then junior year came, and they were Davey and Race, nodding to each other in the hallway. Davey and Race, not even sitting at the same lunch table.

Then senior year came, and they were Jacobs and Higgins. Jacobs and Higgins sneering at each other instead of nodding. Jacobs and Higgins, crossing the street instead of having to walk next to each other. Jacobs and Higgins, writing angry notes to each other instead of jokes about their substitute.

Davey and Race were gone, David and Anthony even more so.

Davey wasn’t the only friend he had lost in his life, but he was Davey. He had so many of Race’s firsts: the first person he came out to, the first person he got drunk with, his first kiss. The person that comforted him when he got his heart broken, the person that bandaged his knuckles when he got into fights.

Everything. He was everything.

The surprise in the grin Davey had sent him was burned into his mind. Could it be so simple? Could he heal their friendship by just…being nicer? Or would Davey think he was making fun of him, being cruel by being kind?

He supposed they should have that conversation they’d been avoiding, then.

~

He waited until everyone was gone before trying to talk to Davey.

“Hey, uh,” he coughed to clear his suddenly dry throat. “Can we talk?”

“I’m in the middle of cleaning up, can it wait?”

Race was about to nod and say it could, but he set his shoulders. He could do this.

“No, Davey, it can’t wait.” The use of his first name seemed to get Davey’s attention; it’d been over a year since he’d last used it, after all. There was something askance to awe in Davey’s eyes for a moment, before he shook his head.

“I’m listening, then.” He sat on the sofa and spread his arms.

Race took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You broke my heart,” and that definitely wasn’t were he wanted to start this conversation. “I mean no, I mean, you did, but that’s not what I’m trying to say! Please don’t go!”

Davey paused in getting up when he heard the break in Race’s voice on the word ‘please’; he sat back down.

“I wanted to say I was sorry,” Race said. “For how I’ve treated you, for everything I’ve said. I’ve been unnecessarily mean, when I know I was just hurt.”

Davey tilted his head. “Hurt?”

Race began to explain, sitting next to him on the couch. He couldn’t help but notice this was the closest they’d sat for years. The words seemed to spill out, some in the right order and some not. Davey looked on the brink of running the entire time he was speaking.

“I just,” he finished. “I just miss you.”

“You -,” Davey whispered. “You miss me?”

He nodded. “I don’t know why we stopped being friends, but I’d like to start over.”

Davey paused. “I don’t think we can start over, there’s too much history.”

Race felt his heart drop. Of course Davey wouldn’t want to start over. He’d spent the last three years being cruel to him, he didn’t deserve -

“But maybe we can redo some things.” The 360 of emotions made Race dizzy. “I miss you too, Race.”

Race.

Race.

One simple word, four letters, but it took the breath from his lungs.

Race.

“I’d really like that.” He spat into his hand and suck it out for a handshake. Davey looked disgusted, which was something so familiar it ached.

“Really? We’re adults, Race.”

“It seals the deal, Dave. Playground politics.”

Davey rolled his eyes but spit into his hand and grasped Race’s. They stood there smiling stupidly at each other, hands clasped, until Dave swore and dragged Race into a hug.

Race had sworn he wouldn’t cry, but breathing in Davey’s familiar scent nearly broke him. They pulled apart, and he ignored Davey wiping tears from his eyes as Davey ignored him doing the same.

~

There was a shocked silence at Jacobi’s deli when Davey and Race walked in together. They were laughing over some asinine joke Race had made about Jojo and Elmer; good to know Davey will still laugh at his extremely unfunny jokes.

“Someone pinch me,” Albert yelled. “I think they’re…getting along? Are they laughing? Together?

Finch pinched them. They swore loudly, to which Finch just shrugged. “You told me to pinch you, babe. This relationship is based on trust, and you trusted me to pinch you. A Finch pinch.”

Elmer met Race’s eye and nod with the sweetest of grins (he couldn’t wait to make fun of Jojo for spilling a bit of the water he was setting in front of Elmer when he saw his grin).

Davey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Would anyone like something extremely cheap off the menu?”

~

The next few months were full of Jacobs and Higgins becoming Davey and Race again. He was learning so many things about Davey that he’d missed, nuances that were similar but at the same time different. Davey wasn’t the boy he had known his whole life, but he wasn’t a stranger. It also helped they’d been living together all year.

“Tell me what’s going on with your family, then,” Race asked one day as Davey was making him peel potatoes. They’d started to cook together, something he secretly adored.

“Well, Les just started high school and Sarah just went of to college. University of Chicago.”

“You Jacobs sure are smart,” Race said, amazed. He whistled. “University of Chicago…and hell knows where you’ll go in two years, what fancy med school you choose.”

Davey blushed and asked Race about his own family. He let Davey get away with the very obvious change of topic. Glad to know he still hated talking about his intellect, though Race knew a lot of that was leftover anxiety caused by bullies in middle school; Davey the know-it-all Jacobs. Race felt his stomach clench as he remembered that he, too, had turned into that bully.

Still, they didn’t bring up the topic of why and how their friendship had ended.

~

“Where’s Davey, then?” Race sighed as he came in. He’d had a terrible few classes today, and he didn’t need this. “Please tell me he just left and that you haven’t made a copy of our key.”

“He has a date. We were just helping him get ready,” Blink said with a shit eating grin, though Race noticed he didn’t deny that he had made a copy of their key. In fact, there could possibly be a dozen copies, knowing his friends. “I think he’ll be home quite late, too.”

“Or maybe quite early,” Mush responded with a shit eating grin of his own. He flicked Blink on the eye and gestured towards the door.

Race listened to Blink call Mush an ableist piece of shit with a grin. Mush just shoved him and muttered something about a Nick Fury cosplay. Race didn’t fail to notice he grabbed Blink’s right hand, always making sure to be on his right side.

Race looked back to the book he had just pulled out for that stupid philosophy class he had to take. (He was majoring in mathematics why the hell did he need a philosophy class?) He put it back in his bag, knowing he wouldn’t be taking in a word of it.

A date. Race wondered for a moment about why that simple word felt like a knife to his -

Oh. 

Oh, Race.

He groaned into the silence of the empty apartment. Three months prior Race had looked back at their interactions and arguments through the lens of grief. Maybe it was time to analyze their interactions and arguments through even another keyhole.

There was still heartbreak, yes. But at the time, Race had only thought he was heartbroken because he’d lost his best friend. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

It probably wasn’t a normal thing to feel like half of your soul had been ripped away when your best friend stopped talking to you. It probably wasn’t a normal thing to still feel that way three years later.

The thought terrified him. He’d never been in love before, and the idea that he could be now scared the fuck out of him.

Breathlessness.

He had been breathless when he’d first hugged Davey after over three years. At the time he hadn’t thought anything of it, was too busy being happy that Davey had listened to him, had missed him as well. But looking back, that’s how Race had reacted to physical contact with Davey for years.

He’d blamed it all on his asthma, just a side affect of holding his breath every time they hugged, every time their hands brushed.

Oh, God. Who held their breath every time they hugged their best friend? Who purposefully brushed knuckles together, threw an arm around him every chance he got?

You’re an idiot, Anthony.

Racing heart.

Every time Davey made him laugh.

How much of his heart did he blame on his asthma? Of course every time you laugh you get breathless, your heart races. Purposefully ignoring the fact that no other friend caused such a reaction.

Sweaty palms.

“Ugh, Race, why are your hands so sweaty?” Albert had wiped their arms on their jeans, disgusted from simply having Race’s hands around their wrists.

“If you don’t like it then don’t try and steal my pretzels, asshole!”

Davey had had an arm tossed around the back of the sofa at the time, not even sitting next to Race but near enough that his fingers were brushing against his shoulder every time one of them moved.

Butterflies in your stomach.

The amount of times Davey had been smushed against his side during movie night, because they had too many fucking friends. Race had blamed it on the movie they were watching, nervousness because he hated horror films.

Desperation.

It’s not normal to want to be around a friend as much as Race wanted to be around Davey, was it? They were on their way back to best friends, but the stupid things he did to get Davey’s attention were so embarrassing he didn’t even want to think about it.

Desire.

It wasn’t just two bros psyching each other up, was it? When Davey were those jeans or that shirt or the few times he’s had to dress up to go to meetings, he wasn’t just telling a friend they looked nice, was he?

He’d never been in love; or had he always been love?

You’re a fucking idiot, Anthony Higgins.

~

Davey came home earlier than Race was expecting, looking dejected (he definitely wasn’t beaming inside that the date probably went poorly, nor was he checking Davey out)(not to say that he didn’t look good, because his shirt was tight around the biceps and made his eyes stand out and he was wearing those jeans).

Jesus H Christ, Higgins, how the hell did you not realize you were head over heels for this man?

“You okay, Race?” Davey looked worried now, seeing Race sitting in the dark because he hadn’t bothered to get up to turn the lights on during his crisis.

“Why did you stop being my friend?”  Race was suddenly desperate to know.

Davey flushed, and cleared his throat. “Must we do this now?”

“If not now, when, Davey?” Race had to know. If Davey had noticed how Race had felt about him, before Race even, and felt uncomfortable…if he had made Davey leave him because he couldn’t stop himself from loving this incredible, beautiful boy, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

“I,” Davey’s hands were shaking now. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

“Davey, I won’t judge you for anything you so,” Race assured him. “This won’t change anything. I’m sorry if I did anything that would - or if my feelings -”

“I didn’t want you to get uncomfortable,” he interjected. “I was - feeling things, about you, and - I just. Didn’t want you to hate me.”

Race was speechless. He’d been about to apologize for having feelings for Davey, yet Davey was apologizing for having feelings for him. Had he been so oblivious? Davey had liked him as well. And now it was too late, and he felt his heart break for the second time because of David Jacobs.

But Davey wasn’t done. They didn’t call him the Walking Mouth for nothing. “And I thought I could just ignore them, stop talking to you for a few weeks until it went away, but then weeks turned into months, turned into years - and it never really went away.”

Race had barely let Davey finish before he was near tackling him onto their sofa.

“I was terrified because I’ve never been in love, and I’ve fallen in love with you, but apparently I’ve always been in love, because I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was -”

Anthony “Racetrack” Higgins loved to talk; in fact, he did it too much. Half of the time it didn’t make any sense, and the other half it was too crass to repeat. Sometimes both.

David “Davey” Jacobs finally found a way to shut him up.

[hey-malarkey]

One Thing Left

Word Count: 4738 

Warnings: NON-CON as fuck!! billstanwich- revenge torture porn, basically. Stan and Ford torture a bill without powers. Body horror (Bill’s), Implied/Referenced eye horror. stancest, tentacles. 

I think that hits all the warnings. 

Summary: Post-Weirdmageddon Ford found Bill powerless, still in his physical form- well, mostly powerless.. he discovers through trial and error that Bill’s only power left is reconstitution that he has no control over. And Ford uses that to his advantage..

“Where’s the tough guy? You afraid he wouldn’t let you keep your little pet if he knew what you were doing, down here? Think he’d be too disgusted by you, Sixer? Being such a freak, to get hard at all the time you spend with me instead of him?”

Bill tries taunting Ford today. It’s true, he hasn’t told Stanley what he does down here, but that was more to protect his brother from overwhelming his mind immediately after Weirdmageddon. He didn’t want the immediate memories he recovered to be of the torture inflicted at Bill’s command.

But it had been a few months, now, and still Ford was coming down here. Bill’s words sunk into his mind, and he knew Bill’s intent was to be let go, but Bill didn’t know his brother. Bill didn’t know what Stan was capable of, was always underestimating his brother. The kids told him that Bill had entered Stan’s mind during the summer, but had no more mastery over it than they had.

Bill didn’t know what he’d just unleashed on himself. But for the moment-

“You’re right, Bill. How selfish of me, to keep this to myself. I’ll go inform him at once.” Ford gave a hard half-smile at Bill, who watched him with hate and just the slightest amount of fear. Ford felt a thrill run through him every time he knew he inspired that look in his former enemy. He patted one of bill’s angles patronizingly and left without another word, despite Bill’s voice being thrown at his back.

 Ford told Stanley what he’d been doing in the basement. The secret he’s kept. Stan was a little taken aback, but for none of the reasons one might think. Tentatively, hesitant in a way that Ford still couldn’t fully associate with the brother he used to know, Stan asked if he could join. At the very least watch, but…

“But we should do this together,” he’d said, determination and something darker glinting in Stan’s eyes. Ford was sure his expression matched it. He leaned in for a kiss and for a moment the two of them disregarded any thought of Bill in favor for being caught up in each other.

 -

Bill heard two sets of footsteps approaching his table. He stirred out of the daze he’d let himself settle into. He was itchy all over as his body did the one thing it was still good for, and stitched itself back together. It was uncomfortable and it didn’t dispel the soot or debris or dried blood off of him. He was just knitted back into his physical form, minus the cosmic power. It was miserable, undignified, and too dam itchy. He liked plotting how he’d get his revenge on Six-Fingers for all of this, followed by that insufferable salamander. Then the rest of this dimension. Then-

“Hello there,” a voice interrupted his musings. Bill focused his eye upward and was seeing double. No, wait, he’d heard both of them coming. Stanford and his meatbag brother. Stan had been the one to speak. Bill glared up at him balefully, not responding.

“Hey now, it’s only polite to speak to your special guest, Bill. Say something,” Ford placed his hand beside Bill, leaning closer, staring steadily at him. Bill saw the same hard glint that Ford always had. The hate. Bill loved knowing he still had that amount of control over Sixer, having the ability to make him hate him.

On the other hand, Ford thought he had all the power, now. And admittedly, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But one day, I’LL be master of the worlds again, and WHEN THAT DAY COMES, THEY’LL BE IN FOR IT. WEIRDMAGEDDON WILL LOOK LIKE A WARM UP COMPARED TO WHAT I PLAN ON DOING TO THEM, THEN!

Bill is pulled out of his mind once more as Ford strikes a match and lowers it over his eye, threateningly. Bill quickly turns it to his mouth. He’d had enough of that, earlier.

“Heya, Fish. Come to join the party?”

The flame was extinguished and Bill tried to hide his relief as he switched his eye back out. He’d tried to sound like talking was all his own idea, but his position made it pretty clear who was pulling the strings, currently.

Stan cocked his head, arms crossed, studying Bill. Bill couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Not like it ever seemed like Fish thought of much, but still. It was almost unnerving, if he weren’t previously an all-powerful being, on his way to becoming one again.

“So what do ya wanna do, Ford?” Fish turns away, not even looking at him, not talking to him, ignoring him for Ford. Ford, who was still staring at Bill with an unreadable expression.

“I thought you could take the lead if you wanted, Stan. Or I could start, and you join as you feel comfortable.”

Stan nodded, circling the table, going around just beyond Bill’s line of sight.

“I remember readin’ a lot of your notes, Ford. I know you thought I never found your study, up top, but I did. Didn’t think too much about some of the side research you did into certain shapes at the time, but I think I care a little more now.”

Ford nods to Stan’s words. Bill is trying to stay stock still and not rise to the bait. If they wanted to talk to him, he’d wait for them to speak to him first.

“I seem to remember some—ah, correct me if I’m wrong, memory’s not what it was, for some reason,” Stan starts, and Ford raps his fingers against the table one at a time, slowly. “But I think there were one or two diagrams that were particularly helpful to a situation like this. Think they’re still viable, Ford?”

He feels a small whoosh of air, and assumes Stan is gesturing just behind him. Ford’s eyes flicker up to Stan and back down to Bill. Ford’s smile grows into a snarl directed at Bill. He feels a slight tremor go through him, but tries not to shake.

That’s when the first fingers brush his top vertices. They run down his sides, then curve around his bottom angles, to his lower line. Still he refuses to talk to them first. He doesn’t pull against the unnecessary restraints. He stays still and lets the hate show in his eye.

Stan’s fingers pause on his bottom edge, in the space between his legs. He didn’t honestly think—oh, shit. Bill didn’t think this body could—he’s powerless, he doesn’t have his previous form changing powers, how come he can feel—shit—the human phrase is the only one that makes sense to his mind right now. He feels something stirring within his body, parts of him he thought locked and dead in this new form.

Stan is rubbing lightly, but starting to get more vigorous. Bill feels his bricks softening and then splitting seamlessly.

“Hmm, looks like that diagram is still spot on, Ford. Not bad for over thirty years since I saw ‘em, huh?” Stan hooks a finger in the hole he’d made and Bill bites back his reactions. He can’t control how his form is pulsing low yellow light and heat as his breathing gets rougher, but it’s also hopeless to think neither have noticed. Ford is staring, still drumming his fingers on the table, eyes fixed to Stan’s hand movements.

Stan wiggles his thick finger in there, making Bill’s passage even wider, edging his other index finger on the other side, leaning on the table with his elbows so he bracketed Bill, face over his body. He pulled the hole further, like an oval, and Bill couldn’t help the yelp that tore from his throat.

He cursed himself for the momentary weakness, though it finally got Stan to stop pulling. Just for a moment though. With Stan over him, he could see the feral grin on Stan’s face. He could see a plan forming between them but not what it was.

Well, Bill could guess, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to vaporize both of them and shred them of their bodies, molecule by painful molecule. In due time.

Stan abruptly started tugging and trying to stick more fingers inside of him. Bill shuddered and tried to close his knees, but the stupid unicorn hair kept him locked in place. He struggled against it, but it was no use.

Stan laughed over him, a low chuckle filled with dark promise. “Oh, now he’s starting to get it. You need something, Bill? A pillow?” Stan succeeds in stuffing two more fingers inside of him, waggling them around inside, still stretching his bricks back. Bill couldn’t help the whimper, but he turned it into a growl.

“Let me outta these! I’ll show you both what happens when you mess with mE!” Bill let out a high strangled yelp as Stan hit one of them. Stan didn’t seem to realize what he’d touched, though.

“Whaddaya say, Sixer?”

Ford shook his head slightly. “Later.”

Stan nodded, tugging Bill wider and wider. “Have at it, bro,” Stan said, having worked the rest of his fingers into the hole and now holding Bill open like his hands were clamps, fingernails digging into his softer inner brick structure, not quite hitting what he’s made of inside. Ford, however, has a straight shot to those. And the look in his eye is remembering what else is inside of Bill, and wondering if it was still true in this form.

Ford leans down and he doesn’t go one at a time. He shoves his hand in, only able to get a few fingers around where Stan is still tugging back his edges. He rams his hand in and has to thrust in and out in order for Bill’s body to accept the intrusion. Bill yelled, and then yelled again as Ford tore straight through to them and when his fingernails scraped down their sides and he managed to wiggle over them Bill was crying out, helplessly bound, overstimulated and the men over him were barely getting started.

“Whatcha hit, Sixer?” Stan asks, pressing harder as he pulls Bill open around Ford’s hand. Bill can’t stop cursing but he hears them speak over him.

Ford grins, knowing exactly what he’s hit. On his next pass inside Bill’s body he manages to push his thumb in, despite the resistance, and he uses it to grab one of them. Bill screams and cool fire erupts inside of him. Slick and blue it flows around Ford’s fingers as Ford pulls them out.

Before he was reduced to this pitiful state, Bill had control over his body, to shapeshifting abilities to growing extra arms or tentacles. It came from his inner core, the extra parts. Bill thought with his reduction in powers, that he’d lost them. And he had, in a way. Now, they were locked inside of him, and were reacting to stimulus. They were hyper-sensitive and starting to wriggle on their own as Stan cracked him open and Ford dug in.

And it hurt. It was pain and fire and good and the worst and Bill didn’t know what to do. Sixer had been burning him and chewing him and putting him through a hundred different tortures, but that was all on the surface. This was his inner core, and he could feel every single piece of pain as separate and as a whole and they weren’t letting up.

  Bill was screaming under Ford’s hands and it only made him grin wider. He was glad he’d waited until Stanley joined him for this. He was glad his brother took the lead so naturally, and was open to including him in his plans. He was glad Bill Cipher was just powerful enough for his form to heal itself after every indignity suffered, but not control anything else.

He was grinning as he felt that slick blue fluid run over his fingers as he punched his way into Bill’s body. As Stan dug his hands into the grooves surrounding the split in the bricks he’d found. He’d wondered if Bill still had the inner-workings he’d once had. For one of his days, he’d considered turning Bill inside out, breaking his body apart and ripping him from every angle. To see how long it’d take him to heal from that. But this blind exploration was better, to hear Bill cursing him, voice cracking, as he slammed into Bill’s body again and again.

He felt a few stabs of heat pool in his gut as Bill’s screams grew shriller. As Stan made eye contact with him and winked, a matching grin on his brother’s face.

“I seem to have discovered that he does, in fact, still retain portions of his former self, buried within,” Ford said calmly, even as he punched with frenzy into Bill, tearing and cracking his innards, grasping his tentacles and pulling as far as they’d go. He hadn’t been able to tear them outside of Bill’s body, but hopefully soon.

“Oh, like the extra hands? Or the tentacles? Is that what I hit on, earlier? Felt something little fishy down in there, I think.”

“Yes, Stanley, I believe you did. Would you like to try?”

Ford lets go of the tentacle and spreads his fingers wide as he rips his hands from Bill’s hole. He waves Stan over, and Stan lets go, moving around the table to stand next to Ford. For a moment Ford looks at the slick blue substance sliding over his hands. Like the fire Bill controlled in his former life, it was hot, but it did not burn him. It was more liquid than fire.

Stan held one hand up to rub it between his first two fingers. Ford looked down where Bill was heaving, back arching off the platform from the ferocity of his breaths. His hole was ragged and open, pulsing a little at the edges. One of the tentacles was slowly reeling itself back into his body.

Ford nudges Stan, tilting his head down at Bill, encouraging him silently to try.

Stan looks over Bill. He whistles one long, low note. “Wow, we’ve really started doing a number on you, huh, Bill?”

Bill doesn’t answer, eye shut tightly and hateful, angry tears leaking out the side.

“What, cat got your tongue? Nothing left to say after that big fit you just threw?” Stan laughs as he leans down a little closer. Bill still refuses to answer, body trembling slightly, his fists still clenched.

Stan, with no preamble, punches into Bill, despite the resistance, and Bill bucks and curses loudly. Stan buries his hand as far as he can, spreading his fingers out and weaving them around and between the earlier discussed tentacles. Bill squirms and Stan pushes his arm in even further.

Ford watches Stan’s face change into a fascinated disgust as he pushes deeper. He hears Bill’s pants and abortive groans and he relishes each one.

“Oh, I think I feel ‘em now,” Stan says, twisting his arm around inside of him. Stan does something and Bill howls.

Ford feels the heat start pooling in his belly, can feel himself start to grow hard. Beside him Stan is thrusting deeper, causing Bill to begin struggling again, making the demon scream.

“What happens if I rip your pretty little insides out, huh? Or if I fuck every hole you’ve got? Are ya gonna cry for me, Bill? Gonna cry pretty little tears for me?”

“NO, NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!!” are the only discernable words within the demon’s screams, twisting raggedly and being caught by the ropes, trying so hard to shut out the invading force to his body.

Ford feels another jolt of pleasure shoot through him and he brings one hand up to hold himself on Stan’s shoulder, leaning into him. He can feel the muscles in Stan’s shoulder and arm work as he punches into Bill. It’s so hot, so unbelievably arousing, he thinks he could come just from watching this.

But that’s not everything he hoped for, coming down here. Bill is still twisting and screaming, Stan throwing taunts as he leans closer over Bill.

“Untie him,” Ford commands, voice tight. He palms himself through his pants, staring hungrily down at Bill.

Stan looks up, takes in just how aroused his brother is, and smiles wide. “Sure thing, Sixer. Let me just—“

His arm flexes and he pistons his arm out of Bill, dragging the tentacles behind him, fast as a whip. So fast, he finally manages to tear one, even as his hand slides off the others, the warm blue-liquid-fire making Bill too slick to grasp properly.

But the tentacle that tore off, Bill clenches his hands into tight fists, voice shooting up an octave in the purest concentration of pain so far. Stan shakes his hand out, little droplets hitting Bill in the open eye, the table, parts of their shirts.

“Hope that comes out later,” he mutters as he undoes the bindings on Bill one by one. As soon as each appendage is free, Bill curls in on himself, trying to hold his ragged hole shut, panting and finally crying those pretty little tears Stan had mocked him over.

His entire form was trembling, and it only made Ford hotter. His greatest enemy, the being that tortured him for thirty years, that claimed almighty powers and invaded his mind and body, brought low before him. Reduced to nothing but a plaything for him and Stan to do as they saw fit. Always knitting himself back together for another session. It was the greatest gift Ford had ever been given.

“Bill, Billy, turn over. I want to see you.”

Bill keeps rocking slightly, trembling, trying to hunch further into himself.

“That’s not very sportsmanlike, Bill. I thought you wanted me to bring Stan down here. Don’t you want to see where the evening takes us? Answer me, Billy.”

“N-no,” Bill answers in a different voice. It’s not his usual scream, nor his cocky future-dreaming voice.

Stan makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “Don’t tell me he’s broken already? I barely got to see him at all.”

Ford draws himself around the table, leaving Stan’s side so he can get a better view of Bill. “He’ll knit back together, good as new, by tomorrow. But why fix what isn’t broken enough? Let’s see the limits of how far he can go, shall we?” he says, shooting out his hands to drag Bill back along the table by his arms.

Bill struggles weakly, trying to keep holding his bottom edge, but Ford is stronger than him.

“Open wide, Bill,” Ford says, tapping his closed eyelid.

Bill cracks his eye open, squinting at Ford with tears still pouring out.

“No. Open your mouth.”

“Sixer, come o—AHHHHH!” Bill barely had Ford’s nickname out before Stan rushed forward, slapping his ragged hole so hard his whole body shook. Bill screamed as Stan’s hand punched through him again, grasping the tentacles and squeezing so tight, he thought he’d die.

“You don’t get to call him that anymore, Bill,” he snarls. He lets go as quick as he latched on, tearing back out of Bill, making sure to drag his knuckles over his walls on the way out.

His eye had flipped automatically to a mouth in the time it took to yell as Stan tore through him, so Ford took advantage of that change after Stan had said his piece.

“Was that so hard?” he asks condescendingly as he sticks his hand inside Bill’s mouth. Bill’s body still makes no logical sense, Ford can reach in and down and keep going further, hitting and moving Bill’s throat around. But he’ll never quite hit the tentacles. His body is like a series of pocket dimensions made entirely of living material that are all hypersensitive. Maybe he should actually study his now permanent physical form, in the future.

That is to be mused on later. For now, he chokes Bill with a fist pressed down.

“I find it interesting that you do not have the teeth you so loved to bite and tear with, Billy. But it really makes these proceedings so much simpler, knowing you have no readily available recourse of revenge for these actions. That I can stick whatever I want down your gullet and you have to take it.”

Ford draws his hand back, pushing Bill’s lips apart with just his index and thumb. “Stay nice and wide for me, Billy, or else,” he warns, drawing his hand back to his jeans, unbuttoning himself and pushing his pants down around his thighs.

Stan lets out a low whistle, winking at Ford when he looks up. Ford smiles in turn but soon brings his attention down to Bill. He really did leave his mouth wide open, just as Ford suggested. He could see on the other end of the table where the blue fiery liquid still leaked out of him.

Ford stroked himself a few times, giving himself a small sense of relief after holding himself back for so long. It nearly hurt how badly he wanted to pound into Bill, wanted to see him cry and beg and curl in on himself leaking Ford’s cum.

He drags Bill closer, bending his top vertice over the edge of the table so he can have Bill’s mouth in the easiest accessible position for him.

And without any further words, he sticks his dick in and pistons his hips forward. The new position allows him to feel his dick bumping the back of Bill’s throat where it’s pressed against the table. He hears Bill trying to speak, and despite his words coming from somewhere else within him, he has trouble vocalizing when a human man is shoving a dick down his throat.

Fascinating.

“Suck it in, Billy, you know you like it rough,” Ford pants as he slams in harder, feeling the bended point of Bill’s top corner trying to bend back up into a straight angle. He spreads his legs slightly, allowing it to flex up, just barely rubbing over his balls as he fucks Bill.

It feels like there’s layers to Bill’s throat, sucking Ford in deeper, ridged but not painful to slide over. Folds of those pocket dimensions, perhaps, overlapping each other and letting Ford touch every single part of Bill in some way. Ford grabs onto the tops of Bill’s legs for a better grip, holding them apart and mushing them to the table so he can lean over and thrust his hips with abandon. He can feel his release building with every gargled scream pushing through Bill’s throat.

    “Who do you scream for, demon?” Ford grunts out as he pushes in deeper. He can feel a slight warmth emanating from Bill’s body, like he’s got a fever, as he pulses with color even though his screams are muffled. He loves the power trip that comes with forcing these reactions from Bill. He knows he’s so dam close, but he never wants this moment to end.

“Scream for me, Bill. I’m the only god you have left!” Ford shouts as he thrusts deep and feels the material of Bill’s throat ripple and shift, rubbing against him just right and he finally comes, shooting his load deep into Bill.

Bill’s gurgling, now, and even though it makes no sense, his anatomy is a cosmic joke, it fills Ford with pride that he did this to Bill. He pulls out, stroking himself letting the last bit of his seed splatter on Bill’s front. He pushes Bill onto the table, standing back to lean on the desk behind him, recapturing his breath.

Bill is crying again, curling in around himself, weeping blue fiery tears and actual tears intermittently. His bricks have all gone soft as he rocks himself slightly. Ford catches his breath and stuffs himself back into his pants, pulling them up to button, rounding the table to stand beside Stan again.

“How long have you been saving that line, Sixer?” Stan asks, an easy smile on his face as he appraises Ford. He takes in the red face and sweat that gathered on his temples and pushes Ford’s glasses back into place, dropping that hand to Ford’s shoulder, turning himself slightly away from Bill.

Ford let out a puff of air loudly. He glanced at Bill, then back to Stan.

“I’ve still got some things to work out, it seems. Fortunately we have plenty of time.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save Bill’s whimpers. Ford curls his arms around Stan’s waist and Stan plays with a little curl of hair at the back of Ford’s neck.

“Yeah, good thing.” Stan shuffles a little closer, pulling Ford to him. He kisses his brother, a little hungrily, and Ford realizes that Stan hasn’t gotten off yet. He pushes them back against the table, Stan nearly sitting on it, Ford sliding his hands down over Stan’s ass and slipping them into Stan’s jeans.

“Tell me what you want, Stanley,” Ford murmurs against Stan, barely pulling back to be heard, more intent on getting his brother off than effective communication.

Stan chuckles and pulls Ford in tighter, fingers tightening their grasp in his hair. He rubs against Ford and Ford fishes his hands around in Stan’s jeans, rubbing until he comes around to Stan’s dick. He starts stroking fast, whisked away by another hungry kiss. For a moment they’re two men rubbing against each other and the next moment Stan’s grunting as he comes in Ford’s hand.

Stan lays his head on Ford’s shoulder for a moment, breathing heavy, and Ford strokes him as he comes down, making sure he’s taken care of.

“Thanks,” Stan grunts out once he’s taken a moment or two, after he’s tucked back into his jeans.

Ford reaches back behind Stan and wipes his hand off on Bill’s outer bricks, getting the sticky white mess on him instead of his hand. Bill makes a few small sounds of protest, but he’s still shaking too much to actually fend the quick wipe. Ford looks back at Stan now that his hand is mostly cleaned off.

“Any time,” he says, smiling back at Stan.

“Let’s blow this basement. My show’s gonna come on soon,” Stan kisses Ford on the cheek, patting him on the ass as he allows his hands to drop down. He stretches, cracking his neck on each side, turning to the door.

Ford looks back at Bill on the table, and he feels a shiver spike through him. Stan glances back and rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Sixer. We’ll be back tomorrow. When he’s put back together, right? We can have more fun tomorrow.”

Stan grabs the unicorn hair bindings and flips Bill onto what should be his stomach. He pulls the arms behind his back and the legs up into the air. He hogties Bill, the colorful rainbow threads glittering in the dim light of the basement. He ignores Bill’s renewed complaints and threats, throwing the extra length of rope up on a low-hanging beam in the spare room. Bill Cipher is suspended mid-air, blue fiery liquid leaking slightly from him as he struggles and wiggles and curses.

Ford watches all of this with a look of intrigue and something darker. His glasses catch the light for a moment and his eyes are unreadable, hidden.

Stan finishes tying Bill up, tapping him lightly, sending him spinning wildly.

“Ha! Perfect. Let’s go. I can tell ya about this idea I got watching earlier,” Stan says, dragging Ford out by the elbow. Ford turns and leaves happily with his brother, discussing Stan’s ideas for whenever Bill’s body next healed itself.

Bill was alone, feeling broken, stuttering curses and feeling that dam itch again as his body did the one thing it was still good for in that cursed physical form: heal. Heal for another fresh wave of horrors to be submitted to. He passed his time plotting how he’d get his revenge on Ford, Stan, that stupid salamander, the whole dimension one day!

He didn’t think about how his mouth still tasted like Ford’s cum. He didn’t think about how much he dreaded that flavor disappearing as his body reconstituted itself. He didn’t know if he hated himself or Ford more when he felt disappointment as it did.