#turns out you can never have enough “everyone thinks stans dead” fics dancing around in your head

[shanklin]

AU in which Stan fakes his death way ahead of schedule and keeps on surviving alone until one day years later he turns on the TV in his dirty motel room and sees his 17year old self grinning back at him.

“The Stanley Pines Home & Shelter Project for Wayward Teens was founded almost 8 years ago by Filbrick Pines and the rest of the Pines family after the tragic passing of their beloved son and brother.”

WHAT THE FUCK?! What kind of scam is this? Stan would be almost impressed if he didn’t feel like throwing up.

As it turns out, while Stan completely forgot about that one time he faked his death his family built up a whole charity in his honor. They can’t get Stanley back but at least they could make sure his story wouldn’t repeat again. 

Stan's whole family is on screen talking about how great Stan was and how they failed him.

Filbrick is crying.

Sobbing about how he killed his little boy and how he never expected Stan to leave for real.

Stan throws up.

Definitely a scam. His Pa figured out a way for Stan to make them money after all. All Stan had to do was die.

[Stan vehemently ignores the voice in his head telling him that neither Ford nor Filbrick could act to save their lives. And that no amount of money would be enough to convince his Pa to cry on camera.]

So it’s a scam. And they put Stan's name on it. Which means all the money they make from his sob story belongs to him.

Robbing a charity for homeless kids isn’t even in the top 10 worst things he’s done.

[asteriismos]

Beautiful - Stanley Uris

Warning(s) : self conscious reader, eighteen! losers club, smut

Authors Note: I did this more of in a third person style, I was reading fics on ao3 and I got inspired and decided to try it out. Is this good? I am not sure

Request :

can you do a smut with Stanley where you're self-conscious about ur body but Stan wants to make you feel better by just praising you and how good you look 🥺🥺 I'm so soft for Stan 🥺🥺

Stanley Uris stood idly against the kitchen counter of Y/N’s home, watching as she cut up a red apple on the cutting board next to him. The window to their left was open, the light it let in illuminated the room with the golden setting sun. It was Saturday, a typical day where the losers would all go to the Quarry to swim or go to one of their houses and just hang around. Summers in Derry were always absolutely gorgeous, the rays of sunlight never let up until around nine at night, and the warm breeze offered solace to the people who were outside. Children rode their bikes all over, much like their group used to do before they grew up and got cars. 

After ruining his own Bar Mitzvah a few years prior, his father neglected to give Stanley the money to get his own car. His mother, however adamant, was not able to convince the stern rabbi either, so Stan was one of the only people in the group without a car. Bill was the first one, fixing up a red beamer with his father around sophomore year, and for a while, that was the car Stan would drive around when his best friend let him. The only two other people who didn’t have a car were Eddie ( who’s mother swore would get him into a wreck ) and Beverly ( for obvious reasons surrounding her father’s neglect and abuse ). 

He didn’t mind it much, to be honest. Yes, it would be nice to have a car to drive around and get places faster, but at the end of the day, riding his bike and feeling the wind in his hair was good enough for him. 

“Here,” Y/N spoke to him, pushing the apple slices she put onto a plate towards him, snapping him out of his thoughts momentarily to look at her and smile as a thank you. 

Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, some of the tips still wet from the group’s dive into the quarry. They both had come back to her house to hang out before Stan had to go back home for dinner.

Y/N and Stanley have been in a relationship for a few years now, ever since Stanley asked her to homecoming their freshman year of high school. In all honesty, he wasn't going to do it at first, because Stan didn’t want to make things complicated. He had liked Y/N for a long time, ever since Bill Denbrough introduced her to their group because she was in Bill’s biology class. The stuttering boy thought that she would be a good addition to the club, since she had just moved to Derry and didn’t have any friends yet. Bill was always the welcoming type, and she was not just going to turn down the chance of having not just one, but seven new friends. She got really close with Mike despite the fact that he’s homeschooled.

Richie had been the one to dare Stanley to ask her to the dance. Well, it wasn't really a thing that was out of the blue. Stan had made the mistake of talking about it with Richie, and Richie being Richie, he wasn't just going to let it go. He dared Stan to do it, which wasn’t that out of the ordinary because Richie would do this sort of thing all the time to him, tease him for being too chicken to do most things. Come on Stan the man! Grow a pair!

And so he did. It was a little bit awkward considering Y/N was still taller than him in freshman year and he hadn’t quite grown into his lanky body and hadn't figured out how to style his curly hair. And he was stuttering and going over his words so much that you could’ve mistaken him for Bill. She thought that it was cute and sweet, so of course she had said yes.

The rest was history.

As life went on and the kids grew older into mature teenagers, there still wasn't much that had changed with them personality wise. Deep down, all of them felt as if they were those scrawny fourteen year olds that used to ride their bikes around town and throw rocks into the house on neibolt streets windows for fun. The boys eventually grew taller than Y/N and Beverly, much to their dismay of course. Richie’s glasses now fit his face correctly, Bill went to speech therapy and got his stutter corrected, and Eddie didn’t use his inhaler anymore. 

They were all grown up.

It was sad to think that in just a month they would be saying bye to Derry, the place that they had grown up in for so many years. Y/N was new, only been here for five, and yet she still felt like she was losing a piece of her. She didn’t want to leave, graduation had been hard enough. The last day of school when the entire senior class were throwing all their papers off the roof of the high school in celebration, the losers instead roamed the halls of the empty school, reminiscing in the memories they had made. The biology classroom Y/N first made friends with Bill, the corner under the stairs where the group would sit during free period and study in silence, the library where each of them have shared a cry in one too many times after a failed quiz or test. It was hard to say goodbye. Each of them had a piece of themselves somewhere in Derry. Even Richie did, even though he insisted that he hated this town.

The group were adamant about hanging out every single day, since it would be their last summer here, even if it wasn't a full one. Everyone tried to stay light and happy, but as the days passed and the weeks started to add up, things were getting more and more solemn.

“Do you think we’re all going to stay friends?” Stanley asked Y/N, biting into an apple slice and looking up at her. “Like when we’re in college?”

It wasn’t the first time that he’d asked such a thing, just this time it was only to her. He had asked it that summer with Pennywise, in the club house with all of his friends except for Y/N. She came the school year right after that summer, meaning she didn't have to experience any of the horrors that came with that summer that still haunted Stan to this day. All of them said that they would stay friends no matter what and he wanted to believe that so badly, but he couldn’t help but think about the fact that they were all going to such different places, would they stay friends? 

Y/N didn’t quite know how to answer his question. Stanley always managed to ask her questions she had to think about thoroughly, he seemed to always have some sort of wandering mind filled with thoughts beyond his capability of even answering himself. He was in the smart classes in school and wanted to go to college for math and psychology, which sounded typical for Stan, two polar opposite things that he has somehow brought into one. She answered after a passing minute.

“I’d like to think that we all would.”

It wasn't exactly the answer that he was looking for, but then again, he wasn't sure what he would've liked to hear. Stan understood the uncertainty in her voice. The future was unknown to all of them, and the unknown was scary. 

The boy nodded, curls falling into his face. He brushed them away, glancing over at the time on the clock programmed onto her kitchen stove. It was almost five, he would need to get going soon, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep spending all the time he could with Y/N, hell, he wanted to spend his entire life with her. It was no secret that Stanley was absolutely, disastrously in love with Y/N, everyone knew. Even if you didn't explicitly know that they were in a relationship, just the way that he looked at her would be a dead giveaway. He looked at her like she was the one who controlled the sun and the stars, spinning his entire world around and around into one web filled with love. He would walk to the end of the world for her if she wanted to do. And she felt the same way about him, if not even more. She would lose herself to him.

He turned towards her and extended his arms outward, pulling her into his embrace. They sat there together like this for a while, listening to each others steady breathing and relishing in the idea of each other. Stanley couldnt help but marvel at her beauty, his eyes flicking down to stare that the part of her face he could see from the position they were in. As strands of hair fell from outside the bun and onto her face, tickling he forehead softly. Her eyelashes, which batted every time she blinked, were so long that he thought of them as flower petals upon her face.

She didn’t know how beautiful he thought she was. He knew that for certain. Every time he would mention something about her appearance she would blush and tell him that she wasn't that attractive. And it tore Stanley Uris to pieces, seeing her beat herself up about the fact that she didn’t look like the other girls that have been propped up as what a beautiful woman had to look like. No matter how many times he would hold her by the face and repeat you are beautiful over and over again, she still would have doubts. Stanley wanted to show her how beautiful she truly was, to make her feel all the love that he had for her.

His hands came to her hips and spun her around so they were looking at each other. Her warm eyes peered into his own, feigning a soft smile and giggling at the sudden action. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his soft hair on her fingertips, playing with a few of the strands. She did really love his hair, and in the light of the dropping sun, the brown curly strands almost appeared to be golden. The freckles that peppered his face here and there moved with his own smile. That sight alone was breathtaking for the young girl, making her heart almost melt on the spot.

Stanley raised an eyebrow almost as a question, his face leaning towards hers. She raised herself up on her tip toes and attached their lips together, closing the gap between both of them as their arms brought each other closer and closer. It was easy to get lost in the moment for each of them, the intoxication of love is enough to make them play into their infatuations with each other. The kiss was small, pulling away after a few seconds. They stayed close, feeling each other’s hot breath on their faces. Stanley’s eyes flicked down to her lips back to her eyes. “You’re gorgeous,” He whispered to her, his grip tightening ever so slightly on her hips. 

And then there was that look again on her face, the same one that she made every single time he complimented her. It wasn’t of offense, she thought that it was so sweet that he used words like this, it was just that she didn’t feel the same way about herself. Y/N didn’t think that she was the most beautiful in Derry, there were many other better, more beautiful women here. And yet Stanley Uris picked her. She was flattered, though it never stopped the insecure thoughts she had. 

“Thank you, Stan but-”

“Don’t deny it,” Stanley interjected her, pulling his hand up and putting it across her mouth. Her eyes widened, breathing getting heavier. Her heart started to beat in her chest rapidly, feeling a blush coming up to her cheeks. “You’re way to hard on yourself, Y/N.” Stan kissed her reddening cheeks, then removed his hand and kissed her lips. This kiss was different from the previous one. This one was more passionate and feverish, which is when she realized what would probably occur if they kept kissing this way.

They’ve had sex before, a few times actually, starting around junior year last year. With both of them being virgins, they lost their virginities to each other over winter break when they were opening up presents together. Even though his family didn’t celebrate Christmas, he still insisted on giving his friends gifts, and then an extra special one for Y/N. It was a necklace that had their initials engraved on the back of it, and she knew that it must’ve cost a fortune. How did you even get this? There’s no jewelry stores in Derry? She had asked him. I went with Bill to the next town over a week ago. He replied. Y/N had yet to take it off. One thing led to each other and they were all over each other.

His lips left her own and began to trail down her neck, stopping every once a while to bite on the extra sensitive spots he knew she had. A soft mewling noise left her mouth, her eyes closing and leaning into his touch. The noises she made during their intimate affairs never failed to turn Stanley on, no matter how slight they were. Just the fact that he was the one making her that way was enough to get the dirty fantasies starting in his head.

Stanley allowed his hands to fall down her sides, fingers fiddling with the edge of the t shirt she wore. His fingertips grazed the soft skin underneath for just a second and her breath hitched in her throat, her hand reaching for his head and pulling him up so he was once again looking at her in the eyes. Her lips parted, asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting home soon?” She wasn't look for an excuse not to have sex, she wouldn’t ever pass up the opportunity, but Y/N didn’t want Mrs. Uris to worry about her son who was supposed to come home soon. 

“I’ll be okay. I just want to make you feel good,” Stan whispered, his head ducking down and kissing her neck again. Y/N allowed herself to relax into his touch, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to dissipate with every kiss, nibble, and lick he put on her skin. The shirt that he had once been playing with was now off of her revealing her bare chest, dropping to the floor. They went back to kissing again, Stanley’s arms held her up by her thighs and helped her to sit on the counter. Her legs wrapped around his waist and his shirt was thrown off as well. 

He pulled for a moment and admired her, seeing the slight red marks he made on her skin, wanting - no, craving to make more on her bare breasts. And he did just that, kissing the dip in between her breasts and using one of his hands to play with one of them. His touches were so gentle, like he planned each and every single one with expertise to get just the right reaction out of her. It wasn’t the first time that he had seen her, all of her, before but it felt that way each time. He would never be able to explain in words the feeling he got when she was exposed to him. 

She was trying her best to kick off her jean shorts, pulling down the zipper herself while he continued kissing her body. Sliding them down her legs and kicking them away, Stan put his hand once again on her waist. He swears that he could compare her body to the ancient statues of goddesses in Greece, the curves and dips resembled chiseled stone, almost taking his breath away. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he muttered, his lips kissing along her chest and stomach, not missing an inch of skin with his lips. 

They didn’t have much time, considering his need to get home, so he was quick to slide his hand into her underwear, his thumb brushing over where she needed him most. Her hips bucked into his hand, her hands pulling on his hair, his name falling out of her lips like a mantra. The way that she wanted him was something she has never felt with another person, Stanley was able to always take her to that state of arousal she couldn't achieve with herself. Two of his fingers finally slipped into her, curling slightly as they pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. 

Y/N thought that if he went any slower she would die, but she knew that he was simply doing this to get a rouse out of her. Which was the truth, Stanley liked to tease her sometimes. Her hand came down and wrapped around his wrist, trying her best to get him to go faster. Stan couldn’t help but chuckle out, his lips coming up to meet hers again. 

The newly established pace along with his thumb still pressing on her bundle of nerves was already making her get closer and closer to her releasing. She was slightly sheepish at how easy he was making her come undone, but it just added onto the charm that Stanley had. He could be terribly sweet and incredibly sexy at the same time. And she knew that if he kept doing this that she would reach her high before she wanted to, she wanted to orgasm when he was inside her.

“Stanley, I want you inside me now,” Y/N was able to make out, his hand immediately stopping and pulling away from her. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that he was pulling off his jeans and boxers as fast as humanly possible, her own hands pushed down her soaking underwear. 

He pressed himself against her, his tip already slick with her arousal. “You’re so wet for me,” He muttered. “So ready.”

And then he slid inside her, both of their moans filling up the entire room. His hips jerked up, a large smack was heard as their hips hit together. Y/N tried to adjust as best as she could as he started his pace slow. Her hands reached for his face and kissed him, moaning into his mouth whenever he buried himself inside of her. The pace quickened, their skin glistening with sweat. Y/N looked so natural and beautiful that he couldn’t control the groans that left his mouth. His hand reached down in between them and started playing with her clit, her moans getting higher and more frequent. He could get off of her moans just as they were, he was sure of that. They sounded borderline pornographic, perfect coming from her pretty pink lips.

“You take me so well, princess.”

Y/N spread her legs even wider than previously, feeling him be able to get even deeper inside of her. The constant hitting of that one spot in her making her go crazy with lust. She couldn’t think, hell, she didn’t know if she was even breathing anymore. The only thing in her mind was Stanley’s name, repeating like it was the only thing that she could say or think.

Stan himself was starting to feel his high form, the constant moaning from her in his ear along with how tight she is was making him get closer and closer. He could tell that Y/N was almost there as well, her head was thrown back in pure ecstasy from the pleasure that he was receiving. So he put his lips to her ear, and whispered in probably the deepest, most lustful voice that she thinks she’s ever heard before, “Come for me.”

That was enough to do it, and soon enough Y/N was coming undone right on top of her kitchen counter. His pace didn’t stop, it was relentless as he tried to chase after his high, finally achieving it with her. They road it out together, their moans synching together like they were one. His hips began to falter, becoming more erratic until he stopped, stilling inside her and keeping his gaze on the beautiful woman in front of him.

And Y/N could see it, the way that he looked at her. He could see the love that he harbored for her as if he was waving a sign. “I love you, Stanley,” She told him.

“I love you too, Y/N,” He said, pulling out of her and kissing her softly. “And you are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met in my entire life, don’t ever forget that, please.”

Y/N knew that she wouldn't. 

[t4tozier]

i’m gonna uhh post some snippets of fics i’ll never continue to write okay let’s go

“Eddie ran away for the first time when he was ten years old. He’d just been to the pharmacy and found out that all the medication he’d been taking--for years--was fake. He didn’t want to believe it. Greta Keene, the girl who’d told him, was a notorious liar. Any other time, he wouldn’t have believed her. And yet, somehow, he knew she was telling the truth. He could feel it in his gut. So he ran. He didn’t bother going home, just ran straight from the pharmacy into the woods.

His mother always told him not to play in the woods. They were dangerous, she told him. All sorts of hidden monsters. But Eddie went all the way to the middle of the woods and all he saw was a well. It was old and dirty, something his mother would never approve of him even getting near. But something about the well drew him in, so he slowly approached it. Eddie gripped the edge of the well, tilting up on his tiptoes to look inside.

In the stories his dad read to him when he was little, these wells were magic. They often didn’t even have water in them, much as this one didn’t, but it didn’t matter. The stories said that if you looked inside and spoke your heart’s desire, it would come true. That’s why they were called wishing wells.

Eddie took a deep breath and thought hard about what he wanted to say. It didn’t take long before it came to him and he closed his eyes before speaking. “I wish I could get far away from this place,” he whispered, then fell silent, waiting for...something. But nothing happened. No sudden gust of wind, no chiming of bells. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would. Eddie sighed. He guessed he’d have to go back to his house now, since his wish clearly didn’t work. He turned around and was immediately faced with a boy.

Eddie yelped and jumped back, hitting the well hard and falling backwards. For a moment, he was terrified he was going to die. But then the boy grabbed his hand and pulled him back up, tugging him into his chest. Eddie’s heart flew up out of his throat as his hands connected with the boy’s chest. “H-hi,” he breathed, blinking up at him.

“Hi!” the taller boy chirped back. “My name’s Richie. What’s yours?” Eddie was pretty sure he’d never seen this boy before in all the years he’d lived here. He had big blue eyes and curly black hair. His face was covered in freckles, and as he smiled down at Eddie, his teeth were bonded by neon green braces. He was tall too, wow. Eddie hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. His ma said it was ‘cause he was fragile. He wasn’t sure how true that was, but looking into the bright eyes of the boy in front of him, all other thoughts of his ma were erased from his mind.

“D-do you live here?” Eddie got out, completely ignoring the other’s question. The boy—Richie—laughed, displaying those neon braces again.

“Yeah, I do. I’m homeschooled, though, so I don’t go to the school with the rest of the kids.” He looked a little sad about it, but the expression vanished as he continued. “I got this thing called dyslexia, so I can’t really read or write too good. Mags says the teachers were mean when I was in regular school, so she’s teachin’ me herself. I still don’t really got it, though. I dunno if I’m ever gonna.”

Eddie cocked his head, lips parted as he looked up at this boy. He didn’t know what dyslexia was, and he didn’t know Richie at all. But he blurted out, “I could teach you.” A voice in his head warned him to take it back, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to know more about this strange boy with the freckles and the neon braces.”

-Danny, Dakota, and the Wishing Well songfic

——————————————————————————

“We have an assignment for you.”

Edward scoffed. “I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not taking any more—”

“He’s a nephilim.”

That piqued Edward’s interest. He slowly sat up. “A nephilim? And you trust me to watch him?” The Council nodded. Edward considered it. After so many years...would he even be a good enough guardian? Especially for a nephilim—he’d never been charged to guard one before. But maybe...just maybe...this would be what he needed. The last one, to prove to them that he was better off in retirement. “What…what’s the kid’s name?”

“Richard Tozier.”

-the end of my Eddie/Adrian guardian angel au

——————————————————————————

“Richie didn’t know what he expected when he died. He’d always been told that his soul would be alive forever, living on even after his body had passed. He didn’t know if he believed that, though. The concept of everyone living forever? It was almost too much to think about. He figured once he died, he wouldn’t wake up. It would just be blackness for eternity.

Richie was not expecting this.

The first thing he was aware of was music. There was music dancing through the air, lively music with lots of brass. It sounded like something he’d hear at home in Santa Cecilia. Richie thought he was back home, and quickly cracked open an eye.

From what he could see, his side was pressed into a pile of marigold petals. When he opened his mouth, he spat out more petals, wrinkling his nose in disgust. That felt weird.

———

“Señor Tozier...lo siento, pero...usted mueró. Sé no es fácil entender, pero—”

“¡No!” Richie stood up, running skeletal fingers through straw-like hair. “No, it can’t be! I can’t be dead, I need to tell Eddie I love him, I need to see Coco, I can’t have died!” He was pacing, aching with tears that couldn’t be shed. “It’s too early, I’m supposed to be at home! I can’t—” He cut himself off with a dry sob.

The woman stood up from her chair, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Señor, por favor, usted necesita respirar, ¿sí?”

Richie shook her hand off. “¿Respira? ¿Respira? ¡No tengo livianos, no puedo respirar!” He sounded frantic.”

-chap. 2 of beat of my heart, my coco reddie au

——————————————————————————

These could possibly be triggering to people with dermatillomania or who self-harm so take care of yourself! I’ll put it under a cut once I’m off mobile

He had a ring of white scars around his face, oddly shaped.

“Aren’t you hot?”

“No,” the boy said simply. His left hand twitched, almost imperceptibly.

——————

Stan quietly took a seat across from him. His hands kept moving—drumming his fingers on the table, pressing down on his leg, nails digging into his palm. At one point, he started to roll up his sleeve impatiently, but Bev placed a hand on his shoulder and he pushed it back down, sighing. She seemed pleased, and intertwined her fingers with his before continuing to chat with Richie and Bill. The whole interaction left Eddie even more confused. He hadn’t seen any sort of sign that they were in a relationship, and yet here they were, holding hands in public! It all seemed rather odd.

——————

“He just needs more support than most people, that’s all,” Richie said easily. Sensing that this wasn’t the answer that Eddie wanted, he added, “Look, I’d tell you, but it’s not my place to say. Ol’ Stanny Boy will spill when he’s ready.” Eddie still wasn’t satisfied, but he let it go. Besides, the sinking feeling in Eddie’s gut told him he already knew the answer.

——————

Stan sighed. “I have this...thing. It’s...well, it’s a form of OCD. I’ve had it for years now, since probably the summer of my sophomore year. I don’t know what brought it on, to be honest. I’ve wracked my brain and I can’t think of any valid reason why I’m...like this.” He took a deep breath. “It’s called dermatillomania. Basically, I pick my skin. A lot. I can’t help it; it’s like a compulsion. I guess that’s why it’s part of OCD. It’s mostly just my arms and my face. That’s what all these scars are,” he added, pointing at the ring of white splotches circling his face. “That was before I realized how bad it was. I did it without noticing the effects. By now it’s too late to get rid of them. They’re scars now, nothing I can do about it. It’s really bad, Mike. I can’t take a shower or be in front of the mirror for too long, I can’t wear t-shirts or tank tops or go shirtless in the summer. Long sleeves are just about the only thing that stops me, and even then, I have plenty of things on my forearms that I could pick too. If someone isn’t there with me to physically stop me, I could just stay there for an hour, at least, just finding any raised bump on my skin that I can dig at until it bleeds.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

Mike shook his head. “Don’t apologize, Stan. I want you to talk about it; it’s good for you. As long as you’re okay with telling me, I want to hear it.”

Stan gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Mike responded, returning the shy smile.“Do you want to talk about it more?”

“I mean, if you’re sure I’m not grossing you out,” Stan said, rubbing his arm self-consciously.

“Stan, you could never gross me out, I swear.”

The reassurance seemed to give Stan a second wind. “Honestly? I don’t know what I’d do without Rich and Bev. I’d be so much worse off. I have no self control when it comes to picking. I have to have Richie in the bathroom with me when I shower, or brush my teeth, or wash my face, because if I’m exposed to my own skin I won’t be able to stop myself. Richie is my rock. As much as he gets on my nerves sometimes—he’s my rock. He’s always there to ground me and tell me to snap out of it, and it’s one of the only things I’ve never heard him joke about.” Stan paused for a second, staring into the fire as he weighed his next words. He sighed. “I just...sometimes I hate myself for it, you know? Like, how weak must I be if I can’t wear a t-shirt without wanting to rip open my skin? How pathetic am I if I need to have someone with me at all times in case—god forbid—I take my jacket off? I feel so helpless. I can’t control it. As much as I want to, I can’t. There are times when nobody’s around, and I’ll sit on a disgusting hotel bed and pick at my skin until my arms are bleeding and scabbing over and it looks like I’m diseased because all my skin is pink and raised, and I’ll hate myself for doing it because I’m telling myself to stop even as I keep picking and I can’t stop myself until one of them comes in and starts crying because oh shit, Stan fucked up again and I hate it I hate it I hate it—”

“Stan, Stan, listen to me.” Mike grabbed his face in his hands. “Look at me, okay? No matter what you think, you are not pathetic.”

-stan’s derma scenes, as we fall softly

[amigolupus]

I got the inspiration for this image from listening to Vague Hope - Cold Rain from Nier Automata. There’s just something in it that make me think of how miserable Mullet Stan’s ten years of hell must be, and how this probably isn’t the first time this has happened to him.

Also, here’s a fic under the cut!

Title: Whiteout

Character: Stanley Pines

Words: 2088

Summary: After getting roughed up and left for dead because of a failed con, Stan ponders the state of his life. So pretty much just a regular Tuesday for Stan Pines.

Cold.

That was the first thing that he noticed as consciousness slowly returned to him. It seemed like his body was wrapped in a cocoon of cold. The second thing he noticed was the feeling of something wet and sticky all over his body.

And then, the third thing that hit him was the pain.

To say that the pain blossomed was an understatement. It was more like liquid fire had flowed out through his veins. He wanted to cry out, but long-honed instincts told him making too much noise would be a terrible idea, so he just settled for a pathetic hiss. Not that he could shout if he wanted to, really. His throat felt too dry and he could taste iron in his mouth.

Where was he anyway? And why was it so cold? ...More importantly, who was he? Stetson Pinefield? James Oakley? Sean Spruceteen? Nah, none of those felt right.

Memories started to trickle back, and along with it came shame. It was like having slime spread out and tarnish a clean surface.

He remembered who he was, and it was somehow much worse.

He was Stanley Pines. He was a professional grifter who lived out of his car. He had tried to pull off a con, but had gotten caught. As he was trying to get away, he had slipped on the icy ground and then the goons were on him in an instant. He was then almost beaten to death and left alone to die, which was more merciful than if they tried to “interrogate” him.

So not a new experience for Stan, really.

Stan tried to open his eyes, at least to figure out where those goons dumped him, but one of his eyes felt like it was caked with blood. Hell, he was pretty sure he could feel himself bleeding in lots of places. Those bastards really didn’t hold back, did they?

He opened the eye that was still somewhat fine and instantly regretted it. His vision swam so much and the only thing he could register was blinding white. Stan winced and waited a few minutes before trying to open his eye again.

There was snow everywhere. It didn’t seem like he was anywhere near civilization. Did those bastards seriously just dump him outside of town or something?

Though it could be worse, Stan mused, as he flashed back to a car trunk and suffocating darkness.

So what now? He didn’t think he could move in his condition. Just trying to breathe already felt like a tall order. He hoped that was just cracked ribs and not something more serious. Maybe he could rest and get some strength back, at least before he froze like a popsicle.

But while his body just wanted to take it easy, Stan’s mind was racing and going over his latest failure. He’d thought for sure that he could pull off a heist. He hadn’t expected the building’s doors to use those newfangled keycards that meant there was no lock to pick. Or for the “inside man” he’d seduced to let him in the building to be more loyal to his employers and turn Stan in. Stan wasn’t sure what irritated him more, that technology was screwing over the noble art of lockpicking, or that he was past his prime and his looks weren’t enough to charm anyone anymore, or that his plan this time was so damn sloppy.

Moses, was he really this badly off? Was Stan Pines already outdated by the times, doomed to fall off the crazy game called life?

Well, what did you expect? Once a loser, always were a loser.

So what if he was? This was just a temporary setback. He’ll make it big next time, he was sure of it.

You mean like the last hundred times you said that exact same thing?

Stan tried to cut off that train of thought, he really did. That was a well-worn and familiar road, and it never led to anywhere good, but still...

He looked around, hoping to find something, anything, to distract himself. His eye caught a hint of yellow. It was a tiny flower peeking out from under the snow. He didn’t know what it was called, though he bet Ma knew. Heh, stupid little thing was still growing in this frigid weather.

Stan tried to come up with something sappy. Like...there was beauty in something struggling to survive under harsh conditions. Or that there was something hopeful about it yadda yadda yadda.

What his stupid brain told him was that the flower looked incredibly lonely in a sea of white. That it was only a matter of time before it got buried under the snow.

Well, shit.

He didn’t need these thoughts creeping in, not now of all times. He tried to fight it off, but the cold was making him so tired.

Why do you even bother struggling anymore? This is the perfect resting place for you.

Because that’s quitter talk, and Stan Pines was no quitter. Because if nothing else, Pa taught him to be a fighter, to be able to take some licks and then get back up again.

Oh really? A real man would never let himself get beat up like you did. A real man would never be such a huge disappointment. You know what you really are? An animal. Hell, at this rate you’re as good as roadkill.

That’s... Stan’s heart clenched at the thought. What else could he say to that, really?

The only thing that ever comes out of your mouth are just lies anyway, you miserable little thief. You’d be doing us all a favor if you just disappeared already.

It’s true that he’d thought of that, but to just fade away when he hadn’t made his mark yet?

What mark? You mean your terrible criminal record? Besides, it’s not like anyone will miss you if you’re dead.

That’s...that’s not true, isn’t it? Sure, he seemed to have a knack for making people hate him, but at least Ma would be sad if he was gone, right?

And you think having to hear that you’re “doing fine” over and over is doing her any good, Mr. Personality? Your mother can smell bullshit a mile away so you know she knows what’s really up. Her hair’s turned white by now thanks to worrying over your sorry hide.

How about Shermie then? It’d be a shame if he never knew his other older brother.

What’s a real shame is that you think we’d even let Shermie know about you. Do you seriously think we’d burden him with the knowledge that he’s got a thug of a brother lying and stealing his way around the country? Do you even think Shermie would ever want to know about the shame of the family?

Ford... Well, that was useless. Stan already knew what Ford thought of him.

Did you really think I’d miss the person who ruined my life, Stanley?

Stan could taste familiar bitterness and loathing in his mouth. Ford wasn’t the only one whose life was ruined that night. Where was Ford when he needed his support?

Now why would I ever choose to stand with someone who sabotaged me?

That one stung, because Ford honestly thought Stan would actually do something like that. Why didn’t he believe it was an accident?

Even if it were, that doesn’t matter because you still ruined my chances, Stanley. You always were determined to be a millstone around my neck, weren’t you?

Stan shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the snow. He knew he’d been holding Ford back before, but he’d been trying to change that. He’d been doing his best the last several years to raise some cash and prove he could be half as good as Ford, so didn’t that count?

And look where that got you; bleeding out on the snow like some manner of wild beast. Tell me, was it even worth it, Stanley?

Well...

You know you deserved this, don’t you Stanley? Every terrible thing in your life you brought upon yourself.

He did, didn’t he? In the end, what did he even had to show for himself?

Then you know the right thing to do.

Yes, he did. Stan let out the breath didn’t even know he’d been holding.

A smile tugged at Stan’s lips as he felt the cold sink in. This was it. He was finally going to do something right, just this once. Why was he even hesitating to let go in the first place?

...

Coward.

...

Are ya seriously just gonna lie down there like the loser everyone says you are?! Get the hell up, you cowardly piece of shit!

...Stan frowned. Couldn’t the voice just leave him alone and let a guy die in dignity?

Dignity, my hairy crack! We ain’t going away anywhere, numbnuts. We’ve been through this stupid song and dance over and over again and believe you me, we can’t afford to croak it here.

Why the hell not?

For one thing, we’re in Bugfuck, Booniesville, and I dunno about you, but we could at least pick someplace better to die than this.

...Fair. And what’s your other point?

For another thing, we still haven’t apologized to Ford.

Stan scoffed at the thought. He’d thought about apologizing to Ford thousands of times, had replayed conversations in his head over and over again. But for it to actually happen?

One thing Stan was certain of was that he didn’t want to be the one to end up begging Ford to let him back in his life again. It felt too much like admitting that everything was his fault, even if he sometimes felt it was. So his plan had been to stay away until Ford asked him to come back.

And, well, he doubted Ford would ever want to talk to him again.

But how can we be so sure of that?

Because he hates me more than anything else in the world.

Yeah, so what if he does? That doesn’t mean Poindexter could carry a grudge for all his life.

Of course he can. I ruined his life.

We totally did. But there’s always the small chance he’d change his mind. ‘Side, are we gonna be fine not knowing if he could ever forgive our pathetic hide?

...No, I wouldn’t. I’d want to know for sure.

Exactly. It’s like one of Sixer’s nerdy science theories he’d always ramble on about, the Shatner’s Pussy or whatever. You know how it is. Something’s locked inside a tin can, and the only way to know if it’s a cat is to open it with a can opener. So unless we see the can getting opened, we don’t know for sure what Ford’s got for us.

So what, I’m just supposed to survive and wait years and years until Ford finally decides he wants to talk to me?

We both know the answer to that.

...

Well, shit.

Pulling from scraps of strength he didn’t know he had, Stan grunted as he gingerly moved his arms until his fingers found some purchase in the snow. Stan grunted as he slowly pushed himself upwards while his muscles and nerves felt like it was on fire. It was only then that he registered how much the snow was tinted red from his blood.

Stan hoped he was lucky enough that lying on the snow had frozen his wounds shut but he wasn’t holding his breath. He just hoped he still had some thread and needle in the Stanmobile. He really didn’t want to have to staple his wounds shut again.

Getting up to his feet was a challenge on its own. His vision swam while his legs felt weak and wobbly. Stan had to stand in place for several seconds just to steady himself. When he thought he was ready, Stan took the first step forward.

Stan took another step, and then another, his boots leaving deep gouges in the snow. He had no idea where he was, so he picked a direction that he thought would take him back to town. He figured that if the goons that beat him up thought he had died, that’d mean they wouldn’t expect him to come back for his car now.

And then Stan could finally say goodbye to this stupid joint.

After that? Who knows.

The only thing Stan knew for certain was that he had to keep going, no matter what.

[starboystan]

friends

posting my fic, it might suck but pls be nice I’m nervous

summary: Stan has a secret, he wants to tell his best friend Richie...

words: 3308

here goes nothing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was raining outside the Tuesday Stanley Uris decided it was time to tell his best friend his biggest secret. Seems pretty fitting actually, come to think of it. The rain flowed from the rooftops into the streets of Derry, just like they had 9 years before, on the day Stan Uris first met Richie Tozier.

Before school on the first day of second grade the rain began to fall and didn’t stop until four that same afternoon. A boy was sat at the kitchen table with his mother and father, his feet swinging gently as they were too short to reach the floor. His small tight curls peeked out under the hood of his raincoat as he walked from the front door to the car. It was becoming a Uris family tradition that both Donald and Andrea drove him to school on his first day after summer vacation. It was rare for it to be raining this early into Fall, but little Stan Uris had no complaints. He always quite liked the rain. The gentle patter of rain against his window was something that never failed to comfort Stan on a restless night. Stan got out of the car at school and thanked his parents for the ride. He was extremely formal for a seven year old, a well-mannered and well-behaved young boy. He tucked his satchel under his arm to protect it from the drizzle and headed into the school building. It was very easy for him to find his way to his assigned classroom. He was among the first to arrive, naturally, so he took out his pencils and notepad and sat patiently as his classmates poured in to the classroom.

Six minutes and twenty-seven seconds into homeroom, a dripping wet boy stumbled into the room, tripping over his own feet and apologising profusely. His dark black locks clung to his forehead, a thick pair of glasses hiding the majority of the features of his face. He was directed to the empty desk on Stan’s left. Stan did his best to not be distracted by the boy who continued to fidget and make small noises, obviously trying to get Stan’s attention. The teacher instructed the class to write down a sentence about themselves, Stan was quick to pick up one of his five perfectly sharpened, same sized pencils and jotted down and introductory sentence. The boy beside him sighed with a clear sign of frustration. From the second he walked into the room, Stan could tell that this messy looking boy was unorganised. After a three-minute long struggle, the boy began to ask around frantically for a pencil. No one even considered it, no one but Stanley. It was unusual for him, to say the least. He’d always kept to himself at school, never finding it particularly necessary to collect a variety of friends along the way. But something deep inside pushed him to hold out the third of his five pencils towards the boy sitting next to him “You can borrow mine” he said, the corners of his mouth creeping into a small but welcoming smile. The boy stared back, almost dumbfounded over the fact that someone was helping him. He mumbled out a “thank you” and scrawled down a sentence that was hardly legible to Stan. “Richie, my name’s Richie” the boy says as he hands back the pencil. Stan nodded and said...

“Hi Richie, can we talk?” The house phone was cold against his face. Sixteen years old now, Stan was still fairly quiet to strangers. A whole different story to his friends. Stan was smart and sensible but always had a way of being able to make his friends cry with laughter over a witty comeback or silly joke. “Stanley do you realise that it’s eight in the morning on a Saturday. What’s more important than my beauty sleep?” Richie groaned, his voice giving away that he’d just woken up. “Gonna take a lot more than a few hours to fix you up Richard” Stan rolled his eyes “Can you just come over? This is serious” he said, a little urgently. “Staaaann” Richie sighed “It’s raining, can’t we speak over the phone?” Richie sat up in bed, not yet making any moves to get out of it. “No. You know what? Forget it, I don’t need to talk anymore. It’s nothing” Stan was in a way relieved to say that, his mind racing to figure out a way to expose the secret he’d been keeping for two painfully long years. Richie recognised the tone of Stan’s voice and knew it was urgent “I’m coming”. Before Stan had the chance to protest, the line went dead. Richie made his way down Jackson Street…

towards Stanley’s house, where he spent every minute he could, out playing ball in the yard or trying (and failing) to sit still while Stan looked for new birds to make notes about in one of his special books. The years flashed by fast and the two of them began to expand their friendship. At first just onto two others, and eventually they had a group of seven in total - The Loser’s Club.

The Summer of 91 brought the first signs of hope since the trauma of the summer two years prior. As spring rolled into summer, the sun came back with a familiar face. Beverly Marsh, who had left seven hundred and twenty four days before, was back in Derry. With the group back to it’s full size of seven, the Losers fell back in love with their idle town. But that wasn’t the only instance of love that sparked over the summer. Losing Bev had been hard on everyone, but it didn’t hit anyone as hard as it hit Ben. He realised that he was deeply in love with the fiery haired girl, and he needed to let her know. That brought the beginnings of one of many relationships within the Losers Club.

It was a warm summer night when fourteen year old Stanley Uris came to a realisation. A game of Truth or Dare was spun on its head when Stan pushed himself out of his comfort zone and chose “Dare” for the first time. Six heads snapped up to look at him in shock. He regretted it immediately to say the least. “You have to kiss….” Bev said with grin that was verging on sadistic. Stan clenched his jaw, he’d never been secure within the norm of being straight, and he’d also never kissed anyone. “All of us” Richie chimed in, laughing at the expression on Stan’s face. All Eddie’s talk of germs was racing through his head as he moved around the circle. It wasn’t until he was face to face with Mike Hanlon that Stan became very nervous, fiddling with his sleeves and tapping his toes inside his shoes. It was a fast kiss, barley over a second, but it was enough for Stan to know. He wished he didn’t know. The excitement of his friends quickly died down when Stan left in a hurry, turning back for half a moment to look at Mike before he ducked out of the door and began the walk back to his house. How could he feel like that? Why a boy? What made it so different with him? The thoughts raced around his head the whole way home, and followed him well into the night, keeping him up all night long. He couldn’t understand anything, so he said…

“Nothing, Richard I told you it was nothing” he muttered to the soaked boy who was standing in his doorway in his pyjama bottoms and some ‘edgy’ band t-shirt “Why the hell didn’t you bring a jacket?”. Richie just shrugged and shook his head like a wet dog getting the water off of him “This sounded more important that a jacket Staniel. Can you at least let me in?” he pleaded with his eyes. A sigh left Stan as he held the door open for his best friend “Please just don’t step on the carpet. Dad’ll kill me if it gets wet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep off it. Have a towel or something? It’s fucking freezing” Richie groaned and sat at the kitchen table, causing Stan to visibly cringe. Stan headed to the closet to get a towel for him and returned still frowning at Richie. He had no reason to be annoyed at him, the stress of the situation was getting to him and making him snappy and very irritable. He tossed the towel to Richie and sat down opposite, unsure of where to start. Richie noticed and did it for him “You’re being very…”

“Quiet, even for you. You can talk to me you know, Stan” Richie sounded almost scared. After that night playing truth or dare, Stan went through a lot inside his own head. He was just fifteen, now more closed off than ever before, when he tried to tell Richie the first time. It didn’t go to plan to say the least. The day ended with Stan meeting his lunch again and running home crying. The problem was he couldn’t admit it to himself. No matter what he tried to tell himself, Stan just couldn’t get it out in a way that he could accept. Instead he settled for the idea that he’d never tell anyone and stay miserable forever. But this wasn’t up to him apparently. The Losers we're growing older and to Stans surprise, people seemed to want them around. The parties became more frequent,and hiding became harder. He never drank, didn’t trust himself enough to keep quiet.

The weekend before he invited Richie to his house during the biggest rainstorm in Derry for a long time, The Losers went along to some party at some house out on the outskirts of their small town. “Casey Something-or-Other” Richie had said as Stan drove the Losers up past the Standpipe towards the small suburbs on the edge of town.

The night went as they usually did, Stan slipped off from his friends once they were all busy dancing or talking. He sat himself in an upstairs bedroom until a couple decided they’d prefer to be in there. He wandered down and sat in his car, not noticing the other boy sitting in the back. He turned on the radio and tucked his legs up underneath him, just sitting watching the party go on inside the house and humming along to whatever song that was playing. The sharp clearing of another’s throat nearly stopped Stan’s heart, meaning that the small noise from the boy in the back was met with a yell. The curls on his head bounced as he spun around in his seat to look for the source of the noise. Fear became confusion when his green eyes met the deep, warm brown of Mike Hanlon’s. “Oh, uhhh, sorry Stan, didn’t mean to scare you like that” Mike spoke very quietly, looking everywhere but Stan’s eyes. Something was clearly wrong but Stan didn’t feel right just asking what was up, not after avoiding one-on-one interactions with Mike for almost a year now. “What are you doing in here?” Stan asks nervously, nervous of what he might say and what he might do. “I could asked you the same question” Mike replied quickly, almost defensive. “This happens to be my car, I was just-“ he took a breath and stopped himself from finishing the sentence. How could he tell Mike that he’d been avoiding him without sounding rude. “Just what? Why’d you always disappear at parties Stan? Do you… do you have like a secret girlfriend or something?” Mike speaks slowly and calmly, which makes Stan jealous because he can’t seem to find a way to calm down, his heart is beating wildly and he can’t seem to keep still. “What? No I don’t have a secret girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend full stop. I don’t disappear, always stick with you guys. Why’d you want to know anyway?” Stan spoke in a slur, stumbling on his words “Have you been drinking?” Mike frowned, not expecting this from Stan at all.

Stan turned around and flipped the radio off in a swift movement as he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, Mike simultaneously shuffled forward in his seat without Stan noticing. “I want to know because you’re my friend Stan, I worry about you. You’ve been pretty distant recently, we’ve all noticed it. I’m in here because I saw you sit in the car the whole time last weekend. I guessed you’d do it at this one too so I wanted to keep you company” Mike said softly, putting his hand on Stan’s upper arm. Stan kept his eyes on the spot where Mike’s hand was touching him, his skin seemed to set on fire under where Mike touched him. “I….I’m fine, you shouldn’t worry about me. I’m okay. You can go in and have fun in there if you want” he doesn’t look up from the connection between them on his arm, a thousand thoughts swam around his head; why hasn’t Mike moved his hand yet? Was he feeling it too? Why does he care so much? These thoughts were interrupted when Mike asked a very quiet question “Can I ask you something?” Stan flashed his eyes up to Mike’s face for a split second “Sure?” Mike took a deep breath like the question held great importance to him “Do you not want to be my friend?” he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for an answer. Stan was taken by surprise, he understood though, of course Mike would think that with the way Stan had been acting around him “Yes, I mean No, I mean….. Mike I want to be your friend. I really do…” a tear fell down his cheek and he was glad he wasn’t facing Mike, but Mike could see, he got ever further forward in the back seat, now very close to Stan “...there’s just so much going on in my head and I can hardly even think straight right now. Nothing makes sense, hasn’t for a long time since I realised I’m… I.. I don’t know, I want to be friends, I really do, I like you, I like you a lot, maybe more than I should and I’m sorry, I’m sorry Mike I’ve not been fair to you but the truth is I-“ he didn’t finish his sentence because a finger hooked under his chin and pulled it to face the boy sitting in the back, who drew Stan into a gentle kiss. The curly haired boy went along with the kiss for a moment before his brain caught up with what was happening. He shot back and spun his body completely to face Mike “What did you do that for!?” his voice was quiet and he was still crying slightly. Mike wiped Stan’s cheeks with his thumbs “I like you Stan. And not the way you’re supposed to like a friend. Like like. And I don’t understand either” The words made Stan feel fuzzy inside, almost like he wasn’t real and all of this was happening in some crazy dream that he’d wake up from any second - except he didn’t wake up. Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulders, hugging him tightly despite the uncomfortable angle due to the car seat. “Come sit here please?” Mike asked, with an unfamiliar look in his eyes. He was unsure, Stan had never seen Mike look unsure before, at least not like this. Stan complied and sat beside one of his six best friends in the back of his mom’s car, not moving or speaking until he felt a strong arm creep around his shoulder and pull him closer. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Stan took a breath and relaxed. He didn’t know what would come of this moment, whether this would seal the deal and give him all he’d wanted deep down or do the opposite, draw the two boys even further away. What he did know was that it felt right. How could something wrong - wrong by the standards of his parents, of his religion, of everyone at school - feel so right?

The two of them just sat there, in the back of Stan’s mother’s car, Stan sometimes crying, sometimes leaning into the taller boy’s chest, until the party was over.

There was no going back from there. He knew for sure and that meant he had to tell Richie, there was no getting around it. That’s why he invited him round on the Tuesday morning following the weekend of Casey Davidson’s. “I have something to tell you. And you have to promise you won’t laugh or get weird or make some stupid joke about it” a monotonous voice comes from the light haired boy facing Richie on the table. Richie raised his hands in surrender and shakes his head “When do I ever make stupid jokes?” he says with a grin. “Richie, please? Cross your heart” Stan narrowed his eyes, his leg shaking slightly under the table. Suddenly Richie became serious, as if the importance of the crossed heart was something as solid as a contract to him. In fact, between Stan and Richie, a crossed heart was one of the realest deals that could ever be made “Cross my heart” he said while forming an X over his chest with an index finger.

Stan’s lungs filled up with air and he slowly let it all out “It’s something I think I’ve known for a while, only I’ve not been able to come to terms with it… until now I guess” he took another breath and looked at the table, foucsing on the tiny detail of the wood grain that he had studied so many times before “I found someone that I like… That I like in a different way from the way I like you or Bev or Eddie. That maybe I even love” Richie smiled and leant forward to pat him on the shoulder “That’s great Stanthony! When do we-“ he was cut off abruptly “Please. Let me finish… I- I like boys. No, a boy. Richie, I’m gay” his eyes crept back up to meet Richie’s slowly, like he was scared of the reaction he might get.

“Stan…” Richie took one of Stan’s hands and nodded at him “It’s okay, it doesn’t change anything, you know that right? You’re still my best friend. Nothing can change that” he sounded calm, almost like he was doing one of his voices, except this one wasn’t to make Stan laugh or annoy him, it was to make him feel safe. Stan searched Richie’s eyes for any sign of falseness or satire but found nothing but warmth, with a small squeeze of his best friend’s hands and a tear rolling down his cheek he opened his mouth to speak again “I love you, you’re the brother my parents could never be bothered to have” With that he stood up and pulled Richie into a hug, not even caring that he was still damp. Richie patted him on the back “I love you too, man. Always been there to look out for me, gotta do my best to do the same for you…” a smirk formed on his lips when he released Stan from the hug “Who’s the lucky fella then? Do I know him?” he gave Stan a playful shove and waggled his eyebrows. Stan snapped back to his normal self and rolled his eyes, although he was still smiling. A huge weight was off his shoulders, and even know Richie was just one of the many people he still had to tell, it was a good place to start.

[notagoodplace4gods]

[FIC] Beep beep

Summary: 

"I'm not afraid of you!" Richie tries, - god, he really does, - to fight back this time, but It just laughs at him.

"How many times do we have to beep you before you shut up for good, hmm, Richie?" Its hands are all over Richie's face, all over his mouth, and Richie can't talk, he can't breathe. "I think I'll do your friends a favor and just kill you." It laughs again, mouth opening and shining and Richie...

Richie wakes up.

A/N: ah, hurting my favorite character is my jam.

This fic is OT7, gen, but I’m tagging it as both reddie and stozier because I ship both ships, and idk they all just love each other so much

It’s on AO3, please comment!

Pennywise is dead, they've killed it, but Richie still wakes up screaming and crying.

It's not a big deal, he tries telling himself. After everything that had happened, they all have nightmares, it's normal, and they'll be gone soon. They have to be, god, Richie doesn't think he can take anymore of this. It's the third night in a row he dreams about Pennywise, and it's always the same thing. He's back into that creepy-ass doll room in Neibolt staring at a life sized Richie doll, eyes vacant, glasses broken, and mouth sewed shut. He tries running, he tries screaming, but no sounds escape him, he can't even open his mouth, it has been sewed shut and it hurts, god it hurts so much.

"Beep beep Richie" Pennywise laughs and laughs, his teeth getting sharper and bigger and... That's when he wakes up. To be safe, he doesn't try to go back to sleep, he just hugs his own legs, rocking back and forth, waiting for the sun to come out.

Getting ready for school feels stupid, it feels fake. It's like he's playing the role of a normal student who cares about normal things like getting good grades and making fun of his teachers. Everything feels empty now, but he does it anyway because he has to, because there's nothing left for him to do. It all feels like an outer body experience, he feels detached, like he's seeing things through somebody else's eyes and living somebody else's life and it's fake, fake, fake.

It gets better when he finds the losers, because they're real and, more importantly, they are Richie's. I did that. Richie breathes out, I made friends with them, I was the one who followed Stan around since our first day at school, I was the one who helped Bill, Eddie and Ben in the barrens, I took Bev out on a movie date and she taught me how to play with yo-yos, I nicknamed Mike "homeschool," I'm one of them and they're mine. You can't have them.

He doesn't know if he's saying it to Pennywise's ghost, trying to convince It, or if he's trying to convince himself.

"What's up losers?" He waves at his friends, receiving tons of greetings, smiles and a pat on the back from Mike, who's now attending high school with them. This. This is mine. He repeats it to himself, and he doesn't know why, but he's getting desperate, his heart beating fast on his chest and he's breathing hard, but he thinks it again and again, because it's important, they're important, and they make him important.

When he manages to calm down enough, he turns to his friends. They're all laughing from something Stan said, and Richie's sad that he missed it. Stan is really funny, and he doesn't even try to be. Richie, on the other hand, tries really hard.

"Stan the Man gets off a good one!" He tries, and it's loud, it's probably too loud, but he likes it loud, he needs to be loud so it can drown Pennywise's incessant "beep beep Richie beep beep Richie beep beep beep

"Beep beep Richie" Stan rolls his eyes, and the rest of the losers laughs so hard they don't see Richie physically flinch away from the words.

It's okay, Richie tells himself, it's just a joke, it's an old inside joke and it's funny. He takes a deep breath. They've always beeped him, it's not a big deal, he can't let Pennywise ruin this for him. Another deep breath and it's working. Besides, they're just trashing the trashmouth, it's not like they really mean it, right?

xxx

"I'm not afraid of you!" Richie tries, - god, he really does, - to fight back this time, but It just laughs at him.

"How many times do we have to beep you before you shut up for good, hmm, Richie?" Its hands are all over Richie's face, all over his mouth, and Richie can't talk, he can't breathe. "I think I'll do your friends a favor and just kill you." It laughs again, mouth opening and shining and Richie...

Richie wakes up.

xxx

"You look terrible." It's the first thing Eddie tells him next day at school.

"And you look amazing as always, my dear Eddie Spaghetti." Richie jokes, but Eddie just stares back at him; he's having none of it. But it's okay, Richie knows what to do. "I'm okay, Eds, I just didn't get much sleep, too busy fucking your mom!"

"Beep beep Richie." There it is. Richie was expecting it, he really was, but somehow it still hurts.

Shaking his head, Eddie turns and leaves, leaving Richie alone in the hallway.

xxx

The needle tores through his skin and Richie wants to scream. He wants to scream, but he can't move his lips, they're sewed shut. He wants to scream, but no sound leaves his mouth, and everything is quiet, everything is so quiet, except for the splashing of gray water as Pennywise dances in front of him.

xxx

Get the fuck over this. He has to spend a few minutes psyching himself up so he can stop freaking the fuck out. Bill, Bev, Stan, they all had so much worse than he did, and they're fine. All Richie had to deal with were a few missing posters, and creepy dolls, he got off easy, so he should be okay! He's gonna be okay, it's okay.

They hang by the quarry after school, and it is okay. They're all talking and joking around, and it is more than okay, it's good. Richie lights up a cigarette he stole from Bev, and closes his eyes as he takes a deep drag.

The next minute, the cigarette is gone from his fingers, and he opens his eyes to stare at Beverly. "I'm stealing it back, asshole." She says and takes a drag.

Richie's doing his irish cop voice before he can even think about it. It slips right off his tongue and he yells at Bev that he's gonna have to arrest her for this.

Beverly is smirking at him, but then Bill calls out, from behind her:

"Ss-sh-shut up, Richie!"

Richie's first thought is to crack a smile and answer with something like "as you wish, milord," but there's something inside his mind that keeps telling him that they aren't going to laugh. That they think it's annoying.

They think he's annoying.

So Richie just does them all a favor and shuts up.

xxx

Everything hurts. His lips are numb, from the pain and the cold. He can feel all the warmth leaving him as all his blood does and he wants to scream for help, he really does, but he can't.

"You're so loud!" Pennywise laughs at him. "Even with your mouth shut, you still manage to be loud! How do you do that?"

Richie swallows the sobs wrecking his throat in an attempt to stop them. Maybe if he's good, maybe if he's quiet, he'll survive this, so he tries. He tries so hard.

"Still loud." Pennywise whispers, as he leans close to Richie. "You breathe too fucking loud."

xxx

He dials Stan's number the moment he wakes up, before he can even fucking think about what he's doing. It rings once, twice, three, four times, and the constant ringing almost lures him back to sleep, but then Stan's voice brings him back to reality.

"Who is this?" Stan sounds tired and slightly annoyed.

Hang up, hang up, hang up. Richie's mind is screaming at him, but he's frozen to the spot.

"Today's a school night, asshole!" Richie can somehow hear Stan rolling his eyes over the phone.

He feels bad for waking Stan up on a school night, he does, but he doesn't regret calling him, not when the sound of Stan's voice fills him with warmth and calms his heart. He closes his eyes and basks on this feeling for a minute, and then...

"Richie?" Stan calls for him. "Richie, I know it's you, what's..."

He helplessly watches his hand slam the phone down so fast he hits his elbow against the table. It hurts, but what hurts more is that Stan recognized him and probably hates him for calling him this late. But how? He doesn't understand. He never said a thing, how could Stanley know it was him?"

"You breathe too loud." The wind whispers and Richie shivers.

xxx

Stan is after him the next day, but Richie denies everything. "Nah, I didn't call you, Staniel the maniel." God, he used that same joke last week, it's like he's not even trying anymore. "I can call you tonight but only if you promise to wear that red thong I love so much."

"Beep beep, Richie." Mike says, absently, and, fuck, not even sweet sweet Mike likes him. The smile freezes on Richie's face, he feels numb.

"Stop with the bullshit, Richie." Stan stops walking, turns to him and stares him down. Richie feels terribly self-conscious, completely aware of everything that's wrong with him. Well, for starters, there's the teeth, the nose, the thick glasses, and his stupid fucking face that begs someone to punch it, but those are old news. Now, not even his mom's makeup can hide the dark circles under his eyes, or the red around his mouth, where he desperately scratched it to get rid of the thread Pennywise sewed his mouth shut with during his nightmares. He knows Stan notices. Stan notices everything.

"Just tell me what's going on with you." Stan goes to grab his hands, and Richie flinches away so fast Stan is taken aback . "I... I... I'm worried, Rich."

"I'm okay, Stan. Promise." Richie lies, with a way too casual shrug and the frozen smile on his lips.

xxx

The ride to the quarry is quiet and awkward, and it's all because of him, Richie knows. Stan can't stop staring at him and everyone else notices, nobody says anything about it, though. Richie's not talking, no one's talking and it's the worst. I ruined them.

When they get there, Mike breaks the terrible, awful silence and begins talking about the twin kittens he just rescued, and everything is back to normal. Eddie is fretting over the diseases that cats can bring, Beverly is inviting herself over so she can get to know them, while Bill and Ben start talking names. Even Stan joins in after a few worried glances he sends Richie's way.

They're okay, Richie lets out a breath filled with relief, but it tastes bittersweet. They're okay, but I'm not. He should go before he ruins them for real.

He opens his mouth to excuse himself, but thinks better of it. He shuts up before anyone can tell him to, before It tells him to.

No one sees him leave.

xxx

Richie doesn't want to fall asleep, because he knows it's waiting for him, and no matter what he does, or how hard he tries, he's still so loud and annoying his friends leave him to die and, oh god, oh god, he just wants it to stop.

"Just stop talking once and for all." Pennywise whispers in his ears, and Richie doesn't even have any tears left to cry.

Richie has nothing left to do, but consider it. Maybe. Maybe he could. Maybe he should. It would be better for his friends and for everyone really, so maybe...

He suddenly opens his eyes, woken by pebbles being thrown at his window, but he doesn't remember falling asleep. He must have passed out from exhaustion, but still he feels tired. He feels so so tired. Another pebble hits his window, and Richie blinks awake, forcing himself to get up and move. He goes to the window and thinks he's still dreaming because all six of the losers are there.

"Ruh-Ruh-Richie let us in!" Bill asks and Eddie throws out a "yeah, asshole," while everyone else just nods.

Richie shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, but he could never deny them anything, so he quietly goes down the stairs and opens the door for them.

"What the fuck, Richie?" Bev shoves him in the shoulder. But no one else dares to say anything else until they reach Richie's room.

"What she said." Ben points to Beverly. "Richie, why did you leave without telling us?"

You guys are better off without me. Richie doesn't say, he just shrugs.

"You know you can tell us anything, right?" Mike tries, and Richie nods. His friends are too good for him, and in return he just annoys the fuck out of them.

"T-t-talk to us, Ruh-ruh-Richie." Bill asks him and because it's Bill, strong, brave, loyal Bill, Richie tries his best to obey.

"What do you want me to say?" It's quiet, it's the quietest he manages, but it still annoys everyone.

"How about what the fuck is wrong with you?" Eddie yells, his voice turning high and desperate, and he's so angry, Bill has to hold him back.

"I... I'm sorry, Eds... Eddie." Richie remembers how much Eddie hates his stupid nicknames on time, and stops himself.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, and then opens again. "Stop this shit, Richie." He's so angry, he's ready to fight, but he doesn't know who he can fight and that just makes him even angrier.

"I'm sorry!" Richie cries. "I'm so sorry, guys. Just... Just tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it, I'll do whatever you want me to, I just... I know I'm annoying and loud, but I can do better, I can change, I know I can, so please..."

"What?"

"Richie!"

Everyone bursts out talking at the same time, and Richie knows he's made them angry, so he closes his eyes and takes a few steps back. "no, no, no, make it stop. Make. it. stop."

And suddenly it does. The room falls silent as arms wrap around him, and hold him tight. Richie opens his eyes and meets Stan's brown ones. His best friend dropped to his knees so he could hug him. "Richie." He's gentle, he's so very gentle. "What did It say to you?"

Someone gasps behind them at the mention of It, but Stan doesn't turn around. Richie has his entire focus, and it should be intimidating, but it isn't. Being this close to his best friend makes him feel safe.

"It...It told me...to..." Richie's sobs stop him, and he frantically fights to overcome them, breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember when he started crying.

"It's okay, honey, take your time." Beverly kneels down in front of them, resting her hand on his shoulder, Ben coming right after her. Everyone follows them, slowly getting closer, wanting to provide some comfort.

"We're your f-fr-friends." Bill takes one of Richie's hands, and Mike takes the other.

"Richie." Eddie says, and Richie immediately, instinctively turns to look at him. He's the only one still standing, his fists clenched and shaking. "Richie, please." He knows his friend is hurting, and there's no one for him to fight, unless he goes back to the sewers to kick Pennywise's corpse. He feels helpless, defeated.

Richie reaches for him, but stops in mid air, hesitating when he realizes what he's doing. Eddie doesn't hesitate, though, he meets Richie in the middle, throwing his arms around his friend's neck.

He's not the only one. Everyone's hugging Richie now, just like they've all hugged Bill in the sewers, after killing It.

It's dead, It's dead, It can't hurt us, not when we're together. Richie sobs again, but this time he feels a little better.

"I'm just..." After some time, he begins. "Remembering Neibolt, when we were separated." He looks at Bill, who only nods encouragingly. "It locked me in this creepy room with all these creepy dolls and clowns, and there was this... This coffin. It had my missing poster on it and when I opened it, I was inside." Ben squeezes his hand. "A doll version of me, I mean, but it had its lips sewed shut. And... Pennywise showed up seconds later and It kept beeping me and telling me to shut up and he was holding a needle and a thread and I..." He has to stop for a moment, remind himself to breathe. "Then Big Bill opened the door and saved me and I'm okay!" He talks quickly, wanting to get it over with.

"You're not." Beverly says softly, brushing his hair off of his eyes.

"I have nightmares, too." Stan says before Richie can lie.

"It... It hurts." Richie continues. "The needle, every night It sews my lips together, and tells me to shut the fuck up, and It really meant it. It wants me dead."

Nobody says anything, but the hands hold him tighter.

"And the worst thing is that I know It's right. I talk too much, I'm a fucking trashmouth and I annoy the fuck out of you guys, and you don't deserve... Maybe, maybe I should shut up. Like, for good."

The outrage is immediate. Mike and Bill sound shocked, Ben and Stan sound sad, Bev and Eddie sound angry. Eddie is suddenly on his feet, yelling. "IF YOU FUCKING DIE I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Richie blinks at all of them, and then turns to Eddie. "That... doesn't even make sense. How can you kill me if I'm already dead?"

"Fucking watch me." Eddie bites back, the same moment Bev adds a "we'll find a way," and, suddenly laughter comes out of nowhere.

They're all surprised, and Richie is the most surprised to realize that he's the one laughing.

"Guys, I..." He doesn't know how to finish.

"Go on, Richie." Mike prompts him.

"I don't really have anything to say." Richie chews on the inside of his cheeks.

"That never stopped you before." Stan says, and it's so incredibly fond that Richie melts. "We want to listen to you."

"You guys don't have to..."

"We don't have to, but we want to." Ben corrects him.

"Fuck that fucking clown!" Bev groans. "It's wrong! It doesn't know anything about us!"

"It d-d-d-doesn't know how mu-much we love you, and your t-t-trash mouth." Bill completes her. "Tell us a-a-anything."

Richie's in awe. Fuck, he has the best friends ever, how did he accomplish that, what did he do to deserve them, what can he do to deserve them?

"I love you guys so much." He settles on telling the truth.

"We love you too, but go on." Bev smiles at him. "Proclaim your undying love for us, milord!" She's going for an english accent and it's horrible. Richie laughs, they all do, and right there, in his room, surrounded by so much love and affection, it's easy to find good things to say about them.

So he talks. He talks, and they listen.