#stanley casually removes the door on the left

[panleystarable]

If Stanley and the Narrator swapped places, it would be one man trying to get the same ending over and over again, with another man with god-like powers keep changing up the story. Just to mess with him.

#stanley casually removes the door on the left #or maybe creates a brick wall covering it #you can only get an ending once per gameplay. if the player wants to get the first ending again they need to do a hard reset #personally i would still play this #god mode stanley sounds hilarious #tsp stanley #tsp narrator #stanley parable #the stanley parable #stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp #tspud

[badsext]

I wish you would write a Leon fic.. that's it. That's the message 😅

Scene Partners: Leon X Reader

Thank you for the request @misskittysmagicportal.  I love Leon.  I hope I’m doing him justice.

Summary: After Leon’s ill fated role as Neil Armstrong in the fake moon landing, he decided that fancy acting classes would be just the thing to launch (pun intended) his career as a serious actor.

Warning: Very irresponsible and spontaneous smut (Please use protection IRL) 18+ and suggested assault of a character within a play.  I hid the smut under the ‘read more’. These warnings make it sound heavier than it is...it’s actually super light and fun.

________________________________________________________

Johnny looked at Leon incredulously. “Where are you going at 10:00 AM on a Thursday morning?”

Leon looked his best mate in the eye and lied. “The pub, of course.”

In fact, this was the first day in months he wasn’t drunk or high...Alright, maybe just a toke or two to take the edge off. He even washed his hair and put on a turtleneck because that is what serious actors wore. Leon had lied and stumbled his way into a local university Theatre School, financing his tuition with a fraudulent cheque.

It was only an introductory scene workshop for beginners, but after watching the real Neil Armstrong walk on the Moon, Leon aspired to do great things. He arrived at the theatre more or less on time and with an inflated sense of purpose. It smelled like dust and leather and old wood. Framed photographs of former students lined the hallowed halls. Nervousness began to set in. He felt like an imposter, just like he did when Johnny had asked him to impersonate Stanley Kubrick some months ago. Accept this time, the only thing he had to impersonate was a man with confidence. After a brief internal struggle, Leon decided that he would go to the pub after all. There was always next Thursday.

As he reached for the door, a young woman had just entered, shaking the rain off her umbrella. Seeing how cute she was, Leon immediately changed course.

“Are you here for the workshop?,” she asked politely.

“Yes, I am,” he replied with a bashful smile. “I’m Leon.”

When she took off her coat, he saw how she wore a very similar black turtleneck.

“Y/N. Pleasure to meet you, Leon.” She paused, looking up from her cat eye glasses. “I think we might be late!,” she added urgently.  He followed her onto the workshop, sitting beside her in the back row of chairs. His interest in y/n distracted him from the enormity of the theatre and his growing stage fright.

The professor explained the warm up exercises, but Leon learned nothing. He was watching y/n chew on her fountain pen. They started with a series of vocalizations and deep breathing. Leon watched y/n’s chest and diaphragm expand and contract with each concentrated breath. Once she caught him staring, he would look up to the rafters or down at his shoes, thoughtfully scratching his beard. She smiled at his lack of subtlety.

The professor distributed scenes to the students at random. Leon looked down at his script. His stage fright resurfaced as he read the words at the top of the page. ‘Macbeth: Act 4, Scene 1.’ The ‘Second Witch’ part had been highlighted.

The students were given fifteen minutes to rehearse their scenes wherein Leon mumbled and stumbled through his lines. The actresses playing the other witches were good-natured about it, but everyone knew the scene would be shit.

He broke into a sweat as the actors were called to the stage.  His mind was nothing but static at that point.  He watched the actresses move their lips, hunched in crone-like fashion and wiggling their fingers over an imaginary cauldron.  They chanted in unison:

“Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

When they stopped, everyone looked at Leon.  This was his line.  The last ‘bubble’ just hung in the air while the silence took over.  He gave it his best effort, though his voice was weak and his hands were shaking.

“Fillet of a fanny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of twat and tongue of hog.”

His hands shook with such force that he dropped the script.

“Oh, bollocks - It’s gone in the soup!”  He improvised rolling up his sleeve and fishing it out of the hot cauldron.

“Leon...Leon!”  It took the professor several tries to rouse him from his panic.  “That’s enough, Leon. We mustn't paraphrase Shakespeare.”  The students giggled.   The professor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  “Let’s try something else, shall we?”  

He turned and pulled two scripts from his briefcase, handing one to Leon.  “We need something to build your confidence.  You will play Stanley Kawalski.  He’s a proud, domineering brute.” He beat his chest for emphasis.  “And you...y/n, you will play Blanche, the jealous, simmering sexpot,” he said, casually handing her the other script.

“A Streetcar Named Desire?  Wasn’t that a film with Marlon Brando?,” Leon muttered nervously.

The professor put a hand on each of their backs.  “I’ll read the stage directions.  Don’t think, just use your instincts.”

Leon read the lines with as much bravado as he could muster. “I've been on to you from the start! Not once did you pull any wool over this boy's eyes! You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume and cover the light bulb with a paper lantern, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you are the Queen of the Nile! Sitting on your throne and swilling down my liquor! I say--Ha!--Ha! Do you hear me? Ha--Ha--ha!”

“Okay, now he walks into the bedroom.”

Y/N cried out a warning as Blanche, “Don't come in here!” 

“That was quite good,” Leon whispered, eliciting a small smile.

“Stanley goes into the bathroom and Blanche picks up the phone.”

Blanche: “Operator, operator! Give me long-distance, please.... I want to get in touch with Mr. Shep Huntleigh of Dallas. He's so well-known he doesn't require any address. Just ask anybody who--Wait! I--No, I couldn't find it right now.... Please understand, I--No! No, wait! ... One moment! Someone is--Nothing! Hold on, please!”  

Leon grinned out of character, so impressed by y/n’s acting.

“Blanch is going mad now, pacing back and forth.”

Blanche: “Operator! Operator! Never mind long-distance. Get Western Union. There isn't time to be--Western--Western Union!  Western Union? Yes! I--want to--Take down this message! "In desperate, desperate circumstances! Help me! Caught in a trap. Caught in--" Oh!

Stanley: “You left th' phone off th' hook.”

“Now he blocks her from the door.”

Blanche: “Let me--let me get by you!”

Stanley: “Get by me! Sure. Go ahead”

“But he only gives her an inch.”

Blanche: “You--you stand over there!”

Stanley: “You got plenty of room to walk by me now.”

Blanche: “Not with you there! But I've got to get out somehow!”

Stanley: “You think I'll interfere with you? Ha-ha!”

Blanche: “I warn you, don't, I'm in danger!”

“He takes another step and she smashes the bottle breaking it.”

Stanley: “What did you do that for?”

Blanche: “So I could twist the broken end in your face!”

Stanley: “I bet you would do that!”

Blanch: “I would! I will if you--”

Leon’s reading becomes increasingly stilted and awkward.  “Oh! So you want some rough-house! All right, let's have some rough-house!”

“He springs out at her.  She swipes the bottle at him, but he captures her wrist and overpowers her.”

The professor read the stage directions, but Leon wouldn’t move, delivering the next bit of dialogue with a sigh of regret.  “Tiger--tiger! Drop the bottle top! Drop it! We've had this date with each other from the beginning!”

“Overpower her, Leon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like to do that, Professor.”

“It’s acting, Leon...It’s pretend.”

“I don’t even want to pretend.  Stanley is horrid and I hate him.”

The professor rolled his eyes, disregarding Leon’s protest. Then he clapped his hands together addressing the other students.  “Okay, everybody, that’s it for today.  I want you off book by next week.”

The students started getting up from their chairs and shuffling their things.  Y/N approached Leon who was staring down at the stage with his arms folded.  He looked up anxiously as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.  Meet me in the ladies room in five minutes.

Leon was at first confused, then his eyes widened with surprise when he realized what she meant.  She laughed and swaggered away.

Y/N spotted Leon lurking by the door.  “Leon, that was three minutes, at most.  Luckily everybody left after class.  At least I think so,” she added with a cheeky grin.  “Come here.”  She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the cubicle.  Do you want to shag?

Leon nodded his head. “Y-yes.”

“I liked what you did today,” she said, removing her knickers.  “It was very chivalrous of you.”

Y/N tilted her head and kissed him.  He inhaled at the contact of her lips.

She pulled back and looked him in his glistening green eyes.  “Go on then.”

“What ‘d ya mean?

“Fuck me, Leon.”

“Shouldn’t I, you know...foreplay?”

“Leon, I’m already soaked.  Get your cock out and fuck me.”

Leon quickly unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall down around his ankles.  She turned with her back against the partition wall and one foot on the toilet seat.  He lifted her tartan skirt and drove up inside her, groaning at the tight wet sensation. She inhaled through her teeth, clutching  at his shoulders, then wrapping her arms around his neck.  Leon closed the gap between them, his pelvic bone at the base of his cock creating a throbbing pressure on her clit as he thrust.  The hard bouncing rhythm made her glasses fall askew.  She whimpered and moaned as the orgasm pulsed through her, overwhelming her senses.  

“Was that?...Did you?”

Her eyelids drooped peacefully.  “Um hm.”

He smiled, encouraged and continued thrusting.  His eyes shined like Christmas trees. She pet his curls, watching the pleasure wash over his face.

“I’m gonna…”

“Don’t stop, sweetie.”

He plowed into her, releasing his warm seed with a hearty grunt.

“Bravo, Leon,” she smirked.

@bubblyani @elliethesuperfruitlover @super-unpredictable98 @salvador-daley @helena-way07 @chipster-21 @punknatch @slutforrobbiebro

#Leon x reader #leon x reader smut #Robert Sheehan character fic #Robert Sheehan fanfic #Robert sheehan request #moonwalkers #moonwalkers fanfic #robert sheehan imagine #smut

[thelastspeecher]

Pirate AU - Ford Gets What He Wanted

So, the other day, I got an ask about what Ford is up to in the Pirate AU.  Essentially, he accidentally became a pirate hunter, captaining his own ship, the Orion.  His main target: the Pirate King, as he believed that Stan had been kidnapped by the Pirate King (aka Captain Sully aka Captain Sally aka Angie McGucket).  In actuality, Stan joined the pirate crew of his own volition, and even started up a relationship with Captain Sully Captain Sally Angie.

And this...is what happens when Ford finds all that out, after he finally catches up to the Pirate King.

——————————————————————————————

              Ford marched past the pirates that were already tied up by his crew, heading straight for the captain’s quarters.  He was filled with triumph at finally catching up to the Pirate King, Captain Sully, the man who had taken his brother hostage, forcing him to work on his ship.  The moment he tore open the door, however, his eyes widened.

              He had expected to see Sully bound and gagged on the floor, Stan beaming at his rescuers.  Instead, a woman lay on the captain’s bed, surrounded by soiled blankets, two infants in her arms.  Stan stood in front of her protectively, glaring at Ford’s men.

              “Stanley!” Ford said happily, moving towards his brother. Stan let out a low snarl.  Ford didn’t see the left hook coming.

              “Get off me, you fucking bastards,” Stan snapped as Ford lay on the floor of the cabin, reeling.  Ford rubbed his cheek.  No doubt it would bruise.  He got to his feet.  The men were already subduing Stan.

              “Stanley, what the hell was that for?” Ford demanded. Stan tried to break free from the men holding him back.

              “My wife just gave birth, dumbass,” Stan spat. “And you swarmed the goddamn ship.” Ford’s jaw dropped.

              “Your…”  Ford looked at the woman on the bed.  A fierce fire sparkled in her blue eyes.  She held her infants close to her chest, but Ford could see one had the distinctive Pines nose.  “What- the last thing I heard, you were in a relationship with Captain Sully,” Ford said weakly.  “Where is he?”

              “You’d be hard-pressed to find Sully,” the woman said, baring her teeth.  She tugged down the collar of her shirt, revealing a long, jagged scar on her neck. Ford’s heart stopped.  “He doesn’t really exist.”

              “I- you-” Ford stammered.

              “I stopped going by Sully ages ago and started using my actual name, Sally.  Why are you so behind the times?”

              “I…”  Ford stared at the floor.  His mind stuttered.  “Captain Sully is a woman?  And your wife, Stan?”

              “Yes,” Stan growled.  Ford swallowed.

              “Take him to the brig,” he commanded.  Stan’s eyes widened.  “And take the Pirate King to- to-”  Ford looked at Captain Sully- Sally.  She was shaking, despite her vicious demeanor.

              Presumably from blood loss.  Many of the blankets packed around her were drenched in red.  Captain Sally met Ford’s eyes.  Exhaustion had replaced her anger.  Ford caved. I can’t send a post-partum woman to the brig.

              “Take the Pirate King to the infirmary,” Ford said softly.  He didn’t miss the way Stan slumped slightly in relief.

              “And the babies?” asked one of the crewmen. Ford winced.

              “I suppose they can stay in my cabin while their mother recuperates.”  He held his breath, ready for Captain Sally to scream at him.  No such thing happened.  He looked at the Pirate King again.  She���d passed out.  “Get her to a doctor right away,” Ford snapped.  “And…”  He swallowed. “Bring the infants to my cabin once they have been checked over.”

              “Yes, captain,” murmured one of the crewmen. Ford turned on his heel and stormed out of the cabin, trying to quiet the panicked shouting in his head.

-----

              There was a timid knock at the door.

              “Come in,” Ford said tiredly.  The door opened, revealing his beloved first mate, Fiddleford McGucket.  Ford let out a long sigh.

              “That bad, huh?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford put his head in his hands.

              “You have no idea,” he groaned.  “I’m so glad you’re here.”  As the only known man to have survived a duel with the Pirate King, Fiddleford was moved from his ship to Ford’s.  Ford’s ship had the specific goal of tracking down pirates, after all. Fiddleford had taken a slight demotion from captain to first mate as a result, but never complained about it.

              Ford would be lost without him.

              “I was interrogatin’ the pirate crew, I don’t know what happened in the captain’s…cabin…”  Fiddleford trailed off, staring at the infants sleeping in a makeshift crib by Ford’s bed.  “Uh…”

              “Oh.  Yes.” Ford looked over at the babies as well. “Meet my nieces.”

              “Your…?”

              “Apparently, Stanley married the Pirate King, who is actually a woman, and sired these two children.  They were born shortly before we boarded.”

              “And the captain?” Fiddleford asked quietly.

              “She’s in the infirmary, recovering from giving birth.”  Tension left Fiddleford’s shoulders.  “Why are you worried about the safety of a woman that tried to kill you?” Ford asked. Fiddleford walked over to Ford’s bed and sat on it, peering at the infants with a gentle smile on his face.

              “I don’t like the idea of children growin’ up without their mother, that’s all,” he said.  One of the babies awoke, yawned widely, and stretched tiny arms out. “Aw, come here, sugar cube.” Fiddleford removed the infant from the crib.  “What a precious lil bean!” Fiddleford cooed.  The infant giggled.  “So sweet.” He looked up.  “What are their names?”

              “I didn’t think to ask,” Ford said, still a bit blindsided by how casual Fiddleford was being.  “Fiddleford, why are you taking this so well?”  Fiddleford shrugged.

              “Don’t rightly know.  Maybe it’s ‘cause I don’t really have a horse in this race.”

              “Hmm.”  Ford got up. He joined Fiddleford on his bed. “She really is adorable,” he said softly.  Fiddleford nodded, beaming.

              “She’s got yer nose.”

              “Heh.  Yeah. The other one has their mother’s nose. Here, I’ll show you.”  Ford removed his other niece from the crib. “And she’s a polydactyl as well.”

              “Really?”  Fiddleford looked at the infant.  “She must be somethin’ special, then.”  Ford nodded. He smiled weakly at his niece. The smile faded as he recognized the nose she’d inherited from her mother.  It was the same nose on his first mate.

              “Fiddleford…” Ford croaked.  Fiddleford looked at him in concern.

              “What’s wrong?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford stared at his first mate’s kind eyes.  They were the same blue as the fierce gaze the captain had levied upon him.  “Stanford?”

              “Why are you so concerned about the Pirate King?” Ford asked.

              “I- I just told ya.”  Fiddleford sounded bemused.  “I don’t think lil ones should grow up without their parents.”

              “You know her,” Ford whispered.  Fiddleford sobered.  He deposited the infant back into the makeshift crib.  “You know the Pirate King, Captain Sally McGowan.”

              “…Yes,” Fiddleford said softly.

              “How?  How do you know her?”

              “She’s my little sister,” Fiddleford whispered, his eyes closed.  Ford’s heart leapt into his mouth.  He swallowed it back down.

              “So these aren’t just my nieces.  They’re yours, too.”

              “Yes.”

              “I-”  Ford took a steadying breath.  “How long have you known that your sister is the Pirate King?”  Fiddleford was silent.  “How long, Fiddleford?”

              “Since the first time I came across her, back when she was still goin’ by Sully.”

              “All this time,” Ford whispered.  Fiddleford looked away.  “All this time, you knew who the Pirate King was, and you didn’t share this information with anyone?  Even though we were chasing her down?  You didn’t even- you didn’t even correct Toby’s information on who she- who she-”  Ford froze as the truth of the matter dawned upon him.  “You’re the one who tells me the information Toby collects.”

              “Yes.  I am.”

              “Toby’s information wasn’t wrong, was it?  He collected accurate information, you turned it inaccurate.”  Fiddleford was silent.  “How could you?  How could you betray this ship, this country, me?” Ford demanded.  His voice rose, startling the infant he was holding. She began to cry.

              “Stanford, please, put her back in the crib,” Fiddleford pleaded.  Ford held his niece closer.  “She’s scared.  She’s-”

              “How could you?!” Ford roared.  Fiddleford’s eyes filled with fire, emphasizing further the familial resemblance between him and the Pirate King.

              “She’s my baby sister!” Fiddleford snapped. “She’s been through hell and back. If I’d been there to support her when her life fell apart, maybe she might not have turned to piracy.  But I wasn’t!  No one- no one in my fam’ly was.  She was scared and alone, and I just want to protect her the way I should’ve, years ago.”  Ford’s heart pounded in his ears.  He got to his feet and threw open the cabin door.

              “Tad, take First Mate McGucket to the brig,” Ford commanded.  The crew on deck stopped what they were doing to stare.

              “Uh, why?” asked Tad.  Ford glared at Fiddleford.

              “Treason against the crown.”

              “Treason?”

              “He was helping the Pirate King this whole time,” Ford spat out.  Fiddleford bowed his head, accepting his fate.  Ford watched Fiddleford make his way to the brig without a fight.  He closed the door of his cabin.  His niece’s crying increased in volume. Tears slipped down Ford’s face. He hugged his niece tightly.  “I know, my dear,” he choked out.  “I- I feel the same way.”

----- 

              There was a knock at the door.  Ford took a steadying breath.

              “Enter,” he instructed.  The door opened, revealing Stan, his hands tied behind his back, held by Tad.  “Tad, you can leave Stanley in here.”

              “Are you sure, captain?  He’s a dangerous pirate.”

              “He won’t hurt me.”  Ford stared into Stan’s eyes.  “Not when I have the authority to remove his wife from the infirmary to the brig at any moment.”  Fear flashed across Stan’s face.  “He’ll cooperate.  Won’t you, Stanley?”

              “Yes,” Stan ground out.

              “See?  You can leave us.”  After watching Stan take a seat in front of Ford’s desk, Tad left.  “Your daughters are here,” Ford said, nodding at the makeshift crib.  Some of the stiffness in Stan’s posture left.  He stared at the crib longingly.  “I’ve been referring to them as Marina and Regina.”  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Like I’d name my kids something like that,” he snorted.  He froze. “Wait, they’re- they’re both girls?” His voice was small.  Ford blinked.

              “You didn’t know that?”

              “No, I-”  Stan blinked furiously, trying to hold back tears.  “I knew one of ‘em was a girl, but I didn’t get to look at the other before your crew raided us.”

              “I suppose that you won’t be able to tell me their proper names, then,” Ford said softly.

              “No, I can’t.  We didn’t get a chance to name them.”

              “I see.”  The infant Ford had been calling Regina began to fuss softly.  Ford got up and gently removed her from the crib.  He sat back down at his desk.  Stan stared at Regina with an expression akin to hunger. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “They’ve been given the best of care,” Ford reassured his twin.

              “I figured,” Stan choked out.  “You wouldn’t- you wouldn’t hurt your own nieces.” Ford nodded.  “Are you gonna adopt them, once you’ve hanged their parents?” Ford winced.

              “Your wife asked the same question,” he murmured. The Pirate King hadn’t been aggressive towards Ford in the slightest when he checked in on her earlier.  Ford knew better than to think it was because she respected his authority.  He’d brought her the babies so that they could be fed.  The combination of her children’s presence and the fact she was still weak from giving birth was the more likely reason she didn’t yell at him or attack.

              “You know the punishment for piracy is hanging,” Captain Sally said idly, stroking her daughter’s hair.

              “Yes, I am aware.”

              “Once we arrive at port, Stan and I will be led to the noose.”  Captain Sally looked up at Ford.  Her body occasionally trembled from exhaustion, her hair looked like a bird had tried to nest in it, and she desperately needed a bath.  But there was a vicious intelligence in her expression that, despite the rest of her appearance, chilled Ford to the bone. “These little girls will be without parents.”  She cocked her head.  “Are you willing to orphan two newborns?”

              “You and Stan were the ones to commit high crimes.”

              “Yes.  We did.”  Captain Sally’s mouth curled in a cruel smile.  “But you’re the one to allow the execution of your twin brother.”

              “It’s not- it’s not like I’ll be the executioner,” Ford protested.

              “Hmm.”  Captain Sally kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Are you going to take in your nieces? Or will you have them be raised in an orphanage?”

              “We’re worried about our daughters,” Stan said. “Like good parents would be.”  His voice cracked halfway through his sentence. Ford’s heart sunk.  He’d picked up on Stan’s unsaid fear.

              “I’m gonna be a shitty dad, just like I had. But worse.  At least Pops was around.  I won’t be.”  Ford stood. He walked over to Stan and, onehanded, cut through the rope tying his brother’s hands.

              “Here,” Ford said softly.  He held Regina out.  “Hold your daughter.”  Stan took his daughter.  He stared at her wordlessly.

              “Hi, princess,” Stan whispered, stroking her cheek. Regina giggled.  Stan let out a strangled laugh.  Tears began to stream down his face.  Ford looked away from the tender, intimate scene.  “You’re so gorgeous.  Just like your mama.”  Ford could feel his resolve wavering.

              Am I willing to allow my nieces to be orphaned?  Am I willing to let my twin brother be hanged?  I don’t think I am.

----- 

              Stan was awoken by the sound of singing. Familiar singing.  He looked over at Fiddleford, in the cell next to his. Fiddleford nodded silently.

              “Those ‘re merfolk,” Fiddleford confirmed.  Stan got to his feet.

              “Something’s going down, isn’t it?”

              “Yes.”

              “What?”

              “I don’t rightly know,” Fiddleford said softly. Footsteps sounded.

              “I do,” Ford said solemnly, stopping in front of his twin and former first mate.  Fiddleford scrambled to his feet.  “A colony of merfolk that was allied with the Pirate King heard she was taken, so they rescued her, her crew, and her ship.”  Ford took a key out of his pockets.  He unlocked the doors to both cells.  “My entire crew, including myself, was powerless in the face of their magic.  In the chaos, my former first mate disappeared.”

              “Ford-” Stan started.  Ford met Stan’s eyes squarely.  They were glistening with unshed tears.

              “My greatest regret, however, is that the two children found on the Pirate King’s ship were also taken.  I wish I could have kept them from growing up with pirates. And I wish I could have discovered who their parents were.”

              “Stanford,” Fiddleford whispered.  Stan’s mouth went dry.  Ford turned away.  Fiddleford and Stan followed him to the deck.  Sweet Viola was waiting nearby, a bridge already set up between Angie’s ship and Ford’s.  And waiting by that bridge was a woman Stan hadn’t seen in over a week.

              “Angie!” Stan croaked.  Angie looked up.  Her blonde hair whipped in the night wind, her eyes were wide with fear, exhaustion, and sorrow.  Stan ran over and scooped her into his arms, enveloping her in a warm embrace.  Angie sobbed.  Stan’s heart broke.  His wife so rarely allowed herself to display any sort of emotion that could be interpreted as weakness.

              “I- I was so terrified I’d lose ya, and lose the babies,” Angie hiccupped.  Stan squeezed her tighter.  “I love you so much, darlin’.”

              “I love you, too,” Stan whispered.  He gently released her from the embrace. “The babies?”

              “Already on board.  Dan’s got ‘em.”

              “Good.”  Stan turned to Ford, standing nearby, his hands clasped behind his back and face stoic. “Stanford…”

              “This night will ruin my career, everything I’ve worked towards,” Ford said.  “But my crew wasn’t prepared to handle an assault of merfolk.  And I…”  Ford’s facial expression broke.  “I wasn’t prepared to lose my twin, sister-in-law, and first mate, as well as orphan my nieces.”

              “If ya ever want to give up the straight and narrow, my ship is more than happy to take ya on,” Angie said softly.  Ford merely nodded in response.

              “Thank you,” Stan said.  Ford nodded again.  His mouth quivered.  “I won’t forget this.”

              “There’s nothing to forget,” Ford said.  His voice shook.  “After all, this never happened.”  With that, he turned on his heel and marched back into his cabin. Angie took Stan’s hand and dragged him over to the Sweet Viola.  Fiddleford followed.

              “Set off, men,” Angie instructed the gathered crew. “We’ll celebrate once we’ve crossed the horizon.”

              “Aye, aye captain,” the crow intoned.  Angie headed for her cabin.  Again, Stan and Fiddleford followed.  Dan was inside, holding both of the babies.  He wordlessly handed one to Angie and one to Stan.

              “Thank you, Dan.  Go resume your duties,” Angie instructed.  Dan nodded and left the cabin.  Angie stroked the hair of the infant in her arms.  “Lord, they’re so beautiful.”

              “They take after their mama that way,” Stan whispered.  Angie smiled at him.  “Did Ford tell you he named them?”

              “Oh?”

              “Marina and Regina.”

              “Huh.”  Angie gazed down at her daughter.  “I kind of like those names.”

              “What?  Really?”

              “Yes.”  She held her daughter close to her chest.  “And even if I didn’t, it would be wrong to not honor Stanford fer what he did fer ‘em.  They should know.”  Stan looked down at the baby in his arms.  She yawned and stretched, flexing six fingers on one hand.  He swallowed the lump in his throat.

              “Yeah.  They should.”

#Gravity Falls #Pirate AU #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Angie McGucket #Stangie #Stangie Family #btw Danny is Regina and Daisy is Marina if anyone's wondering #(those aren't their first names in this AU but Stangie does use them for middle names) #other stuff happens after this. namely. stuff with Bill. #I would be more than happy to explain it should I get an ask c: #my writing #my stuff #ficlet #speecher speaks

[loserslibrary]

pairing: Stanley Uris/Richie Tozier [Stozier] warnings: illusions to major character death/canon compliant  written by: Amy rating: Teen word count: 2,059 prompt: “may i get some stozier? maybe richie or Stan coming out to the other for the first time angsts  with happy ending”

Richie wasn’t sure how, but at some point throughout his years growing up in Derry, Maine, he had acquired a habit of climbing in his friends bedroom windows instead of using the door. Maybe it was because of Eddie’s mother, and the fact that she hated his guts, so he had to use the window there, but he couldn’t be sure. This was how he found himself climbing into his best friend, Stan’s, bedroom which was thankfully on the first floor of his home.

“Staniel, thank goodness you’re awake!” Richie crowed as he pushed himself inside, closing the frame behind him and flopping down onto the bed next to Stan. A deep sigh came from his friend and Richie looked up to see him watching him over the top of the book he was reading. “Am I interrupting something?”

Stan shook his head, “Not necessarily, but I was in the middle of a really good part of the book so I suppose in a way, yes you are. What brings you here at...ten in the evening on a school night?” Stan was staring at him fully now, the book cast aside on the bed. He crossed his arms. “Everything okay?”

Richie chewed on his bottom lip, the reason for him barging in so late on his friend’s quiet time still fresh in his mind. He had been at the arcade, as he normally was when trying to avoid homework. The place still left a bitter taste in his mouth since the summer of 1989, but over time he had fallen back into his same old routine. That is, until that night, when the past came to bite him in the ass. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even hear Stan repeat his name. “Huh?”

“What’s going on?” Stan asked, his expression a little softer this time as he moved closer to Richie, a hand settling on his knee. At the action, Richie jumped a little and groaned internally, and Stan’s frown deepened.  “Rich?”

There were a few reasons that Richie had chosen Stan out of all the losers to confide in about his internal problem. Not only was Stan a fantastic listener, but he was also honest and honesty was something Richie really needed at that moment. There was also the fact that Richie had a little bit more of a connection with Stan than he did with the rest of his friends, even though he loved them all dearly.

“Henry’s cousin is back in town,” Richie finally muttered, looking down at his lap. Stan had removed his hand from his knee and it was sitting on the bed a few inches away. Richie tried to ignore the way he wanted it to be back on his leg, grounding him. “Connor.”

“Okay?” Stan prompted, waiting for Richie to continue. When it was clear that it was going to take a little more than that, he sighed. “What about him? Did he bother you or something?”

Richie looked up then, his eyes wide behind his large glasses and shook his head, “No- No he didn’t bother me or anything.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He uh- he kissed me actually. Out back when I was having a smoke.” He looked down after the confession and then back up at Stan’s somewhat shocked expression. Yet, Richie wasn’t done. “He kissed me and…and I liked it.”

As he spoke, his thoughts drifted back to that moment an hour ago outside the arcade. He had seen Connor come in to the arcade, but had focused on his round of Street Fighter instead, trying not to bring any unwanted attention to himself, especially after what happened the last time. However, fate hadn’t been on his side, as Connor had approached him, starting up a casual conversation, asking him how he had been. Not wanting to be rude, Richie had replied and they ended up talking about a lot of things.

Then Richie had excused himself to go for a smoke, and a few minutes later before he had even lit up his cigarette, Connor was outside with him and they were kissing. It wasn’t even a gentle kiss at that, it was tongue, teeth and rather dirty, the two of them grinding against one another in the back of the alleyway outside the arcade.

To Richie, it felt good.

The only reason they parted was because of the sound of voices coming from inside the arcade, and the last thing they wanted was to be caught in a tryst with each other as Richie already had a reputation of being a faggot. If this got back to Henry about Connor being with Richie, the reactions would not be most welcome.

“Say something, Stan…” Richie whispered as the silence became too much to ignore. “I need you to say something, or do something because this silence is killing me.”

Stan blinked and ran a hand through his hair, “Is this your way of telling me you like boys?” He asked. “Because if you are then, Richie, it’s completely fine. You know that neither I nor anyone else would judge you for being gay or even bisexual.”

At the second word, Richie tilted his head to the side in confusion, “Bisexual?”

“You know, when someone likes both girls and boys? Bisexual. Bill’s uncle is bisexual, even though he’s with a man right now.” Stan explained and Richie’s jaw dropped a little. Everyone knew about Bill’s uncle James and how he had chosen to settle down with another man even though they couldn’t legally get married. Richie had no idea that he liked women too. “You didn’t know that was a thing?”

Slowly, Richie shook his head negative, “I- I didn’t know that was a thing;  but Stan…I don’t think I’m attracted to women. In fact, I am definitely not attracted to women. I am very much attracted to men and I feel, fuck I don’t know how I feel.”

“Scared?” Stan offered, this time placing his hand over the top of Richie’s and immediately Richie felt a calmness wash over him and he relaxed into the bed. He felt a little pathetic being a seventeen year old boy, soothed by the touch of his closest, best friend. At that, Richie’s brain came to a halt and his heart made a little jump in his chest.

Oh. Oh fuck. He liked Stan.

“Yeah,” Richie croaked eventually, the realisation settling in his brain, making his normal strong voice weak and small. “Yeah, I’m scared Stan. Absolutely terrified.”

And Richie was.

* * * * *

It had been a week since Richie had come out to Stan, and at the same time realised that he had feelings for his best friend. In that week, Richie had not only avoided Stan, but the rest of the losers as well, which left everyone talking. For the most part, Richie managed to ignore it, but even he had to admit that he missed his friends….he missed Stan.

So a week after his confession, Richie found himself alone at the kissing bridge, legs dangling over the edge as he rested his chin on the wood. He held his dad’s pocket knife in his hand as he debated on whether or not to do what he had come all the way out here for. Before he could think about it further though, there was a new presence next to him.

Richie turned his head to the side and smiled a little as he realised it was Stan. “Hey,” he whispered, breaking the silence and Stan turned his head to face Richie, his eyebrow raised.

“Why have you been avoiding us?” Stan asked. He mentioned the other losers in his question, but Richie was no fool, he knew that Stan really wanted to know why Richie was avoiding him. “Is it because of what you told me last week? Because I told you Richie, that I don’t care who you like, you’ll always be my friend.”

At the word, Richie winced a little but nodded his head. “It’s not because of that, Stan. I mean- it kind of is but I haven’t been avoiding you because I think you think any less of me. I know you would be honest with me, which is one of the reasons why I came to you in the first place. That, and you’re my best friend.”

Stan smiled at that and they fell into a somewhat comfortable silence. The kissing bridge was a little far from town, so only occasionally a car would drive past. No-one really batted an eyelid at them though, since everyone knew that Richie and Stan were the best of friends.

“You know, what you did last week, telling me about Connor? That was really mature and brave of you Richie,” Stan whispered after a few more moments of silence. “I never thought I’d say that to you, but I mean it. I’m glad you told me.” Richie turned to look at Stan, sensing that there was something else his friend had to say. “I wanted to say this last week, but I’m not as brave as you so I chickened out.”

Richie raised his eyebrows in surprise and curiosity, tilting his head to the side, “What is it Stan the Man? Open up, tell me all your woes.”

“I like boys too,” Stan spoke quietly, his cheeks a little red. “I have known for a while though, but I was too scared to tell anyone. Until now. I guess I’m feeding off of your new found courage to speak the truth.”

Out of all the things that Richie thought Stan would say, this was not one of them. His jaw dropped a little and he stared at him, trying to figure out how he hadn’t realised before now. “You- you do?”

Stan nodded his head once and in another unexpected move, he reached over and laced his fingers with Richie’s, a bashful smile on his lips. Richie felt his cheeks heat up and he turned his head to look down at the water flowing under the bridge, trying to will himself to calm down. “We can’t do anything about this now, not while we’re still in Derry. If anyone finds out, we’ll both be dead.” Stan stopped and cleared his throat. “After we leave though, if you still feel the same, then maybe we can try?”

All Richie could do was nod his head. If need be, he’d wait a lifetime for Stanley Uris.

* * * * *

A choked sob escaped forty-year old Richie Tozier’s lips as he approached the kissing bridge, his body now free of the blood and grime that had covered him when he was down in the Sewers. They had done it, they had finally defeated the evil clown that had hunted them as children. They had defeated it and saved so many lives…but at what cost?

The cost of both Eddie Kaspbrak and Stanley Uris’ lives. A big price to pay, Richie would add bitterly.

Now that he was back in the cursed town he had grown up in, all the memories that had been covered over with a veil were now back at the front of his mind, making his chest and heart ache more that it had ever done in his whole life. How he remembered telling Stan he was gay, and then how Stan had told him he had feelings for him- in a very Stan way, of course.

How they had promised they would try once they’d gotten the hell out of Derry. Yet the second they both crossed the town lines, in completely different directions, all the memories of that promise had gone with the wind, trapped in the town of Derry. Now Richie had nothing but the distant memory of his best friend, etched as best as he could in the back of his mind. Another bitter thought entered Richie’s mind right at that moment. He never got to see what Stan looked like as an adult.

It was then, for the first time since he had given up in 1996, that Richie Tozier needed a cigarette.

#stozier #stozier fic #stanley uris #richie tozier #ours #by amy #ours: stozier #canon compliant #angst #coming out

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Chapter 21: Highway To Hell

Story: It’s Not My Fault

Note: I commissioned @fleeuriart to make the photo above based on this chapter of my fic!

Located on Archive of our own

For other chapters - | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |

Title - "Highway To Hell" by AC/DC

Richie beamed at him with a huge beautiful smile. “But you’re so cute when you ramble, Eds.”

Eddie’s heart raced at the thrill of hearing those words, but he tried to keep himself calm. “Not cute. Don’t calls me Eds. We can talk tomorrow. It’s just I wanted to give you the gift I really made for you.” Eddie shoved the slightly snow covered present into his hands quickly. “This was impulsive. It can wait. Bye Richie.” He started to back away, turning to leave and probably throw himself off a cliff.

“Eddie! Wait.” Richie’s voice pleaded. He held the boxed present to his chest tightly as he gazed into Eddie’s terrified eyes. They looked at each other like his next words would decide their entire future. “You haven’t missed one of my birthday parties since we were 10. Will you please stay?”

No words could have prepared him for the complete relief that washed over him. Eddie sighed happily, “Yeah, of course, I will Rich.”

Richie turned gesturing for him to enter the house. He walked forward but as he started to pass, Richie held out a hand over his chest stopping him. His pulse quickened at the touch. Eddie looked up at him, then realized his eyes were on his cheek. The wound left by Wentworth’s slap must have been appearing more prominent.

Richie reached out to touch it. “It’s nothing!” Eddie batted his hand away quickly. “I fell and hit my cheek on my desk.”

Richie was unconvinced and a little hurt at the dismissal but let it go for now. Eddie shrugged off his snow-covered coat handing it to Richie who hung it up. Then he took off his boots and brushed off as much of the snow from his wet jeans as he could.

He spotted Beverly and immediately went over to her. They had barely spoken outside of classes and a couple phone calls. She took it upon herself to be Richie’s only friend while Richie and Eddie gave themselves space. Or rather while Richie gave Eddie space upon his request.

Seeing her brought a mountain of emotions into his being. She was sitting on the couch, watching him come toward her and began to get up. He launched himself at her, knocking her back into the cushions with a grunt. His body latched onto her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs straddling her lap. She laughed and kissed every part of his face repeatedly.

“I missed you too Eddie!” She clung to him as happy tears fell. He kissed her cheek and turned around to look at everyone else. He was about to get off her lap but she wrapped her arms around his waist to keep him there.

“I guess you live there now.” Mike laughed from a chair across from them.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Richie said a little hesitant with his flirty tone. He handed Eddie a piece of cake. Which he accepted gratefully, letting his fingers brush over Richie’s hand. Richie blushed a little, which made Eddie happy he had the upper hand for once.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.” Eddie said taking a bite of the cake, he kept his eyes on Richie who swallowed staring at his mouth. He wondered if Richie was thinking about the kiss they shared that day since he sure was.

“So Eddie, that was an embarrassing f-f-fall.” Bill smiled at him with mirth.

Eddie frowned, “Shove that smile up your ass Denbrough.” They laughed at his crudeness.

“Such dignity and grace.” Stanley smirked.

“Any dignity I had is honestly gone as of today.” Eddie answered lightly.

“Is that so?” Richie said curiously. “What happened today?”

“I fell for you.” He took another bite of cake as everyone stared at him with opened mouths. Then he cracked a smile and they all laughed at his antics. Beverly tickled his stomach and he squirmed in her lap. “Mercy!”

Then something occurred to him. “Wait a minute, why aren’t you all drunk? We were plastered at Richie’s 16th birthday last year.”

“No alcohol in the house this time.” Richie pointed out proudly. “Mom’s had it all removed and has stayed sober for a month.”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Eddie said excitedly bouncing on Beverly’s knees. She adjusted underneath him. “I can move, Bev. We are like the same weight. I am probably killing your legs.”

“We most definitely are not the same weight. You weigh much less than me.” She insisted hugging him.

Eddie attempted to get out of her lap again and she just held on tighter locking her arms around him. “Why do you and Richie insist on me sitting in your laps?!” He huffed out in frustration then leaned against her back in defeat.

“Because you are the cutest.” Richie stated too fast. Realizing his slip up, he glanced up embarrassed. Eddie laughed instead of getting mad. The group exchanged concerned looks.

“Are you ok Eddie?” Ben asked politely. He was looking at Eddie as if a completely different person had appeared in the room.

“I’m totally fine!” He was in a weird state of overconfidence. His mom knew he was gay and soon Richie would know too. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops but still held back the information.

It felt important to him that Richie knew before everyone else. So much of their relationship had been strained from Eddie being closeted. Including, as far as the facts went, breaking up over it. Richie deserved to hear about it first, which meant he had to be patient. A trait he never possessed.

He decided a distraction was needed. “So what are we doing?” He asked casually.

“I brought monopoly,” Ben pulled out the game. “Except I know you don’t play anymore since our last game.”

“You mean when Eddie f-flipped my mother’s coffee table after Richie won?” Bill said annoyed. Eddie remembered how Richie was baiting him the whole game then when Eddie went bankrupt he blacked out and thought he just flipped over the game. When he calmed down he realized it was the whole wooden table.

“If he hadn’t flipped it, I would have.” Stanley drawled out probably remembering how he felt when Richie laughed at him losing too.

“Oh I see. You were all going to play monopoly because you thought I wouldn’t be here to crush you. Well, let’s fucking play it then.” Eddie grabbed the game from Ben. Mike and Bill cleaned the table off. Beverly finally let Eddie slide off her lap and sit next to her on the couch.

“Hey Richie? Can I have a change of clothes?” Eddie felt uncomfortable in the cold slightly damp clothes.

“Sure, Eds.” He followed Richie out of the room and down the hall. Eddie felt nervous being alone with him, his heart was pounding a little faster. They hadn’t been alone in a week.

Richie opened his door. Eddie hung out in the entranceway not daring to walk in. He spotted two opened boxes by Richie’s bed. His blood ran cold when he deduced they were the boxes of momentoes Richie gave Eddie over the years. Everything he had packed up and mailed to him.

He felt shorts and a shirt fly at his face. “You left these shorts here and I gave you one of my freshman year school shirts.” Richie shrugged. Eddie glanced at the shirt to see Nirvana's band logo staring back at him. He smiled gratefully and went into the bathroom to change.

When he emerged, he was thrilled to be dry. He walked back into the living room to see the place cleaned of food.

He sat on the couch watching Ben set up the game. “I get Vitoria!” Eddie grabbed the metal rocking horse monopoly piece right out of Ben's hand. Then snatched up the battleship piece handing it to Richie.

“Thanks for saving Eduarda.” Richie said excitedly. He hesitated, looking between Eddie and the vacant location next him on the couch. Eddie smiled at him and tilted his head toward the spot. Richie returned the smile and sat beside him.

“Why did you guys give your favorite monopoly pieces those names?” Mike asked confused.

“We had a joke for a while that we would adopt two daughters from Brazil and their names would be Vitoria and Eduarda.” Richie responded eyeing Eddie cautiously.

He smiled to himself, "I think you mean it was your idea, Richie." He leaned over and bumped Richie's shoulder gently.

Richie bumped him back giving him chills. "But you agreed they were beautiful names."

“You two are so weird.” Bill laughed at them.

They gathered around the game in a circle with Ben and Bill sitting on the floor, Stanley in an armchair, Mike lounging in a chair taken from the kitchen, and Beverly, Eddie, and Richie snuggled on the couch.

The game was one of the most fun Eddie ever had. It had nothing to do with the game itself. Although, he was doing a very good job. He was having fun being the most flirty he possibly could and it was making Richie really embarrassed. As in unable to focus because Eddie wouldn't stop touching him and making flirty comments.

When he was rolling the dice, Eddie pushed his leg up against him running his foot over Richie’s. Richie blushed and the dice went flying into Mike’s forehead.

“Ow! Richie, my face is not the monopoly board!” Mike rubbed the new injury.

“Sorry!” Richie groaned, glancing quickly at Eddie who was giving a sneaky side smile.

At one point, Richie absentmindedly put his arm behind Eddie’s back on the couch. Something he did all the time to everyone. Eddie purposely leaned into the cushions so his back touched his arm. Richie stiffened but did not retract, gingerly shifting closer. Eddie slung a leg over Richie’s thigh getting completely comfortable and he could hear Richie’s breathing pick up a little.

“It this ok?” Eddie asked with fake innocence as he looked up at Richie. The boy was staring back at Eddie and he seemed to be calculating his next words carefully.

“It’s fine.” He said strained. “We’ve always been touchy...even before.” He didn't comment that it had always been Richie who was touchy, not Eddie.

Eddie brought his attention back to the game and the rest of their friends were acting nonchalant, once in a while sharing secretive glances. Eddie felt Stanley staring daggers at him from his armchair. He considered ignoring the enraged glare but finally looked at him with a frown.

Eddie mouthed, ‘What? ’ Richie shifted them a little so he could roll the dice. Eddie pressing further into him.

Stanley mouthed back, ‘Stop messing around with him.’

‘I’m not doing anything.’ Eddie insisted.

Stanley rolled his eyes. ‘You’re going to get hurt.’

Eddie flipped him off in response.

“Stop having secret convos,” Beverly said laughing. “You know we can’t read your guys’ lips as easily as you can.”

“An important trick Stanley and I taught ourselves.” Snuggling into Richie’s side more with a triumphant smirk. Richie was moving his player across the board choosing to remain oblivious.

“Mostly so we can shit talk about you all in front of you.” Stanley moved his glare to Richie, who reluctantly looked at him then immediately removed his arm around Eddie with a guilty expression. He made it seem like he needed to be closer to the board scooting to the edge of the couch, effectively knocking Eddie’s leg off from his own.

Eddie flipped Stanley off a second time.

Later, his rocking horse had to go to jail meaning his turn would be skipped a couple times. Eddie hugged Richie’s arm and put his head into his shoulder fake crying. “Tell the children that I love them!” He pushed Richie’s shirt sleeve up to let his lips brush over his skin. He swore he could feel goosebumps on Richie at his touch.

“I won’t be letting the Vitoria and Eduarda visit you. You’re a menace to society.” Richie laughed shakily.

“It’s ok. I’ll sneak them to you on visitation days. That's what Auntie Bev’s are for.” Eddie knew they were all kidding but an excited thrill went through him at this kind of talk. He wanted a future with Richie more than anything and him not rejecting the idea brought hope.

Eddie leaned against Beverly and put his legs across Richie’s lap. Richie made an almost exasperated noise but Eddie just plastered a gloating smile on his face. “Wake me up when it’s my turn again.”

As the others played, Eddie let his foot get closer to a dangerous area on Richie’s lap. He had no idea why he was messing with him so much, but was getting too much pleasure from it to stop. He was starting to understand why Richie loved teasing him.

When his foot almost got to its destination, Richie got up urgently practically throwing Eddie’s legs off him.

“I need soda. Be right back.” He blurted out.

“I’ll come with you.” Eddie said quickly.

“No, I’m the host!” He pushed Eddie back into the couch. Eddie’s eyes met his and he saw the desperation in his gaze. “If you want something, I’ll get it.”

“Then can I have some soda too?” Bill asked.

“Me too!” Beverly added.

“Sure whatever.” Richie left the room. Eddie waited a couple seconds then followed him.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” Stanley asked warningly. He shrugged and kept walking.

He got in the kitchen and watched Richie’s back as he fixed drinks for people. His shoulders were tense and his stance was guarded. Eddie went behind him, slowly putting his hands on Richie’s hips. He jumped a little then rounded on him. “Eddie, I know what you’re trying to do.” He placed his hands over Eddie’s clearly wanting to pull them off but not moving.

Eddie smiled at him keeping his hands firmly there. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“We can’t.” Richie said firmly.

Eddie’s smile fell slightly. “Can’t what?”

“You know!” He hissed.

Eddie’s heart was speeding up. “Say it, Richie.”

“We can’t be friends with benefits!”

Eddie stared in shock then let go of him and started laughing. His laughter filled the whole kitchen. He was laughing so hard his legs couldn’t hold him so he ended up on the floor. Tears were streaming down his face as he clutched his stomach. When he managed to calm down, he looked from the ground at an angry and confused Richie.

“What’s so fucking funny?!” Richie demanded.

Eddie got off the floor and walked right up to Richie. He didn’t stop until his body was pressed against the other boy. He grabbed the sides of Richie’s face and brought their lips crashing together. Then pushed Richie into the kitchen counter roughly. He immediately deepened the kiss running his tongue along Richie’s mouth with need. Richie held his waist kissing back fiercely. His thumb ran over the skin exposed from the Nirvana shirt rising up. Eddie scraped his fingers through Richie’s hair longingly. He missed being able to do this. Letting himself go with Richie was everything he loved about being with him. Richie made him feel like his true self. Eddie’s skin, veins, his whole being was practically vibrating. He kissed down Richie’s jaw to his neck, biting and licking a mark where he knew he was sensitive.

“Eddie...” Richie sighed out and Eddie hummed into his skin. Richie let his hands slide down and grab Eddie’s behind to bring their centers closer. He rocked forward making Richie groan deeply. A familiar warmth he hadn’t properly felt in two weeks grew in his lower stomach.

When Eddie finished the mark, he licked it lightly then blew on it making Richie shiver. He kissed his way back to Richie’s mouth but stopped right at his lips. They breathed each other in, feeling their hearts beating against one another’s chests. Practically beating as one.

“I don’t want to be friends with benefits either.” He whispered as their lips brushed lightly together.

Richie held him tighter looking nervous, his eyes darker than usual. “Then what do you want?”

Eddie smiled at him mischievously, “You.”

Then he pushed himself off of Richie and left the kitchen. Eddie practically skipped back into the room, which made everyone concerned. “Eddie...are you sure you’re ok?” Ben asked curiously. “You’re acting differently.”

“I am on cloud nine, Ben Handsom.” Eddie kissed his cheek and sat back on the couch. Ben looked dumbfoundedly around the room.

“I like it,” Mike said nicely. “You have a confident glow about you.

“I think he’s having another b-breakdown.” Bill said as he got on his knees, reached forward and pinched Eddie’s side. Eddie squirmed away giggling.

“That’s an insensitive thing to say Bill.” Stanley chided, hitting Bill’s hand but kept his eyes trained on Eddie.

“He s-skipped into the room!” Bill insisted cradling his hand.

“I think he might be sick.” Beverly put the back of her hand on his forehead to check for a fever. Eddie licked her arm, which made her squeal. “I can’t believe you just willingly licked me!”

“I’m full of surprises tonight,” Eddie said mysteriously. “Hurry up Richie! Some of us would like to kick your ass...at monopoly of course.”

“Maybe we should switch seats, Eddie.” Mike suggested getting up.

“I think you should too.” Stanley added.

He waved them off unconcerned. “I’m perfectly comfortable right here. Thank you.”

“I’ll switch with you.” Richie said coming back into the room with drinks. Eddie's breath caught and his heart sank.  Mike gave Eddie an apologetic glance and sat beside him.

Now that Richie was across from him, Eddie spent the rest of the game sulking. He kept trying to get Richie to look at him but his eyes focused on anywhere except Eddie. The rejection left him thinking that bit of hope for their relationship was all a manifestation in his head. As soon as the game was over, he was leaving. Stanley was right, he only got hurt.

He could barely enjoy the fact that he was winning. Which was shocking because Eddie was an insufferably competitive person. Everyone got bankrupt then it was just Richie and Eddie. When Richie landed on his hotel, Eddie blinked in astonishment.

“I won?” He said in disbelief. All of them braced themselves for what was to come.

Eddie yelled in victory. He stood on the couch and started doing the craziest happy dance. He swayed his hips from side to side singing, “I won I won. I’m the best, I ace every test. You all suck because you have no LUCK!” Everyone was laughing or groaning at him.

"God damn it." Stanley complained.

“You literally do this every time!” Beverly said putting her hands in her face. Eddie poked the top of her head repeatedly still singing his song.

“Someone stop him and his terrible dance moves.” Mike whined smacking his hand over his eyes in laughter.

Eddie zeroed in on Richie who was finally looking at him with a surprisingly bright smile. “Think you can still love me after that enormous defeat?” Eddie said to Richie as he jumped up and down with delight.

“I will always love you.” Richie stated calmly, never letting his eyes or voice waver.

Will Shannon ever cease with the cliffhangers? You’ll just have to keep reading to find out.

IT IS MY BIRTHDAY SO YOU HAVE TO BE NICE TO ME AND LEAVE A COMMENT! You don’t actually have to leave a comment but you all know I love them. Haha.

It’s Not My Fault Playlists: Spotify & Youtube

@sam-i-am2468 @slashpalooza @richieskata @reddie-brasil @dandeliontozier @takemetothetide @ohheydatsme @averym14 @fucking-reddie @leidi-didi @savannaholeff @missingstanleyuris @jaederp @umlingo @conscious-colours @sweatshirtcats @beepbeeprichtozier @mishagrace @samanthador1205 @it-crack @reddieaddict @loser-marsh

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #stanley uris #the losers club #it fanfiction #it fandom #it 2017 #gay #kissing #cursing #i am a loser #thetheatregal reddie fanfiction #It's Not My Fault #Shannon writes

[mossmurdock]

see how it goes--pt.4

Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader(aged up)

Warnings:uh none

________________________

 “And, my aunt has a pretty big house so she has a few spare rooms we could stay in. Oh, you could even invite all your friends too, they seem amazing. You have such amazing friends Rich, we could do tons of stuff as a whole group. My aunt doesn’t mind extra company. She would love you, Richie! California is such an amazing place--”

 You finally looked up at Richie to see he’d been staring at you the whole time instead of continuing to draw an awful elephant on your hand. You smiled to try and hide the fact you were thinking of how your chest was tightening.

    Squeeze, breath, and boa constrict yourself around my lungs.

 “Richie, you know you can’t let me keep rambling like that. It’s probably really annoying.”

 He looked back up at you, he really didn’t get why you thought your rambling was annoying. It was fucking adorable. Your eyes would always light up, and you always liked to talk with your hands. You’d make more vigorous motions when you were mad or talked about something you were extremely excited about.You’d bite your lip, make weird faces that he loved, and he would never want you to stop. This was one of those times.

 “Love, it’s fine. Remember, I’m getting you to Cali no matter what it takes, so storm up as many ideas as possible. I’m all ears.” Richie smirked when he saw your reaction to the nickname. No matter the amount of times he did it, your face was priceless.

 “Okay, Richie.” There was a long pause. “Your elephant looks like shit by the way.” Richie grabbed the hand sanitizer to try and start over and snorted.

 “Shut the fuck up, you’re not exactly making it easy for me.” He waved his hands around just like you were to prove his point.

 “You still can’t draw for shit, Tozier.” You said, grabbing one of the candies that were laying on your bed and trying to unwrap it with one hand.

 Richie laughed and continued to try drawing the awful elephant on your hand, it’s eyes were too big and looked like it was on crack, the proportions of its legs were all kinds of off, but,Richie kept trying to fix it nonetheless. After a while he groaned and examined your hand, letting the pen fall out of his hand.

 “I think I’m just going to wash this off for you--” he tried reaching for the hand sanitizer again but you stopped him.

 “No, I like this one.”

 He shrugged and grabbed your hand again, you were confused, the elephant was finished yet he still held it. He caressed your hand and wrote something on it.

 “There.” he said. “Now no one can steal my amazing artwork.” Under the elephant was written ‘By: Richie’

 He was still holding your hand, and then there’s this weird feeling in the air, there’s this awful ache in your gut that you can’t get rid of, and you’re confused and don’t know what to think, God, what are you thinking?

 The both of you take a step forward.

 You were laying on your aunt’s couch in front of the t.v, legs laid across Richie’s lap. Everyone had gone into their spare rooms to sleep, which was understandable since it was 12 a.m. 

 Your eyes roamed around the house, eyes flickering to photos of her and your mom, pictures of when you were little, and other family members. Taking note of all the random sticky notes that were in the fridge in the kitchen, of all the flowers that were in her front yard, the certain smell of the house when you walked in. Her house was so extremely warm and welcoming it overwhelmed you. The house was broken into like an old cherished sweater. You’d missed this place so much.

 “Hey, you okay?” Richie lightly poked your foot. His eyes were half shut and he yawned after speaking.

 “Yeah, just a little spaced out.” You removed your legs from his lap and leaned into his shoulder. “You tired?”

 He yawned, “Not if you aren’t.”

 You laughed and he smiled, his face bright from the glow of the t.v.

 He casually slung his arm around you and brought you closer to him, your face buried into his Metallica shirt. You still couldn’t believe he’d actually done this for you, and couldn’t comprehend how you never caught on. It sort of made sense now, the looks the rest of the losers club gave the both of you when talking about the dream road trip, how’d they’d look at him and just sort of smile. It confused you at first, Richie would tell them to knock it off, but you never knew what he was talking about.

 You caught him staring at you and it reminded you of something, something far too familiar. There’s this weird feeling in the air, there’s this awful ache in your gut that you can’t get rid of, and you’re confused and don’t know what to think. God, what are you supposed to think? You can feel him slowly moving in. You can feel your heart racing and the weird feeling in the air seems to evaporate, the ache in your stomach disappears. You know exactly what to think.

 Then, he hesitates, leans away and coughs.

  And your mind is fog again.

One of you takes a step forward, the other blinks and looks away.

 “We should go to bed.” You quickly said. Standing up from your position with a quick motion, moving his arm with too much hast that you thought you might have dislocated his shoulder, you almost say sorry. But, he was too close. Burning.

 He fumbled to get up. You caught an expression of regret painted on his face for a fraction of a second when he combed his air back. ‘My mind is messing with me,’ you think. The both of you are up now, looking at anything but each other, the random sticky notes thrown onto the fridge, photos of family members, trying and failing to pin-point the certain smell of the house. And just like before, that awful familiar feeling is back and taunting you both. grabbing the both of you by the shoulders and laughing in your faces.

 Richie says something about it being late and heading to the room you and Bev were staying in, you nod, his muffled voice going through one ear and out the other, you felt dizzy, like you had gotten up way too fast and needed to sit back down, but whenever you did try and sit back down someone pulled the seat from under you.

 You looked up to realize the both of you were in the room already and Richie was calling your name.

 “Y/N?” Richie reached to put his hand on your arm, he was hesitant, but grabbed it anyway. 

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” His touch burned your skin, but you didn’t pull back.

 “Yeah I’m fine,” you finally made eye contact. “What were you saying?” He slowly put his hand back down scared that he had left it there for too long. This was unnatural, nothing needed to be thought twice with the two of you, so why was he doubting everything?

 You took a step away from him, it meant nothing to you. It felt like a stab in the chest for him, each step back was a slow and painful slash. He choked out words.

 “It’s nothing.” He took a few more step backs himself, awkwardly fumbling or the door handle behind him.

 “I guess I’ll see tomorrow morning then?” He asked. He nearly tripped over the rug your aunt had laid out into the long hallway. He remembered you telling him how you’d always run up and down them when you were little, you were running too fast and fell down the stairs like a soccer ball. Richie felt like that, like he was endlessly falling down stairs. What was right from left? Up and down? Everything was disoriented, what was once a definitive line of friends and more than that was blurred, mixed together, a swirl of white and black. None of you knew when the other may have crossed it first, which on took the first tentative step into something they knew nothing about. But now, now everything was so grey, so in-distinctive. The both of you had no idea where you stood.

 “Yeah, see you.” He turned his back to you and closed the door

 The both of you step back, one farther than the other. But, what was the point? There is no border.

 Richie woke up the next morning with his glasses screwed across his face. He was still in the clothes he had worn the day before, his shirt now wrinkled, he hated the fact he was expecting you to be next to him. It reminded him of how you’d sometimes come over to his house. ‘I need help with homework.’, is what you’d say, he’d laugh, ‘Again? Thought you had the lesson down?’, and you would say, ‘Sorry that we’re not all geniuses like you Rich.’

 You’d stay over at your house hours later finishing homework, sometimes eating dinner with your parents and other times bringing it up to his room and have weird conversations. When more time went by his parents would walk by his room to see you were still there, “Goodnight, Y/N.” is what they’d say, already being used to you staying overnight. You’d sleepover, then be gone the next morning as if you were never even there in the first place. You always left stupid sticky notes around his room before you left, he kept all of them.

 He dragged himself off of the bed, trying not to wake up Stanley and silently slipping on his jacket. A huge amount of patches were either stitched on or ironed on by you. There was one of a flower, one of a beaver, a pair of glasses, there was even one you got custom made that had both of your names on it.

 He couldn’t not think about you, it was physically impossible.

 Everywhere, everywhere he looked just screamed your name.

 Richie headed downstairs quickly looked out the window. It was nice outside, pretty blue skies and nice fluffy clouds.

 ‘That’s right Tozier, it’s an amazing morning in California today. Everything’s fine. Act like yourself will you?’  

 He removed himself from the window and checked the living room and kitchen to see if anyone else would be there. No one was in the living room, but the t.v was left on. He reached for the remote realizing it was the channel you and him were watching the night before, he turned the t.v off. He walked to the kitchen, eyeing a sticky note that was stuck to the fridge. Your handwriting was as pretty as ever. Eddie, Beverly, Bill, your aunt, and you went to the supermarket to pick up some things for the beach later today. 

 Richie stepped away from the fridge and walked over to the front of the house, slipping on his shoes and stepping outside. 

 He was surprised to find Ben and Mike in the backyard, Ben was reading a book and Mike was was playing around on his phone, Richie was now realizing he’d never seen either of them in the house earlier before. Mike noticed Richie standing there.

 “Hey.” He put down his phone, grabbing the attention of Ben. “You and Y/N were the last people to go to bed.”

    The sentence meant something. ‘Hey what happened between the two of you?’

 Richie cleared his throat walking over to the patio and pulling out a chair.

 “Y/N and I wouldn’t miss cartoons for anything.” Saying your name was painful, like he’d suddenly gotten sick.

 Mike only hummed in response, Ben placed a bookmark in the page of his book.

 “What time is it anyways?” Richie looked around the backyard, it wasn’t hard to tell that a lot of work was put into it.

 “About 9 a.m, I think.” Ben responded, taking a glance at Mike’s phone. There was a second of silence, a second of breeziness and warm air, a second of a half finished paperback book, a second of an unread text message. The second flew by in an instant, Ben picked up his book again and Mike read whatever was on his phone. It must have been interesting, his brows furrowed and a tiny frown sketched his face. Mike put down his phone again looking towards Richie, Ben took a glance up from his book. Mike opened his mouth for a second, seeming to try and come up with a sentence.

 “What’s with the face, Hanlon?” Richie asked. 

  Mike’s mouth stayed agape for a second, then he seemed to snap out of some trance and closed his mouth again. 

  “Nothing. Y/N just texted me.” His sentence trailed off and suddenly the bag of soil next to him was much more interesting to him. Ben looked like he was trying to bury himself into his book.

    The sentence meant something again. ‘How about you spit out, Tozier? What happened?’

  Richie grew apprehensive. 

  “Hey, what the fuck’s going on? Did I miss something, cause I feel like there’s something going on here.”

  Ben looked up at him with an expression. He closed the book and set it down. 

  “Look, Rich,” He trailed off looked at Mike than looked back at him. “It’s just, did something happen last night?”

  Richie looked down at the bag of soil and understood why Mike found it so interesting. 

  “Last night? What do you mean, Ben?” 

  “Rich,” Mike spoke up. “Beverly, told us this morning that when Y/N came back upstairs she saw something was off but Y/N wouldn’t tell her anything.”

  Rich never looked up, he grew tense. He felt guilty, there was a sticky feeling in his stomach. Something like tar. God, he was such a fucking shitwad, couldn’t he just admit he liked you? He’s said to other girls before, so easily too, why the fuck was this any harder? Was he that afraid to lose you?

  Maybe.

  “Really? I mean all we did was watch some cartoons until like 2 a.m. It was pretty late and it was a long road trip, she was probably just super tired.”

   Richie left it at that, nothing else said, a million things thought. 

   Then, the three of them heard a car pull over into the driveway, a loud honk, and loud cackling. Richie got up and combed back his hair. 

   ‘You’re having an amazing day, Tozier. You’re in Cali, act like who she wants you need to be.’

Tag(s)

@caitlin-la (lol i don’t even know if you still wanna be tagged but whatever)

#IM ALIVE #richie #it2017 #ben #bev #stan #mike(mylove) #eddie #fanifc #xreader #richiexreader #richiexyou #ya'll want me to continue this??

[softuris]

wanderlust || part 4

stanley uris x reader * ✩‧₊˚

part1 + part2 + part3

————

masterlist... (-)

request here... (-)

IT prompts... (-)

————

You’ve never felt better! There you were, sitting at the bed looking towards the one you admired most. Stanley Uris looked to you with want in his eyes. No not want. Need. You feel yourself reaching a hand to touch his forearm, laying at his side comfortabley. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. But continued to stare deeply at your features. What you looked like, you had no idea. You were too lost in the golden boy’s own heavenly face to think about anything but that. Him.

The softness in his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw, the curls that hung lazily yet perfectly framed his face, the deep seagreen eyes that reminded you of the ocean, and the small dimples that framed his grin. Oh his grin. The thought of his lips against yours made you go numb, and completely unaware until moments later that Stanley had his hand on your leg gently, and was leaning into your space. You felt your heart beating faster! Your cheeks heating up faster than a tea kettle! His touch felt like fire against your skin! Oh gods, you hope he didn’t notice a pimple or something while he’s staring this deeply into, what felt like, your soul.

Only he was able to make you feel this excited. You decide to meet him half way. To a kiss? To a whisper?

You inch closer! And-!

BZZZZZTT *TWUNK*

An alarm had went off and before you know it, your eyes are flittering open. “Sorry guys, go back to sleep,” you heard a anxious Ben speak up from somewhere on the floor behind you. It had only been a dream you realized.

You blink drozily, getting the sleep out of your eyes, and scan what was in front of you. Stan had been resting right next to you, his eyes open, half-lidded, but as bright as ever. He must’ve been awake for awhile now. You looked down to see you were laid down in the bed you had fallen asleep upright in last night. Your legs were tangled in what could only be Stan’s, however still above the covers, and your arms were thrown above your head comfortabley until you drew them to your chest conciously. “Stanny,” you yawned. Stan hummed in response, his lips remaining together and as glorious as they were in your dream. “How long have- How long have you been, like, awake?”

His arms had been wrapped around you, just as last night, and he pulled you closer as you spoke. Stan exhaled shakily and pressed his eyes closed comfortabley. “Hmm I’m not sure. What time is it,” he whispered.

You pushed yourself up on the mattress with your elbow, and Stan loosened his grip around your waist. From the still darkness you spot 5:56 AM on the small clock beside the bed. “It’s almost 6:00 AM,” you said lowering yourself back beside Stan.

Stan hummed into your hair once more, and you giggled at the vibrations it sent through your body. “Then I guess I’ve been up for about an hour,” he smiled, eyes still shut.

“Stanley,” you whispered worriedly, “You should have woke me up.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Well you should have.”

Stan opened his eyes and looked down at you in his arms. Considering you were both awake, you were shocked that the two of you remained in this intimate position. Immediately remembering Stan’s bare legs tangled with your bare legs, heat coursed through your body. “Well you’re awake now,” he whispered back, finally. You tried burrying your head into his chest to conceal the blush you felt against your cheeks, only for him to pull back from you and look down across our features studiously. Instinctly you rushed the palms of your hands over your hot cheeks. “Hey,” he spoke calmly, and quietly. Stan reached to your hands and pulled them away from your face and held them in his hands while he studied your face, more so what you were trying to cover. “Why so rosey all of a sudden?” he smiled down at you.

You looked everywhere but at Stan. His eyes burned into your skin and you felt your cheeks grow hotter. “I understand,” he whispered, pulling you flush back against him, and you letting out a surprised squeel. He has let go of all but one hand, and slowly raised it to his face. You gazed intently up at your hand in his. “I understand,” he repeated, before pressing a kiss to each knuckle on that hand. You couldn’t help but chuckle, quietly of course, and lean into his frame, craving body heat in the cold hotel room. After all you weren’t under the covers.

Was that an excuse? you thought.

BZZZZZT *THWUNK*

Annyed groans filled the hotel room, most likely from the boys on the ground. “S-sorry again guys!” Ben squeeked out, before the sound of rustling appeared.

“I s-s-swear to god Benjamin! W-we’re trying to get some fucking s-s-sleep if you ha-hadn’t noticed!” Bill all but yelled at Ben. You turned over on your other side, facing away from Stan to get a look at the commotion to your left. Stan helped you roll over by holding your hips.

On the ground, you saw Ben sitting up with a red face, clutching his phone, and Bill was seated beside him practically fuming. “Alright guys, c’mon now,” Mike cooed, trying to ease the tension. “Ben said he was sorry.”

Bill straightened up, trying to look bigger next to Mike. “Oh yeah? Well is a s-sorry going to get me a good n-ni-night’s sleep? I don’t think s-so!”

“What the fuckkkk~” Richie groaned into a pillow, atop the bed beside yours. Eddie patted his back comfortingly before grabbing the Trashmouth’s glasses for him on the beside table. “Shut the fuck up, Billiam! None of us had a problem with the alarm until you had to go screaming about the damn thing!” he yelled, pulling his face out from the pillow and taking the glasses from Eddie slowly, before pushing them up the bridge of his nose. Richie’s face was red, blotchy, and fuming more than Bill’s.

Bill scoffed. “This motherfucker should have t-t-turned his phone off!” The mattress below you shifted slightly as Stanley sat up beside you, letting go of your sides. “Bill we get you’re tired from driving, but you don’t have to take it out on us,” he spoke softly, trying to put out the fire.

Bev sat up following Stan’s comment. “You’re being an ass Bill,” she crossed her arms.

Bill scrunched up his nose, upset that even Beverly had said something. “F-f-fine!” he spit out. He gathered himself onto his feet and marched to the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath all the way.

Bev scratched the side of her arm. “Bill, hun, I’m sure someone would be okay with taking the driving shift today,” she shouted to him sweetly from the other side of the wall. You swallowed a lump in your throat and sat up beside Stan, who instinctly put a comforting hand on your clothed shoulder.

“If you’re okay with that, of course,” you added, slightly quieter. Bev gave you a look, thankful for your input. Everyone stared at the bathroom entrance waiting for something. Anything. Bill could be dramatic, but everyone knew he had the right to be dramatic in this moment. He was exhausted from driving for 2 days straight.

Bev sat up and walked to the bathroom door slowly, before knocking gently. “Bill, honey,” she spoke softly. A groan could be heard from inside the bathroom. Beverly glanced to you, her eyes pleading for help. “Bill we all can drive, ok, take today to nap in the car,” she speaks louder, glancing around the room for any volunteers.

“She will probably just get all scratched up,” Bill moans from the other side of the door.

Eddie makes a confused look at Richie. “She?” he asked the bespeckled boy beside him, almost soundlessly.

“He always calls cars ‘she’,” Richie states, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, cooling down his previously pissed-off expression almost immediately with just a single word from Eddie.

Stan removes his hand from your shoulder to raise it above his head. “Let me drive today, Bill,” he states. “I’ll take good care of her.” He lets his arm fall, realizing Bill can’t see it, and rests his hand back on your shoulder. Looking back at him, you place your hand on top of his before giving him a warm smile.

Bill opens the door, very suddenly. You think he must have been standing right against the door. “Alright,” he yawns. As if on command, everyone slides out of bed, or gets up off the floor, to begin packing up their belongings.

Bev shuffles through trash on the side table before tossing Stan Bill’s car keys. “Catch!”

Stan catches them frantically and chuckles. “Thanks!” You watch from the corner of your eye as he saunters over to you putting things in your bag, folding things neatly on the way. “Y’know I still need a co-pilot,” he smiles, squatting beside you.

You hum in response, as you finish folding a tshirt and stuffing it into the bag. “Alright,” you smile back. Pinching your cheek affectionately, Stanley stands back up and goes to pack his own belongings. You watched as he hummed ‘Forever Young’ and swayed as he folded things into his bag. How cute.

-

The whole crew was packed into the car; Stan in the driver’s seat, you beside him in the passenger’s seat, Bill, Eddie, and Richie in the middle seats, and Ben, Beverly, and Mike took the back seats. Bill was passed out, drooling against the window as Eddie gazed on, disgusted.

Just try not to look, Richie had said, before rubbing his back comfortingly.

You watched Stan from the passenger seat, his hand sitting atop the steering wheel casually. The sight of his strong arms turning the wheel every so often had you weak in the knees, although you were sitting. You were too busy lost in his features that you hadn’t noticed him turning up the radio slightly. He groaned. “What?” you chuckled.

“Why’s every song about love?” he asked simply, looking at you briefly before glueing his eyes back on the freeway ahead.

“I wish I knew, Stan,” you shrugged still looking at him. It was hard not to!

He chuckled again after giving you an admiring look. “I mean we’re on this sick roadtrip and all I can think about is the romantic partner I never had,” he admitted as blood rushed to your cheeks. You reached for your water bottle sitting in the middle console. Unscrewing the cap, you looked back to the freeway ahead and took a sip, hoping to put out the heat building up in your head. Putting the drink down again, you licked your lips.

“You think about that ever?” he asked. You looked at him again, confused.

“About?”

“Dating. Do you ever think about dating?”

“I guess sometimes. Sometimes I do,” you said getting quieter. You hiked your legs up on the seat and sat with them pressed to your chest, arms wrapped around them.

“Me too,” Stanley sighed. Did he know?

Mike yawned from the back seat. “Are we almost there guys? I think we should go somewhere for dinner,” he spoke up for everyone to hear. Bill lifted his head groggily, and wiped away some loose spit from his lips, embarassed.

Ben groaned out, as if waiting for someone to suggest it since they got on the road 2 days ago. “Yes! Some real food, please! I’m getting sick of eating Doritos for every meal,” he gasped, rolling his head back and leaned against Beverly. She shook him off of her immediately.

Stan looked at you, his eyes wordlessly asking for approval. You nod frantically holding eye contact, letting your legs fall back to the ground. Smiling, Stan looks back to the crowd through the rear view mirror. “Let’s do it then,” he chuckles.

The van erupts in rejoice. Possibly caught up in the moment, Stan places his hand on your thigh almost instinctly. You look at him, trying to keep your jaw from going slack. His fingertips traced shapes into your skin absentminded, sending chills through you in waves. Richie looks between the two of you, then to the hand on you leg. “Uh, Staniel,” he laughs, almost astounded.

Stan looks behind him at Richie briefly then to you, seeing your blushes expression, before returning his eyes to the road. “Shit! Sorry,” he apologizes, lifting his hand and runs it through his golden curls instead.

You bite your lower lip. “It’s alright,” you chuckle. “Denny’s?” you suggest, avoiding his obvious nervousness. He laughs anxiously, before giving you a genuine smile.

“Denny’s, everyone?” he shouts, suggesting it to the Losers behind the two of you.

-

The 8 of you pile into a horseshoe shaped booth. Order going; Ben, Beverly, Bill, Eddie, Richie, You, Stan, and Mike. However when you scooted into your seat, you couldn’t help but notice Richie trading spots with Eddie. Shit, he was going to try to talk to you about what happened in the car, huh?

“Fancy seeing you here, Trashmouth,” you joked, giving him a suspicious look. “You’re awfully sus, aren’tcha.”

Richie shrugged. “Says you.”

Stan taps your shoulder getting your attention. “Have you had Denny’s biscuits and gravy?” he asks innocently. You can’t help but give him a pitiful smile. The boy was trying, and nothing made your heart soar higher. “I get them everytime.” Stan tugged at his button-up shirt’s collar around his neck, swallowing a lump in his throat.

You don’t say a word, but instead reach a hand to his arm, as a way to comfort him. “Hey,” you whisper, so the others don’t hear. “I thought it was cute.” You look up at his wide eyes through your eye lashes. Tracing his sleeve with your thumb you exhale deeply, and he follows. “I think I’m gonna try the biscuits and gravy,” you smile warmly, and turn back to the menu in your hand. You hear him chuckle, before you feel him lean against briefly: A silent ‘thank you.’

“Fuckkkk! I’m starving!” Richie all but shouts.

Eddie scoffs. “Language, Richard.” Richie scoffs back.

Mike scratches the back of his neck. “No vegetarian options, huh?” he sighs, pursing his lips together and scruntching up his nose. Bev reaches across the table and points to something in Mike’s menu. “Oh! Got it!” he exclaims happily. “Thanks, Girl.”

Ben scans through the menu before excusing himself to the restroom. When he’s gone, Bill lets his menu fall to his lap. “Ok, but I’m s-still pissed at Ben,” he speaks quickly, as if he was holding it in.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Bill, you got to sleep didn’t you. Stop fucking blaming Ben for your dramatic behavior,” Richie quips before he’s handed a milkshake with two straws from the waitress. “Thank you,” he smiles, mood changing immediately, before plunging a straw between his lips.

Eddie tugs the sleeve hanging off Richie’s shoulder. “Uh, Rich,” he chimes.

“Sorry, Eds,” he lowers the drink for Eddie to grab his straw and take a sip.

“Ahh,” Eddie exhales happily before his features shift. “But don’t call me Eds.” Richie replies by blowing bubbles violently into the milkshake, splashing onto the smaller boys cheeks and onto his own glasses. “God dammit, Richie!” he shreeks before grabbing for a napkin to clean his face. Richie is a chortling mess.

-

As dinner died down, and the group had payed for their meals, you felt Stan lean his head against your shoulder. “Now I know how Bill feels,” he smiled sleepily, his eyes shut. You smiled up at him and patted his chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” you laughed, scooting out of the booth after Richie. You hadn’t felt joy like this since,,, well, this morning.

Being on this trip was going to be something you’d talk about well into your old age, and that didn’t bother you.

The group reached the hotel with ease. Given the job to open the door with the key card, you found yourself struggling to focus, or even get the door open. Gods, he was staring at you, leaning casually on the wall beside the door, as if you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen. You grew so flustered under his gaze, Bev ended up taking the card from you. “I got it,” she smirked.

You retreated behind Stanley, hoping he didn’t notice your face had flushed.

“And, we’re in!” Beverly cheered, raising her arms in a ‘hurray.’ The group half-heartedly clapped pushing passed one another to get inside the hotel room.

Stan had taken your hand, as if you needed help being guided 2 feet to get inside. You sat down on one bed, letting go of Stan’s hand, and he wandered to his bag which he had placed on a chair previously before heading to the dinner. “I’m gonna hit the shower if you guys don’t mind,” Stan said grabbing at the bottom of his shirt. As groans and ‘sures’ washed over the room, you looked away choosing to look at the shoes on your feet, knowing full well Stan was about to pull off his shirt.

Stan disappeared into the bathroom, leaving free to glance around the room at others, recieving knowing looks as well. You swallowed your retorts and decided to change into your pajamas in the sliding closet.

The lights were off; the Losers had decided sleep was of utmost importance from now on on this journey. Stan was still in the bathroom, but since there was no sound of water running, you had guessed he was done showering.

In the wake off the inky blackness, the bathroom door opened and light shone into the suite breifly before they were turned off.

The Losers had insisted you and Stan take one of the beds, and you cursed yourself for being so obvious about your feelings. If they knew all too well, did Stanley?

Your heart sped up as you watched him look around in the darkness, looking for a spot to sleep amongst the room of his friends who had all fallen asleep, before catching sight of you alone in one of the beds, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Pretending to be asleep was one thing, but staying still while Stan eased into bed beside you and lazily wrapped his arms around your waist was another.

“Goodnight, night owl,” Stan whispered into your hair.

The hairs rose on the back of your neck, and embarassment rolled through your body in waves. He knew you were awake.

“You woke me up,” you whispered back, frozen on your side with Stan’s chest to your back.

He scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that, Babylove.” You chuckled at the nickname as warmth comfortabley settled in your chest. Petname? You weren’t entirely sure, but you loved it. You finally stopped tensing up at his touch, and settled deeper into the mattress, revelling in the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, and his chest on your back.

“Goodnight.”

———

PART 5?🌙🍃

———

taglist: @eddiesshorts @loverss-clubb @fiestatozier @neibolthoes @juliroseennis @makloveswriting @aizeninlefox @dinos-on-a-space-ship @nel-ida @multi-parker @sleepyquills @ghostlyuris @meoodle @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia @kingsteve-more-like-dadsteve @anothershorthuman

#it #it 2017 #it 1990 #1990 it #2017 it #it fandom #it fanfiction #fanfiction #imagine #the losers club #fluff #losers #stanley uris x reader #stan uris x reader #stanley uris imagine #stan uris imagine #stanley uris #stan uris #stanley uris fluff #stan uris fluff #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #mike hanlon #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #.wanderlust

[reddieloserz]

I looooooved the latest reddie oneshot you posted and I was wondering if you would write a fic where eddie surprises or catches Richie off guard somehow? Angst or fluff is okay!! Xxx

Thank you my sweet anonymous!! That means so much to me you have no idea. Ya’ll have been making me feel so special with these prompts like ugh Im a lucky dog. And hh absolutely! How fun omf g

I spend most of my time writing aged-up eds and rich but im just feeling really nostalgic and i want to focus on our sweet 13yr old canon boys once again!

This is sort of a continuation of my last one shot and is v fluffy with a light dose of angst pls enjoy

Word count: 2,298

It had been about two weeks since the awkward (and perfect) kiss happened between Eddie and Richie in the movie theater. Neither of them really brought it up again, because there wasn’t a lot to explain. Richie was enthralled with Eddie and Eddie absolutely adored Richie.

Their dumbass antics only escalated from what they used to be- instead of just keeping their endless teasing between each other, they would now turn and roast whichever other Loser was closest, like some sort of sassy dynamic duo. It would of bothered the Losers more if it wasn’t just as hilarious to them as it was to the other two boys. They still annoyed the shit out of one another too, of course, don’t get me wrong. They still bickered nonstop, not unlike a boy tugging on a girl’s piggy tails to get her attention.

Difference is, now they were absolutely glued to the hip. If the Losers thought that Richie was clingy to Eddie before, they were in a whole different ballpark now. It was as if Richie’s hands were magnetized to Eddie’s body and he didn’t have the strength to resist them. What used to be a casual tousle of Eddie’s hair or wiping away a stray food crumb from his cheek, was now incessant tickling, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle, and Richie’s personal favorite- blowing raspberries into Eddie’s neck.

And Eddie didn’t even seem to care! Sure, he would say that Richie was ‘up his ass’ and to ‘leave me alone, Trashmouth’ but the smaller boy would never actually make a move to get away. He would just let Richie pull him into the other boy’s lap, acting as casual as possible whenever it happened. They were completely compatible and comfortable with one another, and a kiss wasn’t about to change that. They had grown up together, after all. They knew each other in ways that nobody else in the world could understand. Besides the other Losers, of course.Like right now, for example. It was a Friday night and all of the Losers were all cramped in Bill’s basement watching a horror movie (again). Richie was on some kind of kick, soaking up any and all horror media he could find. It all started when they watched Nightmare on Elm Street 5 earlier that Summer when IT… Well, you know.

Anyway, it was Richie’s night to pick, unfortunately for the other 6. It did give Mike a good excuse to coddle Stanley, though, and every once in a while Eddie would glance over to the pair and find that they had been slowly but surely scooching closer and closer to each other on the love seat. Eventually Stan’s head found Mike’s shoulder, and they both watched the carnage that was happening on screen in contentment.

Since Eddie had gone to that unofficial date with Richie at the Aladdin he found that he wasn’t as frightened of scary movies as he had thought. Not at all, in fact. Sure, seeing them in theaters could get him a little riled up, but that was his anxiety talking more than his actual fright. He knew movies weren’t real… He had seen what real horror was.

Eddie was currently perched in Richie’s lap on the floor just in front of the couch that Ben, Bill, and Beverly were occupying. Bev had fallen asleep almost as soon as the film had started and it was Ben and Bill that were awkwardly squished together because of Beverly’s hogging two out of the three couch cushions. Her faint snores filled the room, almost louder than the dialogue on the tv, but no one in the room seemed to care. Beverly must had been pooped from her train ride back to Derry from Portland.

As Eddie stared at the television he was only half paying attention to the action of the film. Richie’s nimble fingers were messaging into Eddie’s even smaller hand, rubbing small circles into his palm. Richie’s hands were always warm contrasted to Eddie’s cold ones and it felt really nice to have him fiddle with his fingers.

While Eddie and Richie had not kissed again, Richie had taken said kiss as permission to hold Eddie’s hand whenever he liked. Eddie never seemed to initiate any touching, so when Richie was feeling like he needed a little extra attention, Richie would take one of Eddie’s hands and place them on his head, forcing him to rub softly into his hair. Eddie, not looking up from whatever he was doing, would automatically oblige. He’d run his fingernails softly from the crown of Richie’s head all the way down to his neck and then back up again. Richie would close his eyes at that, going slack beneath Eddie as he sat in his lap. It usually made Richie fall asleep, and Eddie was happy to do anything to get Richie to calm down enough to be able to relax.

This was exactly what was currently happening, and before Eddie knew it, he had glanced back to see each and every one of his friends fast asleep. The action on the movie continued loudly, but it didn’t seem to disturb any of them. Ben had rolled over until his side was flush with Bill’s and they were sleeping with their heads leaning on the other’s for support. Fucking adorable.

Eddie got up from his place on Richie’s legs slowly, stretching with his hands up in the air until he felt the soft popping of his knees and spine. He let out a light sigh and padded across the basement and up the stairs to the kitchen, on the hunt for some popcorn.

Richie opened his eyes slowly, the draft in the basement waking him up lightly. He was shivering a tiny bit and realized it was because he had lost the warmth of his small counterpart. He looked around the room for a moment, acknowledging that everyone was napping, but Eddie was nowhere to be found. He quirked and eyebrow before rubbing the sleep out of his eyes from underneath his glasses. He quickly hopped up, ignoring that his legs had fallen asleep, and quickly darted upstairs.

“Eddie?” He called into the empty hallway. The bathroom door to his left was empty; unoccupied.

“Eds?” No reply came. It was raining harshly outside and the room was colored in grey from the clouds. Richie quickly strutted into the Denbrough kitchen, expecting his companion to be on his tip-toes trying to reach the popcorn in the cupboards. (fuckin shorty.) But he wasn’t there.

No, Richie didn’t think he was one to panic, but boy did he jump quickly to conclusions. His heart began pumping wildly and he started breathing heavily out of his mouth. Where the fuck did he go?

“Eddie! Where are you?” His voice rose just enough for his voice to crack in the middle of his sentence.

In a last ditch effort to deduce where Eddie had gone, Richie raced outside. Rain fell down on his head and shoulders, and to his dismay, he saw that Eddie’s bike was still propped outside in the yard. He hadn’t left.

Running around the threshold looking for Eddie sat uncomfortably familiar in Richie’s gut. The last time he had chased Eddie, trying desperately to find and protect him, was at Neibolt. Just the memory alone made his heart race and his head feel dizzy. Suddenly, a far off memory resurfaces in his mind, and his eyes widen at the sinister voice that whispers in his ear.

“Don’t touch the other boys, Richie… Don’t… Or they’ll know your secret.”

“No… This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.” Richie whispers to himself, quickly turning back around and speeding up the porch steps. He swung the screen door back open and b-lined it straight for the basement stairs, footsteps loud and heavy. He was completely prepared to make an incredibly large scene, yelling for the others to get up, that IT had returned and Eddie was gone. Admit his failure. Again. He couldn’t keep Eddie safe.

Just as he was about to put his foot on that first step, something burst from around the corner and shouted an incredibly loud “BOO!”

This knocked Richie straight onto his ass, his hands coming up to cover his face as he let out a strained cry. “NO, PLEASE!”

Eddie had just pounced from behind the pantry door, crouched with his hands up like he had bear claws. He was pink in the face from trying his best not to laugh as he hid from Richie, sneaking around the house as Richie went on the hunt for him. He thought that this prank was going to really set a new bar between them, and he knew he was going to make Richie scream like a girl.

What he didn’t anticipate was this.

Richie had fallen down in front of him, his face blotchy and red already with tears. He had covered his glasses and crown of his head with shaking hands. He was breathing harshly, lips quivering after he let out his scream. Eddie straightened up, all humor repelled out of his body like a bullet. Richie had cried, muttering a small, “Don’t hurt him!”

Eddie kneeled in front of Richie, then. Slowly, he lifted his hands until they were covering both of Richie’s as he said, “Rich! Richie! It’s just me! It’s Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Richie whispered, removing his arms from his face and staring at Eddie with wide, frightened, sad eyes. They were rimmed with red and the fact that his glasses magnified their anguish made Eddie’s heart split in two.

“It’s just me, Rich. It’s Eddie.” He squeezed both of Richie’s hands softly, not letting them go.

“Eddie.” Richie just stared at him, almost disbelieving that it was really him. He finally relented and relaxed, letting his body slump. He wiped his face with his shoulder, looking away from Eddie in embarrassment. He refused to look back at the smaller boy.

Eddie let Richie come back to himself for a bit. In an attempt to comfort him, Eddie did the first thing he could think of. He brought both of Richie’s warm hands to his lips and lightly kissed his knuckle.

Richie’s head turned back towards him and his wet eyes landed on where Eddie’s lips were giving him a soft peck. Eddie continued, caressing each finger with soft and quick kisses. Richie just silently watched as Eddie pecked his fingers.

Eddie waited until Richie’s breathing returned to normal again to speak.

“What happened just now, Rich? Why did that scare you so bad?” He said quietly, barely even a whisper.

“I…” Richie stopped, looking down at his hands in Eddie’s instead of the other boy’s eyes. “I thought it took you.”

“You mean… IT?” Eddie hadn’t thought of IT in weeks. It was like a faint and distant dream, even though it had only happened to them a few months ago.

“Yeah.” Another beat of silence.

“Richie, nothing is going to happen to me. We killed it. YOU killed it. It’s okay.”

“I just want to keep you safe!” Richie blurts, almost interrupting Eddie’s sentence. “I thought that it took you from me again.” Richie sniffles, only once. “I don’t know what I would do if it did.”

Eddie just looked at Richie. Tried to memorize the way he bit his bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Wanted to imprint the way Richie’s eyes couldn’t quite meet his while he admitted his confession. It wasn’t very often Eddie got to see this version of his best friend. He wanted to store it for eternity to memory.

“You keep me safe, Rich.” Eddie says. Richie just scoffs. Eddie squeezes both of his hands again. “Hey, you do!” Richie doesn’t reply this time, lost in his tornado of self deprecating thoughts.

Without thinking about it twice, only focusing on comforting his beautiful friend, Eddie utters a few earnest words.

“I love you, Rich.” Eddie breathes. He keeps his eyes steadfast, never faltering from Richie’s expression. He didn’t want to miss anything.

Richie slowly lifts his head again, this time bravely returning Eddie’s gaze.

“W-what?”

“I love you. Richie.” Eddie says again. He is beginning to feel embarrassed now, like that was the exact opposite thing to say, and that it was so stupid of him to think otherwise.

“I love you too, Eds.” Richie says and there is laughter in his voice. Eddie’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, and Richie laughs whole-heartedly now. “I love you, Spaghetti!”

Richie throws his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie returns his invitation easily. Eddie is kneeling in between Richie’s open legs and they just stay in that awkward embrace until Eddie’s knees are screaming at him to move.

Eddie leans back, just enough so that his face is a few inches from Richie’s.

“You want to go finish that movie?” He asks softly, not wanting to tell Richie he has to do anything.

Richie just nods, giving Eddie a little mischievous side-ways smirk that he always wears.

“Oh what, Trashmouth, you going to hang that over my head forever now?” Eddie scoffs, returning the smirk at his dumbass friend.

“Yup! Forever. For-fucking-ever, Eds.” Richie’s voice is beginning to sound like his usual self. “It’s going to be the one thing I think of before I go to sleep at night, laying next to you mother after we-”

“Okay! That’s enough! Get off me, you dipshit.” Eddie shoves Richie playfully and stands up, marching back towards the stairs.

“What? No kiss this time? Come on, Eds! Way to send a guy mixed signals here!” Richie calls as he follows him back down to the basement.

#my writing #anonymous #ask #reddie #reddie fanfiction #reddie fanfic #it 2017 #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

[my-heart-burns-there-too]

Out of the Blue and Into the Black

Pairing: Stan x Reader, Richie x reader

Request: No, I just thought of it and it seemed quite nice

Summary: IT is back, and Stan is only able to think of one way out. After his death, his wife Y/N still needs to go back to Derry, Maine and stop Pennywise. Through it all, Stan’s ghost has to see the world move on, watch Derry change, and maybe even see Y/N move on romantically.

Warnings: suicide, major character death, angst angst angst, and this is not a warning but I thought I should clarify everybody is an adult.

A/N: I hope this is a good comeback from my giant hiatus, I’m going to put this concept into reality. This will be a series, I haven’t decided on parts quite yet. Merry Christmas ❤️

Stanley Uris hung up the phone. He didn’t even remember his old friend,Mike Hanlon, until he had brought up Derry, Maine. All of the events. The terrible, terrible events. IT was back, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Hey honey, are you okay? You look a bit paler than usual,” you walked over to your husband, stroking his cheek with concern. He was a sickly pale, beads of nervous sweat rolled down his forehead. His hands were shaking and you could see him look down to a faint white scar on his palm.

“Oh Stan, where did you get this?? You’re not one to go running off and getting yourself hurt. How did I not see this befo-”

“IT’s back,” Stan cut you off, looking shakily into your E/C eyes.

The glass of water you held in your other hand shattered to the floor. You gasped, as if all of the air had been removed from your lungs.

In just one second, your whole life had changed.

Your legs were like jelly, your hands shaking as you looked to the same white scar that was placed on Stan’s hand on yours.

“I’m going to take a bath,” Stan muttered as he brushed past you and up the stairs to the bathroom.

It took you a moment to come out of the trance you were in, blinking and turning around to see Stan disappear up the last stair. ‘He must need to cope,’ you thought, pacing around the kitchen. As you started to think more, you stopped in your tracks. Stan never took a bath this early.

You walked up the stairs, your bare feet cold against the hard wood. “Stan? Is everything okay?” You knocked on the door. No answer.

“Stan, we can get through this together, I’m coming in-” your hand went to the doorknob, it wouldn’t budge. Silence on the other end, the door locked, Stan was never like this.

You found the short key that was for locked doors, it came with the house. You unlocked the bathroom door, the door opening with a sickening creak.

It almost made you sick to see. On the wall written in blood was, “IT IS BACK”. You fell onto your knees, sobbing as you leaned against the wall. Your Stanley, the love of your life, your husband, was dead.

Hours later, the body was gone, the scene cleaned up, you left with nothing but a bottle of wine and a photo book. You were aware you looked like an idiot, you had mascara down your cheeks and your eyes were bloodshot. You took another sip, the wine going down your throat with a burn. It had been only a couple of hours and you already missed him, would have given the world to get him back.

—–

Stan Uris woke up in the bathtub with a big gasp for air. He couldn’t remember the events from the past few hours but his chest hurt and he just wanted to be with Y/N, his lovely wife. He got out of the bath, reaching for a towel to dry off. When he was all dressed in some casual clothes, he went downstairs.

The sight was almost surprising.

There was Y/N, choking back sobs and drinking wine like it was her only hope. Stan didn’t understand, she was the most cheerful person he’d known, even when they were children. “Hey, darling, what’s wrong?” He kissed her head.

She ignored him. “Y/N…” he reached out to touch her hand but she got up, setting down the wine to go to the kitchen. What was her deal.

“I’ve got to go back, I need to go back to Derry and make this right. I need to do this for Stan.”

As soon as she said it, the memories flooded back.

The razors, the phonecall, the bath.

Stanley Uris was dead. He had gone out of the blue and into the black.

#stan uris imagine #stanley uris #stan uris x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier #it movie 2017 #it stephen king #it x reader #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #eddie kaspbrack #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #losers club #the losers club x reader #losers club imagine

[years-late-to-the-party]

"Grunkle Dipper, Ma and Pa'd be delighted if I was your apprentice, you have twelve PhDs!"

Dipper considered it for a moment before saying, "What about Stanley, though? I don't really think it's a good idea to-"

"We've always been stuck together, and it's suffocating," Ford said. "We're always lumped in together, you know? We're never apart. And New Jersey too! I've only ever wanted to study the paranormal, and Gravity Falls is the perfect place for that, right? And- and I just rescued you! I'm capable! Please, Grunkle Dipper...I belong here in Gravity Falls..."

Dipper sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "If you're sure..." he said finally.

"Oh, thank you, Grunkle Dipper!" Ford cheered. "You won't regret it!" 

If it had been under any other circumstances, Stanley probably would have laughed at the timing of it. Right after Grauntie Mabel left the room ("you're so lucky to have your brother at your side") he'd gone to the walkie-talkie to tell Ford that they'd have to have their going-away party in the Mystery Shack, but it picked up a conversation on the other end instead. 

Stan listened to it dumbly, almost not believing it. Ford wouldn't say that- Ford wouldn't- he wouldn't... But it didn't change what he was hearing.

And he would; Stan had seen how he threw himself into monster hunting and studying and research and god knows that Stan had had to rescue his twin quite a bit this summer for it. Ford loved doing it.

And if that part was all Stan had heard, he would've found and asked Grunkle Dipper himself if he could stay here and learn too because even though he was the dumber, sweatier twin and certainly wasn't as qualified to do what Grunkle Dipper did as Ford was, he did want to do it. He wanted to stay here and help protect his bro and maybe it was dangerous but it was still fun, and there was something about Gravity Falls that was home like Jersey never really had been.

But.

Stan looped back through those two sentences in his head over and over. They were so casual and deliberate and Stan knew that he meant them. Ford didn't calculate his words to hurt. He didn't think Ford knew he was listening as he said them.

Real men don't cry, Pa said somewhere in the back of his mind, but there were tears in his eyes anyway.

When Ford came back, Stan asked him about it even though he knew the answer (because admitting it makes it that much more real).

"D-did you mean that, S-Sixer?" 

"Mean what?" Ford replied, confused. "Are you okay?"

Stan wiped his nose. He must look like a mess right now, he thought distantly. "W-what you said to Grunkle Dipper."

"Oh! Yeah," Ford answered. "This is my big break! You've seen Grunkle Dipper's journals- he's a master paranormal investigator, I bet the best in the world! And Gravity Falls- we've barely scratched the tip of the iceberg this summer. There's so much here, I bet you could spend your entire life looking and only see a tiny percentage about what this place has to offer! And it's so much better here than-"

Stanley grabs his backpack and runs. He's sobbing but he barely notices as he sprints down the stairs, through the shack and out the door, into the nearby woods.

He stays there, curled up in a ball and crying, for what feels like forever when he notices a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up he sees it's Blendin.

"Oh, hey there, kid! You alright?"

"No," Stanley snivels. "Nothing's alright. Ford- Ford said- Ford's going to-"

Blendin interrupts him before he can finish the sentence. "Hmmmmm, I think I can help you there. See that bag? Inside it is something that's incredibly powerful, that'd give me the ability to freeze time and stop you and your brother from ever growing up and getting old! Nobody'll even notice."

"Really? W-What is it? Can you really do it? I thought Time Baby-"

"Of course! And I was getting to that. See, it's a weird-looking snowglobe; you'll know it when you see it. Hand that to me, and you'll get everything you've ever wanted," Blendin says. "Go on- look."

It's Ford's bag, and the snowglobe Blendin wants is right on the top. Stanley hesitates a moment, because it's Ford's and not his and he has no idea what it is...

"What has your brother ever done for you, though, eh?" Blendin queries, as if he'd read Stan's mind. He extends his hand, waiting to take what he's asked for. "Just give that to me, and all your troubles will be over. I bet you anything your brother won't even miss it!"

Stan doesn't think about it much longer before reluctantly handing the grinning time traveler in front of him the odd snowglobe.

Blendin smashes it under his foot and dramatically removes his goggles, showing Stanley his yellow, slitted eyes, eyes that Stan would recognize anywhere.

The sky is torn open and Stan suddenly goes limp. Bill forms a red bubble adorned with the fish around the boy, and, for good measure, covers it in chains.

He vacates his host and stares delightedly down at the horrified Dipper, who'd just arrived and only a bit too late to stop Weirdmaggeddon.

#gravity falls #relativity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #dipper pines #ooc characters #it's not all that good but i spent way too long on these 800 words so here you are :D #bill cipher #billendin

[victorianwhitechapel]

“Dark” Annie Chapman

[Previous post]

Last days and murder

Annie was 5’ tall (152 cm), aged 47 at time of her murder, with pallid complexion, blue eyes, dark brown wavy hair, excellent teeth (possibly two missing in lower jaw). She was strongly built (stout) and with a thick nose. She was under-nourished and suffering from a chronic disease of the lungs (tuberculosis) and brain tissue. It is said that she was dying (these could also be symptoms of syphilis). Her friend Amelia Palmer described her as “sober, steady going woman who seldom took any drink.” She was, however, known to have a taste for rum.

On Saturday, September 1, 1888, Edward Stanley returned after having been away since August 6. He met Annie at the corner of Brushfield Street. Sometime close to this date, Annie had a fight with Eliza Cooper. The fight has several different tellings but all revolve around Edward Stanley. An argument broke out in the Britannia Public House between Eliza Cooper and Annie. Also present were Stanley and Harry the Hawker. Cooper was Annie’s rival for the affections of Stanley. Cooper struck her, giving her a black eye and bruising her breast. The cause was given as: Chapman noticed Cooper palming a florin belonging to Harry, who was drunk, and replacing it with a penny. Chapman mentions this to Harry and otherwise calls attention to Cooper’s deceit. Cooper said she struck Annie in the pub on September 2nd. Amelia Palmer said that Annie told her the argument took place at the pub but the fisticuffs took place at the lodging house, later. John Evans, night watchman at the lodging house said the fight broke out in the lodging house on September 6th. Cooper also said that the fight was not over Harry but over soap which Annie had borrowed for the Pensioner and not returned. In one version of the story, Annie is to have thrown a half penny at Cooper and slapped her in the face saying “Think yourself lucky I did not do more.” Donovan stated that on August 30th he noticed she had a black eye. “Tim, this is lovely, aint it.” She was to have said to him. Stanley noticed that she had a black eye on the evening of September 2nd and on the 3rd Annie showed her bruises to Amelia Palmer. Donovan will tell the inquest into her death that she was not at the lodging house during the week prior to her death. So it appears from the bulk of the evidence that the fight took place in the last few days of August and probably in the lodging house.

On Monday, September 3, Annie met Amelia Palmer in Dorset Street. “How did you get that?” asked Palmer, noticing the bruise on her right temple. By way of answer, Annie opened her dress. “Yes,” Annie said “look at my chest.” Annie complained of feeling unwell and said she may go see her sister. “If I can get a pair of boots from my sister,” she said “I may go hop picking.”

The following day, Tuesday, September 4, Amelia Palmer saw Annie again near Christ Church. Chapman again complained she was feeling ill and said she may go the casual ward for a day or two. She said she has had nothing to eat or drink all day. Palmer gave her 2d for tea, and warned her not to spend it on rum.

On the night of Wednesday September 5 to Thursday, September 6th, she was possibly in the casual ward although there are no records to support the assumption. However, following her murder, Donovan found a bottle of medicine in her room.

On Friday, September 7, at around 2:00-3:00 PM Crossingham’s house deputy, Timothy Donovan, permitted Annie to sit in the kitchen, asking where she had been all week. “In the infirmary,“ answered Annie. At 5:00 PM Amelia Palmer saw Annie in Dorset Street. Chapman was sober and Palmer asked her if she was going to Stratford, but Annie said she was too ill to do anything. Farmer left but returned a few minutes later only to find Chapman not having moved. Annie said ”I must pull myself together and go out and get some money or I shall have no lodgings.“ At 11:30 PM Annie returned to the lodging house and asked permission to go into the kitchen.

At 12:10 AM of Saturday, September 8th, Frederick Stevens, also a lodger at Crossingham’s said he drank a pint of beer with Annie. He states that she did not leave the lodging house until 1:00 AM. At 12:12 AM printer William Stevens, another lodger, entered the kitchen and saw Chapman. She said that she had been to Vauxhall to see her sister, that she went to get some money and that her family had given her 5 pence. Annie said she had been to the hospital and would go to the infirmary the next day. She had a bottle of lotion and a bottle of medicine. She took out a box of pills from her pocket, and, upon handling it, the box broke. Annie placed the pills in a torn piece of envelope she found on the floor near the fireplace. Chapman left the kitchen, Stevens thought she had gone to bed.

At 12:30am Frederick Simmons, a fellow lodger, and Annie had a beer. Half an hour later, at 1:00am, Simmons saw Annie leave Crossingham's (#35 Dorset St), believing she went to the Brittannia pub, (located on the north-west corner of Dorset St and Commercial St).

At 1:35 AM Annie returned to the lodging house again. She ate a baked potato. John Evans, the night watchman, had been sent to collect her bed money. She went upstairs to see Timothy Donovan in his office. “I haven’t sufficient money for my bed,” she told him, “but don’t let it. I shall not be long before I’m in.” Donovan chastised her, “You can find money for your beer and you can’t find money for your bed.” Annie was not dismayed. She stepped out of the office and stood in the doorway for two or three minutes. “Never mind, Tim.” she stated, “I’ll soon be back.”And to Evans she said, “I won’t be long, Brummy [his nickname]. See that Tim keeps the bed for me.” Her regular bed in the lodging house was number 29. Evans saw her leave and enter Little Paternoster Row going in the direction of Brushfield Street and then turning towards Spitalfields Market.

At 2:30am Emily Walter was in the backyard of 29 Hanbury Street with a man. He was 37; Dark beard and moustache; foreign accent; dark vest and pants; black scarf and felt hat; short dark jacket. Hanbury St curves south-east from Commercial St to the junction of Baker’s Row and Old Montague St. #29 was on the North side of the street, between Wilkes St & Brick Ln. 27 Hanbury St was next door on the West side of #29. 29 Hanbury St, was a 3-story building with residents living on each of the three floors and in the attic with a small business on the ground floor and one working out of the cellar. On the left-hand side of the buildings’ front was two doors: the door on the right led to the shop. The door on the left opened to a passageway containing stairs to the residences and another door leading to the backyard.

#29 was owned by Mrs Amelia Richardson, who ran a packing case business out of the cellar and was assisted by Francis Tyler and her son, John Richardson. A cat’s meat shop was in the ground floor front room and was used by Mrs Harriet Hardyman and her 16 year old son. The ground floor back room was a kitchen. Mrs Richardson and her 14 year old grandson slept in the first floor front room. The first floor back room was occupied by Mr Waker and his adult, retarded son. Mr Thompson, his wife, and their adopted daughter slept in the second floor front room. Two unmarried sisters, Misses Copsey, lived in the second floor back room. Living in the front room of the attic was John Davis with his wife and three sons, and occupying the attic’s back room was Mrs Sarah Cox. The passageway was sometimes occupied by unknown people at unusual hours, and the backyard was frequented by prostitutes. The door to the street was a latch-type, and the door to the yard was self-closing or swing-door. Typically, neither door was locked as a courtesy to the residents. Three small stone steps led to the yard, which was about 14’ x 12’. The yard was part dirt and part paving stone. About 3’ to 3’-6”, left of the doorway, was a 5’-6" high fence made of wooden pailings, separating the yards of #27 & #29. To the right of the doorway, were cellar doors, which led to a workshop. Two feet away, on the right, was a water pump. At the yard’s far left corner was a storage shed, and at the far right corner was a privy.

At 3:00am Davis woke up. Around 3:50am Thompson left for work without going into the back yard. Mrs Richardson, dozing fitfully, heard him pass her room and called out, “Good morning.”

At 4:45 AM Mr. John Richardson entered the backyard of 29 Hanbury St. on his way to work, and sat down on the steps to remove a piece of leather which was protruding from his boot. Although it was quite dark at the time, he was sitting no more than a yard away from where the head of Annie Chapman would have been had she already been killed. He later testified to have seen nothing of extraordinary nature. He left 5 minutes later. At 4:51am dawn broke. At 5:25am the sun rose.

At 5:30 AM, Elizabeth Long saw Chapman with a man, hard against the shutters of 29 Hanbury Street. They are talking. Long heard the man say “Will you?” and Annie replied “Yes.” Long was certain of the time as she had heard the clock on the Black Eagle Brewery, Brick Lane, strike the half hour just as she had turned onto the street. Chapman had her back towards Spitalfields Market and, thus, her face towards Long. The man had his back towards Long. A few moments after the Long sighting, Albert Cadosch, a young carpenter living at 27 Hanbury Street walked into his back yard probably to use the outhouse. Passing the five foot tall wooden fence which separates his yard from that of number 29, he heard voices quite close. The only word he could make out was a woman saying “No!” He then heard something falling against the fence.

Discovery

At 5:45am Davis and his wife got out of bed as the Spitalfields Church clock struck the quarter hour. They had some tea. Ten minutes later, Davis went downstairs, noticing that the passageway door to the street stood wide open, which was not unusual. Davis then opened the other door to enter the backyard and saw Annie’s body, then an unidentified woman.

Annie was lying on her back, parallel with the fence, which was to her left; Her head was about 2’ from the back wall and 6"-9" left of the bottom step; Her legs were bent at the knees; Her feet were flat on the ground, pointing toward the shed; Her dress was pushed above her knees; Her left arm lay across her left breast; Her right arm at her side; The small intestines, still attached by a cord, and part of the abdomen lay above her right shoulder; 2 flaps of skin from the lower abdomen lay in a large quantity of blood above the left shoulder; Her throat was deeply cut in a jagged manner; A neckerchief was around her neck.

Davis immediately left the yard and ran out into the street. James Kent and James Green were standing outside their workshop at 23A Hanbury St, waiting for their fellow workers to arrive when Davis entered the street. “Men! Come here! Here’s a sight. A woman must have been murdered!” shouted Davis to Green and Kent. Henry John Holland was passing by and followed the others to the yard. Only Holland ventured into the yard. All of them then left: Green, apparently, returned to work; Kent did not notice a constable in the area, so he went to his workshop for a brandy while looking for a canvas to put over the body; Holland went to the Spitalfields Market, where he found a constable who was on a fixed point; and, Davis went to the Commercial Street Police Station, to report the finding. Mrs Hardyman woke up to the sound of Davis and the others in the passageway and sent her son to see what was going on. Upon his return, he said, “Don’t upset yourself, mother. It’s a woman been killed in the yard.” Around 6:10am Mrs Richardson went into the passageway after receiving news from her grandson. (Only Annie’s body was in the yard.)

Investigation

Inspector Joseph Luniss Chandler was at the corner of Hanbury St and Commercial St when he saw several men running from Hanbury St. “Another woman has been murdered,” he was told. Some 3 minutes later Insp Chandler arrived at the scene. (A crowd had already begun to gather in the passageway, but no one was in the yard.) He sent for the Divisional Surgeon, Doctor George Bagster Phillips, 2 Spital Square; he sent for an ambulance and reinforcements from the Commercial Street Police Station; he notified Scotland Yard and covered the body with sacking he borrowed from a neighbouring resident. Kent returned to #29 and found that Insp Chandler had taken possession of the backyard and that a crowd had gathered in the passageway near the door. Other constables arrived, and the passageway was cleared. At 6:20am Dr Phillips learned of the body, and arrived upon the scene and began his initial examination 10 minutes later.

Dr. Phillips described the body of Annie Chapman as he saw it at 6:30 AM in the back yard of the house at 29 Hanbury Street. According to him, she was murdered around 4:30am. This is inquest testimony: “The left arm was placed across the left breast. The legs were drawn up, the feet resting on the ground, and the knees turned outwards. The face was swollen and turned on the right side… The tongue was evidently much swollen. The front teeth were perfect as far as the first molar, top and bottom and very fine teeth they were. The body was terribly mutilated…the stiffness of the limbs was not marked, but was evidently commencing… the throat was dissevered deeply;  the incision through the skin were jagged and reached right round the neck…On the wooden paling between the yard in question and the next, smears of blood, corresponding to where the head of the deceased lay, were to be seen. These were about 14 inches from the ground, and immediately above the part where the blood from the neck lay… the instrument used at the throat and abdomen was the same. It must have been a very sharp knife with a thin narrow blade, and must have been at least 6 in. to 8 in. in length, probably longer… the injuries could not have been inflicted by a bayonet or a sword bayonet. They could have been done by such an instrument as a medical man used for post-mortem purposes, but the ordinary surgical cases might not contain such an instrument. Those used by the slaughtermen, well ground down, might have caused them… the knives used by those in the leather trade would not be long enough in the blade. There were indications of anatomical knowledge… the deceased had been dead at least two hours, and probably more; but it was right to mention that it was a fairly cool morning, and that the body would be more apt to cool rapidly from its having lost a great quantity of blood. There was no evidence…of a struggle having taken place… the deceased entered the yard alive… A handkerchief was round the throat of the deceased… it was not tied on after the throat was cut.”

Around.6:40am the ambulance had arrived and Dr Phillips ordered the body to be taken to the Whitechapel Workhouse Infirmary Mortuary in Eagle St off of Old Montague St. As the body was being removed, the contents of Annie’s pocket, which had been cut, were discovered at her feet: A folded piece of coarse muslin, a comb, and a pocket hair comb in a case. (Dr Phillips felt the items were arranged/placed.) Dr Phillips and Insp Chandler then searched the area, finding an envelope piece with the Royal Sussex Regiment crest, the letter “M” in a man’s handwriting, letters “SP,” the number “2,” and the postmark “London, 23 August, 1888” containing the 2 pills laying by her head; A wet leather apron drying on the water tap 2’ from the body; A basin of clean water resting beneath the water tap; 6 spots of blood on the back wall, near where Annie’s head had lain, were located about 18" off the ground and ranged in size from that of six pence to that of a pin point; About 14" off the ground, near the position of Annie’s head, were clotted patches and smears of blood on the pailings of the still-intact fence; No blood stains were found in the passageway, in the rest of the house, in the street, or in the adjoining yards; An empty nail box and a piece of flat steel were found in the yard.

News of the murder had spread, and Sergeant Edward Badham was met by several hundred people as he conveyed the body to the mortuary. Around 7:00am, Sergeant William Thick, Sergeant Leach, and other detectives arrived at Hanbury St. Insp Frederick Abberline was informed of the murder by telegram. At 7:00am Robert Mann received Annie’s body at the mortuary. Around 7:02am Insp Chandler arrived at the mortuary. The body was still on the ambulance, and he took a description of Annie’s clothing. Insp Chandler then left the mortuary, leaving Police Constable Barnes in charge of the body. At 7:10am Sgt Thick arrived at the mortuary and took Annie’s description. Around 7:30am Simmons was taken to the mortuary and immediately recognized Annie, noting that she had on 3 rings when she left the lodging house. Later in the morning Donovan identified the body as Annie Siffey.

It wasn’t until 10:00am that Amelia Palmer read the description of the latest murder victim in the newspaper. She went to a police station, believing she knew the murdered woman. One hour and a half later, she was taken to the mortuary and identified the body as Annie Chapman, (aka Dark Annie). That day, Emmanuel Delbast Violenia of Hanbury St informed police that he had witnessed a man and a woman quarrelling early that morning, and that the man had threatened to stick the woman with a knife. In the afternoon Holland went to the Commercial Street Police Station to report the conduct of the officer at the Spitalfields Market, whom he informed of the murder.

Around 2:00pm Dr Phillips arrived at the mortuary to conduct the post-mortem and found that the body had already been stripped, partially washed, and laid on the table waiting for him. The clothes were tossed into a corner except for the neckerchief which was still around the neck. (The Clerk to the Parish Guardians ordered two nurses, Mary Simonds and Francis Wright, to lay out the body. This was done without police consent.)

Report following the post mortem examination:“…There was a bruise over the right temple. On the upper eyelid there was a bruise, and there were two distinct bruises, each the size of a man’s thumb, on the forepart of the top of the chest. The stiffness of the limbs was now well marked. There was a bruise over the middle part of the bone of the right hand. There was an old scar on the left of the frontal bone. The stiffness was more noticeable on the left side, especially in the fingers, which were partly closed. There was an abrasion over the ring finger, with distinct markings of a ring or rings. The throat had been severed as before described. the incisions into the skin indicated that they had been made from the left side of the neck. There were two distinct clean cuts on the left side of the spine. They were parallel with each other and separated by about half an inch. The muscular structures appeared as though an attempt had made to separate the bones of the neck. There were various other mutilations to the body,… that they occurred subsequent to the death of the woman, and to the large escape of blood from the division of the neck.

The deceased was far advanced in disease of the lungs and membranes of the brain, but they had nothing to do with the cause of death. The stomach contained little food, but there was not any sign of fluid. There was no appearance of the deceased having taken alcohol, but there were signs of great deprivation… she had been badly fed… The injuries were certainly not self-inflicted. The bruises on the face were evidently recent, especially about the chin and side of the jaw, but the bruises in front of the chest and temple were of longer standing - probably of days… the person who cut the deceased throat took hold of her by the chin, and then commenced the incision from left to right… it was highly probable that a person could call out, but with regard to an idea that she might have been gagged he could only point to the swollen face and the protruding tongue, both of which were signs of suffocation.

The abdomen had been entirely laid open: the intestines, severed from their mesenteric attachments, had been lifted out of the body and placed on the shoulder of the corpse; whilst from the pelvis, the uterus and its appendages with the upper portion of the vagina and the posterior two thirds of the bladder, had been entirely removed. No trace of these parts could be found and the incisions were cleanly cut, avoiding the rectum, and dividing the vagina low enough to avoid injury to the cervix uteri. Obviously the work was that of an expert- of one, at least, who had such knowledge of anatomical or pathological examinations as to be enabled to secure the pelvic organs with one sweep of the knife, which must therefore must have at least 5 or 6 inches in length, probably more… the instrument, like the one which divided the neck, had been of a very sharp character. The mode in which the knife had been used seemed to indicate great anatomical knowledge.

He… himself could not have performed all the injuries he described, even without a struggle, under a quarter of an hour. If he had down it in a deliberate way such as would fall to the duties of a surgeon it probably would have taken him the best part of an hour.”

About 2:30pm Edward Stanley, having heard from a shoeblack that Annie had been murdered, turned up at Crossingham’s. Upon verification of the story, he left without another word. That night Albert Cadosch informed the police of what he knew after he returned from work.

The following day, Sunday September 9th, Annie’s brother, Fountain Hamilton Smith, identified the body as that of his sister. On Monday September 10th,  c8:00am John Pizer was taken into custody at his Mulberry St home by Sgt Thick and several other officers. “You are just the man I want,” said Sgt Thick, who thought Pizer and “Leather Apron” (and the murderer) were all the same person. “Mother, he has got me,” replied Pizer. Pizer was then taken to the Leman Street Police Station. That same day, at 10:00am it was the first day of the Chapman inquest, conducted by Coroner Wynne Edwin Baxter at the Working Lad’s Institute. The jury viewed the corpse at the mortuary in Montague St. The inquest adjourned until Wednesday, September 12th.

The following day, Tuesday September 11th, at 1:00pm Emmanuel Delbast Violenia was taken to the Leman Street Police Station to view a line-up of twelve, predominantly Jewish, men. From which, he “unhesitatingly identified” Pizer as Leather Apron and as the man he had seen quarrelling with a woman on the morning of Annie’s death, but at 8:00pm Violenia was reprimanded for wasting the police’s time when, after 3 hours of continued questioning, Violenia contradicted himself “over and over again” and seemed too anxious to view the corpse, convincing the police that Violenia had fabricated the story in order to see the body. Around c.9:30pm Pizer was released from Custody. On Wednesday September 12th, Mrs Long made her statement to the police and identified Annie’s body as the woman she had seen. The inquest was resumed on its thirds day on September 13th.

Annie Chapman was buried on Friday, 14 September, 1888. At 7:00am, a hearse, supplied by a Hanbury Street Undertaker, H. Smith, went to the Whitechapel Mortuary. Annie’s body was placed in a black-draped elm coffin and was then driven to Harry Hawes, a Spitalfields Undertaker who arranged the funeral, at 19 Hunt Street. At 9:00am, the hearse (without mourning coaches) took Annie’s body to City of London Cemetery (Little Ilford) at Manor Park Cemetery, Sebert Road, Forest Gate, London, E12, where she was buried at (public) grave 78, square 148. Annie’s relatives, who paid for the funeral, met the hearse at the cemetery, and, by request, kept the funeral a secret and were the only ones to attend. The black-covered elm coffin bore the words “Annie Chapman, died Sept. 8, 1888, aged 48 years.”  

On September 19th it took place the 4th day of Annie’s inquest. Wednesday September 26th, 1888 was the last day of her inquest. Baxter summarised the case, saying: “…the uterus has been removed. The body has not been dissected, but the injuries have been made by some one who had considerable anatomical skill and knowledge. There are no meaningless cuts. It was done by one who knew where to find what he wanted, what difficulties he would have to contend against, and how he should use his knife, so as to abstract the organ without injury to it. No unskilled person could have known where to find it, or have recognised it when it was found. For instance, no mere slaughterer of animals could have carried out these operations. It must have been some one accustomed to the post-mortem room… I must mention a fact which at the same time proves the assistance which publicity and the newspaper press afford in the detection of crime. Within a few hours of the issue of the morning papers containing a report of the medical evidence given at the last sitting of the Court, I received a communication from an officer of one of our great medical schools, that they had information which might or might not have a distinct bearing on our inquiry. I attended at the first opportunity, and was told by the sub-curator of the Pathological Museum that some months ago an American had called on him, and asked him to procure a number of specimens of the organ that was missing in the deceased. He stated his willingness to give œ20 for each, and explained that his object was to issue an actual specimen with each copy of a publication on which he was then engaged. Although he was told that his wish was impossible to be complied with, he still urged his request. He desired them preserved, not in spirits of wine, the usual medium, but in glycerine, in order to preserve them in a flaccid condition, and he wished them sent to America direct. It is known that this request was repeated to another institution of a similar character. Now, is it not possible that the knowledge of this demand may have incited some abandoned wretch to possess himself of a specimen. It seems beyond belief that such inhuman wickedness could enter into the mind of any man, but unfortunately our criminal annals prove that every crime is possible… His anatomical skill carries him out of the category of a common criminal, for his knowledge could only have been obtained by assisting at post-mortems, or by frequenting the post-mortem room. Thus the class in which search must be made, although a large one, is limited…” A verdict of wilful murder against a person or persons unknown was entered.

Aftermath

On Saturday October 6th, the British Medical Journal published the following report in response to Baxter’s summation: “It is true that enquiries were made at one or two medical schools early last year by a foreign physician, who was “spending some time in London, as to the possibility of securing certain parts of the body for the purpose of scientific investigation.” No large sum, however, was offered. The person in question was a physician of the highest reputability and exceedingly well accredited to this country by the best authorities in his own, and he left London fully 18 months ago. There was never any real foundation for the hypothesis, and the information communicated, which was not at all of the nature the public has been led to believe, was due to the erroneous interpretation by a minor official of a question which he had overheard and to which a negative reply was given. This theory may be dismissed, and is, we believe, no longer entertained by its author.”

Chapman’s grave no longer exists; it has since been buried over.

Photos: Whitechapel Murders Wordpress, Jack the Ripper Tour, Whitechapel Jack & Retrocards

***

To know more:

ACKROYD, Peter et al. (2008): Jack the Ripper and the East End. 

ALEXANDER, G. (2015): Jack The Ripper: Case Solved?

BEGG, Paul (2003): Jack the Ripper: The Definitive History.  

BEGG, Paul (2013): Jack The Ripper. The Facts. 

BEGG, Paul; FIDO, Martin & SKINNER, Keith (1996): The Jack The Ripper A – Z. The Ultimate Guide to the Ripper Mystery. 

CHISHOLM, Alexander; DiGRAZIA, Christopher-Michael & YOST, Dave (2002): The News from Whitechapel: Jack the Ripper in the “Daily Telegraph”. 

CULLEN, Tom (1965): Autumn of Terror: Jack the Ripper, his crimes and times. 

EDDLESTON, John J. (2001): Jack the Ripper: An Encyclopedia. 

EVANS, Stewart P. & RUMBELOW, Donald (2006): Jack the Ripper: Scotland Yard Investigates.  EVANS, Stewart P. & SKINNER, Keith (2000): The Ultimate Jack the Ripper Sourcebook: An Illustrated Encyclopedia. 

FROST, Rebecca (2018): The Ripper’s Victims in Print. The Rethoric Portrayals Since 1929. 

HINTON, Bob (1998): From Hell. Jack the Ripper Mistery. 

HODGSON, Peter (2011): Jack the Ripper. Through the Mists of Time. 

HUME, Robert (2019): The hidden lives of Jack the Ripper’s victims. 

JAKUBOWSKI, Maxim & BRAUND, Nathan (1999): The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper. 

JONES, Richard (2008): Jack the Ripper. The Casebook. 

MAGELLAN, Karyo (2005): By Ear and Eyes: The Witechapel Murders, Jack the Ripper and the Murder of Mary Kelly.

MARRIOTT, Trevor (2005): Jack the Ripper: The 21st Century Investigation.  MATTHEWS, Rupert (2013): Jack the Ripper’s Street of Terror: Life during the reign of Victorian London’s most brutal killer. 

PRIESTLEY, Mick P. (2018): One Autumn in Whitechapel. 

RANDALL, Anthony J. (2013): Jack the Ripper. Blood lines. 

RUBENHOLD, Hallie (2019): The Untold Lives of the Women killed by Jack the Ripper / The Lives of Jack the Ripper’s Women. 

RUMBELOW, Donald (1975): Jack The Ripper: The Complete Casebook.

RUMBELOW, Donald (2004): The Complete Jack the Ripper: Fully Revised and Updated. 

SHELDEN, Neal E. (2013): Mary Jane Kelly and the Victims of Jack the Ripper: The 125th Anniversary. 

SHELDEN STUBBINGS, Neal (2017): The Victims of Jack the Ripper. 

SKINNER, Keith & EVANS, Stewart P. (2000): The Ultimate Jack The Ripper Sourcebook. 

SUGDEN, Philip (1994, 2002): The Complete History of Jack the Ripper. 

TROW, Meirion James (2009): Jack the Ripper: Quest for a Killer.  TROW, Meirion James (2012): Hunting Jack: Abberline and the Whitechapel murders. 

WHITEHEAD, Mark; RIVETT, Miriam (2006): Jack the Ripper. 

WHITTINGTON-EGAN, Richard (1975, 2015): Jack the Ripper. The definitive Casebook.  WOOD, Simon Daryl (2015): Deconstructing Jack: The Secret History of the Whitechapel Murders. 

Wikipedia

Casebook - Annie Chapman

(Wiki) Casebook - Annie Chapman

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s timeline

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s inquest transcription

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s messages forum

Casebook - Annie Chapman’s discussion forum

Find a Grave

JTR Forums - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper 1888 - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper 1888 - The Murder of Annie Chapman

Ripper Vision - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper Tour - Hanbury Street

Jack the Ripper Tour - RIP Annie Chapman

Whitechapel Jack - Annie Chapman

Jack The Ripper - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper map - Annie Chapman

The Jack the Ripper Tour - Annie Chapman

The Jack the Ripper wakl - Annie Chapman

Jack the Ripper blogspot - Annie Chapman

#Annie Chapman #investigation #1888 #1880s #Wynne Edwin Baxter #victim #Tim Donovan #Elizabeth Long #Major Henry Smith #albert cadosch #John Pizer #Doctor George Bagster Phillips #Inspector Edmund John James Reid #Amelia Palmer #Sergeant William Thick #Superintendent Donald Sutherland Swanson #Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline #manor park cemetery & crematorium #Dorset Street #Hanbury Street #29 Handbury Street

[dazingsky]

Hide and go tag (Reddie)

hellO! I had so many great plans for this but it didin’t turn out how i wanted, sorrrrrry? But i’m working on other stuff so!!!!

Summary: RIchie and the losers play hide and go tag, when Richie decides to do something he always promised himself. 

Words: 1,668

Please leave me requests!!!!! and enjoy 

Summers were always fun. The losers club spent most of it at the quarry, spending hours together. They played games, and swam, and just generally spent time together. It was their favourite time of the year.

Most people grew out of childhood habits, like spending hours at the quarry. Hell, most people grew out of childhood friends. But not the losers. They were still children at heart, they loved going to the quarry, and spending time together more than anything else.

This was what Richie was thinking about after Ben had suggested a game of Hide and Go Tag. “We’re sixteen, Ben.” Stanley had pointed out. Ben didn't seem to care, and soon enough Bev was on board, and was pulling her friends up, claiming the game would be fun.

And then they were in an intense game of Hide and Go Tag, although Richie wasn’t as interested as everyone else. So around 3 games in, he was caught first. Everyone met back at the ‘meeting tree’, for Mike to declare that Richie was on.

Richie wasn’t fully paying attention, he was looking at Eddie. Eddie was laughing at something Bill had said. He had his head thrown back, his eyes squinted shut, and a giant smile on his face. His body shook with laughter, and god, Richie was in love.

Richie realised, he had a crush on Eddie, when he was 9. He didn’t know he liked Eddie, he just knew he had different feelings about Eddie, than he did about the other members of his friend group. Richie finally realised his feelings were feelings when he was 12. But he never said anything.

If he said something, their friendship would be ruined. Eddie had talked about girls before. Richie knew he didn’t have a chance. He wished he did though. He’d kill for it. Even just the chance to kiss Eddie. He always promised himself, if he saw the opportunity, he’d take it.

Richie’s thoughts were interrupted, by a hand clapping his shoulder. He blinked, nodding as Mike asked him if he was okay.

“I’m fine.” Richie lied, looking around, noticing the rest of the group had disappeared. “I gotta go find the guys.” He said, ducking away from Mike and walking into the forest, in order to find his friends.

He stepped over sticks, and twigs, walking slowly, his thought’s drifting back to Eddie

Richie and Eddie hadn’t properly talked all week. Richie had been busy working at the cinema. He had taken on extra shifts to afford food, considering his parents weren’t interested in treating him like a person. And Eddie had been away for half the week. He had ben visiting his cousins. It was Ms K’s way to get her son away from Richie. Richie and Eddie knew it. Eddie’s mother despised Richie. It was probably because Richie was reckless, and looked a bit wild.

Richie, once again, was brought out of his thoughts. This time by a noise. He looked up, and saw it. The small hut. The losers had stumbled upon it years ago. There’s nothing inside, and it has a small window in the middle of the wall that faced the door. Richie approached the small hut, hoping it was one of the losers in there, and not a stranger.

Richie walked over to the small door, pushing it open, and looking inside. Eddie was stood in the corner, holding his hands up to his eyes. Richie opened his mouth to ask what Eddie was doing, but closed it again, walking over to Eddie slowly.

“Please tell me you’re Richie..” Eddie said, without removing his hands from his eyes. Richie laughed loudly, shaking his head. Eddie removed his hands from his eyes, rolling them instead. “How’d you find me that fast?”

“You always hide here.” Richie shrugged. “It’s like your usual place.” Richie examined Eddie. He was wearing teal, knee length shorts, and a pink t-shirt. He looked adorable. At least that’s what Richie thought.

“Well, first off, that’s a lie..” Eddie said, slowly. Richie looked back at Eddie’s face. There was a small smirk forming on his face. “And you still gotta catch me.” And with that Richie dove, trying to ‘catch’ Eddie, but Eddie had already ran to the other side of the hut, which caused Richie to bash into the wall. Richie glared over at Eddie, who grinned widely. Richie rolled his eyes, walking over to Eddie slowly.

“Missed me, Missed me,” Eddie began singing at Richie, sticking his tongue out. “Now you have to Kiss meeee.” Richie’s mind instantly blanked. Everything he had been thinking about previously left his head. He only had one thought. If he ever saw the opportunity to kiss Eddie, he would.

So Richie took another couple of steps forward, and before Eddie could ask what Richie was doing, Richie was kissing him. Richie had his hand on Eddie’s waist, and was his other was on the back of Eddie’s neck, in Richie’s vague attempts of pulling the boy closer to him. And just as Richie was about to pull away, he felt Eddie begin to kiss back. And their mouth’s seemed to fit together perfectly. And it was amazing.

Richie pulled away slowly, looking down at Eddie. Richie stared at Eddie, slightly out of breath, because apparently he had been holding his breath in anticipation. Richie could feel a blush creeping up his neck, still staring at Eddie.

Eddie was blushing as well. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes seemed wide, in surprise. Richie waited for Eddie to say something. God, Richie wanted Eddie to say anything at all. And he did.

“Y-you kissed me..” Eddie said, slowly., as if trying to understand the situation.

“You told me to.” Richie explained, looking down at his feet, slightly. He didn’t want to make eye contact with Eddie anymore. He wanted to hide. He slowly moved his hand away from Eddie’s neck, but Eddie put his hand on Richie’s arm, stopping him from removing it fully.

Richie looked back up at him, biting his lip. “Kiss me again.” Eddie said quickly.

“Seriously?” Richie asked quickly. Eddie rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, and pulling Richie down to his height, to kiss him again. Richie kissed back, and honestly, Richie could swear he felt fireworks. Richie didn’t think he could ever feel this good. He always seemed to have a problem going on. Everything always seemed to be messy in his life. But, now, everything was perfect. Everything seemed to be in perfect order.

Eddie pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against Richie’s. “I didn’t think you liked me.” Eddie said, breathlessly. His chest was rising and falling erratically, and Richie couldn't help but grin as he watched it.

“How could I not, Eds?” Richie laughed, breathlessly. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie replied, still grinning up at Richie. Richie didn’t think he had ever felt this happy. He didn’t know if he would ever be this happy again.

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s smaller frame. Richie just wanted to hold Eddie. And he was so content whilst doing it. He smiled even wider when he felt Eddie wrap his arms around Richie’s waist. Richie kissed Eddie’s head quickly.

“I bet they’re hiding. Tryna play a prank on us.” Richie heard from outside. It was Mike’s voice, and he was obviously talking to the others. Richie bit his lip, pulling away from Eddie, stepping away slowly. Eddie watched Richie, sighing quietly.

The door opened, and the losers crowed into the small hut. Stanley looked between the two boys, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Why are you guys in here?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Richie tried to catch me, and banged his head off the wall.” Eddie shrugged casually, and Richie was thankful. He wouldn’t have minded if Eddie had told the boys about the kissing. But he liked the fact that it was their private moment now.

“Idiot.” Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go, it looks like it’s about to rain.” Richie and Eddie nodded, slowly, and followed the others out of the small hut.

Richie and Eddie fell into step, walking slightly slower than the rest of the group. Eddie kept smiling at Richie, and Richie kept grinning back, when the rest of the group wasn’t looking. Mike said goodbye to everyone, walking down a side road before they got back to the streets the rest of the group lived on.

Bill was the next to bid farewell to the group. Stanley next. And then Ben and Bev announced they were going to get food. They asked Richie and Eddie if they wanted to join, but both boys declined. The couple had shrugged, said goodbye, and walked in the opposite direction of Richie and Eddie’s homes.

Richie watched as the couple left, smiling slightly as Beverly laced her fingers through Ben’s. Richie looked back at Eddie, who was also looking at Bev and Ben. Richie stared at Eddie for a second, before Eddie looked back at him, a small smile playing on his lips.Richie wanted to kiss those lips. That’s all he could think about, as he watched the boy.

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asked, still smiling. His eyes seemed to sparkle, making his entire face light up.

“Kissing you, again.” Richie admitted, still watching Eddie. He wanted to see his reaction. And he did. A bright smile, brighter than the one before, appeared on his face.

“Really?” Eddie questioned. Richie almost laughed. Almost.

“Of course.” Richie smirked, smugly, watching the blush wash over the smaller boys face.

Eddie leaned forward, on his tippy toes slightly, and kissed Richie. It was soft and quick, and it made Richie grin, again, and blush. He was doing that a lot today. Grinning. All because of Eddie.

Eddie was grinning too. Which made Richie even happier. “C’mon, Eds.” Richie said, swinging his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “Let’s go get some pizza.”

#Richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #fluff #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #stanley uris #it #it 2017 #it movie #it (2017) #requests #one shot

[bohemienne-221b]

A thousand kisses

(a little bit inspired by this super cute fanart )

The low chattering and quiet laughters filled the air, the atmosphere of the tavern warm and welcoming after a long day spent in the woods. Gaston sat at the bar with a nice tankard of fresh beer in hand, his eyes fixed on the other side of the room.

He knew he was staring, and he knew he probably had his bellicose impulses written all over his face, but he couldn't help himself.

He took another long gulp and finished his ale, slamming the empty mug on the table. In the joyous space nobody seemed to notice his mood's shift, and that annoyed Gaston even more.

Even worse, was that the only person he wanted to notice was currently humming a tune surrounded by a little merry crowd, too far away for Gaston's  liking. If looks could kill, then that little boy Stanley who was plastering himself all over Lefou would be already lying still on the floor. Together with Lefou of course, who was doing absolutely nothing to avoid the attentions.

The problem here was that Lefou looked simply too gorgeous for his own good. Curls soft and loose, cheeks flushed with an endearing shade of pink, red silken ribbon, blue waistcoat and that loose white shirt with lots of frills that Gaston knew was his friend's favourite. Stanley wasn't completely to blame after all, Gaston pondered, resting his head on one hand.

How dare Lefou go out looking so deliciously good?! Wasn't he aware of the effect he had on people? The effect he had on Gaston himself?! Aye, there's the rub, he thought bitterly.

Lefou wasn't aware. Lefou didn't have the faintest clue of the fire he could ignite in Gaston's mind and body  with not as much as a look, or a smile, or a move. Gaston longed for him.

Sometimes he just wanted to take his friend there and then and make sure he'd learn a lesson or two about provoking him. He would make clear to whom he belonged.

Gaston longed.

But he was good at hiding it. He never found it in him to make the first move. Because he was sure that Lefou wanted him too. Well, that was probably an understatement. But Lefou didn't seem to act upon it. Anyway,that didn't stop him from showering Gaston with praises and support every day. And sure as hell, it didn't stop Lefou from throwing himself into his arms and touching him at any given moment, or from giving Gaston that damned cheeky wink or that cocky smile full of promises...

Gaston took a deep breath and claimed his self-control again as he surreptitiously adjusted himself. He was about to call it a night, when someone grated on his nerves with a piercing shout.

"Yes, come on! The wine'll go down easier with a good ol' tune!"

Someone slurred aloud, and then Stanley threw an arm over Lefou's shoulders announcing "Lefou will sing for us!",  followed by a toast and various cheering. Gaston glared and grinded his teeth. Stanley turned his head, eyed Gaston and smiled slyly at him. How dare that little-

“Chevaliers de la table ronde goûtons voir si le vin est bon”

Lefou's voice raised high and clear while everyone started to pound the familiar rhythm on the table, singing in choir with him.

“Goûtons voir oui oui oui”

Lefou stood and clapped his hands in time with the quick succession of notes.

“Goûtons voir non non non”

Now, stomping his foot instead. And soon the drinks were forgotten on the table as men and women improvised a dance, quick footsteps, clapping and twirls all around, Lefou caught in the middle of it as he kept on singing. Gaston stared at him like transfixed. Lefou singing was always a vision, carefree and happy, he could never help a little dance and Gaston's breath was taken away by this display, gorgeous and cute at once. He remembered when a little Lefou was still learning the song, how he always compelled Gaston to sit through the endless repeat of lines and to sing with him afterwards.

“J’en boirai cinq ou six bouteilles une femme sur les genoux”  

Lefou then twirled and locked eyes with Gaston. He grinned and winked at him.

Gaston blushed.

“Une femme oui oui oui

une femme non non non

une femme sur les genoux”

Gaston turned around to face the bar in front of him, showing his back to his little cheeky devil there. He had to regain his composure damn it, it won't do if they became aware of his flushed state; he could feel his blood roaring in his ears, the wild beat of his heart erasing all the other sounds; he felt the tantalizing warmth pooling in his belly and he wanted so damn much.

This whole situation was rapidly becoming unbearable. What on earth was a good man supposed to do to put an end to this torture? Gaston snorted and laughed all by himself.

"That's it. I'm killing him."

 ***

“Gaston wait! Where are we going?”

Lefou was almost running to keep up with Gaston’s hurried pace. Not one moment ago he was finishing the song together with his drink, now he was being dragged outside the tavern and in the dark streets, Gaston’s back the only thing he could see as the man took Lefou by the arm with an iron grip. He didn’t mind going out with him, but some kind of explanation would have been nice. Gaston looked upset.

“Somewhere private.”

Gaston reply was a low grumble that made Lefou feel hot all over.

Gaston wasn’t quite the mystery guy though, as ‘somewhere private’ was indeed the hunter’s own house. They entered and Gaston slammed the door shut behind them, and without giving him the time to turn and ask what this was about, he had Lefou pinned to the wall, his hairy forearm at the base of his throat.

Lefou swallowed as Gaston lowered his head and towered over him. He struggled to understand what was actually going on here. Yes, he had two or maybe three drinks that were clouding his mind a little bit, but Gaston was acting on impulse and when that was the case … who honestly could guess what his plans were?

“Gaston, what are you doing?” he kept his voice low, Gaston’s face was only merely inches away from his own and god he could smell him and that was too much.

“…Let me go?” and farewell to what was supposed to be an authoritative command.

Gaston closed the brief distance between them and  buried his face in Lefou’s hair. He didn’t release Lefou’s neck. His grip was dangerously close to be too tight on his throat, and Lefou felt already inebriated by Gaston’s closeness, his every sense so full of him.

“I won’t let go of you anymore, Lefou.”

Gaston didn’t seem to be joking. Lefou gasped a barely audible “what” as Gaston  pressed his body completely against his own, leaving him to shudder against his toned torso, overwhelmed. Gaston hummed and Lefou was able to feel the vibrations on his own chest, the pleasing warmth in his southern parts now turned into an inferno of barely concealed desire.

"You... going out...looking like that..."

Gaston growled into his curls, every word punctuated with a kiss. Lefou's head was spinning. He could only hold on to Gaston's shoulders and feel his muscles shift.

"Always...tempting me... trying my patience..."

Gaston moved to his temple, leaving a trail of tiny kisses, his lips somehow both aggressive and so very soft. Just like Gaston himself,  Lefou supposed.

Then Gaston pushed his thigh between Lefou’s legs and removed his arm from his neck; Lefou gulped for air, drawing deep and steady breaths that rapidly transformed into gasps as Gaston’s hand gripped his ass and willed him to wrap his leg around his waist. Gaston intertwined his other hand in the tangle of his hair and pulled, baring his neck.

“With your pretty hair… that sweet flush on your skin…”

Gaston spoke on his neck, dragging his nose and breathing him in; Lefou was finding it harder and harder to focus on the words that left Gaston’s mouth.

“Not to mention the way you look at me.”

He licked a long line towards Lefou’s jaw line, raising goose bumps in its wake, and then started lavishing his neck with open mouthed kisses that made Lefou’s limbs feel like jelly. Gaston was bearing his whole weight, if it weren’t for his powerful grip he’d be sliding on the wall to end on the floor dissolved in a puddle.

Gaston covered every inch of his throat with kisses, licking and nipping where he had his hand just moments ago. He lingered on his pulse, just pressing his lips there, still; Lefou could hear the wild beat of his heart filling the room, loud as his breathing, and in the silence he realized he was making tiny desperate sounds too, his hands tight on Gaston’s chest.

“Those cheeky winks… the casual  touches…”

He bit and pulled the soft skin there and Lefou couldn’t suppress an high pitched cry as well as the more and more obvious rolling motion of his hips against his friend’s thigh. Gaston kept on sucking and kissing, wanting to leave a visible mark.

Then deft fingers undid Lefou’s ribbon and the strings of the linen shirt, and Gaston pulled to bare more skin, his wicked mouth tracing a path of sweet torture in his chest, alternating tiny soft kisses with open-mouthed ones, and bites and nips. He didn’t leave a single spot of Lefou’s skin unblemished, and wherever Gaston put his mouth Lefou felt tingles of pleasure that took his breath away all over again. When he found a nipple Lefou cried out loud and arched his back, Gaston tightening his hold on his ass. He tormented the rosy bud with his lips and teeth, not stopping until it was swollen and red, leaving other kisses all around it.

"You being all... flirty with that little boy." A kiss on his shoulder blade.

"I bet it was just." A kiss on his Adam’s apple.

"To gain." Two kisses on his jaw line.

"My attention." A series of light kisses behind his ear.

Lefou whimpered. Having Gaston kissing him everywhere but where he longed for it the most was a torment.

"Maybe I should punish you." He licked the shell of his ear.

Lefou felt another strong wave of arousal shake his body, Gaston's voice low and sinful in his ear, full of promises and danger and it was intoxicating. He felt Gaston smile on his skin, the man starting a maddening roll of hips against him. Lefou didn't even try to refrain his broken moan this time; how could he, when he felt that Gaston was hard for him. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Gaston kissed his brow, once, twice, three times—the utter sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast with his harsh words and sensual movements.

"You know what happens when someone provokes me, Lefou." Gaston gave a sudden powerful thrust and gently kissed his hairline.

"Gaston—aaaahhh... please …”

"I should be killing you in this exact moment" he whispered, a breath away from Lefou's lips.

Lefou lost himself in the dark abyss that were Gaston's eyes. They seemed to touch his very soul. Lefou at last managed to reply, although it was more of a breathy sigh.

"You're kissing me." The words almost were dropped on Gaston's now swollen lips.

Gaston remained silent, pinning him with the force of his stare only. Then a simple "Yes."

A kiss on the tip of Lefou's nose.

And more on his cheeks, his eyelids, his eyebrows, his chin.  Carefully avoiding his lips and he couldn't stand it anymore!

"Will you kiss me?" he demanded, while Gaston returned his attention to one of his sideburns. Lefou heard him snort.

"I am kissing you."

If Lefou wasn't so out of his mind from pleasure already, he would be laughing and pushing the man away. The whole thing was maddening and a bit ridiculous too.

"No, you're teasing."

His hands roamed on Gaston's back and arms, appreciating the bulge of those biceps. Gaston grinned with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

"You had it coming, mon petit."

Gaston pressed his lips on the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, fine. You succeeded." Lefou hissed as Gaston rolled leisurely his hips.

The man lifted an eyebrow.

"You're actually killing me right now. Will you please...?" he whined.

"With kisses?! Now now, that's a bit dramatic dear." And the bastard was now laughing with gusto!

Well. Lefou knew how to shut him up.

He tilted his head and closed the distance between their lips. Gaston's laugh died in his throat, the man now absolutely still.

Gaston's lips were warm and tingled him, they tasted of ale and of Lefou's own scent. He didn't stay still for long though, for he bit Lefou's lower lip, pulling and demanding access into his mouth. Lefou moaned and the sound was swallowed by Gaston's hungry mouth. His tongue explored and licked behind his teeth, tasting and battling with Lefou's own tongue in a very erotic way.

Their first kiss was passionate and desperate, Lefou's whole world reduced to Gaston's hungry mouth upon his.

He wanted it to never end, but eventually they parted to draw uneven breaths, foreheads touching.

Gaston urged him to lock both legs on his waist, then adjusted his grip on his ass and pulled him from the wall, effortlessly carrying him towards what Lefou knew was his bedroom.

"I want you. Now." Gaston basically growled to him.

"Yes. Anything." he whimpered.

Gaston put him gently on his bed; Lefou backed up against the pillows as Gaston kneeled between his legs.

His face was flushed red and Lefou swallowed thickly as he eyed the prominent bulge tenting his friend's breeches.

"I've wanted you for so long."

Lefou closed his eyes and committed these words to memory. He felt a lump closing his throat and tears welling in his eyes. He scarcely could believe this was really happening, never he would have thought... he had to tell him.

"All my life—"

He stopped, voice breaking. He took a deep breath and felt Gaston's hand caressing his cheek.

"Shhhh. I know."

Lefou tried again, overwhelmed.

"But—I didn't know... I couldn't—"

Gaston's thumb was stroking soothing circles on his cheekbone. "I know."

The next thing Lefou was aware of was Gaston's body pressing him in the furry blanket and kissing him again, sucking on his lower lip. Lefou tugged at the man's shirt, and Gaston leaned back to pull it out and throw it away. Lefou was greeted with bronzed skin, toned muscles, hairy chest. He was gaping, but he couldn't help himself.

Gaston smirked. He leaned down and attacked his neck, his fingers undoing the waistcoat buttons and pulling the hem of the shirt free.

"Let me see you." He murmured between kisses and Lefou helped him getting rid of his layers. Gaston's hands wandered on his chest, his flanks and his belly, groping and squeezing and Lefou could swear he was in a sort of a trance.

"Gaston," he breathed "please".

That seemed to be the only word left in his vocabulary, but Gaston understood nonetheless. He kissed and licked at his belly button, Lefou moaning and gripping tightly at the blanket. Gaston groaned and without any ceremony ripped his breeches and undergarments off his legs. He continued down his path and buried his nose into Lefou's groin, inhaling and then kissing his inner thigh; suddenly he licked Lefou's hard and flushed cock and took the tip into his mouth. Lefou cried out.

He hummed pleased, and Lefou felt he was close already. He reached down and buried his hand into Gaston hair, gasping. "Gaston—"

Gaston released him and undid his own trousers, stroking himself briefly. Lefou was panting and swimming into sensation, every nerve alight in his body. He heard some cluttering and the dip of the mattress beside his head, then two slicked and cold fingers were massaging his hole and Gaston breached into him.

Lefou clung to his friend's body like an anchor, and positively keened when Gaston brushed  his sweet spot. Gaston kissed him deep and long then, drinking all of his noises. He made quick work of stretching him open and he pushed Lefou's legs wide open, slicking fast his erection and positioning himself at Lefou's entrance.

Gaston stroked his thighs, stretching the moment in anticipation, looking ...lovingly  at Lefou.

"So beautiful." he said, voice strained, flames of passion in his eyes.

He waited and Lefou nodded his assent.

Gaston pushed into him with a swift motion, hard, and Lefou gasped and cried his name. Gaston remained still, giving him the time to adjust at the sensation, stroking his legs, his belly, his nipples. The stretch burned, but the discomfort was quickly fading away, leaving room to a devastating pleasure. He nodded again and Gaston started moving. Gaston pulled out ever so slowly at first, then he pushed in hard and fast.

Lefou felt like he was drowning and still he wanted more. "Harder" he panted, and Gaston took his plea to heart.

He grabbed Lefou’s legs and put them over his shoulders, then he thrust forward again, Lefou almost folded in two, hard and so very deep. Lefou cried out, the new angle allowing Gaston’s cock to pound against his prostate at every thrust, and every time an explosion of colors burst behind his closed eyelids, leaving him barely aware of the stream of loud moans leaving his mouth.

Gaston kept on thrusting hard, his deep groans combining with Lefou’s ones and the creaking of the bed.

“Gaston I’m—“

Lefou felt the beginnings of his orgasm like a tide; Gaston balanced himself on one hand and with the other reached for Lefou’s cock. He stroked once, twice, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, kissing his temple and it was suddenly too much, an overload his senses couldn’t take anymore.

“Yes, that’s it my darling, come for me now.”

Gaston then brushed his wet tip and gave a powerful thrust and that was it.

The tidal wave came crashing down on him and a feel of ecstasy engulfed his whole being; he felt like floating and falling at once, all thoughts wiped out by pure sensation. He drifted in a sea of bliss, slowly opening his eyes and seeing Gaston over him, mouth agape, caught in the spasms of his own orgasm. Lefou twitched around him, and Gaston groaned, head thrown back, spilling inside of him.

 ***

 Gaston let himself fall onto Lefou, breathing heavily, heart beating fast, feeling sated and content.

Lefou was limp under him; he rolled on the side, slipping from his tight heat and he winced lightly. Lefou was flushed, his cheeks, chest and belly a delicious shade of pink. Covered in his own semen and Gaston’s release that was slipping slowly down his thigh. His hair was a halo around his head, and Gaston noticed now that they left his socks on and wasn’t that a pretty picture.

He traced a finger on his cheek, smiling smugly at seeing Lefou so thoroughly fucked and debauched and so completely out of it.

Lefou turned his face towards him, eyes bright with wonder and … something else.

Gaston caught his chin and kissed him on the mouth, Lefou opening up to him and his tongue pliant and sweet.

“Gaston …” he sighed his name, like a prayer on his lips. They locked eyes.

“You’re mine, Lefou.”

He needed to make that clear, with words adding to the various marks he left on his body. He hoped he had left one on his soul as well.

Lefou smiled that smile he had for him only and tucked his head under Gaston’s chin, hugging him close, demanding a cuddle. Gaston chuckled, and began stroking those ridiculously soft curls, pondering carefully his next words.

“You need to make it up to me, mon chéri.”

“For what?”

“The time we lost.”

His words hung in the air for awhile, and Gaston feared he revealed too much.

Of course it wasn’t Lefou’s fault alone, he played his part as well. He just hoped Lefou could read through the lines, like he always did with him.

Lefou kissed his pectorals and sighed softly.

Gaston swallowed. He was sure Lefou was feeling the wild beat of his heart.

“So, how can we fix that?” he murmured amused.

Gaston released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Just repay me with a thousand kisses.”

#gafou #gafou ficlet #or fanfiction #gafou fic #os #gaston x lefou #batb2017 #beauty and the beast #listen idk if this is fluff smut or crack #all of the above #a thousand kisses #catullus #yep #carme 5 #lefou is gay #gaston is bi #my fic #batb fanfic

[madminniefics]

Six months after graduating from Tulane University, Sadie Neal is on a one-way trip to Buffalo, New York to start her first real, big girl job with the local professional hockey team, the Buffalo Sabres. The problem? Sadie knows next to nothing about hockey. They use pucks, not balls. They wear skates, not cleats. And they play on ice, not grass. That’s it. How is she supposed to represent them on social media when she doesn’t even know what icing means outside of baking?

Louis Tomlinson (#91 / RW) is coming off a career high season (79 games, 20 goals, 30 assists, 50 total points) that he’s trying to recreate. The goal: Lord Stanley’s Cup. There’s a magic in the locker room that feels like it could be their year. He stays focused by keeping hockey and his personal life separate. Everyone knows that.

Everyone except Sadie.

Bright Eyes / chapter one

When Sadie got off the airplane, the freezing air blowing in from between the cracks of the jet way made all her little hairs stand on end. The breeze blew snow up from the ground, swirled it around the windows, before dropping it back to the concrete and starting over. She shivered, rubbing her bare hands together, as she walked to the baggage claim. She was a long, long way from home. It was almost a different country.

A long way from sun beating down on her skin, warming her entire body as she tilted her head towards it, welcoming the heat. A long way from bikini’s in November and shorts year-round. From sipping fruity drinks with your toes in the sand and sunglasses on your face. Did it even get warm in Buffalo?

What she wouldn’t do to be back home in the unbearable heat and humidity. Matter fact, what she wouldn’t do to be somewhere in the middle. Not too hot, not too cold. But noooo. Have an adventure, Sadie. Do something different, Sadie. Do it while you’re young, Sadie. If she could do the last six months over, she would. Was it too late to turn around and go back to New Orleans? Surely the Saints were hiring.

Her hot pink suitcase was easy to spot five minutes after the bags began dropping onto the conveyor belt. She set her light blue backpack down next to her leather duffle bag so she could wrangle her massive suitcase from the baggage platform. It had been a graduation gift from her momma and it was its first time she’d had a chance to use it.

Sadie pouted when she noticed the huge, black stain across the front of her suitcase. Brand new and already ruined. That’s why she hated flying. Humans weren’t meant to be all up in the sky like that. If they had been, people would have evolved to have wings.

Struggling to carry all her bags, she walked slowly towards the door that advertised taxis were waiting outside. Before she knew it, she was in the backseat zipping through the highway towards her hotel. According to an email she received from a ‘Harry Styles’ in human resources, the hotel the Buffalo Sabres were putting her up in for a week was in walking distance from the stadium and it was clean. The second part scared her a bit—to be real, the first part did because it was colder than ice cubes in January and she hated to walk in the cold—because she wasn’t trying to sleep in a dirty bed. Just thinking about what other people did in hotel beds made her want to gag.

She laid her head on the window as she watched the scenery speed by. The traffic was minimal, it was almost 10pm, and they made it to the hotel in less than 20 minutes. What she’d seen of the city before moving there was via the satellite option on Google Maps. So, not much. There was so much green space. It made her happy even though she knew it would all be covered in snow in a few weeks. What surprised her the most was that, at least in the area where her hotel was, was an actual city. It looked like any other city she’d been to. Maybe Buffalo wouldn’t be so bad.

“Thank you so much,” Sadie said as the taxi driver removed her bags from the trunk. He nodded at her before getting back in the car and speeding off. She took a deep breath, grabbed her bags, and walked into the lobby to check in.

There was a busy week ahead of her. So far on her to do list:

Find an apartment and move in within seven days

First day of real work

Learn hockey

Shouldn’t be hard for someone who graduated with honors…right?

///

In the morning, Sadie learned, the hard way, that she’d forgotten to leave the heater on. She huddled under the thin, cheap, hotel comforter for an extra half an hour trying to extract all the heat from its threads. That only left her shivering against cold blankets. At least she’d slept with socks on the night before; something she’d never done before in her life.

Once she got out of bed, though, Sadie cranked the heat as high as it would go (75-degrees) and took the hottest shower she’d ever taken. Her skin was still slightly pink as she walked into the offices in the bowels of KeyBank Center. The walk had been nearly 20 minutes from the hotel to the stadium, partially beneath a highway, which she didn’t consider “walking distance.” She added ‘Talk to Harry Styles about what ‘walking distance’ means’ onto her mental to-do list.

And, to top it all off, her toes were freezing thanks to a freak snowfall the night before. There was less than an inch on the ground and everyone was going about their normal business. Sadie was amazed. Back home, every store, school, and office would close. One inch meant road closures and, sometimes, the whole city shutting down. But in Buffalo, it was just another day. Sadie sighed and pushed her cold feet out of her mind. Before knocking on the door in front of her, she shook her head and replaced her disgruntled look with her signature smile.

The familiar face that appeared from behind the door made Sadie feel just the slightest bit better about her morning. Gabe Sanders, Marketing Director for the Buffalo Sabres, looked like he was having a worse morning than Sadie. She felt for him. She couldn’t imagine how long he’d been living in Buffalo, but she imagined if she had been living there for as long as he probably had she would have that same look on her face all the time. That ‘Why-am-I-here, what-am-I-doing-with-my-life’ type of look. All dead, red eyes, stubble, and bags under his eyes.

“Sadie, hey,” He said, punctuated by a large sigh. Sadie felt his breath on the exposed skin of her hands. She made a mental note to buy a pair of mittens. “Come on, I’ll show you to your cube.”

She struggled to keep from bouncing as she followed Gabe back into a room off the main corridor. There was a multitude of cubicles—too many to count—some with a head popping out, some not. It reminded Sadie of whack a mole. Gabe stopped next to a cubicle with a plastic plaque that read ‘H. Styles’ on the outside and knocked twice. Sitting in the chair was a man with short brown hair pushed back from his face, a white button up Oxford shirt, and brown khaki pants with some sort of brown, casual work shoe. So much brown.

“Harry, this is Sadie, it’s her first day. If you wanna, hook her up with her log in and stuff, I have a meeting,” Gabe said as soon as Harry turned around. “Let me know if you need anything, Sadie.”

She nodded and Gabe took off. She had trouble keeping her emotions off her face. He was just going to leave her like that? On her first day? She knew she sold herself on that Skype interview but…for real? Harry laughed at the anxious look on her face and she blinked.

“I’ll help you log in and direct you to Vic Stephens, one of the marketing assistants. She’ll be able to help you with all the other information you need.”

Sadie let out a breath in a whoosh. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, follow me,” He said, standing from his chair and walking two rows over to an empty cubicle with a plastic plaque that read ‘S. Neal’ on the outside. She bit her lip to keep from squealing. Baby’s first cubicle! She made a mental note to take a picture of herself with the sign later, to send to her momma. “Here’s your cube. You can put your jacket and stuff down and I’ll show you to Vic’s cube.”

Nodding, Sadie dumped her black shoulder bag and her dark green, faux fur lined parka on the chair. She retucked the back of her mint green blouse into her straight legged black pants. Three cubes down sat a woman with long, bright purple hair. She turned around with a massive grin after Harry did a special knock on her cube. Her eyes widened when she saw Sadie.

“New girl?” She said.

“Sadie, yeah.” Harry said.

“Yes! I’m so excited,” This she said towards Sadie. “Marketing is such a boy’s club.”

Sadie chuckled because she didn’t know what else to do. She didn’t want things to be awkward on her first day and she really wanted to make friends with her coworkers. She didn’t know anyone in the city and that would get real lonely, real quick.

“I’ve got a bunch of stuff for you,” Vic noticed how Sadie’s eyes widened. “To help you get acclimated! Not huge work stuff, not yet. Just some manuals and ‘how-to’ type stuff. They’re in your email already.”

“Perfect,” Sadie beamed. “Thank you.”

“No problem, I’m here for you if you ever need anything.”

Sadie nodded as Harry wrangled her back to her cubicle. He helped her set up her computer and email log in information before leaving with a ‘Let me know if you need anything!’ Looking around at the bare walls of her cubicle, Sadie took out a tiny picture, in a gold frame, from her purse and set it next to the computer. The picture was of a dark skinned man with an impressive afro, in his late-twenties, holding a seven-year-old girl, dressed head-to-toe in Barney clothing, that looked like a clone of the man. Sadie smiled at the picture before pulling her phone out and taking a selfie.

To: Momma

First day 😬

She attached the picture before sending it. Her momma, a notorious early bird, texted back almost immediately. Sadie slipped out of her Vans and wet socks in favor of her gold, sparkly work-appropriate flats before checking her phone.

From: Momma

Hockey 😬

Sadie choked back a laugh. Her momma had made her thoughts on Sadie’s choice of job, location, and organization no secret. Everyone knew that Sadie’s momma wanted her to hold out, to find a job in New Orleans, to stay at home with her forever. But, just as everyone knew that, they also knew that Sadie didn’t want that. She wanted to leave, find her own way, and that meant Buffalo. She’d made a promise and she intended to keep it. And that started by leaving Louisiana.

Setting her phone to the side before she did something ill-advised, like text her momma talking about how much she missed her already, she opened her email instead. There were five messages, all from Vic, all reading URGENT in the subject line. Her breakfast, if one strawberry Danish and a cup of orange juice could be considered breakfast, threatened to make a reappearance. She took a deep breath to calm herself before opening the first email.

///

Sadie was leaning into her computer screen, eyes flickering back and forth as she read through the employee manual that Vic emailed her, when she heard a noise behind her. She snapped around on her rolling chair—her favorite kind of chair—to see Harry and Vic standing in the doorway of her cubicle. She smiled.

“We were wondering if you wanted to go have lunch with us,” Harry said. Sadie furrowed her brow and looked at the clock. She couldn’t believe it was lunchtime already. Nodding, she grabbed her phone, tossed it in her bag, and tossed that over her shoulder.

“Do I need my jacket?”

“No, we’re just going to the cafeteria,” Vic said.

“Cool,” Sadie said, following closely behind Harry and Vic. She looked down each hallway as they walked beneath KeyBank Center. Her lips pursed and she stopped as she looked down a hallway that led to the ice. Players sped in an out of her limited viewpoint through the double doors. How could they skate that fast, not fall, and remember the rules? Sadie could barely rollerblade in a straight line without falling over.

One of the players skated into her eyesight. The way he stood, legs slightly spread, on the ice made Sadie wonder if it was as easy as it looked. Because that man looked graceful there with his large frame being held up by two glorified knives. As if he could sense that she was staring, he turned his head towards her. Shameless, she kept staring. He had an intriguing look about him. She wanted to know what color his eyes were.

Harry noticed Sadie wasn’t walking alongside them anymore and looked back. He placed a hand on Vic’s hand so that she would stop walking before calling Sadie’s name. She shook her head and jogged up to catch up with them without giving the man on the ice another glance.

“They have open practice tomorrow, if you wanted to watch. Call it research for your posts,” Vic said, winking at Sadie. Her face flushed but it was a good idea. While Vic and Harry talked about what they were ordering for lunch, Sadie was thinking about the Sabres player with the captivating stare.

///

What did one wear to an open practice? Was office attire too formal? Was it cold inside the arena? Did she just need a sweater, a long sleeve shirt, a coat? Were a beanie, mittens, and earmuffs too much? Important questions that Sadie had no answers for that morning as she prepared for her second day of work.

In the end, she dressed casually that day in the hopes that she would fit in both at practice and among her coworkers. A pair of navy blue, skinny, cropped khakis paired with a cream button up blouse and a grey cable knit sweater over that. She wore the same flats she had the day before, mostly because they were her only closed-toe, work appropriate shoe. She had a countdown on her phone till her first paycheck. She was going straight to the mall that day.

After she paid her loans, rent, and miscellaneous bills, anyway.

She smiled at coworkers whose names she didn’t know as she walked down the row to her cubicle. Sadie set her bag down on the desk to remove her jacket and scarf. She fixed her blue accent necklace, a gift from her Auntie Donna for graduation, she hung her jacket and scarf on a little hook on one wall of her cubicle and turned her computer on. Practice began at 10 that morning so she had time to check her email and get her things together before heading over to pick a perfect spot.

The supervisor wanted a mockup of social media posts for the next month by the end of the week. Perfect. Sadie decided to take her phone to take pictures to go along with her posts. They would feel more like fan photos rather than professional and Sadie thought that would be good to make the team seem more approachable.

At ten till, Sadie tucked her notebook and favorite pen into her bag and turned the computer screen off before walking over to the stands. She snagged a front row seat, right by the glass a few feet from the goalie, and got comfortable. Placing her bag in the seat next to her, she grabbed her notebook, pen, and phone out.

There were players’ families all around her. Women holding children by the glass while they spoke to their corresponding player. Fans, too. They were sat on the other side of the stadium, though. Sadie smiled as she snapped pictures. She belatedly hoped that it wasn’t weird that she was taking pictures of people without asking. She would look up the specific players’ names later and send emails asking permission.

She snapped a few pictures of the goalie—Payne, number 35—as he stretched and drank some water. Growing bored, she stood and began taking pictures of the other players as they talked before practice started. She was looking through her pictures when she realized two players had skated up to her.

Looking up, her eyes widened when she saw the Man with the Eyes from lunch the day before. He, and his friend, had yet to put their helmets on. She gave his friend—Horan, number 13—a quick once over before settling her gaze on Mr. Bright Eyes. The smirk on his lips combined with the stubble on his face made him look dangerous.

“You looked lonely,” Left-winger Horan said, leaning an arm against the glass. “We thought we’d come keep you company till practice started. I’m Niall.”

“Oh, no I’m fine, thank you! Just doing some work,” Sadie said, fixing them with her blinding smile. Niall blinked twice, mesmerized. “I’m Sadie! I would shake your hands but…”

She motioned at the glass panels between them and shrugged. Niall nodded and opened his mouth to speak before the goalie called his name. He sighed instead.

“Gotta go. Until next time,” He said, nodding at Sadie. She waved cutely before setting her gaze on Niall’s friend. She looked from his eyes to his lips and back before deciding that she didn’t want to be fired on her second day of work. She focused on his eyes instead of the devilish smirk lingering on his lips. She still couldn’t decide what color his eyes were. Blue, that much was obvious, but what shade? It was killing her.

“I’m Louis,”

His gruff, deep voice combined with the British accent hit Sadie straight between her legs. She swallowed hard and took a soothing breath before responding. What would it look like if she was stuttering and stammering in response to his accent? She’d never been thirsty like that and she wasn’t about to start then.

“Nice to meet you,” She smiled, just as the coach blew his whistle. Louis looked back for a moment before training those eyes back on Sadie. She placed a hand on the glass to steady herself under the weight of his gaze. His eyes flicked down to her hand before looking her straight in her eyes.

“See you around, Sadie,” Louis said, winking before skating backwards away from her. He got to the middle before he turned. Sadie bit her lip, shook her head, and sat back down. She picked up her notebook and pen and wrote:

needs to get done

find an apartment and move in within seven days

one month mock up schedule

learn hockey

talk to harry about walking distance

emails asking for permission for pictures

furniture shopping

what color are his eyes???

Tearing the page out of her notebook, she tucked it away in her bag before paying attention as practice began. Whenever Louis skated past her he would look in her direction with a smirk or a nod, making the family members turn to look at her and whisper. She heard a kid ask their mom who she was and blushed. She couldn’t help but think her job just got a lot harder.

#fun fact the colors i used for the 'bright eyes' square both came from louis' eyes :) #louis tomlinson fanfiction #1dff #one direction fanfiction #os: hockey louis #let me know what you guys think!!!

[1destinywrites-blog]

The Origin Star: Ch. 1

Fandom: Southpark Genre: Fantasy Pairing: None Rating: T (Language and Violence) Chapter Word Count: 6,405 Triggers: Blood, Gore, Animal death, Violence

Summary: It’s time to start a new game! The Drow Elves and the Humans have been enemies almost since time immemorial. Despite this, a tenuous peace was created a decade prior. But when the peace is broken, the land spirals into war once more. Only one thing can stop it: The Origin Star. An artifact from the time of the world's creation with the power of the ancient gods that shaped the land. He who holds it holds immeasurable power. But there are those who would wield its power unjustly. Will it bring peace and healing to the war-torn lands? Or will its holy glow bring only further destruction?

__Prologue__Chapter 1__Chapter 2__

The trees grew tall in the ancient part of the forest. The leafy canopy filtered the mid-day sunlight, casting the world in a green dimness. The low-light offered cover for a wolf and his human companion as they looked into a clearing. The human held his breath as he watched the stag they had been tracking raise its head and look around warily. He didn’t dare move. The two of them had been tracking this deer for hours, and scaring it away would result in even more time being added to the hunt, or possibly even losing the target. Going home empty-handed wasn’t an option, so he remained as still and silent as a stone, the wolf beside him mirroring this.

   After what felt like hours, the stag seemed to relax and returned to grazing in the clearing. The human let out a slow, hissing breath and slowly placed a hand on the wolf’s neck. It was time. He pursed his lips and released a high pitched whistling sound, lifting his hand from the beast. The deer’s head shot up, alerted by the sudden noise, but it was too late to run. The wolf’s muscles were like steel as it lunged into the clearing at full speed. In the blink of an eye, it’s jaws were around the poor creature’s throat. The human turned his head away and slammed shut his eyes as the sounds of a bloody struggle filled the clearing. He counted the seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...  and then it stopped. His eyes remained closed until a subtle movement beside him told him that the wolf had returned. The large creature’s muzzle was now stained a dark red. The human sighed and stroked the wolf’s bristly fur.

“Good job, Sparky,” he said softly, raising himself from a crouching position, “Thank you.”

   The pair entered the clearing and approached the broken animal. The forest floor was quickly wicking away the blood into its loamy soil. The human examined the deer mournfully, taking in its large size and intimidating horns. With the addition of all this meat, the tribe’s food stores would be greatly bolstered. This would make the coming winter months much more bearable. But he had no way of getting this enormous beast back to the village himself. The human pressed his hands together and brought them to his lips. He puffed his breath into the opening between his thumbs, creating a lilting bird call that seemed to fill the air. Then he turned his attention back to the deer, kneeling between its front and hind legs.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” He whispered, a knife blade rasping against its sheath as it was removed from his belt, “though you have died, you will sustain the lives of many others.”

   The knife plunged into the deer’s chest. Within minutes, he had gutted it and put the entrails to the side for Sparky. The wolf had done its job and now would be rewarded. As his lupine companion chowed down with gusto, he began the task of carefully skinning and butchering the animal. His knife moved quickly, cutting the flesh into fillets of varying size and quality. As each steak came free from the bones and sinew, he placed it in the scavenging pouch that hung at his size. It was nearly full by the time Sparky perked up his ears, and the human heard the sound of five pairs of feet striking the ground. He stood and turned to face the source of the noise.

   Five Drow Elf rangers stood in a semicircle around him. They were lean and clearly powerful, with well-defined muscles in their arms and shoulders. They all stared at the human, their green eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Sparky turned his eyes to the one closest to him and let out a low, threatening growl. The elf on the left flank of the semicircle looked at the wolf and flapped a dismissive hand at him.

“Oh stop it, Sparky. We’re not gonna touch your dinner. Lousy wolf.”

   Everyone laughed. The Drow strode forward to examine the deer carcass. One threw his arm around the human’s shoulders.

“For creation’s sake, Stanly! Look at the size of this thing! When you signaled us, we knew you must have gotten something big if you needed our help to get it back, but this is massive! I don’t think I could fit that rack through my front door!” Stan smiled and pushed the ranger’s arm off of him.

“Well, it wasn’t easy. This guy led Spark and me around for hours. He kept on running away every time I thought we had him. And in the end, Sparky was the one who did all the hard work.”

“Hah!” He and the other four Drow knelt and began to slice off hunks of meat for their own foraging pouches, some of which already held smaller prey, like rabbits or squirrels. “Soft-hearted Stan can take down a beast three times his size, but can’t bring himself to look while doing it. Why’d you become a ranger if you detest the task so much?”

“I’m just good at it, is all,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good is an understatement,” piped a female ranger, brandishing her knife at him. “We are good. We were built for this environment and this task. It’s part of being one of the elven races. But you’re a human! If all you could do was keep up with us, that would be good. But no, you don’t just keep up, you outpace us! I say the Ancients gave you a gift.”

Stan shook his head dismissively but smiled. He appreciated the praise. He knew she was right; while his skill with a bow was negligible at best, he was a gifted hunter, tracker, and--perhaps above all else--animal handler. Being a skilled ranger made him feel like he was truly a part of the community that had raised him as one of their own. Perhaps it was a way of thanking them for rescuing an orphaned babe and a wolf cub…

   He was snapped out of his introspection by the weight of an entire deerskin being thrown on him. He flailed a bit until he found his way out from under it and freed his head. His fellow rangers laughed at him. It seemed that while he had been staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, his companions had finished piecing the deer. Not a thing had gone to waste. Bones were split up among the five of them and would be stewed for flavor. The tendons were wound and could be dried and treated to be used as medical thread should someone need stitches. The antlers were taken from the skull and would be broken down and sharpened for use in traps and weapons. All that remained was the skull, placed respectfully facing east so that the animal’s spirit could escape into the beyond. All was as it should be. Stan rolled up the skin and let it drape around his shoulders. Sparky returned to his side, licking his muzzle with contentment. Stan looked around at all of them in turn and smiled.

“Time to head back, I guess.” There was a murmur of assent and the six of them, plus wolf, began the trek back to the Drow village.

   Chasing the deer had led them quite far out of their way, so all were prepared for a long return trip. A conversation started between them, casual and free-flowing, with no particular theme or purpose. Weather, speculation about the coming winter, gossip; all were touched upon in some capacity or another. Eventually, the subject strayed onto the topic of stories.

“Who is sharing the story tonight? Does anyone remember,” asked the tallest of the Rangers raising her hands into the air to let her fingertips slide along the shapes of the lowest tree branches?

“It’s Ike. Remember, he just returned from visiting the northern tribe. He’s probably brought back some new tales. It should be good.” It was the friendly ranger who had thrown an arm around Stan earlier who responded.

“Oh, that’s good. I was worried it was old Rowen’s turn again.”

“Hey, careful what you say about elder Rowen. He’s full of wisdom and experience, and he’s given an awful lot to defend our way of life. He deserves our respect.” Said the ranger closest to Stan. A man with a serious face. The tall one waved a hand at him dismissively.

“Be quiet. I know what he’s done and all that. I know he’s earned our respect. But I also know that he tells the exact same story every time. We share stories around the communal fire so that history is not forgotten. But who doesn’t already know the creation story.” She rolled her eyes and let her arms drop to her side before adopting a low, faltering voice. “In the beginning, there was only clay. And from that clay rose four powerful beings~ These were the Ancients that made our world! Ancients this! Ancients that! Ancients Ancients Ancients!” Her imitation earned a few snickers from her fellows, but for the serious ranger who huffed his distaste and turned to Stanley who wore a small smile.

“Are you really okay with this? How are you not more furious than I am?”

The laughter died slowly and all eyes turned to Stan, whose smile fell into a neutral expression.

“Rowan is very important to me. He’s practically my father. When they found me out in the world all alone, he was the first to volunteer to raise me. Or, so I’ve been told. … But…” Slowly, Stan smiled again, “He really does have a tendency to ramble on, especially about the ancients. You think you’re sick of hearing the story? I live with the guy!”

And then, Stan picked up where the tall ranger had left off, mimicking the wavering voice of his elderly guardian.

“The four ancients squeezed the oceans and rivers from the clay, then piled the dried leftovers into the mountains! Blah blah blah, on and on and on.” He dropped the voice. “It would be so much easier if he could just sum it up, you know?”

“Yeah,” chimed the tall one who was now grinning victoriously at the serious Drow. He was making a point of not looking at any of them now. “I could tell the story in less than five minutes, I bet. Ancients split up the world into four. North made weather and our northern cousins, the Alfar elves. South made all animals and put fire in some of the mountains. East made the Drow elves and all the plants. And west made humans, dwarves, and put metals and gems into the earth.”

“Then,” the friendly ranger jumped in, “the ancients all left through a door in the sky. They sealed the door with a lock of pure light. It became the first star. Sometimes they want to look down and see how the world is doing so they make new doors and lock them with new stars, but the first was the biggest and the brightest. And as the locks get older, sometimes pieces of them break off and fall to earth. And if you can catch one, you’re blessed with magical abilities beyond anything of this earth. But only one was ever able to accomplish this.”

“Elias of the first era,” Said a short blond Drow, speaking for the first time with a bright gleam in his eyes. “Elias was the greatest Drow archer who ever lived. Back when our people were fractured into factions, he crafted the strongest bow ever made and pointed it at the first star. When he fired it, the force was enough to destroy the bow! The arrow soared through the sky and pierced the star, breaking a piece of it off. The fragment fell straight down and Elias caught it! This piece became the Origin Star! With its power, he united the Drow factions under one banner. He was the first High Drow Elf. And the Origin Star has been passed down his family line ever since.”

“So now it’s in the possession of the High Elf, Kyle,” Stan finished with a nod. The whole story had taken them all of six minutes to tell to completion. With the story finished, the six of them lapsed briefly into silence, considering the tale. After a minute or so, Stan broke the silence again. “...So… Do all of you believe the story?”

“Of course,” the serious ranger asserted, “The Ancients created everything, and trying to claim otherwise is foolishness.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Stan corrected, raising both hands in a placating gesture. “The thing with the Ancients is pretty solid, I suppose, but what about the whole shooting a star out of the sky thing? That one is pure story. Right?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that one.” Said the shorter female ranger, shifting her foraging bag to her other shoulder. “The Drow, the Alfar, and the Humans all believe in the Ancients, but I’m pretty sure only the Drow have the Origin Star story. If someone had shot a star out of the sky, surely everyone would know about it, and wouldn’t the Ancients have been mad at him for breaking their door? And if we had something that powerful, others would try and steal it. And also, if we had it, we wouldn’t have had to fight so hard against the humans in the war. And we wouldn’t have lost…” Her voice drifted off as a somber mood settled over all of them suddenly.

Wouldn’t have lost… what? Wouldn’t have lost family and friends in those bloody battles? Have lost a major part of the disputed woodlands? Wouldn’t have lost the last High Drow Elf and his wife? The human war was still a fresh wound to the spirits of many of the Drow. Less than a decade earlier the two races clashed over lands that both claimed, and the Drow had been overwhelmed. They were expert fighters, but the humans outnumbered them three to one. They had no chance to triumph over their sheer numbers. The drow had surrendered and retreated, and had been licking their wounds ever since.

“...So…” the blond one spoke up hesitantly, finding the sedated atmosphere more than he could handle. “Why did the southern Ancient only make animals? The other three made things like elves and humans. They made people. So why’s the southern one different.”

“It’s because the Ancient created intelligent creatures that were animals.” The serious one said, and everyone was glad to leave the heaviness of the war behind them once again. “Humans and elves can all think for themselves and beyond themselves. Well, the Ancient created animals like this too. While most animals aren’t self-aware, creatures like unicorns and dragons are. So they don’t look like people, but they’re basically people.”

“Wow,” The tall one eyed him with a cocked brow. “I’ve never heard that before. Where’d you learn it?”

“Nowhere. It’s just common sense. Those creatures can think, like us, so there the Southern Ancient’s version of us. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“About as much sense as anything else.” said the female ranger compliantly.

With a bit of time and carefully chosen conversation, the mood once again became jovial. Sparky ran around them, taking in all the scents of the forest and chasing small critters up trees.The five rangers laughed as they watched the wolf’s puppy-like antics.

“I wish I had that kind of energy,” said the serious ranger, face softening slightly as the large canine laid in the grass and began rolling in something. “Even after hunting for several hours, he’s still ready to play around!”

“Yeah. And Sparky isn’t even that young, is he,” inquired the female ranger. Stan shook his head.

“He’s at least as old as I am. We’ve been buddies as long as I can remember. He’s almost more like a brother than a pet.”

“Wow! It’s unusual for him to be this vivacious, then,” She informed him. “From what I’ve heard, in the best of conditions, Timberwolves like Sparky only live to be about sixteen. And in normal conditions, that can be lowered by eight to ten years! So Sparky is basically grandpa wolf now. The fact that he can still move like this is pretty unbelievable.”

“Sparky’s just special, I guess,” Stan dismissed. In truth, he had also considered the mystery of Sparky’s unheard of longevity. He wasn’t the only one of the tribe to have a wolf for a companion, but he was the only one to have the same wolf companion all his life. On top of that, none of the other wolves behaved like Sparky, who acted almost as an extension of Stan himself. He had often wondered why he and Sparky had been found together, but no answers were ever forthcoming.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right. He really seems like a great animal,” the serious one said. He reached out a hand to pet the wolf as he fell back to Stan’s side. Sparky tensed suddenly, and a deep growl rumbled from his throat as the hair on his back stood on end. The ranger snatched his hand back quickly, eyes widening in surprise. “What did I do?”

“It’s not you,” Stan said, a feeling unease coming over him. “He senses something. There’s something off nearby.”

“What is it?” Asked the blond one, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t know. But I’ll go find out.” Stan took the deerskin from his shoulders and placed his foraging pack on the forest floor. “You all stay here. I’ll follow Sparky and see what the problem is. If it’s nothing, I’ll come back here. If I need your help, I’ll use the signal to call you to me.” His five companions nodded in agreement with this plan of action. With words of encouragement and caution at his back, he signaled Sparky to lead the way and ran after him through the forest underbrush.

For the second time that day, Stan moved silently through the trees, the soft layer of mulch quieting his footfalls. Sparky moved ahead of him, nose to the ground and ears twitching this way and that as they picked up noises too faint or far away for his human partner to hear. Whatever it was they were tracking, it seemed to be making a lot of noise. His eyes switched between scanning the ground and scanning the trees and trail began to make itself evident. He spotted a tree branch that had been broken off close to the trunk. Close to that, there was a series of indents in a particularly soft section of the forest floor. As he examined this, the sound bird calls en masse echoed from elsewhere in the forest. The most obvious conclusion was that there was-

Stanley’s heart jumped up into his throat, suddenly sensing something appear close behind him! His arm blurred as he snatched the hunting knife from his belt and swung it up as he spun on his heel, ready to strike. His would-be victim squeaked like a mouse that had been stepped on and fell to the ground, only narrowly dodging the blade. Even so, a few strands of golden blond hair fluttered to the ground. Stan lowered his guard and groaned, recognizing the figure of the wide-eyed blond ranger from his group.

“Damn it, Bradley!” He hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “What are you doing here? I told everyone to wait for me where they are.”

The blond ranger, who Stan knew as the excitable young Bradley Biggle, began scrambling on the ground to gather up all the arrows that had fallen out of his quiver when he had fallen. Then he picked himself up with as much grace as he could muster. At least it hadn’t been a real ambush. That explained why Sparky hadn’t alerted him.

“Sorry, Stan. Everyone else told me to come check on you. You’ve been gone a while.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he huffed, sheathing the knife again.

“Did you find anything, yet?” Bradley asked, apparently choosing to ignore Stan’s bitter comment.

“Yeah, I did,” He said, turning his back on Bradley and kneeling for a closer look at the prints in the soft earth.

“You did!?” Bradley unshouldered his bow and nocked an arrow. “Where is it!? What is it?!”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Stan said, looking up at the elf. “I haven’t found the source of what put Sparky on edge yet, but I think I know what we’re dealing with, even without seeing it. Here, look at that.” He pointed at the tree he had noticed before.

“What? This? It’s a yew tree.” Bradley observed. “Looks like it’s missing a branch.”

“Yes. You know how springy yew is, right?”

“Yeah. We use it to make bows. It snaps right back.”

“Right. It’s hard to break a yew branch by accident. But there’s clearly a broken branch.”

“Oh!” Bradley exclaimed, understanding. “So someone must have broken it intentionally.”

“And not just that, but recently too. See how the inside of the break is still green and wet?”

Bradley nodded. “So they were probably here only a few minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Now come look at this.” Stan gestured for Bradley to kneel beside him. The young Drow came to his knees and examined the ground before him.

“...These are footprints, aren’t they? A lot of footprints.”

“Yep. I’d say the prints of about ten people.”

“Human footprints? Or maybe elf?”

“No, definitely human footprints?”

“How can you be so sure?” Bradley asked. “Human and Elven footprints look exactly the same.”

“Not exactly the same,” Stan corrected. “The big difference is in the patterns left behind by the boots. Elven boots are made for the forest. They’re lightweight and flexible to make it easier to move silently or climb trees. They have bumps on the soles to increase the grip. Human shoes tend to be heavier, meant to protect the feet from heavy things falling on them. Some even have steel worked into the toes. Sometimes elves have these too, but it’s rare since we don’t trade with humans very often. Stand up and step next to one of the prints with your own boot. Go on.”

Interested, Bradley did as Stan asked of him, rising and pressing his foot into the earth. Then he crouched to examine the difference.

“Oh! I see. The human prints are a lot deeper than mine.”

“Exactly. In fact, for the size of the prints, I think they’re deeper than they should be even for an average human. So what’s making the humans heavy? Lots of supplies, maybe? Or perhaps armor. But not full armor. It’s not deep enough for that. Leather armor maybe. And weapons.”

Stan looked over at Bradley and noticed how, once again, the other’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Soldiers?”

Stan nodded, getting to his feet. “Soldiers,” he confirmed, standing and looking off into the trees the direction the prints were heading. “And they aren’t far away. I heard a flock of birds take flight a ways ahead. We can catch up to them easily.” Stan looked at Bradley, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Go back to the others. Tell them what’s going on and bring them this way. Be ready to strike. I’m going to keep following.

“Got it, Stan.” Bradley nodded importantly. Then he leaped up into the trees and was gone as quick as he had come.

Stan sprung into motion himself. He couldn’t jump straight up into the tree branches like his companion, but he clambered up quickly and steadied himself.

“Alright, Sparky, lead the way,” he requested. Below him, the wolf began to run towards the prey, and Stan followed him above, leaping from tree branch to tree branch with the confidence of a squirrel.

The breeze carried the sound of voices to him after a few minutes and both he and his wolf slowed so as to not be detected. The voices were accompanied by heavy footfalls and the occasional jangle of metal. Stan rounded a tree trunk and got the first good look at the source of the disturbance. He had been wrong before. There were twelve, not ten. Twelve human soldiers dressed in boiled leather armor and metal helmets. On their backs and hips, they carried standard short swords. Probably military issue, Stan thought. It made him wish he had brought his own sword with him, but a sword was little use at hunting. All he could do was picture it where it hung in its scabbard on the wall of his hut. But that was unimportant now. What were they doing here? Were they attacking? He moved silently to the next tree, letting the foliage hide him from sight. All the soldiers seemed to be focused on the ground before them, their eyes rarely straying up to the branches above their heads. They spoke loudly, and seemingly without worry of being heard.

“Ugh! Oh! These fuckin’ bugs,” One complained, swatting at his neck with a gloved hand. “They’re everywhere and I keep getting bit!”

“Stop whining,” huffed another. “You aren’t the only one. We’re all uncomfortable. Wet, bug bitten, rocks in our boots, suck it up.” The soldier took a swipe at some of the undergrowth with a long branch, knocking it away angrily.

“I miss the city. Let’s find the village and go home already.”

“We should be there soon.” The speaker of this line walked at the back of the small regiment, a short cape fastened to his armor and a badge on his chest. The head officer? His face was buried in a heavily creased and slightly water damaged piece of parchment. Stan let the group pass beneath him so that he could get a peek at the contents. Was that a map? “Our directions were straightforward. Find the village, observe, then leave. No combat required.”

“Isn’t that a pity.” A big one sighed, swinging his sword at the air. “I wouldn’t have minded skinning a few of them Drow bastards. You’ve heard the stories about them, haven’t you? They say they’ll butcher a human and feed their flesh to their elfling offspring. Or they’ll use their dark magic to control you. They can give you nightmares so bad that you will never sleep again, and you’ll just die of exhaustion.”

“Yeah. I remember my parents telling me how they slaughtered my big brother. He was in the army, and they cornered his platoon, strung him up in a tree, and used him as target practice.”

“Pointy-eared bastards.”

Stan had heard enough. He dropped down out of his tree on the other side of the trunk and began making a good deal of noise, like someone stumbling through the brush. He heard the soldiers all stop and the collective clatter of swords being drawn. He waited a moment, then revealed himself, coming around the trunk of the tree like a guileless nobody.

“Halt!” The commanding officer shouted at him.

“Hey, Captain Donovan, it’s a human!” One of the soldiers said, pointing a sword at Stan’s face. “Look at his ears.”

“But he’s wearing Drow clothing!” Another pointed out, eyes narrowing.

“Who, me?” He asked, donning a wide-eyed expression that would have put Bradley to shame, and speaking with a heavy yokel accent. “Oh nah, you don’t gotta worry bout me, good sirs. I’m justa out hunting I is. Got me a good amount a deer to bring home to ma, see?” He opened his pack to show off the steaks packed in there. Some of the less wary soldiers moved a bit closer to look. Most of them didn’t seemed entirely fooled.

“Weird place to be hunting,” Observed one, “This deep in Drow territory.”

“Well weird place to be soldiering about.” Stan retorted, cleaning an ear with his finger. “What ya’ll here for, anyways?”

“Shut up! Why are you wearing Drow clothing?”

“What, these ol things?” he plucked at the homespun green cotton shirt he wore. “Good camouflage is all, dontcha think? Much better than what yall’r paradin about in. All those shiny weapons and bright red uniforms. Golly, you’re just beggin to be seen.”

“We don’t have time for this.” the commanding officer said, folding his map and putting into a pouch on his belt. “We still have quite a ways to march so get out of here before we-”

“No, you don’t.” Stan cut in, catching a subtle movement in the trees out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t have far to march, I mean.”

All around him, soldiers stiffened and hands tightened around their swords.

“Explain yourself,” demanded the commander.

“Well, see, I think your marching ends here.” He dropped the innocent expression and the accent. “You will go no further.” Then stan pursed his lips and let out a piercing whistle.

Many things happened all at once. Soldiers raised weapons to cut down the unknown human. A blood chilling growl sounded from the underbrush, followed by an enormous gray streak shooting out and locking its powerful jaws around a soldier’s throat. There was the thrum of four bows releasing simultaneously, and the scream of four targets as they hit their marks; three arrows through three throats and one through an eye. Before the four soldiers hit the ground, a pair of boots thudded down and the tall ranger spun with her knife in her hand cutting off the fingers of the closest soldier. And Stan drew his own hunting knife. It wasn’t ideal for fighting but it would do for now. He much preferred swords. Perhaps he could borrow one.

Two soldiers began lunging and swiping at Stan. He crouched. The blade passed overhead, ruffling his hair. The second soldier tried to catch him by swinging low. Stan jumped straight up from his crouch. His feet cleared the sword and touched the ground again. He lunged, taking advantage of his opponent being off balance. His hunting knife was plunged into the soldier's collar. He could see the second man ready to strike again. Swiftly, Stan danced around to behind the soldier, using him as a shield. The man’s companion tore a deep slash in his gut and he collapsed with a weak cry. Stan charged the other soldier. A punch to the man’s jugular laid him low. The sword fell from his hand. Stan snatched it and drove it into his opponent’s chest before dragging it downward. The second soldier fell dead at his feet.

Behind him, two more soldiers had fallen to skillfully marked arrows, and Sparky was ravaging the man he had taken down. Only three remained now, and one was gravely injured by the tall ranger’s hunting knife.

The skirmish was not over yet, however. Emboldened by the apparent ease of the human’s destruction, the friendly ranger became careless and failed to effectively hide his movements through the trees. The commander, spotting the movement, tore his cape from around his shoulders and flung it into the air before the elf, startling him and causing him to lose his footing. He fell from the tree and was set upon by the head soldier. The one called Captain Donovan gave the fallen Drow a savage kick to the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Then he dodged behind a tree, three arrows sprouting from the ground where he had been mere moments before.

“Shit!” One of the archers in the trees cursed. She tried to find a location that would give her a better shot at the commander, but she was taken by surprise by one remaining soldier. He pitched his sword wildly into the trees. It flew end over end and the pommel hit her wrist. She cried out in pain. The weapon had shattered the bone in her wrist. She, too, tumbled from the tree.

Now weaponless, the offending soldier could do nothing. Stan approached quickly from his blind spot. With one savage slash, the soldier’s head was parted from his body. Nearby, the tall she-elf finished of the soldier she had maimed. Now all that remained was the commander.

The human in question emerged from behind a tree. Everyone’s breath caught in their throats. The wild-eyed commander held the friendly ranger to the ground with his boot, sword point pressing where the skull met the spine. He looked from Stan to the tall ranger, to the girl with the broken wrist, and then up into the trees. He had lost his helmet in the struggle. Walnut brown hair now stood on end, adding to his crazed expression. The sound of bowstrings creaking as they were drawn back seemed incredibly loud in the sudden silence. The sound brought the sword of the commander more firmly into contact with the hostage ranger.

“Nobody move,” He shouted, sounding slightly breathless. “Nobody… move… I know there are four archers. Two of you still in the trees… If I get any hint you’re about to attack, your friend’s blood will be on your hands.”  Sparky rose from the corpse he had been mutilating and snarled. “A-and control that beast,” he demanded. Stan held out a hand and Sparky stood statue still.

A breeze blew through, blowing everyone’s hair and swirling the smell of blood around. Stan’s senses were alive with adrenaline. Everything around him seemed hyper-realistic. The smell of death was intoxicating. The sound of his own blood as it rushed through his veins seemed deafening in his ears. His heart felt like a battering ram in his chest. He looked into the eyes of his companions and saw their minds racing, trying to find a way out of this. Only a second ago the world had seemed alive with motion. Now it was all nothing but stone.

“You all are going to let me leave,” Captain Donovan said, tense muscles almost visibly shaking. He seemed caught between fight and flee. “You will all come down to where I can see you and put your weapons on the ground. Then you’re going to take twenty paces back. I will knock out your friend but leave him alive. Then I will leave. On your honors, you must swear not to pursue me. If any of you refuse, I will kill-”

From the trees, something flew, catching all of them by surprise. Captain Donovan turned his head and watched a slab of venison soar off to his right. For a split second his pressure on his captive's neck lightened. Within the same heartbeat of throwing the steak, Bradley Biggle fired an arrow at the enemy commander. The speed of his shot caused a severe drop in accuracy. The arrow found home with its tip buried in Donovan’s left shoulder.

Shocked, the captain staggered back, dropping his sword. In the blink of an eye, Stan and the tall Ranger were on top of him, locking his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees.

Bradley and the serious Ranger emerged from the trees. The serious one hurried to attend to the injured ranger. The friendly ranger leaped to his feet and rushed Bradley with a wide smile that couldn’t disguise the terror still lingering in his eyes. He slapped his companion on the back.

“Incredible shot, Bradley!!” He exclaimed, and the young ranger blushed.

“I… just did what I had to.” He said humbly.

“You saved my neck! I owe you my life, my friend.”

Once the pleasantries were handled, there was still the matter of the human commander to take care of. The four archers gathered around where their two companions now held the human. Sparky also joined them, his muzzle drawing threateningly close to the man’s throat. Suddenly realizing his predicament, the Captain fell apart.

“Wait!!” He screamed the word with clear desperation and fear. “Wait! Please! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! Mercy of Ancients I don’t want to die!!!”

“Give us one good reason not to gut you right now,” the serious ranger snarled.

“Please! Please, I-I-I can be useful to you! You can check! Clyde Donovan! Captain Clyde Donovan! I’m very important to the human army! Very important! You can trade me! A-A hostage exchange! Oh blessed creation, please!”

The group looked at each other, silently weighing their options as the captured man sniveled and groveled. After a moment, Stan made the decision.

“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen, Donovan. We’ll let you live. For now. If you’re as useful as you say, then your leaders will be willing to exchange you for one of our own and you’ll go home.”

“O-one of our own?” He asked in confusion. “But, you’re human. Like m-”

“But,” Stan interrupted, “if your leadership refuses to trade for you, then you’ll be joining your men.” He jerked a thumb at the severed head of one of the soldiers, and the captain’s face lost any remaining color it might have had. “Until we know exactly what’s going to happen, you’re going to share the details of exactly what you were doing here. Got it?”

Slowly, Clyde nodded, resigned to his captivity.

“Glad we understand each other.” He said, knocking lightly on the man’s leather breastplate. “This is pretty nice armor you have. I don’t think you’ll be needing it anymore, so I’ll take it.”

The five rangers stripped the captain down to his underwear and distributed his goods amongst themselves. His discarded cape was used to splint the female ranger’s wrist, and his sword, along with all those belonging to his men, was driven point first into the ground and left to rust. With the invasion resolved, the rangers retrieved whatever materials from the deer they had left behind and resumed their walk home. The five Drow walked in front of the hostage, and Stan and Sparky walked on either side of him. The captured human stared defeatedly at the ground, one hand covering the place where the arrow still sprung from his shoulder.

“Traitor…” It was little more than a whisper. Stan looked over at him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I said nothing,” Clyde muttered.

“Thought so.”

#my writing #southpark #southpark fanfiction #fantasy #stick of truth #1destiny #the origin star #fanfiction

[thejoycefordblog]

IKEA LACK Raspberry Pi Case / Storage Table

IKEA items used: 2 x Gloss White Lack Side tables

I became the owner of a Raspberry Pi late last year which was going to be used for casual retro gaming. I like my AV setup quite neat, so wanted somewhere I could keep the Pi whilst it wasn’t in use, and away from my toddler’s hands! I’d seen the LACK hacked for storage a few other times, but was inspired by an old hack I’d seen years ago whereby the LACK had a sliding top. Due to the space it was going in, I needed a hinged top to make the contents accessible.

In addition to the LACK tables, I also used:

Wooden batons x 8 (about £8 at my local timber merchant)

Gas dampers (50NM) x 2 (approx £4 on eBay)

Small door hinges x 2 (about £1.50 at my local timber merchant)

Optional:

Soft self-adhesive fabric (£5, eBay)

Shadowfoam (about £25)

White gloss spray paint (One can, local shop, £4)

I started by taking the wooden batons and drawing around them on the underside of both tables. These are to strengthen the table top as the innards were coming out. I measured an extra 10mm over on what was going to be the bottom table as I wanted a slight overhang once the batons were pushed in to place. Once marked up, I cut the square out very carefully with a sharp Stanley knife. It’s important to keep the edges straight as these will be on display when the table is open, but it is also important to keep the section whole as you’ll be needing this later on. Once cut out, remove all the honeycomb filling making sure that the surface is as flat as you can make it.

Once removed, cut your batons to size. I squeezed some wood glue all around the innards of the table and pressed the batons in place (the wood I purchased was the exact fit for the gap — I did a trial on an old LACK a few days before so I didn’t mess this one up!). I did the same for the other table top, but as you can see from the picture, this one has the slight over-hang. Once pressed in place, I squeezed loads more wood glue into the centre and put in the piece of the table I’d cut out (this is to strengthen the table top). I left it over night with weight on it to ensure it glued properly. I did this to both parts.

I then took my door hinges, measured them equally apart and again, used the Stanley Knife to cut them out. Because the frame inside the table top is very narrow, it’s important to make sure that the batons that you put in are pressed right against the inner frame as the hinges will screw into this.

I then attached the legs and one of the dampers ensuring the table top with the overhang is on the bottom. As you can see, there is a slight cutout for the damper to slot into when the top is closed. When happy, I added the second damper, and drilled/countersunk/screwed the batons in place, but on the base only as this is going to be covered.

I then took the self adhesive fabric and covered the surface of the bottom table, tucking it underneath to make it look neat. I then added the Shadowfoam, by tucking it under the overhang of the bottom table (this is why the cutout on the bottom table was slightly smaller). I then added my Raspberry Pi and accessories and cut them into the Shadowfoam. Once I was happy with how it looked, I removed the top and sanded/sprayed white to match the exterior. Once dry, I reattached and put in place.

And there you have it, one storage table for my Raspberry Pi, hidden away from little fingers! If attempting yourself, it is important to make sure you reinforce the table top using the part you cut out as the table top isn’t as strong as it was (in one picture you can see I used some white hardboard that I had knocking around as I accidentally chucked my cut out away!).

~ by Daniel Moore

Great find from Source Ikeahacker