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WE ARE UNCHILD!!!!!!

Hi my names Em/Calcium/Calcite!* I am a minor so please don’t send donation asks! Last update: 7/9/26 13:13

#screaming into the void #em’s diary #Ems telling stories again #Em is crashing out #Em has screen time #Ems writing #Ems crying #Ems music #cover me now #Ems learning something #Ems k-pop rants

They never got married.

Not really.

But Sirius likes to count the one time they went to London and used the muggle marriage machine. It was like magic, how the screen lit up and displayed vows. Sirius was hanging onto his lover's arm as he input their names.

"Love, you have to let go, I need to get my coin."

Sirius remembers groaning and releasing his hold for a brief minute, choosing to wrap himself around his boyfriend's waist. He earned himself a chuckle. Sirius would cling to the sound of that laugh, grasp at the memory to keep himself sane.

The machine chimed. Sirius was guided in front of the screen, the prompt reading, "Sirius Black, do you take --- to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sirius had smiled and clicked "I do."

His lover did the same.

The sound of the machine whirring to life filled their ears, the gears turning inside the broken down thing marking themselves known, until it chimed as a small thud could be heard. His lover reached in and grabbed the small container, getting on one knee and revealing a ring. Sirius remembers the way he smiled and nodded as his lover slipped it over his finger and sealed their counterfeit matrimony with a kiss.

They never got married.

Not really.

After the sentencing, when Sirius was shoveled into Azkaban, Remus had thrown away that ring. It was cheap plastic, he had no use for it. And besides, why would he want to be tied to the man who betrayed and killed his best friends. He wasn't the man Remus thought he was, therefore their relationship was nothing but fake, a game of childhood pretend. It never happened, as far as Remus was concerned.

Besides, Remus was better off without Sirius, and so the ring now lies in a landfill on the outskirts of London, and the two had never even dated.

They never got married.

Not really.

But Sirius refuses to let the memory go, and the ring still sits on his finger, broken down by the wear and tear of twelve years in prison. It falls off of his bony fingers, but it's miraculously still there. Sirius twists it around and around and around to ground himself and oh, the memory keeps his fragile mind from shattering beyond repair.

Sirius just wishes he could remember who he made it with.

#ems writing #wolfstar #marauders #sirius black #sirius orion black #marauder era #remus lupin #remus x sirius #harry potter #sirius angst #remus angst #wolfstar angst #writing #haven't posted in a while #here we go again

#i like it.#i think its something. its experimental for me.#ems creation tag #poetry #acrylic paint pour #i made this a While ago but i still love it and never posted this ver #yuv maybe already seen them together but not with the format like that and whatever #ems writing #srry i dont have an alt text for this... or a caption .

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39871047

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Taylor and Link stans come get your juice. Boy do I have the fic for you <33

Taylor’s never kissed anyone. Link explains the concept of platonic kissing. You won’t believe what happens next.

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #they <3 #dndads taylor swift #link li wilson #dndads s2 #fan fic #ems writing

stanley uris is not afraid of the dark / preview

part: 1 / 2

word count: 1,046

this is basically a drabble as of now that I’ll edit later + add another part!! it’s been collecting dust in my drafts (it’s basically not finished- I still have to add a lot, so you could consider it a teaser) so I might as well post yanno

warnings: trauma/PTSD, swearing

pairings: benverly, alluded stozier

summary: (teaser) stan uris struggles with his previous traumas with the support of the other losers and thinks a bit too much.

Stanley Uris is not afraid of the dark. He has no right to be, anyways; people like Bill or Bev or Mike should be scared of the dark. Not Stan Uris, as he lies on his left side (like he always does, for he’s heard that it’s better for your heart and nervous system. It’s a train of thought usually preserved for Eddie, but by now Stan knows that it’s better to be careful than reckless. So he sleeps on his left side every night, and he probably would even if he’d broken his left elbow.) in the dark, the only sign of light being the blue, milky light that slides like liquid across Stan’s bedding, separated into fourths by the window it shines through and his alarm clock with blaring, blocky red numbers. His eyes are open. Round. Filled with thoughts that he should have left behind 2 years ago when the Neibolt incident really happened. Thoughts that Stanley Uris, at the bubbly age of 15, shouldn’t be worried about.

He remembers it vividly, the teeth soaking into his skin like oversized needles that just won’t stop growing and drawing blood and poking through, burning all of his nerves and making his heart hammer faster than the motor of an old car. The way the blood lurched and singed through his arteries, his heart growing thick with fear as he teeters on the edge of unconsciousness. Blinding, glowing orbs that make him feels razors slice through the muscles down his arms and dread hang as heavy as a bloated anvil in his stomach, threatening to tear it apart and drop at any moment. By now, of course, it isn’t as clear as it used to be, but it still makes him wary of his own thumping heartbeat as he lays there, feeling cold at around 11:39 PM on a Monday night.

He still bears scars, both physical and mental- those slight dips in his skin playing connect-the-dots in a circle around his face and the sudden nightmares that shake him out of sleep, on the verge of crying. Stan doesn’t let himself cry. Well, he tries to. His parents don’t seem to understand, so he tries his best to turn on the shower and let it run aimlessly in the bathroom as he throws cold water on his face. Just so that he doesn’t have to see Andrea and Don, at the ripe time of 2:56 AM, rush over to his room to console him for what he calls ‘nothing’.

It isn’t nothing, of course.

So he lays there in the room whose silence seems to crowd him and press around him as if he was in a plastic vacuum chamber. Stan’s muscles are stiff. He glances up at the bottle of Melatonin pills just beside his bedside in a calm white and purple bottle and has to keep himself from reaching towards it to take just two more. He knows that four is already too much. So he waits for it to kick in, daydreaming quietly about the days- in likely around 30 or so years- that he’ll forget about all of this and be pressed up to someone’s chest, calm. The days that he’d still wake at 6:35 precisely, no later, no earlier, to someone that he loves. Who will he love, anyways?

So his mind drifts off to Richie Tozier. He’s a snarky asshole, Stanley reminds himself. However, he can’t help but find the boy’s warm presence comforting to some extent. It almost reminds him of the burst of pride that bursted through his arms after swinging at the beast down in the sewers, knocking it out. Like a torch in a dark room, a distraction from the all those things that still plague him. It’s fun to try and test how quickly he is able to snap out retorts to Richie’s usual banter and run beside him, racing him to the quarry.

It’s almost as if they’ve stemmed from the same chaos, however on different sides of the scale. The people of Derry know Stanley Uris as that nice jewish boy with the nice house that gets straight As and has an organized lifestyle that goes to sleep exactly at 9:45 PM and wakes exactly at 6:35.

Richie Tozier is known as the boy with messy black hair, glasses as thick as a book that’s wild as a jackal. He lives on the nice side of town, the people would say, ‘but have you heard what he says? It’s a terrible shame to Maggie,’ he heard once. Stanley only knows that because of the one time when they were thirteen going-on-fourteen and were the only two left at a sleepover. Richie channels his chaos recklessly while Stanley focuses everything he has on keeping things straight and perfect, as not to break any facade that he’s built. Either way, he knows that both of them possess the same boldness and willingness to get their way.

Stan’s fingers tense and start to pull into fists as he lays there still. He lays, still, and just waits and hopes for Friday to come- the weekly Loser’s movie night, where Stanley’s TV would blare either horror movies or movies so bad that you have to leave the room because you can’t stand to see them anymore through a rounded, thick screen. From what he remembers, Beverly’s chose a horror movie this time. Without Richie there to crack jokes and scream, “Bitch, run! You stupid fucker!” more times than Eddie or Bill like, Stan would probably not like the jumpscares or rising violins in the back that make you feel like a disembodied pair of eyes is somewhere in the house, staring at you as much. No, he decides- he’d be fine anyways, since he always seems to have his head rested against Beverly’s knee or Ben’s shoulder as they’d sit on the couch, Bill and Richie taking up the very front on the floor, just around six inches away from the TV.

And as he slowly drifts off to sleep, he still tries to decide that Stanley Uris isn’t afraid of the dark.

#it (2017)#it 2017 #it movie #stanley uris #richie tozier #stozier #writing #ems writing

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