- It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
- there’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
- I bless the rains down in Africa
- it’s gonna take some time to do the things we never had
red: how was your first kiss? what do you love about yourself? when’s the last time you warmed your hands in front of a fire? would you rather watch a sunrise or sunset? what’s the best thing about summer?
orange: what makes you feel warm inside? what’s your favorite halloween tradition? what’s the last thing you learned? when’s the last time you felt obsessed? what’s your favorite article of clothing?
yellow: if you could have any view from your bedroom window what would you choose? what’s your favorite thing to do on a sunny day? what do you consider lucky? what made you smile today? what makes you happy?
green: what’s your favorite thing to do outside? do you like camping? what would you spend $1,000 on? what’s your job, or what do you want to do as your job? what’s your favorite article of clothing?
blue: what do you do when you’re sad? what are some things you do when you can’t sleep? what was the best (non-romantic) night you’ve had? what kind of covers do you have on your bed? who is the last person you told a secret to?
purple: what’s your astrological sign? what’s the best piece of advice you ever received? when’s the last time you followed your instincts? what’s your favorite food? what’s your secret dream?
“Will Byers is gay.” I say into the mic. I regret nothing that happens next.
The crowd instantly boos and screams at me, throwing obscenities. I defiantly spread my arms and shake my head, a smirk spreading across my face. Just as I am about to leave the stage, a voice cuts through the hats like a knife.
“She’s right,” says a voice in the back row. “I am.” Will Byers stands up, holding Mike Wheelers hand.
It had been a few months since Stan told Richie that he never wanted to see him again. A few miserable months.
With Richie's departure from the group, Eddie seemed dejected. He didn't want to leave his friends, but he also didn't want to leave Richie by himself, He didn't want to choose.
But, nevertheless, after a month of splitting time between Richie and the Losers. Eddie gave up, deciding to stick with his boyfriend. Bill was the saddest to see him go.
Nobody but Stan and Bill knew why Richie had left in the first place. To the other it all seemed fine until the curly haired boy started dodging them. He wouldn't hang out with them anymore. He wouldn't climb through their windows at 1am. He wouldn't look them in the eyes whilst passing them in the corridors. Richie was avoiding The Loser's Club like the plague
Only Bill noticed the longing glances he would throw towards Stan when he wasn't looking. He wasn't sure if it was mourning for the loss of his friend, or if he'd finally come to his senses and realised he was with the wrong boy.
Richie seemed off. He always looked sad. His hair was messy, well, messier than usual. His eyes seemed dull, no usual spark of mischief. His smile seemed weak, fake, forced. He didn't make jokes anymore, he was quiet. Stan hated that no matter how hard he tried to forget is feelings for Richie, he still noticed these little things.
Stan was constantly riddled with guilt. He knew that kicking Richie out of the group was wrong, but he couldn't stand to see him happily in love with someone else. However, the worst part was that Stan knew he had caused Richie to suffer his biggest fear.
Athazagoraphobia. The fear of being forgotten.
Stan remembered the day he and Richie had talked about their fears. Their new fears. It was six months after Pennywise. Six months after they had gotten rid of their tormentor.
"What are you scared of Richie?"
"Clowns."
"No, what're you really scared of? You can trust me, Rich, I won't tell anyone. I promise.”
"Being forgotten." Richie had murmured almost inaudibly.
"Sorry?"
"Being forgotten. Having you and the others forget me. I don't know how I'd get through it."
"That'll never happen Rich."
Two months before summer, Stan decided he would apologise.
Stan tapped the boy's shoulder. "Richie." Richie turned around, his eyes widening as he saw who was speaking to him. "I'm sorry."
"What?”
"I'm sorry. They all, we all, miss you, come back to the group?" Richie just smiled.
And it went (mostly) back to normal. Richie and Eddie rejoined the losers. Everyone was happy. Bill, Ben, Beverly, Mike, Richie and Eddie. And Stan. But Bill could see that Stan wasn't happy.
He could see how the longing looks Stan gave Richie melted into sadness. He could see how his smiles seemed strained. He could see how his laughter was obviously fake.
Bill could see that Stan was pretending. And he knew it was tearing the boy apart inside.
Stan had been trying his absolute best hardest to act like everything was fine, like he was okay. After all, they only had a month or so until the summer, and then they would all be heading off to college. Stan thinks he can make it until then. Eddie is probably going to a different college, to the one Stan is planning on attending, and Richie will surely follow him there.
FOUR MONTHS LATER - AFTER THE SUMMER
Stan put the last few books on his shelf in alphabetical order. His new college dorm room half clean and half, what he like to call, a shit show. His roommate, who happened to be his best friend Bill Denbrough, was still bringing his boxes up and hadn’t unpacked anything yet. He had, however, left the door open, giving himself easy access back into the room.
Stan moved to open one of Bill’s boxes, to help his friend, when a voice coming from the doorway stopped him mid-step. “Stan?”
Stan slowly turned, finding the last person he wanted to see, stood in his doorway. “Richie? What’re you doing here? I thought you and Eddie were moving to New York?”
“Nah, we couldn’t. We didn’t have enough money. We knew that you and the guys would be coming here, so we thought, if we can’t go to NY, why not keep the gang together and come here!”
“Oh, that’s great.”
“Well, see ya later Stan the Man! I’ve gotta go help Eds unpack.”
“Yeah, bye Richie.” Stan muttered.
With Richie already gone, Stan sat down on his bed, head in his hands. Shit, He thought. How am I going to get over him now?
Hello, Lovely People!!
So, this was going to be the end of my little fic, but I’ve decided I’m going to make it either 3 or 4 parts, rather than 2.
I hope you liked it!!
Taglist:
@stnbrough
@childishsoup
@supportingstanuris
@pattusca
@riverswolfhard
@richietozierrrrr
Message me or send an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist!!
Sterek | Trucker/Telemarketer AU | T | 2500 words | AO3
Let it be known that @dizzy-redhead is a terrible influence. I was working on a serious fic, one I’ve been intending to write for months and months, but I sent her a prompt and said, “Wouldn’t this be a terrible and hilarious Sterek AU?” and she agreed with me and said she wanted it. So I wrote it.
The prompt: “You are a semi truck driver with a hands free device. You receive a call from a telemarketer in the morning. He can’t hang up on you, and little does he know that you’re perfectly willing to talk to him all day long.”
Yes, I have shamelessly titled this after an Alabama song, though I did not incorporate the plot of the song (in which the trucker gets stranded in a snowstorm and the highway patrol calls his spouse), seasonally appropriate as it would have been, mostly because I was ¾ done with the story before the title occurred to me.
Derek knew he had a reputation for being a loner. Cora’s only reaction to the news that he’d decided to become a long-haul trucker was, “A job where you’re forcibly alone all day, several feet above everyone else? How perfect for you.” Kind of mean, but not untrue, like many things Cora said.
But as much as Derek had appreciated the silence and solitude at first, he now honestly found it kind of… boring. Which was why he didn’t hesitate to accept the call when his cell rang, even though the screen clearly read “unknown number,” usually a sure sign of a telemarketer. This was a cross-country haul and he was desperate.
“Hello?”
“May I speak to Derek Hale?” said a rather apathetic voice.
“Speaking.”
“Hello, sir, my name is, uh, fuck—my name is Mike and I’m calling from your cellular service provider with a reminder that you are eligible for a new phone.”
Derek was pretty sure “Mike” was supposed to sound a lot more chipper about this amazing opportunity. “How exciting,” he responded flatly.
“Mike” sighed. “I know, right? I mean, clearly your current phone still works fine, otherwise how would I even be talking to you.”
“Do you even know who my cell service provider is?” Derek asked, and caught sight of his smirk in the rearview mirror.
“Uh… honestly, dude? Not a clue. If you’ve got complaints about your service, I’ve got a number I can transfer you to.”
“Oh, I don’t care either, I was just curious.”
“Mike” spluttered out a laugh. “So you want to hear about this fabulous new phone? You haven’t hung up yet.”
“Go for it. Does it have features?”
“You know, it does. So many features! Very few of them actually useful to any sane human being. I think they’re going for a quantity over quality approach here.”
