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The last two weeks have been a blur of little sleep and endless ground covered. It had been him of all people who had found the bloody glasses in the middle of the forest, and since then he hadn’t been able to sleep for longer than a couple hours. He doesn’t know how Ritchie’s parents do it, how after a week they seem already resigned to the fact that they won’t get their son back. Stiles will search for the rest of his life if he has to, but he will never stop until he finds him. 

He is out on his own today, search parties had already comped through the forest numerous times, but he keeps looking, hoping against all hope that one day he will find something. The Sheriff knows he is here, he has to check in with him regularly now after he collapsed in the first week. He had gone three days without sleep and barely any food and had fainted in the middle of another search attempt with the police department. 

Dried leaves crunch under his feet, and he fears for Ritchie as he thinks of the nights that are steadily getting colder. It won’t be long until fall is fully upon them. It’s irrational to assume that Ritchie just got lost and is still here somewhere, he knows that. But if he stops searching what else is he supposed to do? There is already missing fliers all over the county, he had made numerous actions online to spread the word, and he can’t just sit at home. 

He calls out for him loudly, voice already hoarse, but he will keep on until it’s dark. And if he doesn’t find him today, he will come back tomorrow, and the day after, he will not give up. It’s a constant mantra in his head, it has to be, against the voice of logic that keeps telling him about statistics, about the sinking percentage that marks Ritchie’s chance of being alive. 

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@unfriiended

@brotherseen

@magiciiisms

@michaelwheelcr

@xelision

@beepbeepr

@mcmjokes

@trashwheezing

The doorbell rings on a Friday night. Which was date night for a lot of parents, and party night for the older children, so the suburbs were calm tonight. There was only one light on in the house, and you could hear some kind of indie music playing through an open window. 

Narrowing of the eyes, mixed with a slight tilt of the head. If the words ‘really?’, ‘seriously?’, or ‘what the hell’ could be expressed without speaking, that’s exactly what Ben would end up doing. It was an expression used quite often around Richie, and this very moment was no different.

My Tumblr Crushes:

@unfriiended

@mcmjokes

@brotherseen

@noteddieble

@menstral

@asscveration

@magiciiisms

@beepbeepr