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Stan The Pomeranian

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“Eddie wake up.”


“Eddie!” Richie whisper shouts.

Eddie jolts up, his head heavy from sleep. Richies face to face in front of him, with the biggest grin on his face. Eddie groans.

“What Richie? What’s so important that you’re waking me up at,” Eddie turns to blearily look at the electronic clock on the nightstand. “7am in the morning?”

“I got you something, Ed’s, I got you a present.” Richie smiles bigger, and Eddie raises an eyebrow. Even with age the man has an undefeated charm to him, and Eddie starts to laugh, making the scruffy man raise his own eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, poking Eddies cheek. Eddie swats it away and coughs out the rest of his laugh, rubbing the scar oh his chest afterwards.

“Nothing, nothing, it was nothing Rich-“


The trashmouth waited for Eddie to calm down as he felt a small bubble of worry build in his chest. Eddie had recovered from his wounds by Pennywise, just barely, if that. It almost eliminated his ability to walk and breathe, but with extensive work and a lot of physical therapy Eddie was back to being Eddie in no time. Minus the occasional chest pain, and increased asthma.

“I honestly thought you were playing a prank or something, that you’d pull out a dildo or throw a dirty cloth at me.” Eddie says, now sitting. He rubs at the scar on his chest softly, and Richie scans his body before meeting his Eddies eyes.

“No, not this time, I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time, babe.” Eddie smiles.

Richie nods, patting Ed’s knee. “I know, but not this time, I swear it’s important.”

Eddie nods, and Richie stands up. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a matching bomber jacket, with a tight fitting blue button up on. Eddie smiles, and Richie lowers a hand to help the man up. Eddie takes the hand graciously, pulling himself up to kiss Richie before beelining to their closet.

He throws on a grey t-shirt and grabs a pair of blue jeans, finished with a pair of matte black shoes. Richie whistles as Eddie walks out of the closet, running fingers through his hair to de-tangle it.

“Getting all dressed up for me? How thoughtful.” Richie remarks. Eddie chuckles, looking at Richie through the closet mirror.

“Well if it’s important I may as well dress nice, but knowing your version of important is another thing, so I’m keeping it classy.” Eddie smirks, and Richie shakes his head.

“It’s not fancy important if that’s what you wanna hear.” Richie says, rubbing Eddies shoulders. Eddie smiles, turning to face Richie.

“I don’t really care, Mr. Kraspbrack. As long as I’m with you I could give less a shit.” Eddie says, rubbing Richies cheek. Richie pulls away, rolling his eyes and smiling.

“Don’t get all romantic on me, I don’t think I can handle mushy love this early in the morning.” Richie teases. Eddie laughs, grabbing Richie’s hand.

Richie leads Eddie out to their car, pulling open the door for the shorter man. He smiles, and slips into the car, closing his door while Richie makes his way to the drivers seat. He rubs Eddies knee as they take off, street lights still on as the sun rises slowly.

It’s an hours worth of driving when they reach their destination. It’s an animal shelter, and Eddie can feel tears fill his eyes, and he covers his mouth to hide the gasp that escapes.

About a year ago, Eddies dog Myra went missing. She was a small but fat little pug, and she ran away after three of years of being with Eddie. He never found her, and the last thing he ever did with her was chastise her for eating food off the counter. Richie had helped looking for her, and had stuck around when Eddie was mourning the dog, even though he himself was glad the dog was gone.

Myra never liked Richie, and would often bite his hands and toes, and when those weren’t available she’d scratch at his clothes and bite his shoes up. She was as mean as a dog her size could be to Richie, so no one blamed him for being stone cold over the dog. Not even Eddie himself.

“Richie...” Eddie whisperers, grabbing at the mans hand and squeezing, shaky and cold. Richie squeezes back, smiling.

“I hope you’re not mad at me,” Richie says, rubbing the back of his neck softly, but Eddie shakes his head. “How could I ever be mad at you for something like this?”

Richie stops, and wipes away Eddies tears, kissing his forehead. “I don’t know.” He says, lips brushing Eddies skin as he does. Eddie smiles, big and toothy, and drags Richie into the shelter, nearly pulling Richie arm out of its socket.

“Eds slow down.” Richie laughs, and Eddie slows down once they’re inside. He moves his hand from Richie’s forearm to his hand, playing with his fingers as Richie talked to the front desks lady.

She takes them to the back, and she talks about each dog, each cat, and even brings up a neighboring store about two miles away with a larger option of pets like hamsters, ferrets and porcupines. Eddie smiles at each dog, or as many as he can, petting them as he passes, and Richie sticks by his side. They go through most of the dogs, and reach the cats. Eddie reaches for his inhaler, pulls it out and takes a breathe. Richie puts a hand to his husbands shoulder, looking concerned.

“You okay?” He asks, and Eddie nods while shoving his inhaler back into his pocket.

“Just worried, If I turn into a cat person I may just pass out. Never owned a cat.” Eddie admits. Richie laughs.

“I have, four of them actually. Grew up with a cute grey tabby til I was 7, got two more until I left Derry, left those two with my mom and adopted an Abyssinian cat. She passed from a stomach infection before we met back up.” Richie explains, and Eddie nods as he does. “You don’t have to worry about cats.”

“What if I’m allergic?” Eddie reasons. Richie kisses his cheek.

“We can always foster the cat if you are, love.” Richie replies, and he opens the door. Small meows filled the room, and Eddie gasped as a large cat pressed against its cage next to his head. He laughs, and walks in, looking at all the cats. Richie scratches at some of their sides as he reads their name tags, smiling at a few and Eddie payed attention to which cats Richie likes the most.

“I think I wanna get a cat.” Richie says, petting the one beside Eddies head. Eddie nods, but passes Richie to ask the tour lady a question.

“Do you have any Pomeranians?”

“Oh my goodness how could we have even missed you!” Richie says playfully, putting on a baby voice as he holds the fluffy dog in his arms. Eddie smiles, closing their homes door behind them, standing next to Richie and petting the dogs head as it rubbed into the taller mans elbow.

“I ask myself the same question. He’s small though, so I blame size for the neglect.” Eddie says, and Richie looks at him like he’s crazy.

“He was the first dog there Ed’s! Right next to the door!” Richie says, rubbing the dogs belly as it rolled in his arms. “Size doesn’t even matter, how could we have not seen him?”

“Okay, you’re right, but it’s okay. He’s ours now, Rich.” Eddie smiles. Richie looks at him, kissing his lips and grinning.

“He’s ours.” Richie repeats, and he finally sets the orange puppy down, watching as he takes to running up and down the halls and stairs of his new owners home.

Eddie grabs hold of Richies arm, tucking his head into Richie’s neck. Richie pats Eddies arm before moving away, telling the brunette he’d start lunch for them.

They found out that Stan, the Pomeranian, loved potato’s and carrots after that lunch, and Eddie would always make sure to give him some when they had the foods. Richie all but spoiled the thing by giving it full plates.

Stan lived his life in luxury, he got to travel with Richie when he did comedy shows, and he was given too much attention when Eddie was supposed to be working. The Losers loved him as well, bring him little treats and things when they visited, or when he traveled to go see one of them in return.

Stan lived well, and long, and happy. He kept Richie busy on his off days, distracted Eddie from stress, he broke more than one glass cup from running under both the men’s feet, he even got the 2019 award for “cutest dog” by We Rate Dogs on Twitter.

Stan was born six months before Eddie and Richie adopted him, and he was still alive, trucking at 10 years, even though his owners had settled a little more from back then, and both Richie and Eddie knew, without a doubt, that Stan was one of the best things that had come into their life.