#original ben ten fears no fucking god

[day0walkersdrafts]

It starts out semi light hearted. With a shove of a shoulder or an elbow jostle. A laugh that goes a little sharper than it needs to be, a comment that one of them should probably take back. It goes from slouched easy posture to either of them standing just a little too straight. Xavier’s full height makes him have to tilt his chin down, just a little. Benny’s sideways, cocky, snide stare makes him angrier—being shorter makes Benny angrier.

“Why don’t you take a fuckin’ walk, alright, Ben?” Xavier snaps, in what is a loosely controlled attempt to maybe make the situation less hostile.

“Why don’ya take a fuhken waaaahlk?” the blond imitates his accent, hands in his jacket pockets, leaning forward slightly to over enunciate all that Boston that wraps all over Xavier’s words. Ben’s lidded, sleepy, ice blue eyes look pleased—and prepared.

“Oh my God, we got a fuckin’ wise guy on our hands here, deadass. Point me to the deli, Ben, so I can pick up pastrami.”

“You hi-high school drop out loser fuck.”

“I graduated high school, flyboy, so fuck off.”

“I di-didn’t even fly the jets, jarhead! I d-didn’t even fucking fly the jets!”

Which is when they forget entirely what the original argument was even about (later, Xavier insists that Ben started it; and Benny does not deny that he likely did) and start actually fighting.

A crowd had begun, mainly because of the raised voices—and also because they were situated deep in the mid west section of Ratspit’s autumn tour, so east coast accents were a bit of a novelty. Also that they were outside a terrible bar where the band was doing an easy local show, on the ground, wrestling in the middle of an empty street; which would draw attention anywhere. But especially because they were not wrestling like two drunk men outside a dive hole in the wall, but two former military, easily angered idiots.

Which was to say that Benny was situating Xavier into a headlock that could easily crack a collarbone. One hand deftly leveraging his wrist as he python’d his bicep around Xavier’s throat. He was hissing some insult, forgetting to take account that Xavier was also close quarters combat trained. So when his leg hooks around Ben’s and twists, snaps an arm up between the minuscule opening in the crook of his elbow, Benny’s nose erupts with blood at the connection of knuckle on cartilage.

They roll along the pavement then, snarling, each of them. Xavier gets the upper hand easily, locks his legs around Benny’s waist and yanks his arm taught. Except, Ben doesn’t account for those long powerful legs and Xavier doesn’t account for Ben’s sleaziness so he’s nearly yelping when Benny’s elbow slams into the sensitive bundle of nerves in his inner thigh. It makes Xavier scramble over the asphalt, wheeze a little as the tears spring up at the electrified pain shooting down his leg.

“Cocksucker,” Benny snaps.

“Shut the fuck up, Ben,” Xavier snarls, kicking a foot out to connect with the blond mans hip and send him tumbling backward.

“Alright you two, enough!” The absolute roar makes Benny’s entire body flinch, rabbit like in sudden fear as an arm scoops up around his shoulders. Xavier feels one snaking around his own, yanking him away. “Y’all are security for Christ’s sake!” He’s wrestled down to Tino’s height, his chest heaving—hadn’t even realized he was panting with labored breath until that moment. The fight couldn’t have been longer than five minutes, maybe ten, but he feels a bead of blood run down from his eyebrow. Had split it at some point—probably on Ben’s fist.

“What in the fucking world are you two doin’?” Tino heaves his words out with an exasperated annoyance. His southern accent had gone thicker in his anger, raspy deep voice pitched low just for them. Xavier hadn’t noticed the crowd either, the large gathering of people enjoying the terrible show. His stomach drops a bit when he notices Sunshine with her phone out, at the front of the crowd.

She gives him a quick smile and a thumbs up and Xavier groans.

—

They’re sitting in the bed of the equipment truck together when Tino returns with two bottles of water.

Xavier has more leg on him, dangling out the tail gate, sneakered feet swishing back and forth. His inner thigh hurts bad enough he knows there will be a bruise. The tacky blood on his face has also went stiff and flakes when he rubs a finger over it. Benny’s more torso. Longer bodied, leaning back with his hands braced, staring forward with cold, sullen eyes. He’d not bothered to wipe most of the blood off from under his nose. He lifts a hand lazily when the bottle of water is passed to him.

“I don’t wanna see you two fightin’ anymore,” Tino reprimands in such a fatherly tone it makes Xavier’s shoulders hitch up, blood rush to his cheeks. He twists the cap off the bottle and leans his head forward to pour some of the water over his hair. It’s not warm out by any means—a chill settles over him, actually, but the fight had made him sweaty and disgusting, so the water feels good snaking through his red hair. He shakes his head like a dog, makes Benny groan and Tino step back.

“You can’t call someone a cocksucker, Ben,” Xavier says, glaring sideways at him as he brushes a hand through his newly soaked hair. “That’s like, really fucking wrong.”

“Yeah?” Benny uses his teeth to get the cap of his water bottle off, spits it off into the street (makes Tino roll his eyes upward, swear under his breath at the men he has to deal with) and smiles at Xavier in that crooked, snide way. It dimples his cheek, could almost make him look innocent if he didn’t have those glinting, liquid ice colored eyes. “S’what th-they called me in basic tr-training. Was my very first nickname.”

“Dude.”

“Ain’t okay, Ben,” Tino says, but he’s looking away, because he’s fighting a mustache twitching grin. Xavier has to hide his own smile with his water bottle, but he snorts anyway. He laughs then, holding the cold bottle to his bleeding eyebrow. It makes Benny laugh too, that loud cracking laugh that echoes down the alleyway the trucks parked in.

“W-Was really good at it, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you’re bad at it now?”

Benny hooks his pinkies into his mouth, pulls his cheeks and shows all his teeth. There’s a little blood on them.

“Use a li-little too much of these is all.”

It makes them both laugh again. Xavier leans over, grabs a handful of Benny’s stringy blond hair to hold him still—he hooks the end of his shirt over his hand to rub at the drying blood across Benny’s mouth. All in all, the scene seems to soften Tino enough to slide his way into the truck bed himself. The three security guards sit there, in the cooling night, calming down.

“Y’all stress me out,” is how he ends it all, a fist tucked under his chin, an elbow on his knee. Tino inhales and exhales slowly, looking at both of them. Xavier tries for an innocent face, but Benny doesn’t attempt anything more than another bloodied, toothy smile.

[cjstalkingstarwarsagain]

hi! i’ve recently decided to rewatch all the star wars movies and take notes on them and then,,, share them with you. so if you’re even mildly interested in my star wars opinions, here you go :)

i’ll divide it into a couple categories so,,,

well start with rogue one!!

shit that made me giggle

"oh look, here’s lyra back from the dead. it’s a miracle."

everything K2 says and does. i love him and he’s perfect.

i love the continuous attempts by K2 to appear imperial and how he fails every time. not a single storm trooper or officer ever believes him when he starts running his mouth.

so sorry but bohdi getting his cable caught and trying to shake it loose is such an adorably human moment. makes me giggle every time.

i honestly thought this section would be longer, this movie made me laugh a bunch. 

stuff i don’t like or doesn’t make sense

why does jyn start believing in the rebellion? there’s no indication that she cared before they found her. there’s no real turning point that we can see. she just,,, suddenly is really into this shit. which is strange because the only reason she ever joined was because she was given a non-choice (either help or get put back in prison). i guess i can kinda see how her father dying could have changed her, but we see none of that on the ship after his death. we just get to the rebel council and all of a sudden she’s the poster girl for rebellion.

saw seems really stable at the beginning of the film, so why did he go seemingly crazy and paranoid? it’s probably explained in the novelization but that’s no excuse to just have a character go crazy with really no explanation or backstory.

that being said, a lot of the character development is pretty lacking. i don’t think i’d care about these characters nearly as much if i wasn’t already a star wars fan.

video game cut scene style general tarkin

bor gullet is supposed to make you lose your mind but bohdi was pretty much fine after like,,, a day

how does the death star,,,, move?? like i know it can but has that ever been explained? is it like little thrusters? like the ones you can see in real life to stabilize things in space? there’s nothing i can visually see. i’m not mad about it i just wanna know.

why does saw insist on staying behind? why doesn’t he come and help?? it would have been so easy to just leave but he insists on staying behind and just watching as death inches closer. i think it doesn’t make sense because we know *so little* about his character. give me more on him, make me understand.

since james earl jones is getting older, vader sounds older. was there??? nothing the audio or editing department could have done about that??? not super mad about this one just because darth vader is really cool and i’ll never really complain too much about darth vader screen time.

when the fuck did jyn become a motivational speaker??

my one gripe about pretty much every star wars movie is the sheer number of times people climb through huge shafts and jump around and shit and they’re always *fine*. no way they wouldn’t fall to their deaths in any normal situations.

can someone?? check the science of the hammerhead corvette?? because there’s no gravity or weight in space right?? theoretically all you gotta do is give that star destroyer a bump and it’s spinning out, right?? i know absolutely nothing about space physics but i gotta be right. maybe i’m wrong. i dunno. i’m dumb as rocks. hear that baby girl?? it’s the spare change rattling around in my skull. i got pennies where my brain is.

absolutely no fucking shot cassian survived a blaster hit AND that fall AND climbed out. my belief simply cannot be suspended that much.

DUDE I FORGOT THAT THE DEATH STAR CAN TRAVEL THROUGH HYPERSPACE HOW DOES WORK SOMEONE TELL ME!!!!!

why doesn’t vader just,,, force grab the plans. i know he sees them. why not just force stop the guy running away with them??

final note now that the movie is over. yes, it’s got a lot of issues. the plot is ehhh at times. the trailers don’t match up with the movie shots AT ALL (i wanna know what happened behind the scenes with that). the character development is lacking in many major ways (that has not stopped me from loving these characters though, but that’s the autism talking). but like i’ll say in the "stuff i liked" section, this is such a damn cool movie. i was once talking about it with an older friend of mine and he said seeing rogue one in theaters felt like watching the original trilogy in theaters back in the 70s and 80s and honestly that’s such a compliment. i love this movie, i really do.

just cool shit,,, you know the vibe

DEATH TROOPERS

krennic is probably one of my favorite imperial officers. for some reason he just really sells it for me, the evil and manipulation that borderlines in try hard. and (i mention it more later because you see it more in the "choke on your aspirations" scene) beyond that just the fact that he’s?? a guy. just a dude. at any given moment he could be described as just hanging out. but he’s trying so hard (for whatever reason, we don’t know his evil motivations) to be this big bad evil dude. and it’s just interesting to see someone *trying* to be imperial and *trying* to be evil, as opposed to a tarkin-type character who’s just naturally an asshole.

i love the rogue one main theme. don’t even talk to me. it’s so cool.

it’s cool to see more about the birth of the death star, seeing other people learn about it. sort of realizing the fear and terror that everyone must have been experiencing. especially after being a star wars fan for so long and being like, yeah it’s the death star it’s just a staple of this universe. it reminds me that "oh god this was a planet killer and this was the first time something like that had ever even been heard of".

there’s gorgeous visuals in this movie.

i like the "i’m wanted in 12 systems" guy cameo (did you know his name is cornelius? i googled it)

when the storm trooper asks for papers?? like fuck yeah show me what life is like under imperial rule. give me that shit.

chirrut is so badass i’ll never get over it

"i’m one with the force and the force is with me" i’m eating that shit UP! salivating over the meal in front of me. i really want more exploration of the guardians and jedi worship in general. like gimme that weird funky space religion.

seeing an at-st just walk around a town. i dunno i like that shit.

K2 saying sorry for hitting cassian. i’m so soft on this robot.

"clear of hostiles,,,, ONE HOSTILE"

jyn stepping in front of K2 to protect him after she (not ten minutes ago) made the comment “i’m just afraid they’ll miss you and hit me”. jyn,,, your soft side is showing,,,,

i like the cool machine blaster that baze has. it’s awesome seeing different blaster styles when originally the only variation we really saw was chewie’s cross bow style blaster.

i really wanna see more of baze and cirruit. i wanna know what happened that made baze stop believing. i wanna know how they met. i wanna see them evolve and grow together.

i like that jyn argues that 16 is too young to be a solider (she’s 21 in the movie). i like that she’s mad that she’s young and has been put in a position to protect herself and then later save the galaxy. (for context: luke and leia were 19 in a new hope. anakin is 19 in attack of the clones, ~22 when he became darth vader, and rey is 19 in force awakens. stop putting the fate of the galaxy in the hands of people who are *barely* adults)

the testing of the death star is awesome. love seeing wicked cool space weapons. when it blocks out the sun? ominous as hell fuck yeah.

it’s interesting that baze says cassian doesn’t look like a killer, that "he has the face of a friend", when one of the first things we saw him do was kill a man. i think about that a lot. does that say more about baze’s ability to read people or does it say more about who cassian is deep down, beyond what he’s done to serve the rebellion?

cassian’s relationship with death and killing is very interesting. you could argue that cassian is just as brainwashed and deep in the rebellion as anyone imperial. i really hope it’s something that gets explored in his stand alone show. he mentions he’s lost everything and has been a rebel since he was 6. gimme cassian andor backstory.

"careful not to choke on your aspirations director" is probably some of the most dramatic-anakin-skywalker shit i’ve ever seen vader do

i like seeing rebel infighting. so often it seems there’s always general consensus about what the rebellion wants, but it’s good to see that they don’t always agree on how to rebel.

i love the consistent "found family" rebel alliance shit in these movies. it makes my dick so hard.

ARTOO AND THREEPIO CAMEO FUCK ME UP THOSE ARE MY BOYS

okay i totally get that the empire is evil, i really do, but rogue one (and lots of moments in the sequels) really reminds me how fucking cool some of their shit is. like death troopers? imperial droids like K2? the base on scarif? vader’s castle on mustafar and his bacta tank?? fuck me UP.

i loved hearing the troopers doing their dumb small talk about the T-15s on the beach.

i think ben mendelssohn is perfect for the role of krennic, no notes there. he’s just like?? a guy and he’s doing everything he can to fit into this evil role and he just wants to be like this big bad imperial boy on campus. i don’t know. i don’t have the words right now to express how fuckin awesome he is. i’ll write an essay about it later.

THE AT-AT COMING OUT OF THE MIST?? CHRIST ON A BIKE. LAY ME TO REST. LOVE IT.

fucking love me some female fighter pilots. the women of star wars are so badass. doing justice to my return of the jedi ladies.

i think a whole lot about jyn giving K2 a blaster. the way he takes it and looks at it and holds it so gently. i think that’s the first time a human has trusted him with a blaster since his reprogramming. he seems so appreciative of that trust.

i love seeing the faces of baze and the other rebels when a few of the x-wings show up and take down an at-at. i’m so very soft for the relationship between these rebels. not to be cliche, but the *hope* that they have. it’s so moving. this movie is just so full of that quintessential rebel feeling.

hey so i’m super emotional about the death of K2 okay? because in the novelizations you learn that in the last second k2 had before a full shut down, he ran a simulation where cassian lived and even though he knew it was impossible, it made him happy. FURTHERMORE K2 is very well known and his name is often listed along side jyn’s in terms of talking about the history of the rebellion.

chirrut and baze’s deaths are so important to me. we know they’re best friends, and even though we don’t know how long they’ve been together, they love each other so deeply. chirrut being the path for baze to return to the force? touching. i so wish these dumb force husbands could have had more screen time. baze calling chirrut back?? chirrut telling him to find him in the force?? baze looking to see the man he loves one more time before he dies??reminds me of the silken quote about dying in your best friends arms because it’s all you know. anywho,,, if star wars canon has any mercy then these two lovers are force ghosts together rn. don’t care how you feel or whether you "ship" them or not. love comes in so many forms and they encompass all that love.

terribly sorry but i think about those two star destroyers colliding with the rogue one main theme playing over it every day. it’s,,,,, so,,,, ( ´∀｀)

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again BEN MENDELSSOHN??? UH YEAH

krennic watching his weapon (his beautiful, successful weapon) power up and kill him,,, the poetic justice of it all,,,,

any time anyone says "may the force be with you" i dunno maybe it’s my religious trauma but i’m head over heels for that good shit

the star destroyer coming out of hyper space as the rebels are escaping and some of the ships hit the destroyer?? one of my favorite things in the new star wars movies is directors and writers saying "oh this can totally happen" and they DO IT

jyn mentioning earlier in the film that she isn’t used to people sticking around when shit hits the fan and then dying in the arms of cassian?? because he stayed?? and for the first time she has someone??

in that same vein: cassian also says earlier in the film that he lost everything too. his connection with jyn is also important to him, just as important as it is to jyn. they need each other. i can’t remember who on this hellsite said it, but someone mentioned that they hope the stand alone cassian stuff coming out doesn’t make him this swindling playboy who fucks around a bunch. i think having him as more of like?? a mandolorian type character would be really cool. like he’s a rebel assassin: make him one. make him independent and badass and cool and DONT give him a bunch of romantic or sexual interests because then that downplays the clear love he had developing for jyn. again LOVE COMES IN FORMS BEYOND BASIC SHIPS. and there’s a lot of love in star wars.

i’ve said it a million times but vader is so cool and over and over again this movie reminded me that he’s actually so scary. i saw star wars for the first time when i was 6 and i can’t remember my initial reaction to him, but i’ve definitely (like with the death star) been desensitized to the fact that if i was in star wars, darth vader would scare the shit out of me. he’s *scary* and that’s cool. i liked seeing vader effortlessly go fucking mad on these rebels. then you understand why they were so scared in that first scene of a new hope.

no i absolutely will not get over the vader scene. i won’t. his saber turning on. his force abilities. his effortless lightsaber work. the choral music over the scene with the hectic orchestra. don’t touch me i’m emotional.

i loved seeing leia. it touches me so deeply every time.

fuck i love this movie despite all its faults.

if you’ve made it this far, thank you!! i hope you enjoyed. please remember that this is totally a safe space for all star wars opinions and you can feel free to disagree with me! i’d love to hear what some of you thought :))

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 7: 5x03, 6x01

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

September 24, 2021

5x03: Free to Be You and Me

Written by: Jeremy Carver

Directed by: J. Miller Tobin

Original air date: September 24, 2009

Plot Synopsis:

Sam decides to stop hunting but has a hard time after he receives a surprise visit. Dean and Castiel try to find the Archangel Raphael in their bid to stop the Apocalypse.

Features:

“Personal space”, the tie fix and the badge flip, explicit substance abuse parallels that will be dropped when inconvenient to the plot, the infamous brothel scene, Raphael's lightning wings, God is an absent father, Sam as Lucifer’s vessel.

My Thoughts:

First multiple episode day!

CLASSIC EPISODE. I rewatched this one pretty recently but it’s fun to watch it in the context of stacked! Absolutely love that we get to watch Sam meet Lucifer for the first time immediately after watching Sam have his first hallucination of Lucifer in Meet the New Boss yesterday.

This is definitely one of the big Destiel episodes of the early seasons. I forgot that Dean buttoning up Cas’ shirt and fixing his tie, the upside down badge, and the entire brothel scene all happen in the same episode. WHAT a gift to me personally, thank you Jeremy Carver.

I have never once been able to watch the whole brothel scene without laughing out loud. The absolute desperate gay panic on Cas’ face the entire time is hysterical. The fact that Cas mentioned Chastity’s dad and her reaction was to scream like she was being stabbed to death. Hers being the first mention of absent fathers in an episode explicitly paralleling Dean and Cas’ relationship with their missing dads. Triangulation of desire between Dean, Cas, and Chastity if you squint hard enough (or at least in retrospect with November 5th being A Thing That Happened).

Cas’ little smile in the alley while Dean laughs is so precious, and correct me if I’m wrong but I think it’s the first time we see that kind of expression on his face? He’s pretty stoic in season 4 from what I remember.

The two best portrayals of angel wings in this entire show are Cas’ first appearance and Raphael’s lightning wings in this episode. The whole Raphael scene has immaculate vibes. The lighting, the directing, the acting, all off the charts.

It’s so early in their relationship but Dean deciding that he has Cas’ back in his search for God. First instance of capital-F Faith that Dean has displayed. I cry.

Sam’s struggle to maintain his bodily autonomy is so tasty in this episode, it brings me back to my Samgirl days. It’s such a good narrative choice to have Lucifer so casually say he’ll bring him back to life if he kills himself right after he had demon blood literally forced into his mouth. Also, can we talk about the hypocrisy of Lucifer saying that he’ll never trick or lie to Sam when five minutes ago he was pretending to be Sam’s dead girlfriend? That’s fucked, dude.

I was finished writing this part and checking my quotes and the blocking notes after Dean and Cas’ last conversation in the transcript got to me: “DEAN looks over; the shotgun seat is empty. His smile falters.”

Notable/Kickass Lines:

“You knew there was something dark inside of you. Deep down, maybe, but you knew. Maybe that's what got me killed. I was dead from the moment we said hello.”

“So, what, I'm Thelma and you're Louise and we're just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?”

“When humans want something really, really bad, we lie.”

“There are two things I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.”

“God? Didn’t you hear? He’s dead, Castiel. Dead.”

“Maybe one day. But today, you’re my little bitch.”

“I've had more fun with you in the past twenty-four hours than I've had with Sam in years, and you're not that much fun.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 9.8

IMdB rating: 8.6

------------------------------------

6x01: Exile on Main St.

Written by: Sera Gamble

Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

Original air date: September 24, 2010

Plot Synopsis:

Sam is mysteriously released from Hell and seeks out his brother, who is trying to have a normal life. Together the brothers must join forces with their maternal grandfather, Samuel, and begin the fight anew.

Features:

Dean pretends to be a PTA dad, Dean almost kills a yorkie, the Campbell Family Business, an abrupt change in the djinn lore for plot convenience.

My Thoughts:

I know that Dean is a good liar because it’s a necessary part of being a hunter but it is almost tragic how easy it is for him to lie to Lisa and how easily she accepts it. I think she knows he's lying but just doesn't really care.

Obviously in this episode he isn’t actually happy but I still got super pissed halfway through thinking about how they’ve been telling us for TEN YEARS that what he really wanted was to settle down with a family and then. You know. Rebar.

Seeing him pull out John’s old leather jacket gave me visceral flashbacks (flash-forwards?) to Cas’ trenchcoat in the trunk of the Impala. He really just carries around the coats of people who have abandoned him, huh?

I remembered the salient points of this episode (Sam, the Campbells) but completely forgot what happened in the monster plot so the Azazel jumpscare got me, haha. Also fully forgot that Bobby had known Sam was alive and didn’t tell Dean and I felt so betrayed personally. So miserable for Dean that he got what he wanted and all it did was make him more unhappy. Watching this back-to-back with Free to Be You and Me was whiplash. He was so much happier hanging out with Cas hours away from almost certain death than he is with Lisa or when Sam comes back from the dead. They didn’t even hug!! Dean, that’s your brotherson! Come on!

I like the soulless Sam arc. He’s just off enough from previous seasons to be eerie but it isn’t overplayed. The Campbells are annoying as hell though. I know it’s on purpose and they’re supposed to be irritating but like. Stop microaggressing my favourite boy! Let him play golf!

This is kind of a bummer episode but the thing that made me saddest was watching his nightmare hallucination of Ben drinking Azazel’s blood and thinking “oh no, his biggest fear is losing another son to demon blood”. :(.

Notable/Kickass Lines:

“You wanted a family. You have for a long time, maybe the whole time.”

“My God, you have delicate features for a hunter.”

“I should've known that if I stayed with you that something would come, because something always does. But I was stupid and reckless and...You can't outrun your past.”

“You know, you had ancestors hacking the heads off vamps on the Mayflower.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 7.4

IMdB rating: 7.8

In Conclusion: Trying to find time to watch 2 episodes today was tricky. I am anticipating a lot of late nights in October and November when we hit 4 episodes a day regularly. RIP.

<< Previous Day | Next Day >>

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

we fell in love in October

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! 

Summary: One where the reader and Ben were together in high school and left Derry together and when they come back they are married and everyone is surprised to see them still together

A phone call that your entire adult life is based on stacks of self-imagined and wrongful placed memories is best not received in a an overseas, foreign country with your husband ten thousand miles away. The trip it selves originally lasted no more than five days, but after Mike’s ring, you cut it short and immediately booked a flight destination Derry Maine after two. 

It was a work trip meant to educate you on all the new techniques and information you missed out on during your two year hiatus, and the company you represented, Thomas Cook, is an English company, so England was the best place for you to learn.

You and Ben had been away from each other every once in a while, so neither of you made it a big deal to spend a few days apart, but Ben nor you expected the phone call that shook both of to your core.

Following a meeting on etiquette, you returned to your hotel room for the night, unlocking your phone and noticing that you missed a few of ben’s calls. That was odd, considering Ben always patiently awaits for you to initiate contact so he wouldn’t ever interrupt you in case you’re busy.  

You were planning on returning the call the moment you arrived in the privacy of your room, when another person tried to contact you, and this time it wasn’t someone you recognized. The number came from Derry, and although that name sounded vaguely familiar, you couldn’t pinpoint an exact memory to place it.

Thinking that it might have been an assistant reaching out to you, you picked up the phone and listened as the elevator slowly rose floor above floor, trickling painstakingly slower than a snail, and making little bump noises at every level.

The only other person in the elevator with you, a coworker, swore to never reveal the undignified yelp you let out as Mike reintroduced himself to you, claiming to be one of your childhood best friend and begging you to come home to aid in another battle.

It clicked then why Ben never let up the constant stream of messages and bells, and why you always felt like you knew since the beginning of your life, because you had.

Every new thing Mike explained to you solidified itself in stone, as real as the clothes you wore and the floor you stood on. The name pennywise revolted you, every hair on your body standing up in high alert as a fight or flight reaction, transporting you back the summer you turned thirteen years old and an inhuman thing haunted your nightmares and your daily life.

By the end of the call, you craved Ben’s calming presence and his sweet nothing whispers he shook out of his sleeve at times you dreamed of shadows curling up your form and pulling you down to the deepest pits of despair with futile strength.

It made sense now why you blanched every time someone asked you where you and Ben met, or how long you two had been dating before marrying in a forest Ben decorated with fairy lights and flowers that sprouted a smell so delicious you caught a few guest sneaking them with them at the end.

‘Mike?’, You asked right before he launched into another aspect of his story. Part of you felt immensely sad, at the idea of Mike staying behind in Derry, helpless to do anything as you all forgot and moved on, but another part of you couldn’t care less at the moment, talking to Ben the only thing you knew would calm you down.

‘Yeah Y/N?’

‘Did you speak to Ben yet?’ In a way, you knew the answer. The none stop flood wouldn’t exist if he didn’t, but as long as an ounce of doubt remained, you were not picking up.

‘Yeah, I talked to him. Wait, you remember him?’

In a not so proud moment, you ended the connection abruptly, and pressed the icon next to Ben’s name, his contact photo one you snapped when he designed the new home and proudly presented it to you as a surprise.

An answer came at once, before the first ring even echoed, the breathing down the other line harsh and brisk.

‘Y/N, thank god. Are you okay?’ His deep, sturdy voice anchored you back to real life, a tranquility that he somehow always possessed reducing your stress levels.

‘I’m fine honey. I’m fine, are you?’ It’s a throw away question for sure, since Ben would do anything in his power to let you remain sane, and expressing his own worries is not part of that plan. Not being able to be there for your husband when the world is tilted up its head is killing you.

‘Sweets, don’t worry about me, worry about you. I can fly over to England tonight if that’s of any use.’

Frankly, getting to Ben and sifting through the confusing onslaught of emotions and recollections with him lists higher on your priority list above everything else, but you can’t do that to the others.

‘No, Ben listen to me.’ Your voice remains flat and drained of anything other than firmness, a benefit of working with customers you have required over the years. Freak out postponed ‘till you dragged your suitcase from terminal to terminal, for you had to arrange plans first.

Ben would most likely think with his heart and prefer to be around you, but by the time he would land in England and the two you transfer to another plane, the other losers – you named each other that if you recall correctly – may be dead.

‘Book a flight to Derry, and I’ll do the same. I won’t travel as fast as you, so assure the others that I’m on my way.’

‘But Y/N’, Ben protested, his desire to protect you standing in the way of common sense, god you adore this man.

‘Ben please,’ a droplet of tears drip on your cheek, confronting you with the realization that you cried.

‘Okay,’ Ben gives in, the displeasement out in the open, but listening to you none the less.

---

The old clubhouse is not as hard to find as you originally thought, the way to the spot from your old house purely muscle memory that allows you to pinpoint the exact location.

You know the reunion of the losers already transpired yesterday, Ben updating you throughout the night, but your flight only touched base this morning. Derry is an old town with reception towers spaced out and far apart, resulting in barely any communication between you and Ben.

The Derry-Inn was exempt, and so the next best guess as to where they could be was that the losers retreated to the one place radiating with love and untainted by the dirty hands of the towns curse.

The hushed talking under the hatch prove you right, and a smile carefully pokes through the bland face you’ve sported for two days, and regardless of how crazy it might seem, a blanket of safeness falls upon you, creating a barrier between you and the problems about to head on your path.

You reach down to rattle the hatch, a warning that you’re coming down to the others, and the swing it upon, dust flying in your face in such a huge amount it suffocates you. While coughing, your hand flags away the excess dust swarming around you, gulping down breathes of fresh air.

The leader creaks under your weight, but surprisingly you’re not required to bow down to fit into the clubhouse, a comfortable height for you to ease into.

You misjudge the last step, losing your footing and tumbling down the last two trads with a yap at the pain radiating from your feet up your leg, falling down faster than you should have.

Richie shrieks in fear, jumping several steps away from his spot under the stairs to hide behind Mike, the entire losers club swiftly glancing at you.

‘Ha’, Eddie exclaims once his brain catches up to his sight and he apprehends its you. ‘That’s what you get fucker, that’s karma.’

‘Yeah? Was it karma when I fucked your wife as good as I fucked your mom?’ Richie inquires, smirking at the reaction Eddie provides him.

‘That’s fucking disgusting and not the definition of karma by the way.’

‘You guys are clearly still the same’, you mutter, forgoing the pain and observing the interaction between the two best friends.

‘Y/N’, Bev breathes, approaching you with a pep in her step and halting in front of you, allowing you to close the distance and embrace the girl that you forget about yet missed so dearly.

With most of the losers here, it’s hard to grasp that you ever omitted them, for they colored your childhood in so many ways and are intermittent with the person you are today.

Ben shuffles closer too, but waits forbearance so Bev can take her time. The other losers greet you with a smile and a far-off hello, happy to see you again after so long. After Bev stops hugging you and walks away to further explore the shelter, Ben stoops in and kisses you with a short and soft peck. He’s always respectful of you, to the point he usually won’t kiss you in public so you’re comfortable, but this is an exception.

‘Ben, man didn’t you claim to have married someone?’ Richie wonders aloud and gaps at the two of you, resembling a fish out of water.

‘Yes’, you drag out, confusion lilting your words, ‘we are.’ The losers pause, including Mike, the wheels turning in their head to process the new information.

‘You guys got m-m-married?’ Bill questions, his eyes sparkling with happiness for his friends, all the times he psyched Ben up so he gained the courage to ask you out on a date in high school.

‘Yeah for two years now’, Ben proudly proclaims, resting his hand on the small of your back to stable himself and hide the way he falters when everyone zero’s in  on him.

‘In October. Ben arranged the whole thing in the woods with a fairy tale theme.’ You nearly add that it was perfect, but that’s a lie. Something was missing that day, like a stubborn smudge you tried very hard to remove yet remained. You never shared it with Ben, because he thought of every detail and ever speck to a T, and by all means it should’ve been flawless. Maybe that smudge was the insistent memory of your friend not being there to support you like you wished they were. Despite not sharing your concern with Ben, you wonder if he experienced the same thing and was afraid to inform you.

‘Wait, do I remember this wrong or did you guys start dating in October too?’ Bev quizzes.

You peer up at Ben for guidance, but he comes across just as clueless as you. It could very well be, and looking back on it, the two of you did instantly reach a consensus about the date of the wedding. Perhaps the remnants of your childhood manifested in the date, and if they did, the next anniversaries will be extra special than so far.

Right now, it’s essential your focus lays elsewhere, like in how to defeat IT for good this time, so no other lives are cut short because of an intergalactic demon.

Ben links your hands together, a tight grip that lets you know he’s right beside you, and he’s not going anywhere. The two of you together are equipped for anything.

[davidmann95]

Hey David? Why is ours such a cruel and merciless God?

mirrorfalls said: (If you don't know what I'm talking about, your inbox should be filling up with more specific deets riiiiight about now.)

cheerfullynihilistic said: THE SNYDER CUT

Anonymous said: You don’t seem to think Superman’s public rep will take another beating from the Snyder Cut coming out. Honestly I thought you’d be way more upset than you seemed on Twitter.

Anonymous said: So uhh, against all thoughts and logic the Snyder cut is being released? Maybe as a mini series? Thoughts?

Anonymous said: SNYDER CUT!

Bullies. Jocks. Guys angrily asking if we know who their father is. Assorted dudebro nerd-oppressors of America:

You have failed us. You have failed us so hard. What else do we even keep you around for if not to head this shit off at the pass? Shame on you.

Okay, so seriously: I’m actually gonna put most bitching and moaning under a cut, because I know firsthand there are as many as several non-slavering maniacs out there who dug Man of Steel and Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice and who are simply and entirely reasonably excited that they’re getting this movie after all. I don’t feel like throwing a wall of text at them shitting all over this, so I’ll lead off with I think some fairly even-handed commentary on the real-world circumstances here, rambling speculation regarding the production, and some cautious optimism about the actual movie/s. THEN I’ll get to what I imagine most of you are here to see.

So totally in a vacuum: this is a cool, good thing. I’m the notorious theatrical Justice League-liker, but at best it was a compromised product due to the original creator - who like it or not clearly had an incredibly ambitious personal vision for these characters and their world - suffering a horrific tragedy forcing him off the project, and leaving his final stamp on blockbuster culture and a world he’d devoted years of his life to a flop with his name on it when he couldn’t even truly call it his own anymore. At worst, said tragedy was taken advantage of by suits to ditch him in the home stretch so as to try and shove out something ostensibly more marketable. But now because of a...very loyal fanbase, the man’s getting the opportunity and resources to rise like a phoenix and see at least some of his vision through in a huge way. That’s pretty remarkable.

Not in a vacuum this is fucking horrifying. I’ve already seen folks poo-poohing the reflexive fears that this will ‘set a precedent’, and they were right enough that I deleted my initial tweet on the subject because I didn’t think I could express my own opinion with any nuance in the space of 280 characters. Yeah, nerd whining definitely shaped Rise of Skywalker (another movie I enjoyed in spite of the circumstances of its creation). Hell, Sonic the Hedgehog crunched its CGI team prior to unceremoniously firing them to redesign his model thanks to outcry. That’s already a market force, and just to be clear upfront, if we can’t agree the predominant mode of operation for #ReleaseTheSnyderCut has been a toxic nerd harassment campaign when they spammed posts memorializing deceased actors and chased Diane Nelson off Twitter, we’re not gonna be able to have this conversation. And director’s cuts are you may have noticed also already a thing. But this isn’t changing direction on a project that’s already going to exist no matter what, this is turning back 3 years later on a commercial flop and dumping tens of millions of dollars into it, explicitly in response to that harassment campaign. It’s not *actually* going back and, say, remaking The Last Jedi, but by god to the naked eye it’s gonna be as good as for plenty of fanboys, and probably to some shortsighted execs as well. This is a new thing, and in this context it is a very, very bad one. Hopefully one that won’t amount to anything.

As for the movie itself: what the hell is this thing going to end up being? I assume with this sort of cashola being pumped into it we’re not getting any slapdash greenscreen or storyboarded sequences, but four hours? Is it really just going to be an expanded and revised version of what we saw in theaters, or is this including content that would have been in the originally planned Justice Leagues 2 and 3? My understanding is that those were already compressed into a single Justice League 2 before plans collapsed altogether, were they maybe filming side-by-side and this’ll be the whole shebang? If not is Snyder going to hedge his bets and end this on a clean note, or keep it ending on a cliffhanger in hopes HBO will throw another $250 million his way to keep going? Does DC want to keep going? Would they give into fan pressure on releasing after all what was widely publicized as the first film of a duology or trilogy with dangling threads if they weren’t going to be at least watching the numbers to see the feasibility of returning to this in a bigger way? Not that I think WB execs would piss into Snyder’s mouth if he were dying of thirst at this point if he simply asked to be able to do Justice League 2, but if he floated that if they instead just give him a liiiiiiiitle more money he can finally deliver unto them their very own Avengers - one that they can work on even during quarantine since it’s mostly just VFX work left - and hey if it works out he’s got a sequel or two cued up and ready to go? Maybe they look at their scattered plans and say the hell with it and end up giving this a theatrical release and sequel with Snyder holding the reigns again if this ends up a killer app; stranger things have happened, if not many, and somehow this is already happening in the first place after all. Alternatively, if this succeeds, could they go “thanks and good on ya, totally do another, but it’s gonna be an HBO exclusive so you’re only getting a hundred million, figure it out”? Would Ben Affleck return? How much reshooting will he be willing to commit to even for this? And most importantly, since this is potentially going to be serialized as six ‘episodes’, will We Got This Covered count this as another ‘win’ since their bullshit rumor mill algorithm spit out “Justice League HBO TV show” recently?

As for the project itself: I ain’t subscribing to HBOMax for this bad boy, but once it becomes more widely available I can’t claim I won’t probably watch it. It’s basically a new movie about the Justice League, and if there’s anything I WOULD wanna see Zack Snyder do in the DCU, it’s the movie finally moving past pseudo-realism (aside from some of those dopey costumes) and leaning all the way into godlike superbeings bludgeoning each other through continents. I absolutely wanna see his aesthetic take on the Green Lantern Corps, and New Genesis, and time travel, and all the other weird promises of where his movies were going to go climaxing in a ridiculous super-war across all spacetime. It’s the same reason J.G. Jones was an exciting choice for Final Crisis before he had to leave, seeing a guy known for his work in an ultra-real grungy superhero style starting there and building up to seeing his version of absolutely wild cosmic spectacle. And no, to respond to one of the initial asks, I’m not worried about the impact on Superman. Everyone seems to have accepted this is its own distinct thing whether they like it or not, I think him getting to complete his ‘arc’ will quiet down many of the folks who like to yell at every other version as retro nonsense since now they’ll be able to be smug about having had the best take rather than pining for a lost finale, and I’m not interested in further Superman movies at the moment anyway with Superman & Lois in the pipe (which I was originally paranoid would be endangered by this when rumors first started floating, but if it’s been brewing since November then if they wanted to strike that down to ‘make room’ according to their Byzantine ever-shifting rules, they would have by now). Far as I’m concerned, as long as the other DC movies get to keep doing what they’re doing during and past this - even Pattinson in his corner, however that works - then totally let Snyder work out all his Wagnerian superhero bullshit for another flick or two. If nothing else, maybe we’ll learn what the hell that diagram up there is supposed to mean. And a plea I want to clarify upfront is wholeheartedly sincere: we’re already down the rabbit hole, so let Snyder to literally whatever he wants with his non-theatrically released Justice League. Zero input or veto power from outside parties. If he wants Flash to hang dong or Superman to say fuck or Batman to learn he’s Steppenwolf’s secret dad or Cyborg to learn he needs to eat babies to fuel his machine parts, let him go for it. Whole point is this is now his thing for people who want his thing.

Okay, beneath the cut the filter comes off, so go ahead if that’s your jam.

Hahahahahahaha this is gonna be such a fuckin’ shitshow you guys, Jesus Christ.

They’re giving the dude who did BvS and wants to make an Ayn Rand adaptation someday $30 million to take another crack at this monstrosity! 30 goddamn million smackaroos for four fucking hours of by many accounts roughly the same basic movie, except now presumably with what little coherency, fun, and clean character work the theatrical cut managed to pull off excised in return for weighty staring, ponderous pseudo-philosophical musings, hackneyed symbolism, aimless mythology teasing, and Steppenwolf I understand being decapitated by Wonder Woman at the end rather than taken back to Apokolips. I didn’t even spoiler mark that shit because don’t you dare pretend you care about the fate of Steppenwolf. I won’t have it.

I used to wonder if I was indeed missing the forest for the trees with these movies, that I was so inflexible in my personal image of these characters - even though I appreciate plenty of alternate takes on them and even some stories that bend or break what I consider their ‘rules’, just not these - that I was incapable of grasping or appreciating these films on their own merits as works of art using those archetypes in wildly different ways; even I could see there were good moments and interesting ideas on display despite seemingly failing to come together. No matter how much I personally deconstructed how and why it wasn’t working, I couldn’t do it to my own satisfaction to the point of stamping out that niggling little worry with how many folks whose opinions I respect love ‘em. Until I finally remembered that the Cadmus arc of Justice League Unlimited is totally the same basic story as BvS, centrally driven by an even worse take on Superman, and that’s still one of the best superhero stories of all time. These just stink by any merits, and while I think Justice League absolutely has the potential to be the most *entertaining* of the bunch, it’s not going to magically become *good* in the eleventh hour. Not to lift up Joss Whedon of all people as some kind of savior, I’m on the record that my love for Justice League as-is is some kind of inexplicable alchemical accident, but I promise that there is not going to be one single addition to this movie that’s going to make up for the removal of “Just save one person”.

Also I’m already not looking forward to dudes tweeting “whoa, he’s splitting it up into a serialized narrative, reflective of the sequential nature of the characters’ primitive native pictorial medium! Or mayhap in ode to the pulp film adventure serials which inspired those in turn! Even the Justice League children’s cartoon for dumb babies, which was itself...made up of episodes! That’s three references in the structure of the thing alone! The man’s operating on an entirely different level!” “God, isn’t it amazing how much better he understands the source material than you”, they shall say, about a man who I understand just very confidently referred to Doomsday in his livestream as having destroyed Krypton in the comics. Again, don’t you say they won’t, just the other day I saw folks tweeting they just realized that since Jor-El wears armor over his bodysuit that technically means Superman’s whole costume is underwear which means Snyder’s totally honoring that without putting him in ugly dumb red panties so checkmate, dorks.

(Okay, in fairness, I know Snyder was saying that’s his take on what happened to the moon in the past of the movies and maybe I only misheard that he thought that also happened in the comics, and it’s trivial information anyway. Still sucks though, that seeming out-of-nowhere Jax-Ur shoutout was like the one thing I liked about that otherwise interminable Krypton sequence. And why is there a second Doomsday? You did Death of Superman already!)

And further SPOILER thoughts below on the reported plots of 2 and 3:

It’s also an amazing, perfect sort of narrative synchronicity that the hypocrisy of Man of Steel in presenting Superman as a savior would (will?) be matched by the movies also rejecting that promise long-term. In there, Jor-El’s musings on the capacity of every living thing being capable of good, the closest the film has to a singular moral statement, are proven wrong when Zod has to be put down like a mad dog, and rather than the one who’ll bring us into the sun, Kal-El’s presence draws ruin from beyond the stars to our world. And again in BvS with Doomsday. And again in Justice League 1-3, where in spite of claims by Snydercutters that it’s okay for Superman to be a really lousy take on Superman because it’s totally supposed to take several movies after putting on the costume and calling himself Superman, including his own death and resurrection, for him to really, like, become Superman, man, he remains a liability to the end. His death lures in Steppenwolf, the Kryponian matrix in his genes is Darkseid’s goal, he becomes the villain of the first act of Justice League 3 - possibly of his own free will depending on which version you’ve heard about - and at the final showdown, it’s Batman who sacrifices himself to stop Darkseid and save the world and inspire the rise of superheroism, because Batman, you see, rules, whereas Superman, stay with me here, drools. A letdown given BvS was just about the one major story of the last 30 years to unambiguously conclude Superman is better than Batman, but not a shocker. None of what I understand goes down in these - iconography from the likes of Fourth World, Crisis on Infinite Earths, Death and Return of Superman, Rock of Ages, Final Crisis, and Injustice reused but stripped of all context and thematic weight that gives it meaning (even Injustice is built on the premise of having a ‘good’ Superman to contrast the dictator); Lois being the ‘key’ because of her connections to two men, one she married and one she bears; time travel that even by the very generous suspension of disbelief applied to it in a genre like this operates by two obviously completely different sets of rules in its only two uses, and is then used to write the entire second movie of the trilogy out of continuity in the first act of the third, making one and a half of these movies pointless - is shocking. It’s just more empty notions and unfulfilled promises offered up to a fanbase staking everything on the idea that all the tampering, all the wild swings, all the meandering, it’s all building UP to something, not possibly just a dude who doesn’t understand these characters but wanting to look very clever with them before building up to one more rad punch-up. So yes, make these movies. Let what can be gleaned from them as worthwhile be revealed, leave the rest of it up for examination to be judged as it deserves and let it, finally. Finally. Be done.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 5: Fright Night •

    The children, all seven of them now dry and dressed, coast down the street on their bikes, Ben in the lead.

    Ben, Y/n noticed, seemed in an awfully big hurry to get inside first. They had all ditched their bikes on the front lawn of the Hanscom residence and sped inside after Ben, eager not to lose his trail. Though Y/n and Richie lingered behind when Eddie had tripped and fallen over Richie’s bike. Each of them had been in such a hurry of their own to catch up with the rest, they had failed to notice the woman on the corner of the street, who was stapling a missing poster of Patrick Hockstetter to the telephone pole.

    When the kids reached the open door at the end of the hall, they could only assume it belonged to Ben. As they entered, their previous conversations died down as their eyes fell on his walls. Dozens upon dozens of pages, much like the ones in his folder littered each wall.

    “Wow,” Richie breathed.

    Ben smiled, shifting on his feet excitedly with pride swelling in his chest. “Cool, huh?”

    Richie reached the end of the room, readjusting his glasses with a thoughtful look on his face.

    “No, no, nothing cool,” Y/n felt guilty for the quiet chuckle she released at Richie’s remark. “There’s nothing cool.”

  Richie stepped closer to the wall, adjusting his glasses squinting over so slightly.

    “This is cool, right here,” he feigned a sigh. “Wait, no. No, it’s not cool,”

    Y/n chuckled once more, lightly whacking Richie on the arm as she joined him and Eddie by the wall. Ben stepped out of the way to make room for her and he looked across the room at Beverly, who was mindfully traveling the walls, soaking up all the information provided.

    Stan had joined Y/n, Richie, and Eddie by Ben’s dresser, a curious look on his face. He gestured to a particularly long piece of copy paper, with several things circled and written in red ink.

    Ben returned his gaze to the wall, and back at Stan.

    “Oh, that? That’s the charter for Derry Township.”

    Richie scoffed, smirking at Eddie and Y/n.

    “Nerd alert.”

    Ben simply shrugged it off. “No, actually, it’s pretty interesting.”

    Y/n smiled at this and nodded impressed with Ben.

    “Derry started as a beaver trapping camp,”

    “Still is, am I right fellas?” Richie asked, a smirk on his lips and his hand outstretched waiting for a high five.

    No one reciprocated, though Stan did give him a disapproving shake of the head.

    Her eyes scanned the walls, and she felt the mood shift to that of uncertainty and she could almost feel a weight sitting upon her shoulders. Y/n hadn’t realized just how many missing kid posters were hung up and she felt herself grow uneasy, and the pit in her stomach only grew as Ben continued unfazed by Richie.

    “Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry. But, later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace.”

    “The entire camp?” Eddie asked in disbelief.

    Y/n was still transfixed on the papers tacked onto the wall, though still very much tuned into the conversation.

    “There were rumors of Indians, but no signs of an attack.”

    The rag clad girl gulped as her eyes landed on illustration depicting the signing of the town charter. The knot in her stomach tightened and she felt a wave of nerves and nausea though she could not say why. Something about the illustration bothered her and made her hair stand on end. Something that churned her stomach and drained the color from her skin. Something, she still could quite put her finger on.

    “Everybody just thought it was a plague or something. But it’s like, one day everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house,”

    Y/n’s eyes flickered to the illustration of the wellhouse, but they didn’t linger long. Her attention returned to the signing of the town charter when Richie spoke up.

    “Jesus. We can get Derry on Unsolved Mysteries.”

    Ben thought he heard the creaking of a door and he turned around quickly. Sure enough, Beverly had nearly closed his bedroom door, silently revealing his New Kids On The Block poster and he felt as if he might die. He sent her a pleading look, almost certain his face was completely pink, and a small smirk found its way onto her face. She returned the door to its original position without another word, hiding the poster where it would remain their little secret.

    Taking advantage of Ben’s diverted attention, Stan turned to Richie, Eddie and Y/n in a hushed whisper.

    “Why is he showing us this stuff?”

    Y/n was finally pulled from her quizzical trance and directed her attention back to the boys. Richie shrugged, also speaking in something of a whisper.

    “Maybe he’s just trying to make some friends, Stanley.”

    Bill, who had been drawn in by a small selection of slides on Ben’s desk, spoke up for the first time since they had arrived.

    “Where was the well house?”

    Everyone turned to face Ben. Y/n noticed that Eddie had picked up a bottle of what must have been cologne, and took a big whiff. The strong smell caught him off guard and Y/n smiled mischievously. She quickly and lightly smacked her palm against the bottom of the bottle, bumping it against his face and nearly knocking it out of his grasp. Some of its contents flew up against the glass and splashed his nose leaving droplets on his face as well as the rim of the bottle and she snickered.

    “I don’t know,” Ben answered, shrugging. “Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?”

    Feverishly, Eddie wiped his face. His nose was scrunched up in disgust, unable to escape the strong and overpowering musk that clung to his nose.

    Bill, who like the other kids - save for Richie who caught the tail end of Y/n’s little trick and was hiding laughter of his own - had not noticed Eddie’s discomfort. His lips pressed into a firm line and he looked away distracted with thoughts of his own.

×××

    Eddie turned the corner passing the old church, his feet carrying him down Neibolt Street. His backpack clutched tight, he brought his hands up to his mouth, hoping he could still do the trick he had been so proud to learn.

    Sure enough, he managed a few discernible notes. But the tune he held and all desire to practice the skill died down as he approached the familiar broken down house at the end of the block. Everything around it was either dead or dying and if one were to look at that and only that lot they’d think it was mid-October. His Mama always warned him against that house and going anywhere near it.

    No good could come from it Eddie Bear, no good. God forbid you ever find yourself around that house, or any one like it, you just keep to yourself and you keep on walking, you hear me, Eddie? You keep on walking. Places like that are a hotspot for death and disease and you’d be making a fool outta me if you do otherwise. Now tell me, is your mama a fool Eddie?

    “No, Ma.”

    “Good boy,”

    He could hear her scolding him even now as clear as if she was standing next to him. He could not say why he had stopped just outside the house, perhaps it was the memory of her warning him against such things or the way the house seemed to cast a shadow over the whole street but he found himself in a daze unable to move.

    Channeling his mother and her fearful worried cries, the stopwatch beeped rhythmically on his wrist as if telling him, “Keep on walking! Keep on walking! Keep on walking!” He brought himself out of his trance and the stopwatch, not unlike his mother, was now wailing at him, reminding him it was time for his afternoon pill.

    He unzipped his fanny pack, his small hands dug through its contents for the familiar plastic container. Popping open the cap, he grabbed the pill in his hands and raised it to his lips but he felt himself stiffen at the creek of an old door. He watched frozen as the front door of the dreaded house on Neibolt sat wide open.

    He knew it wasn’t open before, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, it was wide open and it was so dark inside the house it seemed to swallow up all light that entered. He could hear a bone-chilling voice echoing in the back of his mind, calling out to him.

    Eddie.

    His eyes remained on the front door, almost too afraid that if he looked away something would swallow him up. The voice he believed to be from the darkest depths of his twisted imagination continued.

    What are you looking for?

    But his mother’s shrill voice was louder in his subconscious and he had never been so thankful.

     No good can come from it, Eddie Bear. No good. Keep on walking!

    Thankful to be pulled from his trance he tore his gaze away from the house and continued on. He opened up his fanny pack, his hands still trembling. Unfortunately, the container slipped from his sweaty hands and hit the pavement cracking it open. All his meds spilled out onto the dirty concrete and he cursed himself.

    “Fuck. Mom’s gonna fucking flip.”

    Eddie picked up far too many pills to carry and he quickly crawled forward, grabbing the blue container to hold them all. He could already hear his mother’s lecture that would come.

    Do you have any idea how expensive these are Eddie? And you might as well have chucked ‘em down the drain! You need them, Eddie! You know how fragile you are, how could you be so careless?

    Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, he had picked up nearly all of his pills, not bothering to sort them in the container. He followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, plucking them up and quickly discarding them into the container one by one. He reached for the last remaining capsule, it’s bright red hue making it easy to spot on the grey concrete.

    The last thing he expected was a long, discolored and bony hand with blackened nails wrap around the pill. The hand was shaking as much Eddie’s was and it slowly raised the capsule in front of his face. The hand was wrapped poorly in a dirty cloth, and Eddie realized it wasn’t just the fingernails that were black but nearly all of the fingers. It was curled around the pill, and Eddie could swear he saw every bone.

    The same raspy voice from before was now loud and clear.

    “Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

    The figure attached to the hand leaned forward suddenly, giving Eddie a look at Its horribly disfigured face for the first time. It was a leper, Eddie recognized. Its face was a sickly grey, bulbous pink warts bubbled on the grey skin that hung off Its face. One of Its eyes was completely rotted and drool dribbled from Its chin and if Eddie had to pick what was most jarring to see, it was the shriveled up slit where Its nose was supposed to be.

    The first breath of air Eddie managed to get was the sharp gasp that left his mouth. He tumbled onto his back, his pills now completely forgotten. He scrambled away though his limbs felt like they were made of lead and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t seem to go fast enough. The leper could barely balance properly, and It’s twig thin legs wobbled as It walked. He charged forward after Eddie. Eddie hadn’t realized he had been heading in the direction of the Neibolt house until he felt the crunch of dead grass beneath his palms.

    All he could see apart from the drooling figure was the blinding sun poking from behind the leper’s head. Scrounging up every ounce of energy he could muster Eddie jumped back, somehow able to mind the rusted iron gate.

    The leper lurched for Eddie once more, swiping Its frail arm at him. Miraculously, Eddie was able to dodge the attack and he scrambled to his feet. He had to pull his legs up high as he ran to keep from tripping over the tall grass. The leper growled and Eddie zipped through the yard at a speed he didn’t know he had. But it didn’t matter, the leper was still hot on his trail, swinging Its arms back and forth as he sped after him.

    His fearful cries ripped from his throat as he ran around the side of the house.

    “Help! Help!”

    Much to his horror, Eddie felt himself lose his balance and he tumbled to the ground and the momentum rolled him forward across the grass. The leper was closing in and he scrambled to his feet once more, he risked the chance of capture and spared a glance behind him. The leper swiped at him and Eddie yelped in fear.

    Eddie thought he spotted a small hole in the fence just behind the shrubbery and he thanked any all-knowing force in the universe he had an exit. He feverishly swiped at the shrubbery, trying desperately to get by. But the leper must be inches away from him by now, his head whipped around and he unexpectedly stopped. What he saw made him stop in his tracks even though everything in screamed to move but the sight was all too strange he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

    The leper was gone and just across the yard a tall and lanky figure. It was dressed in a silver puffy suit, with bright orange pom-poms and it looked to be from across many different decades. But of course, the shocking image that mystified Eddie was the array of blood-red balloons that formed an upside-down triangle that defied the laws of physics. Its head was hidden behind the singular balloon at the base of the pyramid.

    The balloon simultaneously slowly rose, revealing the face of a clown. It was pale white apart from his lips that were painted blood red and the edge of his lips trailed up all the way above his brows, bisecting each yellow eye. He had three large tufts of orange hair and his forehead was chipped and cracking like cheap paint. The clown stared at Eddie, hatred in his eyes.

    And yet, the clown’s lips curled up into a smile, his bottom lip making a sharp ‘v’ revealing large buck teeth that reminded Eddie of a rabbit’s.

    “Where ya goin’ Eds? If you lived here, you’d be home by now.”

    When the clown spoke, Eddie felt as if all that was good and pure in the world had shriveled up and died and he felt his stomach plummet. It was a gravelly and squeaky voice, a voice that chilled him to the bone.

    He gulped in fear and Eddie felt the absence of air in his lungs and he had no idea if it was his asthma or the fear that gripped his heart. As if sensing this, the clown’s smile grew, a feat Eddie hadn’t previously thought possible.

    “Come and join the clown, Eds. You’ll float down here. We all float down here. Yes, we do.”

    The clown shook It’s head, speaking in a voice that might remind one of someone speaking down to a dog. A sharp and squeaky cackle left the clown’s mouth, startling Eddie out of his trance. He returned his attention to the shrubbery, desperately swiping aside the thin branches blocking him from the fence. A scream ripped from his throat in a combination of fear and hope that someone would hear him.

    Eddie scrambled for the hole in the fence, for once in his life not concerned about the possibility of any damage he might take in the process. He felt dirt and pebbles wedge into his the creases of his knees but nothing compared to the dangerous hammering of his heart against his chest. The sounds of thousands of balloons popping grabbed his attention once more and he glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but an empty yard.

×××

    Beverly closed the front door behind her, she made her way to the end of the hallway towards her bedroom. The entire apartment was quiet, and the only sounds that carried down the halls were the rattling of the old fan in the living room. She took a seat on her bed, opening up her bag she had taken to the quarry. She unzipped the main pocket and began sifting through her belongings when she heard something tumble to the ground. Curious, she picked it up.

    It was a postcard of Derry. Someone must have slipped it into her bag at the quarry. Beverly flipped the postcard over to find a little note etched in pencil.

    That was all she allowed herself to read before she stood from her bed and retreated to the bathroom, the only safe space in the house. Her heart was aflutter as she closed the door behind her, locking it.

    To: Beverly

    From: Secret Admirer

    Bev took another lingering look at the front of the postcard and the sound of her boot heels clicked against the tile as she headed for the bathtub. She lowered herself into the mint green tub, her legs dangling over the side and she rested her back against the other side.

    She held the postcard up to the light, excitedly. A smile tugged at her lips as she read the scratchy handwriting. She read aloud in a quiet whisper, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest and her stomach did flips. Not the kind she was used to, this was a giddy feeling and she never knew she could experience such a beautiful feeling.

    “Your hair is winter fire, January Embers, My heart burns there too,”

    Beverly was certain she had never smiled so hard. She read the poem once more, making sure she wasn’t imagining it and she brought it close to her heart.

    “Beverly,”

    Bev frowned, and her attention was drawn across the room. All she could hear at the moment was the sound water droplets falling from the faucet and into the drain. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had imagined it. Right on cue, the voice spoke again, calling out her name and she was almost certain it was coming from the drain in the sink.

    “Help me,”

    It sounded like a familiar female voice. Y/n? No, it couldn’t be, that wouldn’t make any sense. Then again, none of this did. Cautiously, she rose from the tub and inched towards the sink.

   "Help me, please" the voice spoke again, this time in a harsh whisper.

     She slowly approached the sink to examine it. Her heartbeat was still fairly slow, though it pounded against her ribcage and it was forceful. The voice from the drain continued, though now it was accompanied by a few other voices, all of which sounded fairly young.

    “We all want to meet you, Beverly. We all float down here”

    Maybe this was all a dream. She was imagining the whole thing, including the postcard. The poem seemed much too good to be true anyway. And yet, curiosity still drew her in.

    “Hello? Who are you?” She asked, peering down the drain.

    “I’m Veronica.”

    “Betty Ripsom.”

    “Patrick Hockstetter.”

    She leaned closer, racking her brain for some kind of explanation as to what could possibly explain this. Maybe if she could see them. Maybe they got stuck below the apartment building somehow and were communicating through the pipes? It was a long shot and it didn’t make much sense, but again, none of this did. The voices seemed to have read her mind and they spoke once more, encouraging her.

    “Come closer.” One said.

    “Wanna see?” Another asked.

    “We float.”

    “We change.” The last voice grew deep and hoarse, and it let out a distorted giggle that echoed through the pipes.

    A tape measure, it just might work. Beverly thought she last saw it in the living room. Where her father was. Well, hopefully, she could sneak in and grab it without him waking up. The last thing she needed was being bombarded with a bunch of questions she herself couldn’t answer.

    Beverly crept into the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard near the corner’s edge. When she approached the living room, the sound of the rattling fan and the static of the television set grew louder. Her father was still fast asleep, past out in front of the TV, beer cans on the side table. But just across the room sat the tape measure.

    When she returned to the bathroom, she closed the door behind her gently once more, neglecting to lock it. She stood above the sink, tape measure in hand, and the bathroom now silent as a tomb. Extending the end of the yellow coil, it snaked further and further down the drain. She extended the measure until her fingers touched the sink, expecting a dull thud from the curve of the pipes but none came. Further and further down it went, defying the shape of the pipes. Finally, to her relief, she felt a thud, and a small metallic clang echoed up the drain.

    Beverly sighed and began reeling in the tape, up and up, and up some more. It had nearly reached the rim of the drain when Beverly noticed a change in color. The yellow strip blended into a bright red hue and she grimaced when she found the tape measure was now covered in blood. It was restricted by a thick rope of hair that was tangled around the lip, making it harder for Beverly to retract it and she grimaced at the ugly sight.

    Clumps of blood were threaded through the strands and it knotted at the ends where it gripped the blade. Beverly was too slow and vastly unprepared to rip her hand away from the unexpected attack. Strands of hair whipped out and curled around her hand and wrist. The tape measure dropped into the sink making a loud clang, though it was quickly drowned out by Beverly’s frightened screams.

    Beverly was pulled closed to the sink no matter how hard she fought. Her other wrist was quickly restrained in another lock of sentient hair and she grunted trying to escape its strength. Bev felt her throat grow raw from the screams that erupted from her throat. Twines of hair coiled around her neck, pulling her closer. Thick tendrils of hair burst from the drain and wrapped firmly around her head and curling around her face. She felt the hair grow and wrap around her body, restraining her legs so it was impossible to run away.

    “Daddy! Help!”

    Her words were barely discernible as they were lost in her screams but she knew that didn’t matter. The hair pulled tighter and she was jerked harshly towards the drain. The hair was now sprawled all across her face like roots spreading in every direction. Her voice never wavered and her screams grew harsher if at all possible.

    A dark red substance bubbled up from the drain and oozed out into the sink. It was blood so dark it was almost black and it was thick and slow but it bubbled like a stew being brought to a boil. Before her brain could instruct her mouth to close, gallons and gallons of blood spewed from the drain like a guiser. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste and she felt every inch of her skin soaked in blood. It splashed off her face and hit the walls around her.

    It reached every corner and crevice of the room, it even splattered across her poem. The current of blood was so strong it moved the glass lampshade of the light above the sink. The pressure of the blast stung her face and the blood stung her eyes.

    Finally, the grip on her body loosened and she was able to wiggle free. She stumbled back and crashed on the slippery floor. Her screams withered into weak whimpers of fear and she felt her feet and hands slipped out from under her several times. Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest and she never stopped scrambling until she felt her back hit the wall. She cowered in fear, her whole body was trembling and the blood was still gushing from the sink like a hose.

    Beverly closed her eyes and sobs shook her body. The blood had finally stopped and she barely registered the sound of the hair slithering back down the drain. Her sobs turned into weak screams and she was still wailing when her father swung the down open.

    “The hell’s going on?” He asked.

    He looked more annoyed than concerned and he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

    “T-t-the sink…” her lips quivered and she looked desperately around the room. “And the b-b-blood… I-it’s…”

    “What blood?”

    She gaped at him and she tried not to open her eyes too wide, lest more blood sting her eyes.

    “T-the s-sink. You d-don’t see it?”

    Her words were lost in her shaky breaths. No matter how hard she tried to get the words out, only incoherent mumbles tumbled out.

    Her father knelt down before her, and he tilted his head.

    “You worry me, Bevvie.” He looked her up and down, and he clicked his tongue. “You worry me a lot.”

    She stared at him astonished, thankful she had gathered enough composure to get a sentence out. Her voice quivered and it came out in a hoarse whisper, sore from the screaming.

    “But don’t you see?”

    He frowned distastefully and brushed away her bangs.

    “Why’d you do this to your hair? Makes you look like a boy.”

    His voice was filled with disappointment and disgust. He gave her one more once over. He rose to his feet and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving behind a sobbing Beverly.

×××

    All was quiet in the Denbrough residence. The only signs of life came from Bill’s room, his small bedside lamp was on and he lays in bed, watercolor pencil in hand. The leak in his ceiling had dampened once more and droplets of rainwater fell onto his sketchbook. It was opened next to his pillow where he had created a rough but accurate sketch of Beverly Marsh with her new haircut.

    The rainwater had landed on the shading of her hair created a small red splatter that reminded Bill of blood. He frowned, knowing he had to get up from his warm bed and go across the hall to retrieve the bucket they kept in the closet for these such occasions. The soft lamplight poured lightly into the hallway becoming his only source of light. Thankfully though, Bill’s eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark.

    Bill felt the familiar dull ache in his heart when his eyes flickered to his brother’s bedroom door. It had not been touched since Georgie’s disappearance, apart from the times Bill had come in to silently grieve. It was still open a crack just as he had left it from his last visit. He cast the saddening thoughts from his brain, not allowing himself the emotional toll.

    Bill retrieved the bucket from the lower shelf, remembering where he had placed it from the last leak. He was sure to close the closet door quietly as to not wake his parents and he heard his feet patter against the hardwood floor.

    CLICK

    Bill froze. He recognized the sound as Georgie’s bedside lamp but it took seconds for his brain to register that as unusual. Bill looked over his shoulder to find a soft light flooding out into the hall from his brother’s room. He set the metal bucket down, it made a quiet clang, and cautiously he crept forward. Perhaps one of his parents had come to grieve? That couldn’t be. To Bill, that was just as likely as flying pigs, because ever since Georgie’s disappearance, both of his parents refused to talk about him. It’s like they had always had just one child.

    With cautious steps, he entered his brother’s room. He felt the heavy weight settle back onto his heart and chest, the room looked exactly how Georgie had left it. Bill felt all sense of caution and tension vanish as he stepped into his brother’s room. All of Georgie’s toys and trinkets where right where he left them. Even the turtle he built with Bill.

    With a heavy heart, Bill crossed the room to pick up the turtle and he took a seat on his brother’s bed. He felt a familiar lump in his throat and sting in his eyes, and yet no tears came. Bill had shed them all. He was so swept up in the overwhelming floodgate memories of his younger brother, he failed to notice the silhouette of Georgie being cast onto the door from the hall, watching him. It turned and fled and only then was Bill pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of wet galoshes scurrying down the hall.

    The boy rose to his feet, the turtle still clutched tightly in his hands. It gave him an odd sense of comfort that he could not explain and he followed the footsteps all the way downstairs. When he reached the entryway Bill tensed when he saw the living room light had been on, like it had been waiting for him. He stood across from the kitchen, moonlight was spilling from the skylight and it cast a pale green light on the tile floor. The sound of squeaky footsteps had stopped and so did he.

    A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him, much like it had for Georgie the day that he died. But Bill saw a small figure, dressed in a familiar yellow rain slicker dart across the end of the kitchen and into the cellar. The sudden sight startled Bill and the plastic turtle he forgot he had been carrying fell to the floor, shattering into its original pieces.

    “G-Georgie.” The name left his tongue in a weak whisper and yet it felt foreign.

    Like it didn’t belong to the youngest Denbrough boy.

    Bill could hear the blood pounding in his ears but he followed the figure. He hesitated when he reached the cellar door, his gut screaming at him to turn around and go to bed and forget the whole thing. But Bill couldn’t, not when there was even a chance he could see Georgie again.

    Bill tried not to let the creaking of the old cellar stairs add to his nerves, though it didn’t help. The basement had flooded, Bill realized. Moonlight from the cellar windows had spilled into the room, hitting the water and casting an ominous glow that danced along the walls. Bill heard a disturbance in the water, he could hear the water sloshing around and the noise brought his attention to the sight of his little brother hiding behind a shelf.

    Bill couldn’t believe it. Georgie looked exactly as Bill remembered, the very same bright yellow rain slicker and matching galoshes. Even his hood was up, just as it had been when he waved Bill goodbye. Georgie looked to Bill, with the very same big doe eyes and spoke in a whisper Bill could barely hear.

    “I lost it, Billy. Don’t be mad.”

    Bill felt the grip on his heart grow tighter and he struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He knew, even if by some chance he had never left his bed and he was still curled up safe and sound, dreaming he was seeing Georgie again, he would regret not speaking to him.

    “I-I’m not mad at you.”

    The moonlight bouncing off the surface of the water illuminated Georgie’s paled face in waves. He was hugging the wall, and his head was tilted down like he had been gazing at the reflecting pool. He wore a smirk but it didn’t look or feel right to Bill. His brother’s eyes were dark and the smirk held a malicious glint. Bill could see that this Georgie was as real as he was but when he looked at him, he felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

    In a way, he was.

    Georgie stalked forward, creeping around the corner of the shelf.

    “It just floated off.” His voice was barely audible above his breath and he stared at Bill. “But, Bill, if you’ll come with me, you’ll float, too.”

    “Georgie,”

    Bill’s voice came out in a weak plea, though he did not know what he was pleading for. Georgie’s smile widened and it didn’t sit well with Bill.

    “You’ll float, too.” Georgie giggled, and his voice began increasingly gradually in volume. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.”

    His entire demeanor changed, he wore a scowl and his face began to rot. His voice deepened into a demonic growl and his chanting increased.

    “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.” A large bulbous head emerged from the water beside Georgie’s feet that Bill almost missed. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

    The large swollen head now had it’s pointed chin just above the water. Dark hair clung to its distorted forehead, it’s glowing eyes were pointed in different directions, one eye on the fake Georgie and one on Bill. It was mouthing along to Georgie’s unsettling chant as one might lip-sync to their favorite song. It was mocking Bill.

    “You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

    The clown, Bill realized it was, had an arm up Georgie’s back, much like a puppeteer would on its puppet. The next words to be spoken came from the clown, in a shrill demented shriek and he shoved Georgie into the water as he did so.

    “You’ll float, too!”

    Georgie’s tiny, now rotted body, hit the surface of the water with a giant splash. The face glared at Bill for a brief fleeting moment, before it burst forth from the water, charging after him. A terrible shriek erupted from the clown and it twisted violently as it flew after Bill.

    Not daring to waste another precious second, Bill turned and sped up the cellar stairs. He ripped open the door and slammed it shut after him, not caring if the noise woke his parents.

    The clown landed on the cellar landing, grinning maliciously up at where Bill disappeared. With one last hungry look, Its eyes rolled back into Its head and It slithered back into the murky depths of the basement.  

×××

    Y/n’s head shot up for the fourth time in the past hour, and she blinked several times. She lay on her couch, her favorite quilt draped around her shoulders. Y/n looked at the ticking clock on the wall above the TV and sighed, rubbing her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. The moment she feared had come.

    She had put off her attempts at sleep for as long as she could in front of the TV. She now feared sleep, afraid of allowing herself the vulnerability she was in when she was attacked. She had nodded off a few times on the couch, her head rolling on her shoulders only to be awakened by the cheering of the audience as Johnny Carson welcomed a new guest to the stage. Fearing the possibility of another nightmare like the one only nights earlier - a lie she told herself to stay sane, even though she knew deep down it had been very real - she rose from the couch and crossed the living room to turn up the volume hoping it would keep her from drifting.

    It didn’t, had she not adjusted the set, Beverly’s screams from upstairs would have woken her. Instead, she had nodded off, her feet tucked tightly under the quilt, and the blood-curdling screams were drowned out by the bustling late-night television program and her unconscious mind. That was until roughly an hour later she had been woken up by a sharp whistled from the cheering crowd as Johnny Carson signed off.

    Y/n switched off the TV set, the low hum brought a quiet ambiance to the room as the screen dimmed. She stood on the tips of her toes, ignoring the dull throbbing in her left ankle as she reached for the metal chain of the ceiling fan light. She cursed herself for not leaving the hall light on before turning everything off in the living room, now she had to rush down the hall to the safety of her room before her imagination got the best of her.

    Lights now on and the door shut tight, Y/n trudged across her room to her bed and shed her clothes. She had completely forgotten that she had been wearing her bathing suit underneath and she was reminded of the day’s events. Her eyes wandered to the mirror across the room and she found that she had been smiling. Y/n had not expected to have as much fun as she did. And it had not been Beverly so much as it was the Tozier boy who had brought her out of her shell.

    While it was true they had known one another for at least a year, and they only just really interacted, it felt as if she knew him a lifetime. In fact, during her time at the quarry, she felt as if she had known each of them for a lifetime. Like some cosmic force in the universe had always meant for these seven misfits - these losers - to meet and form an unbreakable bond. And yet, it felt as if there was something - or someone missing - like the last piece of the puzzle and it filled Y/n with a sense of hope. Hope for good things to come - new memories to be made.

    Y/n, who had peeled off her bathing suit and exchanged it for a fresh pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, slipped under her covers and snuggled into her pillow. And it was the new and budding sense of warmth spreading in her chest that replaced the icy grip of fear that allowed her to turn off her bedside lamp in peace. A darkness fell over her room, and her mind replayed the joyous memories of the day like a slideshow in her mind.

    The chicken fight with Richie “the trash mouth” Tozier and his cheeky remarks. The new kid, Ben Hanscom, and his kind and soft-spoken nature that brought a peaceful presence to the energetic group dynamic. She enjoyed the sarcastic remarks of Stan Uris and getting to know him and watch as walls of his own slowly came down throughout the day. The effect of comradery that Bill Denbrough so effortlessly instilled into the group. And of course, she enjoyed the company and stable feeling Beverly gifted to her, grateful she had overcome her fears and joined the fun, defying the little green monster that loved to tear her down.

    And of course, the kind and quirky boy, Eddie Kaspbrak, who had been nice enough to bandage her leg that day in the alley. She could tell he was a very hyper boy, with a great deal of energy bouncing around in that unusually small stature of his. And he had a very odd habit of staring, she noticed. But nevertheless, he had a knack for making her smile. She was smiling even now, eyes closed and curled under her blankets - despite it being another hot summer night, she made sure to take extra precaution, toes tucked in and safe, just in case.

    A weak laugh escaped her, though her body had grown so tired one might have mistaken it for an exhale. Her mind had wandered to the little prank she had pulled and how enduring Eddie had looked when his nose was scrunched up from the splash of cologne. And she was of course very grateful he was willing to jump with her when she was hesitant. And something she had not admitted to herself until now was the small flutter in her stomach when she interacted with Eddie. From his kind offer of taking the leap together, to the sportsmanship exchanged between them during the chicken fight. And though she had pretended not to have noticed, she had, in fact, caught the glimpses the hypochondriac boy had stolen while she had been sunbathing.

    The way he looked at her gave her butterflies, not while sunbathing, but innocent moments that made up the bliss of childhood. While she had been caught in an unflattering belly laugh from one of Richie’s jokes, he smiled fondly at her. Or even after she had snuck up on him in the water and splashed him, he still had beaming smile and mischief in his eyes.

    The way Eddie Kaspbrak looked at Y/n L/n was very different from the way most boys looked at Beverly Marsh.

    It was never out of lust, nor was it out of obsession, but admiration. The way one might watch the fireworks on a warm night in July. It was quick and it was fleeting, and you had to be looking at the right moment to catch him, for you see, his adoration for her soon would quickly be replaced by irritation at Richie, or a witty comeback to mask his feelings that even he was denying seeing as it was a foreign concept to him. But Y/n noticed it anyway, and while she brushed it off in the moment, it was times like these in the dead of night and the safety of her own mind that she allowed herself to consider these feelings.

    Only once more did she think of the safe feeling Eddie and the other losers brought her before sleep blanketed her conscious. And thus was the first time since her traumatic encounter and her injury that she had enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep.

@seasidecrowbar ​ @bevxmarsh @supernovavisionary @readyforitbitch @edsloveshisrichie ​ @sivords ​  @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories  @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak ​ @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon ​ @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica ​ @kaitlynjones12 ​ @songbird-writes ​ @traceylader ​ @eggytozier ​  @annimalq @lexylovesfandoms ​ @russian-romanova ​ @paigey-mcfreedomly ​ @whitetrash12345 @witch-of-all-things-soft

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[vesperione]

It Started With A Whisper

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901156

Wordcount: 3,060

Relationship: Xander Lee/John McNamara

Tags: The Apotheosis, transition from non infected to infected, songfic, phone call, angst, crying, last words, flashback.

Full fic below 

A flash of golden hair and two hands slamming down on the table, the face of pure rage over the bustling in the room. “I said SILENCE!” He roared, and his agents seemed to get the idea. They silenced themselves and looked down to their table, except one, who was a physicist and remained looking up. The general didn’t stop. “We are in a situation where the spores could spread to become a pandemic worldwide, ending humanity as we know it! We know thanks to Lieutenant Lee that the origin of these mutating spores came from the meteor that crashed into The Starlight Theatre last night during the touring production of Mamma Mia! We know these spores in particular alter DNA to mimic someone in a musical, but once you get infected, you’re dead. We must not panic and remain safe!” He said and glared at each individual soldier, his eyes lingering on the Lieutenant’s face beside him. It was worried, sad, fearful. He looked away first, and the general took a breath.

“Any remaining survivors must be shot dead, once in the head, once in the heart. We don’t know who is infected. The plan after is that we incinerate the corpses of the dead, destroy any last spores with fire and blow the meteor to shreds. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” A chorus of voices rang from around the table.

“I wish for Lieutenant Lee to stay behind and as for the rest of you? You are required to head straight to your stations and do not move once you are there! PEIP will be in lockdown once everyone is in the correct position. Dismissed.”

With that, the shuffle of chairs against faded carpet, the soldiers left, aside from two. The Lieutenant remained sitting down, his hands putting his head in their hold, while John, pull a chair beside him, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Dear, a lot of people have died, and it is our duty to make a clean sweep of the island. We can’t allow any others to die today.”

“But if you go out there, there’s a higher possibility that you will die. You can’t go out; you won’t make it back.”

“Xander, listen.” John looked down to his husband, his hands placed in a firm clasp. “We are strong. We are McNamara’s.”

“No, you’re a McNamara, we got married illegally.”

“Regardless, you’re my husband, and you’re the strongest man I know. The McNamara’s are the strongest family in Hatchetfield, we’ll be fine.”

“No, we won’t. Things are indefinitely gonna change whether you make it back or not.” John looked to the Lieutenant, just in time to see a tear drop on to the glass table. He bit his lip and placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll make it back.”

“Stop lying to yourself, John.” Xander said, his voice shaking as tears continued to fall down his face. “If you go, you’re gonna die. You know that, deep down.” He looked up to face his husband. “The agents we’ve already sent out have died, you know that, I know that, Ben knows that, and you’re gonna send yourself into the epicentre?”

“Xander, you know it’s not like that.” John looked at him, trying to reason, but he shook his head.

“Speaking from a Lieutenant’s point of view, if our general dies, the entire precinct goes down with it. I’m aware Colonel Schaffer is prepared to take over PEIP at any sudden chance you go, but PEIP will never be the same. It won’t be General McNamara’s precinct anymore. Sure, you’ll get your place on the PEIP Hall of Commemoration, but there’ll be a new leader, new rules.”

“I know but-“

“And as your husband, who the fuck am I going to come home to every night aside from the cats?” He looked up at John and took in the slight grey thunderbolt streaks that clashed with his stormy blue skies of irises, creating the picture-perfect storm on what could have been a blank canvas. It was a while before John broke his eyes away and stood up. “No, John! You tell me! You can’t run from this! You can’t run from the pain you’re gonna cause others if you step out that door!”

“It’s hard enough as it is for me to have to leave you, but as the general of this god-forsaken branch, it’s my duty to protect the remaining agents while they stay in the precinct and calculate a cure! You will be one of those to go into your lab and get working!”

“Yet I can’t go with you?!”

“You don’t have the current training!”

“Stop trying to fucking protect me, John! I’ve been here since 2007 and you treat me like a Private most of the time! I’m a 35-year-old Lieutenant with a degree in theoretical physics and I’m fully trained as a medic! I have the training, so why are you sacrificing your life instead of mine?!”

“Because if I have to watch you die, then what’s the point of trying to go on, Xander?! I’d be alive, yes, but I’d only be surviving! If I had to watch you die, then I wouldn’t be able to call myself a married man and the person who kept me alive wouldn’t be there to comfort me. I’d be down, I’d be so down, and I’d end up dead anyway! I’d prefer it if you stayed here, under my orders, and for you to stop being so damn stubborn with me!”

“Me? Stubborn?!” Xander laughed tearfully and looked at him. “You’re the stubborn one! You run from your problems instead of solving them, you bask in your insecurities instead of delving upon them, you-“ But he was cut off by the familiar feeling of John’s semi-chapped lips against his own. John’s hands were cupping his face, and John was standing on his toes to kiss him better. Xander couldn’t help but hold his waist as he kissed him back. He didn’t want to be the one to pull away, and he didn’t think John would want to be the person either, so he could feel the kiss deepening. Eventually, John’s face left his, but his forehead was pressed to the physicist’s. The soft thumb attached to John’s hand wiped away the bead of salt that threatened to roll down Xander’s face.

“Hey, baby,” John started, his eyes closed and his voice quiet. “I’ll be home by ten. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Xander said, a soft whisper in his voice as John moved away from his husband, not before he dropped his wedding and engagement rings in Xander’s fist. Before Xander could process it, he was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

(a JEIP is a peip officiated jeep)

John started up the JEIP, hearing Xander’s music playing through the speaker. He immediately switched it off. He’d rather not be reminded of his husband as he accepted his fate.

His husband, his smart, incredible, the pure definition of ‘tall, dark and handsome,’ Xander James Lee. His mind was like no others, and John had hired him on the spot. They started dating within a year and got married two years after. They’d both cried when they’d gotten home that night. It had been illegal, and they both knew that, but they had each other. He was John’s new addiction, aside from the cigarettes, and Xander became the only thing he thought about ever. When Xander spoke, sometimes it sounded like what John was being given was fiction, but it was only because John’s mind was struggling to piece together the creative aspects of Xander and the complicated phrases he uttered. It didn’t matter. John was a sorry sucker for the smart, and he found that this kind of thing happened all the time. He was an easy target to gain a crush on someone, but he rarely acted upon it. If Xander hadn’t kissed John in his office to begin with, he wouldn’t be married to the smartest guy in town.

He shook his head. Thinking of Xander would make everyone worse. He started driving deeper into the centre of Hatchetfield to reach Hatchetfield High, the school where he suspected there’d be a few survivors, if any. The grey haze around him soon became a paler blue. He locked his doors and windows, but he feared it was too late.

It started with a whisper. It was only the smallest thing, but it was in the back of John’s mind, and he knew he was gone.

He doesn’t love you.

“ No, John, ignore it.”

And you don’t love him.

“ Of course you do, you’re married to him, don’t cave in.”

That was why you kissed her when you were drunk.

“John, you only kissed her when you were seventeen, it was internalised homophobia and we didn’t know Xander back then.”

But you liked the way she felt against your lips.

“No. I didn’t.”

And then she made your lips hurt.

“Shut up.” The voice was getting louder, and it was being sung to him.

But we can hear the chit chat, so take us to your love shack-

He hit the breaks and he jerked forward, panting at the memory. It was internalised homophobia, and nothing came out of it. He was left in silence until he heard the voice sing again.

Mama’s always gotta back track, when everybody talks back.

He growled and got out the car, lighting a cigarette. He was in Hatchetfield High, or near enough to it. He held his gun in his hand. He had to go and find any survivors and eliminate them.

--------------------------------------------------------

Eventually he did. He found a tall, flimsy man with brunette hair who looked a lot like Xander aside from the pale skin. John grabbed a chair as the man became conscious, groaning with pain. The voice had gone away, and the general was having an internal debate as to whether he was truly infected, or whether his mind was convincing him he was. Either way, he was beginning to get scared. He’d broken his promise to his husband, he’d lost the fight.

“Sorry for the knock in the head, son. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Paul…Matthews.” The guy said, and John smiled reassuringly.

“Good evening, Paul. My name is General John McNamara of the United States Military, special unit P-E-I-P, we call it PEIP.” He said as he took a seat, facing the taller man.

“PEIP? I’ve never heard of you guys.” It was clear he was confused, which was the correct tactic. No citizen outside of PEIP should know what the army base was. Even if a member had a husband or wife or kids who didn’t work there, they were strictly forbidden from knowing what PEIP was. If information got leaked, it would traumatise a lot of people. They had to be careful who they hired and had to ensure they remained to have top secrecy 24:7. It wasn’t fair on the innocent citizens for them to be placed in a situation like that, and immediately begin to panic. He’d watched it happen when his mentor, Wilbur Cross, was unintentionally too loud when discussing a case they had to work on. Needless to say, that woman lost her life that day before she could spread rumours.

John shook his head at the faint memory, quick to come up with a joke to make the situation more light-hearted and less threatening as he’d been taught during his training.

“And you never will, not a peep.” He grinned, but Paul’s fearful, brown eyes remained wide and dilated. John sighed and took another drag on the cigarette. “That was a joke, son.” Only then did the song begin to start up again.

Hey, honey, you could be my drug. You could be my new prescription.

John froze as Paul started asking questions about the scene. The song was back, and he was losing hope about himself. John answered the questions the best he could, explaining how they dealt with crises of a certain nature and such. Then he bought up the helicopter, and Paul perked up. When John stood up with Paul’s phone in his hand, he went to throw it until he heard the song again.

Too much could be an overdose, all this trash talk make me itchin’.

John swallowed and decided to only throw it a short distance, beginning to get scared. Him and Paul continued to make short conversation about his crush, Emma, and where to go. Once Paul ran out the building, John headed back over to the phone. The lock screen was nothing special, and he didn’t know the passcode, but he was able to swipe on to the emergency phone call section. He had Xander’s phone number memorised, so he typed it in, sitting against a mat on the floor, leaning against the wall as the song continued in his head.

Oh my, my. Everybody talks, everybody talks. Everybody talks, too much.  

John felt tears prick his eyes, grateful when he heard the static of the other end picking up.

“Xander Lee, theoretical physicist speaking, how may I help?”

“Hey, baby.” John said, unable to stop a smile from forming as it always did when he heard Xander’s voice.

“John! Shit! Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I swear.” That was a lie. The song was getting stronger and he was starting to feel a faint rhythm in his veins. He was getting scared. Maybe he wasn’t making it home…

“You sound panicked.”

“I’m ringing to ensure everything’s running smoothly back at HQ. Is it?”

“As smooth as it can be.” Xander’s sigh was heavy, pulling his entire weight down with him. John found himself sinking further down into the ground at the sound. “But I’m okay. I’m in my lab and I haven’t let anybody in. I’m quarantined.”

“Good.” John said, moving his beret more over his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I understand. You’re doing what you have to do. You’re the general, I should have trusted you before-“

“Hey, sweetheart, don’t play the blame game now. It’s okay and I’ve forgiven you, understand?”

“Understood, John.”

“Good.” John said, clutching the edge of the mat as the beat began to become something similar to an annoying itch. He began to tap out the beat on to the carpet beside him with his other hand, trying to keep fighting the virus that consumed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I can’t wait for you to come home, I know you’ll be able to do it.”

That seemed to trigger something inside of John, and something slipped out of his mouth that wasn’t supposed to. “I never thought I’d live to see the day, when everybody’s words got in the way.” He was still speaking, but the beat was as clear as day. Luckily, he heard Xander laugh over the phone. His soft laugh that was rare to hear. John was the only one who heard it lately.

“You’re still annoyed at me for trying to stop you from leaving earlier, aren’t you?” Another laugh followed. “I knew you would, I’m not surprised.”

John couldn’t hold back any longer. He had to tell Xander the truth. He was gone, and he was falling quicker. He had to say goodbye while he still could. “Hey sugar, show me all your love. All you’re giving me is friction.”

“John?” The question was meek and scared, the tone of the call immediately fading. John never used that pet name. Something was wrong. He knew John wouldn’t have rang otherwise.

“Hey, sugar, what you gotta say?” Another way to reveal John wasn’t himself anymore. He hardly abbreviated his words and was unable to keep himself fighting the infection. He felt weak, and he knew he was. He fought back for consciousness as tears formed more in his eyes. What was worse was Xander’s panicked voice.

“John, what’s going on?!” The frantic clicking of keys on the other end of the line signalled to John that Xander was trying to access John’s medical information stored in John’s watch. He took a breath. He had to admit to Xander the truth.

“I’m sorry, Xander. But it started with a whisper…” He was quiet himself, trying to prevent sobs.

“No! Don’t you dare, John! Don’t you dare!”

“And it felt like the first time I kissed you, when you made my lips hurt.”

“You are staying alive! I’m working on a cure, I nearly have it finished! I’ll get you back!”

“And suddenly, I could hear a conjoined group of voices in Hatchetfield all singing in one harmony…there was a lot of chit chat regarding a situation that turned into a song… and I’m sorry.”

“John! You’re lying!”

“Take me to your love shack.” He slipped up and heard a sob come from the other line, or maybe it was a scream. “I’m sorry, Xander, I’m trying to fight but it’s heard when everybody talks back, everybody talks, everybody talks-“

“John, keep fighting-“

“Everybody talks, everybody talks.”

“I’ve almost gotten the cure!”

“Everybody talks, everybody talks back….I’m sorry, I love you.”

“John, fucking fight!”

“Say it back, Xander! I love you!”

“I-I love you too!”

The phone hung up and John threw it until it smashed on the ground, letting the warmth fill his body as his own thoughts became clouded with the hives own.

“It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed him.” A smirk formed on John’s face as he looked to the damaged glass he’d left on the floor. He pulled himself up, like a puppet controlled by a master. “Everybody talks, everybody talks back.” He took a final glance at the room before he walked in the same beat as the new song beginning to form. It was close enough to eleven o’clock at night. There was a guy with a moustache he didn’t recognise, but he was talking about the military and his American pride. John would have scoffed, but this wasn’t John. He drew his gun and shot him, grabbing the man’s shoulder. Xander didn’t exist to the hive. Xander was weak. Xander could be thrown away. John couldn’t. His smile was stained blue as he looked to the bleeding man.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but American’s should fit a mould…”

[midnightartemis]

Chapter Three Up Now ~

Read Me Here

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about her every second of every day since he first saw her. It was beginning to turn into a waking nightmare almost. One fucking conversation with this girl and he was gone. She didn’t even give him her last name. She had fallen asleep on the couch not long after she stopped giggling about his tax evasion quip. He wasn’t surprised; she had finished off the rest of the joint on her own. He could watch the smoke pour from her lips for eternity. He was usually an adamant follower of the puff puff pass rule.

Rey from Jakku was going to be the death of him.

When he went to put a blanket over her again, she barely even moved.

The only thing that did distract Ben from her was the impending showdown between him and Kuruk. The man almost matched him in height, though he was much skinnier. That just made him a little bit faster. And Rey taking a liking to Ben has only pissed Kuruk off.

Much to his disappointment, Rey left before anyone else in the loft woke up. No one woke up before two anyway.

Ben rolled a joint as the coffee brewed. The smell eventually woke everyone else up and soon the couch was full, the room smelled of freshly ground sour diesel, and Saturday morning cartoons played on the projector. After a cup of coffee, AP pulled out a wad of cash and divided it out into piles. The largest went to Ben for supplying, the second largest to AP for manufacturing and delivery, and The rest was split between Kuruk, Trudge, Ushar, and… Ben frowned. He hadn’t seen Cardo or Vik and there was one last pile. AP saw him eyeing it. “It’s for Rey.”

“Rey?”

“Yeah, got a problem?” Kuruk was already starting to dig in. Push the issue until it came to a breaking point.

“Thought it took a unanimous vote to let someone in.” Ben eyed each of the guys.

AP, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. “She’s not in.”

Ben relaxed a little. They hadn’t forced her through initiation.

“If she was, Kuruk would not be left standing.” Trudge chuckled.

“Yeah, how’s your nose doing fucker?” Kuruk seethed.

Trudge threw his meaty hands in the air. “Hey, I learned my lesson. She could tell me to eat shit and I’d listen.”

How had a girl that tiny instilled so much fear and reverence into this tiny fucked up group?

“She helps me with the books sometimes. That’s why she gets a share.” AP finally supplied. “We trust her.”

Ben gave a shallow nod. “And Cardo. Vik?”

“Vik’s been MIA since the baby. Cardo will show up when he feels like it.”

Ben let his face drop into his mask. Unfazed from the outside. Warring on the inside. He hadn’t even known Vik was having a kid.

The impromptu meeting ended as quickly as it had begun. Trudge and Ushar settled into their cartoons. At least that much hadn’t changed. Kuruk fucked off to somewhere else and AP sat on the couch looking conflicted. After a few minutes, the quiet guy seemed to resign himself to an answer. He stood, his face dead serious as he looked Ben in the eye. “We should talk.”

That was one of the many things Ben secretly admired about AP. He was one of the originals and in the ten years Ben had known him, the man had barely changed. He didn’t sugarcoat. Didn’t play games. Though he could be a bit cryptic, everything was always dead serious with AP.

Ben nodded and followed the dude out the door and onto the small patio. The dry heat of the afternoon hit him in full force as they stepped out. He lit his joint and didn’t offer it to AP knowing the dude would just say no anyway.

“What the fuck are your intentions here, Ben?”

Ben stilled as he brought the joint to his lips. No one in the Knights ever called him Ben. He was pretty sure Trudge and Ushar didn’t even know his name wasn’t actually Kylo. And AP- AP only used it when he was beyond dead serious.

“You know what my intentions are.”

“You were supposed to get out of this. You were supposed to leave and never come back.”

“Yeah well that didn’t fucking work out, did it?” Ben growled and smashed the lit end of the joint into the metal railing.

“You can’t just come waltzing back expecting to throw a few punches and make everything magically the same as before. It’s not the same, Ben. Why the fuck did you come back?”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Where else would I go?”

“Did you even call your mom? Have you even told her you dropped out?”

“I never said I dropped out.”

“You didn’t have to.” AP scowled and he dropped his gaze to the dead fields of grass. “I would have heard about it if the chemistry lab purposefully got blown up.”

Ben narrowed his eyes and gave AP a long side glance. “You’re still seeing that TA?”

“He’s an adjunct Professor now.” AP sighs. It’s the happiest thing Ben thinks the guy’s ever done. “I know she’ll kill you herself if you hurt her but just know that the rest of us will help bury the body.”

Ben laughs a little and AP turns sharply to face him. “I’m fucking serious. You hurt her even just a little bit and I will wipe you off the face of this planet. She’s been through enough. So if you think she’s just some sick game to piss off Kuruk or a quick lay you back the fuck off and leave her alone.”

AP’s dark eyes are enough to tell Ben that if Rey didn’t kill him, he would. “She’s not. I don’t want to hurt her.”

AP smiles sadly. “You don’t want to. But you will.”

By the time Friday comes around, Ben is looking for a fight. He and Kuruk have steadily been pushing buttons and digging under each other’s skin for days now. It was only a matter of time before the party was set in motion. AP was noticeably absent first thing in the morning. It only takes Ben seeing the look on Kuruk’s face to know that time is up. They’re nearing breaking point and only one will come out victorious. It calls for a party the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Kylo took on Ren himself.

AP was out gathering the more illicit provisions while Trudge and Ushar carried a nearly endless chain of kegs and tubs and ice into the recently ‘unlocked’ basement of the warehouse. Ben and Kuruk were left to simmer. Ben poured himself a drink and set down to rolling the last of the weed to sell or smoke tonight. Rolling was one of the few things that calmed him- even when he could feel Kuruk’s pissed of stare burrowing into the back of his head. Even when AP’s words had been rattling around in there for days now, mixing with the images of her soft smile he held tightly onto. The one she tried to hide from him. And those hazel eyes that looked right at him and kept on digging. Everything about her drew him in. He couldn’t resist the chance for one touch of the light.

He hoped she wasn’t there tonight. He hoped she never saw what he really was. What he could do.

All hope of that was lost when she turned up beside AP a few hours deep into the party. His eyes latched onto her the moment he spotted her hair, up in three little buns. Her eyes were dark as bruises and anger boiled in him until he got a better view in the dim red right and realized that it was makeup. It was only wearing makeup. She wore a black holy t-shirt with a band logo on it so faded it was almost beyond recognition. Her jeans were covered in black sharpie doodles. Flowers, he thought. She had that scowl on her face not at all dissimilar to the one she first gave him. Within seconds AP had a drink in her hand.

Her eyes drank in the crowd, scanning the room until they landed on his. And stayed. A flash of pain danced across her eyes. There and hidden in an instant.

What did he do?

What-

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Ben looked back down at the tiny brunette clinging to his side. The woman had been incredibly persistent for the past hour, even going so far as trying to force him into an old, musty janitor's closet.

“Not particularly. No.” Ben barely spared her a glance.

“God, you’re a fucking asshole.” The woman stormed away, finally taking his hints. When he searched the crowd again, Rey was gone.

He knew he was an asshole. He knew it and he went off in Rey’s direction anyway. He needed to explain. He needed to know why she looked so hurt when she saw him. He found AP first.

“Where’d she go?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

Ben could give two fucks about Kuruk and midnight. “Where’d she go?”

AP sighed and shrugged. “I’m not her keeper. She can handle herself.”

“You’re a dick you know that, Finn?”

The dude shrugged and went back to fucking off. Ben pushed through the crowd. Most people parted automatically for him mostly thanks to his size and his ability to not give a fuck about anyone. Anyone but her. He couldn’t explain why now at this moment he felt like the entire world rode on his ability to get to her, to find her, to explain himself when there was nothing yet to explain.

He pushed through a rather large group of people and stumbled into an open pocket in the middle of the crowded room. Music screamed through every inch of the room- the bass shaking the foundations.

His eyes searched the room until they landed on the messy row of three buns, the faded black tee. The hand gripping her waist. The anger in her eyes. The smirk on Kuruk’s lips as he turned to look at Ben.

Ben felt the dark thing inside him snap. Kuruk has found the breaking point. Ben grabbed the nearest glass bottle and slammed it on the ground.

He comes to when he feels her touch burning hot against the skin of his wrist. So feather-light he shouldn’t have been able to feel it but it stops him like a live wire. The room around him has gone deadly quiet and it takes a moment for him to feel the stares of dozens of silent people. There’s a groan from underneath him and he looks down to see what’s left of Kuruk’s bloody face. The man is completely slack underneath him, not even trying to fight back.

“Ben. That’s enough.” Rey says quietly, her voice firm. He lets her pull him away with gentle tugs. His mind wars between

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

And

Is he dead is he dead is he dead

AP, Trudge, and Ushar emerge from the crowd to haul Kuruk away. He’d gone too far. Way too far. He could tell by the terrified looks he got as he passed through the crowd.

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

Outside that small basement room, the party is still in full swing, blissfully unaware of the night's main event. He doesn’t feel a thing but the touch of her skin around his wrist. She leads him deftly through the crowd and up the narrow staircase to the loft. Vik steps away from the lofts' entrance, letting them by. Door duty . Kylo thinks stupidly. He used to hate door duty.

Rey’s touch left him as she sat him down on the couch. He let out a small pitiful whimper at its loss.

“Relax. I’m only going to get the first aid shit.” He might have been imagining it but he thought he saw her smile.

Rey disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a minute later with a giant box of medical supplies. It was even labeled medical supplies in handwriting he didn’t recognize. Her handwriting.

She took out a white bottle and a piece of cloth to wet with the liquid. Ben shuddered and forced himself to stay still as she brought the cloth to his bloody knuckles and began dabbing at them. He dared not to speak as she took her hand in his and turned it this way and that to clean away his skin. The cloth came away bright red. She moved to his other hand and added more of the clear liquid to the cloth. He sucked in a breath as she ran the cloth across his knuckles. Her hands worked quickly then to wrap his hand in gauze.

When he thought she was done she grabbed a fresh cloth and sat close to him. Closer than she ever had before. He could count her freckles against her tan skin, smell the warm earthy scent coming off of her, feel the heat of her against him. He was too dumbstruck to move and was fighting a losing battle against his desire to look at her lips. To taste her just one time. Rey brought the cloth to his lips. Her fingers gently guided him to look at her, to tilt his chin down to her reach. The throbbing in his face slowly came to the front of his mind. It seemed Kuruk had gotten a couple hits in after all.

She cleaned his skin carefully, working up the side of his face. He closes his eyes as she gets to his brow, letting her soft touch consume him. She had seen him at his worst and yet she was still here. She wasn’t flinching away.

“Rey.” Her name came out as a soft whisper that hung in the air between them. She had to come to him, he knew that much. He couldn’t open his eyes. He could only hope that she understood. The cloth dropped away from his eye. Soft lips pressed against the corner of his own. Ben opened his eyes to see her looking up at him. Hopeful. Hungry.

The door to the apartment swung open and the rest of the knights piled into the apartment. Trudge carried a half-conscious Kuruk over his shoulders. Ben cursed under his breath as Rey moved away from him and made room for Trudge to set Kuruk on the couch. The man moaned pitifully and Ben bit back a smirk.

“Cops got called.” AP moved through the room quickly, clearing off the coffee table and locking everything away in the safe built into the wall.

“Warrant?” Ben asked.

“Not likely. Unless they’ve been sitting on it.” Vik shut the door after Cardo slipped in and locked it. Cardo had been at the front door taking entrance fees. He was probably the one to sound the alarm.

“You need to take off?” Ben asked Vik. The dude had a kid now. He couldn’t get caught up in petty shit.

Vik shrugged and moved through the room, picking up a warm, unopened beer. “I’ll just hide in the back. Jenny and Ambrose weren’t expecting me.”

The man tossed him the lock's key and disappeared through the hole in the wall. Trudge and Ushar moved the one giant bookcase over the hole.

“You shouldn’t be here either.” Ben turned his focus back to Rey. She was kneeling beside Kuruk and cleaning him up with a fresh cloth, though she wasn’t being half as gentle with Kuruk as she had with him.

“I’ll just hide under the spare bed. The cops don’t give two shits about me.”

Spare bed?

Ben was about to argue the point until he saw the look AP gave him. Rey could take care of herself.

Ben let it go. “Take Kuruk to his room. Don’t need cops coming in ‘cause there’s a half-dead dude on the couch.”

Trudge and Ushar pull Kuruk off the couch and Rey packs up the medical supplies. A few minutes later, the loft looked like almost any other night. Trudge and Ushar argued over what game to play and AP took up his spot on the couch, scrolling on his phone. Rey, however, was the one to go back to the projector to turn it on. He watched as she opened up the projector and blew inside. The projector came seamlessly to life. She turned on the Wii and tossed two of the remotes to the twins. “Mario Kart.”

They groaned as she smiled wickedly.

“Fucking fine. I want Moo Moo Meadows this time though.” Ushar pouted. Rey hesitated as she picked up the fourth remote. He guessed that was the one Kuruk usually got. Her hesitation only lasted a second before she lobbed it across the room to his hands. Ben caught it and held his breath as she slipped over the back of the couch to sit beside him. She was careful to not touch him and he was careful to do the same.

She picked out Moo Moo Meadows, Wario’s Gold Mine, and Rainbow Road. Ben barely tried as he watched her easily beat them as Daisy. Trudge always gave up halfway through and would start going the wrong way for fun. Ushar spent more time dying than racing. Ben managed to finish in a solid sixth place twice. She had no competition here. As she crossed the rainbow road finish line in first (a feat even he considered almost impossible), there was a loud knock at the door.

“CPD! Open up.”

Rey was gone before Ben could say anything. The door to his old room swung shut. So, that was the spare bedroom. He spared a glance at AP before standing up to open the door. He held his hand on the lock.

“This is a private residence. You got a warrant?”

“No, sir. Just a few questions.” Ben undid the heavy U lock and slid the heavy metal door open slowly. Two uniforms stood in the hall, their eyes hard and their hands near the guns on their hips. He didn’t recognize either of them. Newbies. Ben placed his hand against the door frame and the door, his body blocking most of the view inside.

“What’d you want?”

The guy cop's eyes went wide as he looked up and down Ben. “Are you in need of medical attention, sir?”

Ben glanced at the bandages on his hands. “Nah, I’m good. Just took a tumble down the stairs. Bit of a clutz.”

Neither of them believed him but that didn’t matter.

“Is there anyone in the house with you?”

Ben shrugged as the sounds of Mario Kart started up again. “Just my roommates.”

“Were you aware that there was an illegal event happening in the basement of this building?” The woman cop took over. She gave him a look like she would never believe anything that came out of his mouth.

“Illegal Event? No. I’ve been kicking their asses at Mario Kart all night.”

“Mario Kart.” The woman raised her eyebrows.

“That it?”

The cops didn’t reply.

“Great.” He said gruffly. “Have a good night officers.”

Ben slid the door shut and snapped the lock back on. He waited for another knock but it never came. He went to the kitchen to make an old-fashioned. It wasn’t as smooth as usual with bandaged hands that were beginning to shake. The fresh cut on his face was beginning to burn and tingle against the open air.

The twins moved the bookshelf away from the hole in the wall to let Vik back in. They switched from Mario Kart to COD. The door to his room stayed shut. Ben crossed the room and knocked softly. No reply. He pushed the door open slowly, letting the light shine in but not entering himself. The light landed on the black sheets of his old bed. Rey had curled in a ball in the center of it underneath the comforter. Her ribs moved up and down ever so slightly. She had fallen asleep. Ben shut the door softly.

He guessed he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.

AP retired to take care of Kuruk not long after Ben sat down, drink in hand. He mindlessly watched the twins play COD. Vik took off once the cops had cleared out and Cardo followed soon after. Ben couldn’t fall asleep even with the pull of alcohol and his mindless staring. The twins cleared out, disappearing to their rooms in the back. Ben shifted out of his shoes and jeans. His shirt had turned almost solid with dried blood at the neck so he shed that too. Ben turned on the Wii. Alone in the glow of the projector, he thought about the touch of her lips against his skin. What would it feel like if she dared to touch him? What he would do to her if she let him touch her back? He was going to need to take a very very very cold shower. He tried to focus on Mario Kart instead.

Night passed into the wee hours of the morning. A cry echoed through the loft and Ben paused his failed attempt at Rainbow Road.

“No!”

The cry came from his room. Rey. Ben’s heart pounded as he leaped over the couch and opened the door to his room. Rey laid where he had left her, still curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. She twitched, her head rolling back and forth as if she were trying to escape from something invisible. She cried out again at her nightmare.

“Rey.” His voice was hoarse from not speaking for hours. She twitched again, not waking up. “Rey- Rey, wake up. It’s only a nightmare.”

She whimpered and Ben crossed the room. He’d have to touch her to wake her up. He tried again. “Rey, wake up.”

She cried out again, a painful whimper that sent an ache shooting through his chest. He reached his hand out, prepared to snatch it away the moment he touched her. He touched her shoulder and she sprung awake, pushing herself to the far side of the bed so her back was against the wall. Ben backed up two steps, his hands in the air. “It’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

“Ben?” Rey swallowed trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“Yeah. Just me. I tried calling your name but it didn’t work.”

Rey nodded slowly as she caught her breath. “I heard you. I think. I just couldn’t… get out of it. Did I wake you up?”

Ben shook his head. “Nah. I was practicing Mario Kart so you can have some actual competition.”

Her lips quirked up in an actual smile. “Well, at least someone has the balls to challenge me.”

Rey’s hair had fallen half-way out of her three buns. Her eyes were soft with sleep and there was an imprint of his pillow across her face. Her mind drifted to something else and she frowned. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”

“You were in my bed.” Ben shrugged. “Didn’t want to wake you up. Seemed like you needed it more than I did.”

“I can move to the couch.” Rey offered sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to steal your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ben moved to go back out to the living room.

“Wait.”

Ben froze in his tracks trying not to get his hopes up too high. He turned back to her and found her eyes unabashedly looking over his bare chest.

“There’s room for two.”

“Are you sure?” He asked slowly.

The girl nodded. “Yeah.”

She shifted as he crossed the room and laid down on his back across the edge farthest from her. He risked a glance at her. She hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. He said nothing beyond his silent plea.

Come to me. Before I break. Before I redesign myself to loneliness for the rest of my life.

He could feel her watching him. Evaluating. Fighting. She slowly lowered herself away from the wall and curled up beside him, not quite touching him but close enough that she might. Ben closed his eyes and let a new calm darkness wash over him.

I know it's warmer where you are And it's safer by your side But right now I can't be what you want Just give it time...

Well it's cold when we're apart And I hate to feel this die But you can't give me what I want Just give it time...

But for now we stay so far 'Til our lonely limbs connect I can't keep you in these arms So I'll keep you in my mind...

Can we meet in the middle Bodies and souls collide Dance in the moonlight Where all the stars align Oh you and I, oh you and I, oh

- You and I, PVRIS

[11likeswritingfanfiction]

Haunt, chapter three: Pennywise The Dancing Clown

Fandom: IT by Stephen King but like more based on the movies that came out in the recent years and not the novel or miniseries.

Summary: Shanice, Mike, Stan, Richie Ben, Bill, and Bev meet Pennywise the dancing.

Warnings: Mentions of violence.

Word Count: 4,866

A/N:  So, this basically turned into like an alternate, novelized version of the first movie's original script and partly aspects from the novel. Anyways I mainly wrote this for fun and to relieve stress so I hope you enjoy reading this!

Ch.1 | Ch. 2

“I was thinking about It. Ironworks explosion in 1904. Bradley Gang in ‘32. The Black Spot in ‘59. And now with Georgie, Dorsey and the rest--it seems like this bad stuff happens nearly every thirty years.”

Time’s passed, and the fourth of July is right around the corner--the town of Derry takes things quite seriously--patriotic imagery scattered everywhere, vendors selling brightly labeled fireworks. Her grandfather would probably be out, burning meat while they celebrated in their own way.

The self-proclaimed, ‘Losers Club’ members sit near Paul Bunyan statue. Stan rests his head on her shoulder, listening to Ben’s Ominous rambling with her. Her brother on the other side with a complicated expression, sunglasses perched on her head through her bushy hair.

Stan raises his head from its place with uncertain eyes trained on Ben.

“So what, this town is cursed?”

“That’s what my grandfather thinks...”

Stan questions and Mike answers--Shanice glances at Stan, thinking back to her grandfather’s choice words for the Town.

She glances at the rest of the ‘Losers’, raising the question, “Y’all know what a haunt is?”

“You mean like in a ‘who-ya-gonna-call’ sense?” Shanice shifts her eyes to Richie, shaking her head.

“Nah, not like that. Haunt can also mean like a feeding ground for animals--or for something else. My grandfather told me he thinks all the bad things that happen in this town are caused by one thing. An evil thing, that feeds off the people of Derry--one that fed off of him.”

Feeling all eyes on her and Mike, urging her to continue.

“After that run-in with Bower’s gang...”

Mike and Shanice make it home, black and blue.

The two siblings look as if they’d been run through the wringer--or under the siege of rocks and boot soles.

Their Grandfather, who was sitting in the living, itching to chew them out stops and rushes over to them after seeing Mike’s bruises.

“What in God’s name--”

“--Bowers, again,” Shanice mutters, spitting out the name without reluctance.

Sighing, her grandfather states, “...at least you two came home in one piece.”

She nods, heading to the kitchen for a glass of lemonade while Mike quietly sits at the table. Her grandfather takes off his farming gloves, taking a seat next to his grandson.

“Aside from that, Granddaddy, you’ve lived here for a while, right?” Shanice asks, after a beat of silence, handing him a drink after she’d already poured her.

After another beat, he answers before downing the drink in his hands, “About my whole life.”

The siblings, Mike now taking a bit more confidence, “Granddaddy, have you seen It ?”

The glass in his hand had fallen to the ground, shattering--the sound made Shanice flinches, unknowingly, goosebumps litter her skin. The Hanlon Patriarch sits, shaking a bit--Shanice quickly looks to see if he’s ok but stops after seeing his face. He shook, he looked, spooked--haunted, repulsed at the very mention of ‘ It ’.

“Now y’all listen to me, listen to me good. There’s a reason why I tell y’all this town is strange.” As the three of them sat down at the dining table their grandfather lifted his pants leg to reveal—a wooden leg. It was smooth, oak-toned, and worn down by time. As he silently lets his pants leg, his voice begins to tremble, deep and strained.

“Sixty-six years ago, I lost my leg--to It.”

“He was right. It--It is somethin’ Evil.” Shanice whispers, her eyes narrow, like slits to a dark abyss. The mood chills amongst the teenagers when they realize they’re dealing with big--that seemed to be after kids.

Back to the teens sitting in the Monument, they glanced at her with startled eyes.

“But It can’t be one thing. We’re all seeing something different...”

“Yeah, but I think it’s because It uses our worst fears to scare us...”

Bill begins to speculate, “I guess that’s why I’m seeing Georgie.” Eddie follows him by, “I saw a walking infection. What’d about you, Richie? What are you afraid of?”

Richie frowns.

“Clowns.”

....

....

Shanice yawns.

It was a Thursday, ten in the morning.

‘The Losers Club’ sat in Denbrough's garage. Facing Shanice is a map of the sewers, projected on the wall in front of her and the rest of the ‘Losers’. The lights illuminate the room, almost as if they were telling ghost stories under a flashlight. Bill looks over to Ben, questioning if he brought ‘the map’; that map being an old map to Derry.

“Look.” Bill addresses the rest of the group, “Th-there’s the Ironworks. There’s the B-black Spot. Everywhere It happened to be is all c-connected by the sewers and they all meet up at.”

“The wheelhouse,” Ben notes.

“It’s in the house on Neibolt street.” Shanice furrows in curiosity her brows at Eddie’s words.

“Neibolt Street?”

“You mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?”

“I hate that place.” Beverly says with a frown, adding, “It always feels like it’s watching you.”

“That’s where It lives.” Bill murmurs, staring at the image projection, until--Eddie, wheezing, rips the map clean off the wall.

“Can we stop talking about this? This is summer -- we’re kids -- we’re supposed to be--” He says through pants, Richie gets up abruptly adding, “I agree with Eds.”

“No...put the map back, Eddie--”

Suddenly, the light isn’t shining against the wall, nor is projecting the map of Derry either--instead, it shines bright in Eddie’s face, like a truck's headlights.

“What happened?” Bill begins to get up from his seat when he stops to stare at the image projected.

It’s vacation photos, showing a happy family. Shanice recognizes Bill in it, smiling, in what seems like hiking clothes. Beside him is a boy that looks about 70% similar to him--a lot like him, but not entirely. She could only guess it was Georgie, Bill’s younger brother that died.

The projector keeps going.

Next photo there’s one of the family swimming--then, the boy--Georgie is standing at the edge of the lake. When Shanice is morbidly expecting it to switch to another photo, it doesn’t.

It shows the same picture, of the same boy--again, and again, and again.

But, there’s something different--it was as if the boy was moving, like a video. And slowly, Georgie turns his face to view his audience--them--with his face is painted with terror.

“Georgie?” Bill implores, almost in a whisper as Richie mutters, probably to himself, “What the fuck?”

“Somebody, turn this it off,” Shanice begs, her voice shaking as she locks eyes with the child. He begins to run to the camera as if to leap out to them. Tears run down her face, she feels rooted in her place.

She can’t move, she’s paralyzed with fear.

“I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Again, everyone is fixated on the projection--he looks as if he wants to plead for help--moving his mouth rapidly--but he can’t; there’s no sound.

Stan runs to unplug the machine--it doesn’t do anything--it was like it was being controlled by some sort of specter; a supernatural force. It's presence lights up the dark garage, illuminating with a forthright glow incandesce in combination with with the flickering photos.

“Georgie!” Bill screams.

Almost immediately, Georgie ran out of the frame.

Then, what the boy seemed to have been running from appears.

A clown, standing in the water. A macabre figure off the shore, staring at the group of teenagers.

On with receding ginger hair, staring at them, the ‘Losers’ with the biggest smile on its face. Waving at them, holding an oddly familiar red balloon.

“It’s fucking looking at us. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.” Shanice chants, her face still that of disbelief, not feeling Richie squeeze her arm.

“Holy shit...”

“That’s It. That’s him.” Stan declares, as if confirmation for their separate, yet united experiences. That the threat that terrorized the teens was real, and that it was out to get them--a vengeful spirit beyond their dreams and glimpses.

Its face grows more fluid, closer and closer--

When It appears right in front of the camera, contiguous and menacing.

Various high-pitched screams echo throughout the garage, the teenagers scattering farther from the wall--Mike runs up, kicking the projector off of its box-structured stand. Shanice follows her brother’s lead, as his action snaps her out of whatever hold It had on her--she grabs a baseball bat--a steel one leaning against the wall, grabbing it and smashing the vessel of their collective fear.

Over and over and over until there was nothing else projected.

Stan looks at Shanice, both amazed and terrified at the amount of strength shown in her small body. Quickly, he seizes her arms, causing her to stop her movement--she stands, frozen, she means of destruction still in her hand. Her eyes have grown wide from shock. Teardrops still fell from her watery, dark eyes as she shook in the boy’s arms. Her throat felt raw, from her fright-filled vocalized pleads. Her face the color of cool, raw umber--still plump from baby fat, emitting a dark russet-colored rogue flushed with dread.

She was shaken, and Stan in his own way attempted to comfort her. He, with as much compassion a thirteen-year-old could muster awkwardly pats her back before letting go.

He couldn’t help but question wearily, “How’d that even happen?”

Eddie, still scared, replies “ It saw us. It knows who we are now.”

“ It’s always known who we were, Eddie. That’s how it knows how to scare us.” Shanice says, panting.

“Yeah, it always did,” Bill agreed, his voice unusually rough and strained.

“--at least It’s gone now.”

Bev speaks, soft as a rushed whisper, “Uh, guys?” but no one’s paying attention.

They all were trying to process what they all just saw.

The Hanlon siblings stare at the smashed projector, then at each other--their expression complex as they ask, “Yeah, but for how long?”

“Guys?”

Silence befell them, only Bev’s voice remains.

“GUYS!” Her abrupt scream got the group to turn their attention to her. They follow her eyes to the ceiling, where she’s gazing at something above. The smashed--almost obliterated projector, much wider the image that’s shown to them.

It.

Staring at them, with a hate-filled growl stirring from its throat. It’s fast at first, as instant as polaroid, then slow, as he was creeping up on them-- It’s white, gloved hand tick out as if to grasp Bev by her neck--Bill pulls her away, but Its arm seems to stretch, determined of Its target.

His hold tightens on Bev, with his resolve to not let It take her.

The room is suddenly flooded with sunlight--the garage door opens, with Ben ultimately being the one who deters It away from them. The image of It disappears, the two kids let out a sigh of relief.

For now.

“Yeah. Thanks, Ben, Bill. Good, uh thinking.”

Bill lets go of Bev, turning to the rest of them.

No one says anything. Everyone’s processing things, trying to process that what they saw was real. Richie looks particularly unresponsive--no snide remarks or quick jokes with god awful punchlines. Just a pale face, his mouth open and aghast--the fact that his ultimate fear came to life clear as day.

“No jokes this time, Rich?” Stan’s question is as awkward as it sounds, in this kind of environment, but it cuts the tension, slowly.

“Not today Stan, please.” Shanice warns, watching Richie slowly shake his head.

Despite the summer sunshine, the mood in the room was heavy.

“Okay so...” Bill begins, making everyone look his way, “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where?” Ben, asking the question of everyone’s mind.

“Neibolt. That’s where Georgie is. We have to go--” Shanice cuts him off, still shaken by what she just saw.

“Are you shitting me, Bill? After what just happened? It’s real. It is going to fucking kill us!” Everyone nods, Stan mimicking her thoughts saying, “Shay’s right. After that? No. No way.”

“Yeah...I’m with them.” Richie says, still sounding small, defeated.

“Fine. Then don’t.”

Mike looks at his sister and Bill, shaking his head.

“Wait, Bill--”  

His words don’t reach him.

Bill hops on his bike, already getting ready to head to Neibolt.

“That thing took my brother. I’m going.”

The remaining ‘Losers’ watch as his figure gets smaller and smaller.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Shanice says, biting her lips, not releasing the hold till she tastes the iron of her own blood. Letting out a scream of frustration, she tosses the bat she used to crush the projector to Beverly, grabbing her brother's hand.

“Let’s go get this boy before get’s himself hurt.” Mike nods his head and the siblings heading off on his bike.

Stan casts looks at their fleeing figure, and makes up his mind to go after them.

Beverly and the rest of the ‘Losers’ follow suit, leading the way to the Neibolt house--an old, terrifying house, completely alien to all the other residences on the street.

“Bill!” Beverly yells after she spots him in front of the house, Shanice follows with, “What the hell are you doing, a suicide mission? Come back before you or someone else get hurt!”

“Look, I already said you don’t have to come in with me. But what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Dorsey? Or one of us? Are you just going to pretend it isn’t happening like everyone else in this town?”

“You know can’t. But this thing is going to hunt us down. Your parents only have one child, are you gonna take that away from them?” Shanice says, her voice cracking a bit. Shanice was small, about the same height as Eddie. But, she seemed mature, like an adult talking their child down from doing something idiotic.

“Y-You don’t know how it is...” Bill swallows his tears before continuing, “I-I go home and all I see is that G-Georgie isn’t there. H-His clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals--e-everything but Georgie.” He turns away from Shanice, closing his eyes before opening them again.

“So, walking into that house--for me, it’s easier than walking into my own.” Bill’s voice was even, his normal stutter gone--he was serious, like dead serious.

“Wow...”

“What?”

“He didn’t even stutter once.” Shanice glares at Richie, her expression only softening while she watches him follow after Bill, despite his words. Taking the bat she’d tossed in the basket of Beverly's bike, so does she, then Mike.

“Didn’t you hear him? Why are you following him?” Stan asked, to which she frowns.

“We’re just kids, Stanley. I’m the oldest, and I’m so small. Bill is too. We all are. We gotta team up if we don’t wanna die.”

Stan runs to her side, with reluctance clear on his face. His Adam's apple bobbled, his heart raced loudly.

“We should just turn around. Bill’s he’s braver than us--”

“Brave? Bill’s not brave. He’s just dumb, Derry-dumb--and my mama always if you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough.” She says, dragging her sneaker-bound feet as she went up the steps. Stan didn’t say a thing back, choosing to stand closer to her to calm his nerves.

“I ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer, I was taught enough to know that much.”

All of them, one by one--until every ‘Loser’s Club’ member was on the porch of the ‘29 Neibolt Street’.

Dark and eerie, that’s what Shanice described the small opening of the house as she stood on the porch. As if he was reading her thoughts, Richie whispers, “I can’t see shit.”

She looks over at him, frowning as she watches him take a huff of Eddie’s inhaler.

“Tastes like battery acid.”

“Why did you use it then, dumb ass? Shut the hell up, Richie.” Shanice hisses, snatching the inhaler back and tossing it to Eddie.

Just as he goes to open a door, she stops when a thought occurs to her.

“Wait,” She says, holding up the bat she’d snagged from his garage, “If we’re trying to go in there, everybody needs something to defend themselves with. Even Batman can’t fight bad guys without something.”

Everyone scatters, looking for anything to use as a weapon

For instance, Mike at his sister’s word, goes for an old, rusted wrench, holding it with a tight grip.

Shanice hears something shatter--turning around looking back at the yard, she sees Richie with a dumbstruck expression as she looks at the beer bottle he just shattered, perhaps hoping to be like those action stars whose scenes involve bar fights.

She rolls her eyes.

‘Idiot. ’

His eyes locked with her gaze and he quickly rushed up behind her.

“I’ll just stand behind you.”

After some time, the group of teens fully reunite with their various choices of defensive means. Shanice jerks her head in the direction of the underworld-like entrance saying to Bill, “Now, or never.”

Slowly, but surely, the vengeful boy opens the door.

....

....

A dump.

The Neibolt house was an absolute fucking dump.

Trash everywhere, graffiti covering the walls--magazines, newspapers what have you, stacked and towering at every corner like a hoarder’s paradise.

“This is some kinda hell...” Shanice says, her frown seemed to deepen as she took in her surroundings and the smell that came with it.

“This place stinks. I can smell it.” Beverly remarks, disgust in her voice.

“I smell it too.” Her brother agrees--Richie pinches his nose, warning “Don’t breathe through your mouth. It’s like eating shit.”

Shanice punches him in the arm.

“You fucking tell me AFTER I’ve already got the taste on my tongue!”

They continue to journey through the abandoned house, passing different gross and odd things. Bev finds a lantern, surprisingly which aids in their sight.

“If there’s a well here it’d have to be in the basement, right?” Ben says. Stan gives him a look, looking mortified to even be in a house this filthy. Shanice nudges him before taking his hand with the one not occupied with her stolen means of protection, giving a small smile.

“Come on, I’ll protect you from this big, stinking house.” He smiles at her, still distressed by the way he squeezes her hand.

“Does this place even have a basement?”

“I hope not.” Eddie chimes in.

“L-let’s find out.”

Bill heads in the direction of the kitchen--however, the group hears something that stops them dead in their tracks.

“Hello? Is someone here?”

A child’s voice--coming from upstairs.

“Georgie?” Ben whispers, casting a glance towards Bill, to which he denies.

“This is a fucking trap, don’t fall for it, Bill.” Shanice starts, hearing the child’s voice become louder.

“HELLO?!”

“Down here! We’re down here!” Shanice’s eyes give Bev a look of utter disbelief, hushing her with a ‘shhh!’.

“Help me, please...” The child’s voice a whimper--Bev moves, with the lantern in hand, up the stairs. The remaining ‘Losers’ climb the stairs after her.

“Bev, she’s right. We need to be cautious.” Shanice gave him a heated glance.

“Now you listen to me when we’re already knee-deep in this trash heap--”

“Hello?” The child’s voice continues, coming from down the hall. The floorboards whine and groan under their combined weight. Shanice hopes it wouldn’t fail them.

Not with how far they’ve ventured. Almost at the end of the hall, Mike pauses.

“You guys hear that?”

Shanice stays in place, contracting--when she hears it. A light hum, a buzz. Coming from a damaged outlet, near the direction of another hallway, their intended target is the door at the end of it.

Only their breathing could be heard as they ventured on--with something troubling following it.

Squeaking, almost like--a clown horn.

“ It. ” Shanice says, gripping on to the bat for dear life. It stops, before smiling at her, with a shit-eating buck-toothed grin.

“Why, I’m not ‘ It ’. My dear, I’m Pennywise, the dancing clown!”

Bill braces, angry flooding his haunted features.

“WHERE’S G-G-GEORGIE?!”

It--Pennywise, tilts his head asking in a childish voice, “Who’s Geor-- oh -- sor--” letting out a giggle before changing back to his original voice.

“-ry, who’s Georgie?” He laughs again, watching them--no, hunting them. Counting them.

“Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat. Boy meat.” He chants, salivating, casting a hungry look at Bev.

“Girl meat. Yes. Sweet, salty blood-engorged girl meat...”

He stops, glancing at Shanice, who’s struggling to calm down her heart.

Leaning in close enough, close enough for their hairs to touch.

“Oh? When did Maturin cough up something that smelled so--delicious! You smell much better than your brother. You’re just like little Willy, filled with so much tasty fear!” Shanice screams, swinging her bat as she backed away as quickly as she could.

“Sweet, tasty child...do you know what I’d like to do? Use your thin blue veins like straws, little ears like spoons...” The chaotic plug sparks, Pennywise casts a wayward glance before going on.

“...armpits and cowlicks, freckles and dimples, peachy fuzz, scabbed knees, squeals, and screams!” The spark continues with a similar hum from earlier, however, the Clown ignores it.

“They all reek so good.”

Only when the sound grows louder does he consider acting upon it. The group watches on, seeing him pull out a small screwdriver, attempting to repair it.

Nothing.

Squinting at it, Pennywise snaps his fingers, as if to say, ‘ aha ’--grabbing a bigger screwdriver, jamming it into the socket--electrocuting himself and committing self-immolation. His laughs become manic, demonic, staring at his prey. His eyes like liquid lava, his teeth sharp and dozened-like spikes.

“Shay!” The girl looks at Stan who’s still holding her hand and her brother who’s inching to join her.

She shakes her head.

“Go, Stanley. You too Mike.”

“But--” Her brother begins--heavily breathing, she pushes the two boys away.

“I’m older. It’s my job to protect you. NOW GO!” With hesitation, the teens run to the rest of the feeling kids.

Shanice holds up the bat, glaring at his face, feigning fright--finally, she starts landing blows on him. Striking over and over, as the rest of the losers fled as the floor seemed to crumble under them.

While the others make it, Shanice falls--passing out after she knocks her head into the tiled floor of the kitchen.

The other Losers yell her name while she lies limp, her sticky blood calling the name of a certain predator.

....

....

“Wakey, wakey Tasty.” Shanice’s eyes flutter open to a horrifying site--Pennywise and his bashed-in the skull and looking at her body propped on an old stool. Her head throbs, she touches it gingerly--only to find blood gushing from it. Her heart is racing, she vomits at the right of the mangled clown in front of her.

What happened?

The buzzing of the broken outlet, the fiery terror, the ground shattering under them.

Her falling, passing out.

And now, she’s confronted by a salivating, seemingly indestructible nightmare of a clown.

This whole house--this whole town was a haunt--a feeding ground. The missing kids, the missing settlers. All of them, devoured--used to satisfy the diet of It.

“--it’s as if you’re marinated in it, aren’t my dear? Aged and rare, just for ol’ Pennywise!” As her head throbbed, she still tries to defend herself, rising her feet, unsteady. Her glaring vision shows a grinning Pennywise.

He takes a hold of her finger, still covering her, lapping at, nibbling on it--eventually gnawing off her finger, crunching on it like a treat. As if a child with a delicious treat, his teeth bloody, settled a delighted grin.

Her slurred holler echos through the old, decaying room

“That’s it, scream more. GIVE ME MORE OF YOUR FEAR!”

“Get...away...from...me! Someone...help...me..."

She cries in agony--her fourth finger, gone, only a blood gushing stump remains. Her fresh blood running down her palm as she yells, still trying to get away, somehow, back to her brother and the people she saw as first friends visiting Derry.

Her fellow ‘Losers’.

Shanice drags herself up, to a direction of an opening, feeling It catching her retreating legs, dragging her back. Her nails scraped against the floor, tearing off as she clung on for dear life.

“That’s it, scream more. GIVE ME MORE OF YOUR FEAR!”

Her feet, scratched and bruised, she twists and kicks sluggishly, until her body stops. She felt her dragged back, propped up against the wall.

This was it, this was how she’d die--being eaten, in some decrepit house. Her body--anything left of it would be buried under the crumbling house. She’d be the model for a missing kid’s poster, her grandfather would be like that mother she saw desperately going around, asking where her child was.

Everyone but her brother, Stan, and the rest of them would know the truth.

She’d die, just like that.

“Hey! Get away from my sister!”

Mike was there thrusting the wrench in his head, completely splitting his head--behind him where the rest of the ‘Losers’, with their teeth, bared. Pennywise lets go of her, howling in pain. Shanice falls limp to the ground,  the smell of blood in the air.

Mike grabs his sister, and the rest of the gang hauls ass into the living room, her brother and Stan dragging her body as they run from the Neibolt house, the gapping door vaguely taunting them as they escape it.

....

....

Beep, beep. The squeaking sound of slip-resistant shoes worn by nurses echo through out. Beeps, finger hitting keyboard, the occasional laughter and coversation.

Shanice lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

Their grandfather silently stared out the window while touching his wooden leg.

This girl--she was his first grandchild. Born premature, didn’t come home until much later. Yet, she looked so much smaller laying there than she did inside of an incubator.

She was hard-headed--but he didn’t think she would seek It after he warned the two kids.

The gash on her head wasn’t deep. Between the mental trauma and her blood loss--the doctors aren’t sure when she’d wake up.

It was troubling.

Mike’s silent as he sits beside the bed and stares at slow breathing

The rest, the loser club--minus Eddie who had suffered a sprained arm, stood outside the door looking in.

“We’ll need to go back. Prepared this time...” Bill begins, Stan cuts him off, his voice squeaking with accusation.

“You’re crazy--she’s in there not waking up because she tried to save you from your shitty choices!”

Beverly, in the defense of Bill counters, with “...he’s right. No one else is going to do anything.”

“Face it! Shay almost got eaten, fuck she did get eaten--” He looks into the paneled window the door at her hand, wrapped up and traumatized--

“--by some shapeshifting demon monster that almost killed Eddie and Shay!”

Bill counters with, “But she hurt him, we hurt him. That’s something, right?”

“What kind of bullshit consolation prize is that?” Richies says with a scoff, rolling his eyes.

“Great, so next time it will just be madder and bigger and not mess around to kill us. That’s why I’ll go away, and not come back. Not my problem anymore. You can’t wait to get out of this town either, you said --” Ben mutters, while Beverly gives him a sharp look.

“I want to run towards something. Not run away. That’s what cowards do.” Everyone is looking amongst themselves when Richie addresses Bill again, however, he stares at him with a pissed off glance.

There’s a beat.

And another.

“Let’s face facts. Real-world. Georgie's dead. And you killed him.”

Bill flinches--the words cut deep, like a razor blade. Was that the truth? Did he send his brother out in the rain to die?

“I didn’t get my brother killed--”

“You’re just a bunch of losers and you’ll get yourselves killed trying to stop this stupid killer when none of it makes any difference.”

As the bespeckled teen begins his departure, Bill moves to block his path. They stare down at each other. With a frown Richie, irritatingly yells, “Out of my way, Bill! You couldn’t save him but you can still save yourself.”

“I didn’t get my brother killed.”

The hospital room door swings open, it’s Mike. Everyone grows quiet as he stalks up to Bill, and punches Bill square in the jaw--hard enough that he falls onto the cold tiled floors.

“You don’t care about any but yourself. We all have shit going on. My sister was smart enough to try and stop you and you didn’t appreciate that.” Mike says, calmly, a bit too calm as it scares the rest of the ‘Losers.’

Beverly, helping Bill says with a shaky voice, “This, this is what It wants. It wants us divided. That’s what it was doing in Neibolt--separating us.”

Richie snorted, retorting, “Well It got what it wants. But at least I’m alive. And I plan on staying that way.” Richie walks off, Stan and Ben follow. Mike focuses his gaze on Bill.

“Shanice and I are outsiders. We don’t belong here and today proved that.”

Bill, wincing as he holds his jaw, shakes his head.

“B-But, we’re all outsiders.”

Mike turned his back to him. His eyes shifted to his sister, bandaged up, lying still.

“No, you’re not. None of you are.”

[tessatechaitea]

Justice Society of America #10 (1993)

Fact: Golden Age heroes didn't have penises.

I was starfished on my bedroom floor tonight staring at the ceiling and thinking about how in my teens and twenties, I could revel in it, thinking, "Who am I? Who will I become? What does life have in store for me?" But a grown ass man doing that simply thinks, "This is it, isn't it?" At least I can lose myself in reading comic books I've already read and which I didn't really enjoy that much the first time. It might sound like a waste of time but it gives my life meaning! The most shallow of meanings, sure. But at least I'm not growing old watching conservative news because I need anything at all to light my passion. I'll say this about Fox News: they understand how old people are so bored they'll watch the dumbest shit and then get mad about it. I know other people who aren't old also watch Fox News. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with them. I guess they have fears and hatreds I hope I'll never truly understand. I just don't understand watching Fox News (or any of the other non-propaganda 24 hour news sites). People do understand there are channels which show programs that make you laugh or feel merry or that simply entertain the other non-lizard parts of your brain, right? How do you pick Fox News when you can watch Sci-fi or Buzzr Comedy Central or the Ru-Paul's Drag Race all day channel? I just realized that the people who watch Fox News basically use Twitter the same way. The majority of my feed are funny people so even when they're discussing politics, it's always entertaining (or fiercely intelligent because witty people are smart. Dumb people think they're witty (see Mike Huckabee)). But when I check out the Twitter feeds of conservatives I know, at best they'll retweet a sports tweet sandwiched between forty retweets of Ben Shapiro and Dinesh Souza. Maybe they think some of the right wing pundits they follow are funny. But calling somebody a mean name or tagging everything "liberal tears" isn't funny. It's the kind of funny that the bully's weasely sidekick guffaws over and then says, "You tell 'em, Jimmy!" Speaking of things bullies would say, it's now time for me to criticize Len Strazewski's Justice Society. Previously, some old fart named Kulak made everybody in the world begin to hate. But they aren't just randomly hating everybody else. They really seem to be bonding over their hatred for the Justice Society of America. Is this story a metaphor about me and my hatred of this comic book? Because that would be a terrible metaphor seeing as how I don't really hate this comic. I wish I did though! I'm old and I need to feel passion! I bet if I hadn't dropped cable eighteen years ago, I'd be addicted to Fox News too! No, I wouldn't be. I'm as liberal as you can be while still making offensive jokes. So not really that liberal, I guess? Maybe I'm socially, economically, and politically liberal. But I'm a complete asshole when it comes to punchlines. Don't get me wrong! I don't make offensive jokes at the expense of people different than me. I make offensive jokes about myself and those Goddamned fucking babies. Fuck those parasitic monsters. This issue begins with Starman finally reappearing.

It really wasn't exciting enough for an announcement of his return. He's just another half-balding old guy. But it lets me talk about the DC Universe show, Stargirl!

I decided to watch Stargirl because what else am I going to do with my life? Finish reading Gravity's Rainbow? I mean, I am going to do that now that I'm done re-reading those awful Lando Calrissian books. But I can't spend all of time reading Pynchon! Just too much of it! I mean, I'm only 18 pages into Gravity's Rainbow (which is further than I've ever gotten on my previous three attempts!) and I'd estimate I don't understand 5% of the words he's used. And that's me being an English Lit major who has been a voracious reader his entire 48 years (minus the ones where I couldn't read yet. Like ten or something?). I was in bed reading and didn't have a dictionary at hand so I just powered through. But I think I need to go back through and learn all of those words so I can impress the local Starbucks barista! Or are people not impressed when you use a word they have nearly zero chance of knowing and don't know you enough to keep the conversation going by asking you what that means and instead just smile and nod and glance occasionally at the tip jar? Anyway, so I've watched three episodes so far and I'll tell you how I feel about it after I mention how I've actually watched four episodes. The first episode I watched, I was impressed with because Courtney was already palling around with a bunch of legacy JSA members and the Injustice Society was trying to tackle the "Who is Stargirl?" problem and I watched it thinking, "This is really impressive how they decided to start in the middle of the story like this. I like it!" Then I went to watch episode two and I was confused because it didn't seem to follow after the previous episode. So I kept thinking, "Maybe this is a flashback?" And then eighteen minutes into it, I thought, "Maybe I didn't watch the pilot episode. I'd better check." And I started watching the first episode which I totally hadn't seen. So I guess I started with Episode 7 or something. Here are some of my tweet-thoughts on the show for those who don't follow me on Twitter (why don't you follow me on twitter? What is wrong with you? Is it because you don't know I'm @GrunionGuy?): Tweet #1: "Sometimes you think maybe you're having inappropriate thoughts but then you check to make sure the actress playing a fifteen year old Stargirl is actually 21 and then you breathe a sigh of relief and think, 'I won't be cancelled today! Unless I tweet this experience, probably.'" Tweet #2: "Sometimes you think maybe you're having inappropriate thoughts but then remember it's okay to fuck a car that's been converted into a giant robot with Luke Wilson inside of it." Tweet #3: "3rd episode of Stargirl begins with a dying white woman's final wish to her white husband that he make the world safe for their white son. She dies and he goes out into the enormous hedge maze garden of his mansion to scream into the sky about the injustice of it all. All in all, a pretty good villain origin!" That third tweet was the only one that really makes any sort of socially acceptable commentary on the show. Saying things like "Stargirl's butt doesn't look like my mouth should be inside of it because she's fifteen although the actress is twenty-one so maybe it actually does look like that?" aren't the greatest things to admit even if you're just joking (which I am but just adding this statement makes it sound like I'm not but I totally am (that "totally" doesn't help but I assure you, I'm joking (did the hole just get deeper?))). I mean, sure, her body is super fit because she's a super hero (or will be?). But she has such a baby face! And even at twenty-one, she's just a baby! If I were younger, I'd totally have a crush on her. But I'm 48 and I just don't consider young women proper targets for my sexual deviance anymore. The only interaction I should have with young women these days is warning them against going out to the summer camp at the lake where that boy drowned so many years ago. The girls I had a crush on when I was younger (Christina Applegate (Kelly Bundy), Winona Ryder (Veronica Sawyer), and Stacie Mistysyn (Caitlin Ryan)), I have even more of a crush on now. Judging by the crushes I've had my whole life and not society's stereotype of women, women definitely get better looking as they get older. And probably as I get older. I'm sure that's part of it although I like to think that fifteen year old me would still look at these nearly fifty (or maybe fifty? I'm not so obsessed I know their ages but they're all around my age anyway) year old women and think, "Holy fuck mommy." I'm sorry for that last comment. But I'm only sorry to God not anybody who was reading this. Oh, I forgot to mention that Joel McHale is the original Starman (I mean original in the show although he's Sylvester Pemberton who was never Starman but only Skyman although in the show he was at one point the Star-Spangled Kid and Luke Wilson does mention Ted Knight at some point). And he's funny in his death scene just like he should be because I've obviously decides Sylvester is Jeff Winger's new superhero secret identity alias. Starman heads off with his Cosmic Buttplug to stop Kulak in Gotham City. He doesn't know it yet but the rest of his pals are currently battling Kulak and probably losing. Although Kulak is even older than they are so maybe it's a fair fight. I'm just surprised that a comic book where old men battle other old men has made it ten issues.

I think some editor was fired last issue and the new editor's only job was to make sure it didn't look like Thunderbolt had been speared through the asshole.

Although this editor seemed to think it was okay to have Hawkgirl fucked from behind by Kulak.

I hope this isn't a terrible conservative take on women that exposes how terrible I am at sex but even mind-controlled, I can't imagine licking a woman's shoulder would elicit that response. Although she could be "Ummming" from his pee-hee in her bee-boo.

I know conservative talking points are generally fucking idiotic but Ben Shapiro somehow thinking women can get "too wet" from sexual excitement might be the most hilariously idiotic. I don't think I've been with a woman who was all, "Yes! Yes! Lick my shoulder blade!" and I then I got super into it and then suddenly she was all, "Nope. Too wet. This isn't working for me anymore. I need a doctor, I guess?" Who am I kidding? I know I've never been with a woman who did that because that would mean I've had to have been with a woman! Also, women get wet down there? What's that about? Is it because the vagina cries at the sight of the penis? Kulak takes away all of their super powers but I guess he forgets that Wildcat doesn't have any so I'm hoping Wildcat just punches him in the face soon. Although that Starman bit probably was a hint at how the coming fight might end. You know, with Starman shoving his Cosmic Buttplug into Kulak's third eye, if you know what I'm saying. You probably do because I called it a Cosmic Buttplug. I should try to be more subtle. Kulak's entire purpose is to get revenge on the Justice Society for defeating him way back in 1940. Can't even one super villain just accept defeat and move on with their lives? Or are writers just always going to be so inherently lazy that they'll never give up the crutch of the villain attacking the hero directly out of revenge for that one single time they tried to actually commit a crime and were stopped? The JSA puts up a fight that helps to drain Kulak's power but it isn't until Starman arrives and does that thing I mentioned with his Cosmic Buttplug that Kulak is defeated.

This is the grossest orgasm I've ever seen and my computer is riddled with viruses from all of the previous ones I've watched.

After Kulak's defeat, Jesse Quick wraps up the issue with her super hero dissertation which is less a dissertation and more of a thorough cleaning of all of their asses with her tongue. She's all, "I didn't really do much research or define heroes too good but the Justice Society of America are my heroes so I deserver a degree, right?" Justice Society of America #10 Rating: B. This comic book was as average as they get. I suppose that should garner a C grade but a B grade just seems to say decent but mediocre. By the time I get down to a C grade, I feel like the comic book needs a lot more faults than "I don't really care about stories with heroes who are having strokes during the battles." It's a valid criticism but it's probably too subjective for a critical review. I know, I know! When has that ever stopped me before? Well, I feel charitable today. It probably has something to do with Mars being so close to the full moon earlier this week. My blood is all riled up and wacky!

[forehead-enthusiast]

A Buncha Tag Games (and yet not all of them)

tagged by: @eggyukhei mwah

tagging: this is a LOT of games so i’ll only tag @atinyphobe @nsheetee and @veonjun for the SECOND (2nd) game. if they or anybody wants to do any of the other games, absolutely go for it and say i tagged you <3 i’d love to see what you guys say!! (also, tk if you felt like you wanted to answer my questions from the second game i’d be interested to see!)

One:

tell me the first song that made you stan your current fave group and why did your faves attract you so much?

ok SO the song that probably got me into rv 100% (also yes ik this blog is 99% nct but rv is my forever fave no question) was probably ice cream cake!! i had been a casual listener of many groups up until that point and had never really stanned anyone, but icc was so infectious i found myself watching it over and over. i had heard happiness and be natural before but hadn’t really listened too closely, so icc was the song that captured me. after that, dumb dumb only cemented my love for them more, and the red is still one of my favorite kpop albums to date. rv attracted me primarily because of their incredible vocals and their versatility in genres and concepts. i still get so excited wondering what they’ll tackle next!! they’re just soooo unique and have one of, if not the best discographies of any group. i cannot stress enough, I. Love. RV!! also they’re funny and gay so. anyway stream monster once it drops uwu

Two:

rule: answer the ten questions and write your own!

1. what is your favorite song that’s been released during quarantine? ooooo honestly??? probably something off of Sawayama. literally every song bangs so hard i highly recommend that album to anyone!! i can’t pick a favorite off it but who’s gonna save you now is awesome and xs is just,,, chef’s kiss

2. what is your greatest mishap when you tried cooking? (or something you’ve witnessed) one time, while making soup at my late grandmother’s house on her like gas stove, i put a lid on a pot and somehow that led the pot to be engulfed in flames. IN MY DEFENSE i was like 7, and i’m great at cooking/baking now

3. what’s your go-to outfit or article of clothing? oh i love a nice dress. they can be casual or formal, and you look like you put effort into your outfit except i didn’t because i didn’t have to match anything yo!!!! also shorts have trouble fitting me cause i’m a weird body type so dresses tend to be very comfy for me

4. what is your comfort food? am i allowed to say like all food??? eating in itself is comforting,,, that sounds depressing but also i just like eating yummy food. i guess i’d say like my dad’s fried rice?? its my fave and no one makes it like him soooo

5. what singular moment in your life would you like to relive? i couldn’t tell if this meant like, a good moment you want to re-experience or go back in time and redo a moment and fix it. it’s kind of a hard question so i might cop out and go with a bit of a silly answer: i want to relive the hi touch with astro...... i wanna look at rocky’s beautiful eyes and touch moonbin’s hand ok,,,,

6. what is your favorite line and/or character from a movie, show, or book? i got a bunch but a few off the top of my head are genie lo (the epic crush of genie lo), ty lee, suki (atla), klaus, and ben (umbrella academy) 

7. if you could only choose one ice cream flavor and pizza topping/style for the rest of your life, what would it be? ice cream flavor: this very specific one from a local store that is banana ice cream with strawberries and oreo mixed in. it is heaaaavenly. as for pizza topping, i love a breakfast type pizza with an egg on top and like sausage and stuff!!!

8. what is the worst injury you’ve ever had or witnessed? funny enough, i’ve actually gotten badly injured quite a few times, and always on the face!! god hates me. the worst was probably when i hit a metal bench with my face and it took a chunk out of my cheek. i still have the scar! as for “witnessed” i accidentally broke a grown man’s rib once as a child, so i guess that would count.

9. would you rather explore the unknown of space or the bottom of the ocean? oceaaaan!! i answered this in some other game, but i like how mysterious and yet close the ocean is. like proximity wise it’s so near, yet there’s an insane amount we know nothing about. that’s so frightening but so intriguing

10. if you could be any cartoon character, who would you be? my first thought was literally “kirby. eat fast” GOD my followers are gonna think i’m just a glutton and they’re not even gonna be wrong im dying. but uhh idk mulan or smth?

my questions:

what is your go-to feel good movie?

are you the type of person who’s indecisive about buying, or the type to impulse buy once you see something you like?

do you prefer chocolate-y or fruity candy?

what idol do you think is most similar to you? (not your bias necessarily)

do you have any silly dealbreakers? if so, what are they?

what do you do to unwind?

what is a small thing you like to do for people you love? (be it sending memes, remembering their favorite shows, etc)

what’s/who’s your favorite myth/mythological being?

what is a non-typical pet you would want to have?

do you say pronounce data as day-ta or dah-ta?

THREE

rule: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people. 

AIR ༉⋆͙̈

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see the dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE ༉⋆͙̈

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favorite season / my radio is always playing

WATER ༉⋆͙̈

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep past midday most days / i love simply lit dinners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids shows out of nostalgia / i see emotions in colors not words

EARTH ༉⋆͙̈

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love this chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER ༉⋆͙̈

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / i always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally

FOUR

the ultimate tag: answer whichever ones you want to because there are a lot and then tag a few blogs you’d like to get to know better! 

PERSONAL

name: sarah

nickname: bells

birthday: april 17th

zodiac: aries

nationality: chinese american

languages: english, some spanish, some korean

gender: female

sexuality: baby bi bi bi~

height: 5′10

BLOG STUFF

inspiration for muse: i suppose nct since i write for them the most?? but i feel like sometimes i come up with the idea before i think of a member so sometimes the muse is just my own fantasies oops

meaning behind my url: i made it at a time where loads of idols were getting bangs and honestly i believe most of them look infinitely better without them, thus i was and still am enthusiastic about foreheads.

blog established: like winter of 2018...?? i think

followers: over 2.5k but most deactivated/left during my hiatus lol

FAVORITES

favourite animals: sharks, chickens, snakes, cats, penguins

favourite books: the epic crush of genie lo and then iron will of genie lo, PERIOD

favourite colour: pink and purple!!

favourite fictional characters: lol, again, genie lo, ty lee, suki, klaus, ben, and just a few more: richard and evelyn o’connell (the mummy), dave (dave), michael (the good place)

favourite flower: sunflower

favourite scent: baking chocolate, heating butter, blackberry, wisteria

favourite season: probably spring! i like warmth but not HEAT

RANDOM

average hours of sleep: ugh idek i sleep horribly

cats or dogs: both, but unfortunately i’ve never had either

coffee, tea or hot chocolate: tea but then hot chocolate

current time: 5:29pm

dream trip: go to paris and eat loads of pastries and enjoy the fashions and beauty of the city, and also learn to bake better maybe?

dream job: actress

hobbies: making jewelry, drawing, singing, reading comics

hogwarts house: according to the quizzes, all of them. people who have just met me think slytherin or gryffindor, people who i’m friends with think ravenclaw or hufflepuff, people who know me really well know you can’t box a person into oversimplified archetypes :’) in my assessment of myself, it varies by the day, but i think perhaps gryffindor today?

last movie watched: hot fuzz (a classic)

last song listened to: summer breeze by sf9

no. of blankets you sleep with: like 2

random fact(s): i won lego building competitions as a child, one of my dream roles is anastasia from the musical named after her, i played violin for a very short time, i bake the cakes for all my family and friends’ birthdays, i have strangely strong grip strength

SIX

10 songs i can’t stop listening to:

love me 4 me- rina sawayama

cherry- rina sawayama

in & out- red velvet

crush culture- conan gray

manic- conan gray

the king- conan gray

summer- pentagon

told you now- jeremy jordan (originally sung by sam smith)

fuck this world (interlude)- rina sawayama

someone who loves me- sara bareilles

[peachywise]

nullify part 2

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part ii: the broken alarm clock || ⋆ part i ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆  more parts to be released

- synopsis: You've heard of people having rude awakenings before, but you'd never actually experienced one yourself. That was until Klaus Hargreeves broke into your apartment, banging pots and breaking your clocks. This idiot just can't seem to go away.

- notes: wow, okay thanks for all the love so far on this guys!! I hope you enjoy part two. originally this had a lot more but it got a bit too long, so I cut it in half. part three will be up pretty soon. let me know if you want on the tag list. tw in this one for swearing, fire, and mild violence.

link on ao3

_______________________

Dreams have a funny way of making unconscious fears rear their god-forsaken heads in all too terrifying ways.

You’d been plagued by a particular nightmare for years, ever since you were a kid. It used to occur every night when things had been particularly bad, making your already so cruel waking days extend longer with sleep that should have been a type of escape. Now it only happened when you felt exhausted or anxious. Sometimes both. Okay, mostly both. You should have taken some comfort in the familiarity of the dream given the particular instability of your life, but alas, it was what it was.

And it was complete and utter horse shit.

It always started the same. You woke up in your childhood bedroom cluttered with crayon drawings and clothes scattered about, everything caught on fire like juvenile kindling. Your flannel pajama pants—the ones with the ugly looking green bunnies you thought were hilarious— had just caught a bit of the flame, burning away the fabric and charring and licking the skin of your leg, bubbling and making an awful smell. You barely managed to smack it out with your pillow before forcing your too adolescent and unstable force field up.

This was when the dream would begin to differ. Sometimes different things or people trailed into the room, watching you as you watched them, the house crumbling down to burning decay and ash while you sat crying in your little bubble, sweating and straining to keep it up and full. Sometimes they talked. Other times they didn’t. As you got older, anger tended to mix in with the panic and desperation you’d felt in the situation, aimed at whatever or whoever you believed had caused the flames.

Tonight, this dream's starring opponent stood all too close to you while you struggled and wailed. Reginald Hargreeves towered over your cowered figure, but your gaze wasn’t on him. No, your eyes fixated on the uniform-clad Five and the Cheshire grinning, kohl-lined eyed Klaus behind him who greeted you with an irritatingly ironic, “hey, hot stuff.”

Odd. You’d never felt both terrified and annoyed in these dreams before.

“It’s time for you to wake up.”

Well, that was new too.

“W-what?” You sputtered out, slightly loosening the death grip tight around your legs, eyes searching Klaus as his voice ringed louder and clearer than the haze and blaze of the fire.

“Come on, wake up!” Klaus yelled again, pushing Reginald away as he stepped up closer to your bubble, close enough to burst it.

And then your eyes cracked open, and your nightmare followed you into consciousness as one of your larger pots was placed so close to your face that you nearly smacked into it on time to the wooden spoon Klaus was already rhythmically slapping it with, hollering repeatedly as he did, “wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!”

No one could blame you for your knee jerk reaction. Any sane person would have reached over for their alarm clock and hit the person who broke into their apartment over the head like you just did now. No one would also blame you for screaming. Your brain hadn’t even registered yet that it was Klaus who loomed over you. It was a fucking jarring way to wake up, for Christ’s sake.

Klaus immediately dropped the pot and spoon to grab his head, yelling out an overdramatic, “ow!” Too bad the pot landed with a hard thud on your stomach, causing the air to rush out of you and a groggy groan to leave your still panicked body in unharmonized synchronization with his howl of pain.

The now broken alarm clock which stopped ticking in your hand probably would have let out a cry of pain too if it could. But it was dead. Klaus was going to be too in a moment.

“Look what you did!” You shouted, throwing the sheets off your body as you scrambled off your mattress, nearly tripping on your feet as you did. Shoving the clock in his face, you continued with, “you broke my clock!” using your other hand to subtly clear the sleep out of your eyes.

“I broke your clock? You broke my head!” Klaus bellowed back, gripping his forehead in a way you thought was just a little too theatrical.

Shoving his arm, your face furrowed in an aggravated frown as you grumbled out an exasperated, “and you broke into my apartment. I win. What’s next, want to break my sink as well? Go ahead, you’d be doing me a favour. It’s the only way the landlords going to come look at my shitty plumbing.”

“Oh, of course, pleasure to be of service,” sarcasm dripped from his tone, similarly to how the blood dripped on your clean carpet from the cut in his head when he removed his hand to give an equally as sardonic curtsey your way.

Great.

Turning to grab a handful of the Kleenex from your bedside table, you hurriedly reached up and pressed it to his head to stop any further damage befalling your security deposit. “stop bleeding on my stuff,”  you swore. “Come on, let’s go to my bathroom.”

“First you hit me, and then want a morning triste in the bathroom?” Klaus tisked. “My my. You’re a little wildcat, aren’t you? I like it.”

You tried to ignore the fact he just followed up that comment with a growling noise like he was one of those creepy men in old 70’s movies, but you couldn’t. Instead, you decided not to take the moral high ground and flicked his cut over where you still had the Kleenex pressed. A pathetic exclamation of “hey!” brought a smug smile to your face.

“Come on, sit down. Let me see if I have anything to clean that up with,” you muttered, ushering him to sit on the lid of your closed toilet seat, grabbing his hand and putting it on the Kleenex-gauzed wound before bending down to rummage through the cabinet under the sink. “Want to tell me how you got in and why you’re here in the first place?” Sudden dread coursed through you as images of what else he could have broken flashed in your mind. Turning back around with wide eyes, you implored, “please tell me my front door isn’t hanging off its hinges.”

“Well you certainly think highly of me,” he uttered back, sniffling loudly as he slouched forward, eyes momentarily flashing behind you before quickly glancing your way again. “Your door is perfectly intact. But you really should lock the window on your fire escape. There are some nasty creatures out there. If you don’t watch out the boogeyman might get ya.”

Of course, he fucking climbed through the window. You bet he didn’t even try the door first, knocking or breaking in. His first instinct was to just climb up and—

Wait.

“I keep that unlocked because the ladder up to the fire escape is broken and I’m on the third floor. Did you bring your own ladder just to get in here? Forget the boogeyman, I’ve got a real life psycho sitting on my toilet. Did you happen to bring a knife too? Let me just get in the shower really fast and you can fulfill your Norman Bates fantasy. ”

“I mean, if you’re offering to get in the shower,” Klaus started, but before you could whack him on his wound again, it seemed like an invisible force slapped him upside the head, jerking him forward as he gave what was now his third cry of pain in under ten minutes. You were so shocked that you fell back on your butt, eyes frantically searching for whatever had made your thoughts turn into action. This wasn’t your power, right? You couldn’t do that. You didn’t want that. You would have a panic attack if—

“Christ on a cracker, Ben! It was only a joke! Death has made you so sensitive.”

Oh thank God, it was just a ghost.

Klaus sneered as his eyes glanced up at what was seemingly air in front of him as he had a conversation with his… invisible? Yeah, sure. Let’s go with his ‘invisible’ brother. “I am just being my perfectly charming self.” He paused, face reacting to whatever Ben must have said as he made the most melodramatic eye roll you had ever laid witness too. It was a little impressive, actually. Not that’d you mention it. No, you just watched the sideshow in front of you play on in jarred, mildly entertained, fascinated silence.

“I am not scaring ‘em off—” another pause, another exasperated shake of his head. “You don’t think I know that? I know we need them. If I go back there alone, our baby assassins going to shoot my balls off!”

Baby assassin? What, is like the new tickle me Elmo? If he was trying to ease Ben’s concerns, he was doing a terrible job of increasing yours while he did it.

As Klaus continued yelling, rambling on certain obscenities in the direction of your wallpaper peeled wall, you sat back up and turned back to your cabinet, pushing various bottle beside until you found the peroxide and cotton pads. Standing back up, you walked over to Klaus and swatted your hand in front of him, hoping to diffuse whatever argument had since gotten boring and headache inducing in your mind.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this episode of Caspar the slap-happy ghost versus his dipshit brother, can you guys shut up long enough for me to clean this cut and get you the hell out of my apartment?”

Klaus immediately closed his mouth as both eyebrows shot up. Glancing over your shoulder one last time, he stage whispered to ghost boy, “they’re so touchy.”

Reaching over, you took the Kleenex from his hand to toss it in the trash, noting how the cut had stopped bleeding. Grabbing his chin, you wordlessly tilted his face up, angling it slightly towards the bathroom’s fluorescent light, leaning in closer to inspect it.

“Looks superficial. It’s fine” you stated, letting go of his face as you twisted the cap off the peroxide bottle, tilting it to soak one of the cotton pads.

“Well which is it, am I superficial or am I fine?” He quipped back, a lazy smile curving his lips.

Deadpanning, you replied, “you’re a pain,” before unceremoniously pressing the cotton pad to the cut maybe a bit too hard. Klaus once again winced in pain as he inhaled a sharp intake of breath, jerking his head away.

Well, make that four cries of pain now in under ten minutes. If it happened one more time, you wondered if you’d get a prize.

“Such cute pajamas for someone so utterly devilish,” he jibed, reaching out a hand to absently pluck the sleeve of your brightly blue coloured flannel. You slapped his hand away and he pouted like a child scorned. Oh, boo hoo.

Pressing the cotton pad back to his forehead, a little softer this time, Klaus visibly relaxed as you cleaned the wound. “You never answered my questions. Seriously, how did you get up that fire escape?”

“Well, if you haven’t figured it out yet, my darling brother has recently acquired the art of physical touch. I climbed on to his shoulders.”

Pausing, your eyes bugged out a bit as you turned your gaze to his. You never thought about that being possible. You’d always just been worried about one robber. Fuckin’ idiot. “I should really lock that window, huh?” Klaus snorted in affirmation.

As you finished clearing the blood from his pale skin, you leaned slightly back to inspect that it looked fine. “I don’t have a Band-Aid, but I think you’ll survive.”

Klaus held up a finger, an amused look flashing in his eyes as he used his other hand to dig through too-tight leather pants pocket. Standing up as he pulled a band-aid wrapper out, you watched as he made his way over to the mirror above your sink, ripping it open and putting on a very pink, and very floral, Hello Kitty Band-Aid.

Twirling back around, he raised both hands up and motioned towards his new accessory, asking, “what do you think?”

You were quiet for a moment, then you nodded. “I think that makes sense.” Klaus grinned.

As both of you made your way back out of your bathroom and into your shoe box sized slightly messy bedroom, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back against the wall. Klaus made himself feel at home as he poked around the various knick knacks. “Seriously, why are you here Klaus?”

“Have you suffered a bout of amnesia since last night?” He questioned, turning a sideways glance your way before he continued on his little expedition of your things. “I’m here to bring you to meet the rest of our happy family. Five thought you would be more willing to come with me than him.”

“And here I was thinking he had some semblance of intelligence,” you muttered, pushing yourself off your wall to go nudge him out of the way when he moved to go open one of your drawers. Why would Five think you’d be more willing to go with homeless Mick Jagger? You’d only met him once. You’d only met both of them once, in fact.

“Well you’re not exactly kicking and screaming to get me out of your apartment now, are you?” Klaus almost purred, brushing a hand across your shoulder as he swirled behind you, beginning his snooping once again. “In fact, it seems like someone was all too willing to play nurse to a cut I easily could have cleaned myself.” Picking up a picture frame from your bedside table, an odd look crossed his face before you snatched it from his hands, setting it face down. Now you were getting irritated. Whether it was with him, or yourself given the unnerving truth of his statement, you didn’t exactly want to delve into it at the moment.

“You bled on my carpet. I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t bleed on the rest of my things before you managed to do a shitty patch job,” you replied easily back, averting your gaze from his as you took a few steps away.

Klaus made an elusive ‘hmm’ noise in the back of his throat. And then he flopped on to your bed, leaning back against the headboard as he grabbed your fuzzy white blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and throwing it over his head like a cloak, curling into it as he contentedly smiled, “cozy.”

You picked up your pillow and tossed it at his face.

“Look, you guys can’t just barge into my life and expect me to go along with whatever this is. I’ve spent a good part of my life trying to stay out your way praying I never meet your dear old dad. Now if you’ll excuse me, today’s my day off and I intend to spend it quietly alone in my empty apartment.”

“Our dad? This had nothing to do with him,” he said, sitting up straighter as he dropped the blanket off his head, studying your face with a slight tilt to his head. Looking at him in silence, you rolled your hand in a ‘come on’ to signify for him to continue and stop being so freaking elusive.

“We need your help to stop the end of the world.” Then he threw his arms up with jazz hands, excitedly saying, “isn’t that so much fun?

Huh.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you gave a curt nod before twisting around, picking your phone off your receiver as you began dialing a number.

“Who are you calling?”

“The cops.”

Boy, was he also the Flash? You had never seen someone move so fast in your life. Ripping the phone from your hand, he slammed it back down on the base then gripped both your shoulders, pushing you away from it as he completely crowded himself in your personal space. Slight alarm skittering across his eyes. “Come on, is that really necessary? I’m not playing around.”

“Why should I believe you? Trust you?” you shot back, shrugging off his grip as you folded your arms around yourself. “As fun as you are to banter with, this is fucking crazy! You guys knew what I could do. You guys knew where I worked, where I live, what my name is! Now you say you need my help saving the world? Calling the cops seems like the natural progression of how this interaction should go on my side.” Jesus, where you hyperventilating? Where was that phone? You had to get that phone.

Klaus crouched lower to your height, arms stretched out like he was trying to calm a wild deer. Bitch. “Okay sweetheart, you need to calm down for just a second,” he soothed, and you couldn’t help but exhale a short, unamused laugh. “You know us, you know what we do. Or at least what we did. The Umbrella Academy isn’t some mastermind organization, we were just a group of kids brought together by a man with a god complex who so desperately tried to mold us into those bullshit cliché, good Samaritan superheroes. We’re fucked up, but we wouldn’t just come after an innocent like you for no reason. You have free will in this, okay? All I’m doing is asking, not telling you to come. Just let me take you to everyone. Five can explain this all better than I can.” He took your continued silence as an opportunity to continue his point, adding in, “you can even bring your clock as a weapon if it makes you feel more comfortable. You’re a real danger with that thing.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he was pretty convincing. If they had wanted to hurt you, if they had wanted to use you, you had no doubt they would have forced it upon you by now. From what you had learned, it seemed nearly all of them had been estranged from their dad for a while now. Vanya’s book had been pretty enlightening on the horrors that had occurred in that house, at least from her view point. So if Reginald was the one pulling their strings, then he was pulling their strings unbeknownst to them.  

It also didn’t help that your curiosity was piqued. You always loved a good mystery.

“Alright,” you conceded, letting your arms fall back down to your sides. Klaus let out a long breath of air and happily grasped his hands in front of him, jokingly singing as he did, “Darling, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world!”

“Under one condition.”

“Oh, I was so close,” he sulked immediately under his breath, dropping his hands.

“You have to promise me that I can leave. Like no strings attached, I can drop off mid-conversation and slam the door on my way out, type of leave. I’m only there to hear what he has to say, ask some questions, and that’s it. I haven’t decided to help you guys.”

Raising his hand out, he gave you a knowing smile as he extended his pinky finger. “I promise,” he droned. Heaving a sigh, you lifted your hand to wrap your pinky around his in a child-like binding promise. He was lucky he had such sincere eyes.

Letting go, you took a tiny step back as you cleared your throat, feeling uncomfortable with the odd tension you now wanted so desperately to melt. “Well, get out. You and Ben. Let me change and then you can take me to your master, or whatever.”

“My master?” Klaus gasped, as you herded him over the threshold of your door. “Five is a child. I am clearly more superior.”

Giving a tight smile, you quirked your eyebrow up. “You sure about that? I got the impression yesterday that you’re more like his fun loving, but pitifully dim witted henchmen,” you replied, then swung the door shut in his face before he could have the last word.

[thespearandthecrown]

Name: Lana Durand

Age: 25

Place Of Origin: Albany, New York, USA

Occupation: Interrogator, Supernatural Beastiary Instructor

Orientation: Queer

Species: Human, Hunter

Descriptive Traits: Lana is 5ft 8 and very wiry. She has rounded shoulders and pretty cut biceps and forarms. She actually has a six pack, but you would never guess unless she’s wiping her face with the bottom of a tshirt during training. She’s a hunter who has trained since she was ten years old to kill and overpower creatures, she’s got some muscle okay?With her body being a fucking weapon you’d have no idea beacuse her cheeks look soft and rounded but she has a bit of a sharp jawline, giving her a small dimple on her left cheek. She has piercings in her right ear and a secret tattoo at the bottom of her spine of a black dove, her mother’s family sigil. Her medium length hair is a chestnut brown. Her eyes are a deep azure blue that will observe you and learn every single one of your secrets. 

Family: Mother: Julia Durand (Deceased)

Father: Henri Durand (58, Head Hunter of the North New York Society)

Brother: Ben Durand (21, Retired tracker, Tracking and sensing Instructor)

Personality: Lana is probably one of the most complicated characters I have ever written. Talk about a young woman trying to find herself. She is currently doubting evrything she has ever been taught in life. And it was all because of one secret that she found out involving her mother. Lana was very close to Julia, the bond they shared was something that not many ever have the priviledge to feel. This bond is also something that has started to grow between her and Ben. She loves her little brother fiercely and helped pick his entire being back up after being bitten by a werewolf. To save him from ‘eternal damnation’ they amputated his left leg. This shook his entire being and Lana was there to get him through it with sibling teasing, emotional support and physical support we he entered into physical therapy. Lana clings to her faith even though her belief in God is starting to dwindle with the belief that Hunters are doing righteous good things. She’s quick witted but with her quick wit she will manipulate you into letting your guard down. She is an interrogator after all. Her job is to get to know you, figure out what information you are comprised of and lay out your deepest darkest secrets infront of you like a fucking hostage. She is watchful and dangerous in her own way. But never once has she been watched until Tori. Even with her clawing her way through the inner demons that are shaking her beliefs and everything she stood for, she is starting to trust and understand Tori and her position. This is causing a single thought to go through her head. I am the bad guy

Languages:English, Latin, French 

Likes: Reading books, purple eveing sky, watching snow fall, fire blazing in a fireplace, being cozy af, coffee, mashed potatoes, teasing her brother, spending time with her brother, a good spar to get the blood going, bubble baths. 

Dislikes: Teaching, loud cars, green tea, her father

Vices: Breaking harmless rules

Fears: Disgracing her mother’s memory

Quote: Sinners and Saints all get buried six feet down.

Song:  nihilist blues -Bring Me The Horizon ft. Grimes

Thank you Picrew for the lovely icons -> Picrew.me And for @sangled, @lullindo and @Makowwka for their icon maker! Ty!

[hollymartinswrites]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Catholicism, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Extended Tozier Family, Medical Examinations, Stephen King References

Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood. Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie and it turned into a much longer, angstier exploration than I expected.

Chapter VII: Eddie struggles while he and Richie search for answers about their daughter. But perhaps there's light in the darkness.

“This is crazy,” Eddie muttered, straightening and walking away from the desk. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“Eds, come on,” Richie implored him, turning away from the open laptop screen where Mike’s face gazed up at him. “This is interesting stuff.”

“Interesting but bullshit.”

“You don’t know that,” Richie insisted.

“No, but I do know our daughter isn’t a fucking science experiment,” Eddie declared, whirling around, his hands waving wildly. “This is real life, not that show on Netflix.”

Richie sighed as Mike hurriedly said, “I’m not saying Tess is that, I’m just saying, we have evidence of children with...with…”

“Powers?” Eddie provided, raising an eyebrow. “Like fucking Superman or something? Come the fuck on.”

“Charlie McGee claimed to start exhibiting pyrokinetic abilities as a toddler,” Mike said, flipping through a stack of papers. “It’s all right here in that Rolling Stone article from 1980.”

“And in the same article, it’s explained that her parents were mentally ill drug addicts and that the ‘explosion’ she caused with her mind was from an anti-government terrorist attack, Mike,” Eddie continued. “It says it right there in the link you sent us. Besides, even if this is true, our daughter isn’t exactly setting things on fire with her mind.”

“No, but I did find something that sounds an awful lot like what Tess is doing,” Mike continued.

“She’s doing nothing but being a kid,” Eddie said, exasperated. He looked at Richie. “I’m done with this. You want to stay up all night talking conspiracy theories and thinking our daughter is something out of The X-Files, go ahead, but I’m not listening to anymore of this.”

“Why not?” Richie begged. “How is any of this any crazier than what we went through?”

Eddie closed his eyes and sighed, a prickling of fear spreading through his body. It had to be crazy, it had to be, because if it wasn’t, then Pennywise wasn’t the worst of what this universe was capable of.

“Here,” Mike said suddenly, “I’m sending you some more links.”

A new email appeared in Richie’s inbox and he quickly opened it, clicking the first link. It was an article from an academic journal.

“The fuck’s this?” Richie mumbled, trying to make sense of the scholarly jargon in the first paragraph.

“There’s a girl out there, well, a teenager, and she has exhibited a lot of the same things Tess has done,” Mike explained. “She’s been studied by several different universities and they all admit, no one has given such accurate results in multiple tests.”

“Tests in what?” Richie asked.

“ESP, telepathy, clairvoyance, even astral projection,” Mike said, sounding terribly excited. “And she’s not the only one. She claims there are others like her out there.”

“That’s it,” Eddie groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “I’m going to bed. You and Mike have fun. I’ll handle the Tooth Fairy tonight since you’re so busy.”

Richie waved his hand distractedly as he squinted at the screen, clearly engrossed with the article. Eddie rolled his eyes, said good night to Mike, and walked out of their home office. He glanced at his watch. It was near midnight. He hadn’t stayed up this late on purpose in a long fucking time.

Quietly, he inched into Lydia’s room and reached into his pocket for his wallet. She was fast asleep, starfished on her bed, and Eddie allowed himself a relieved smile. He glanced at her nightstand, on which sat a piece of paper with the words FOR THE TOOTH FAIRY written on it in crayon with an arrow pointing to said tooth. Eddie was once again grateful he had had the forethought years ago to insist that the Tooth Fairy was too busy to go digging under pillows all night. Quickly, he slipped the dollar bill in the tooth’s place and, just a quickly, crept out of her room and down the hall.

He passed the office, and could hear Richie and Mike talking behind the closed door. His shoulders drooped, and he fought the desire to walk in there and demand Richie stop freaking himself out and come to bed. But Eddie had the sneaking suspicion Richie needed this, even if it was all bullshit.

And it had to be. It was bad enough they lived in a world where an ageless entity from space could terrorize children, erase their memories, and know their deepest fears. Eddie had to draw the line somewhere. Superheroes, magic, whatever, didn’t exist. His daughter was just that; his daughter. A little girl...with just an odd ability that had to have a somewhat rational explanation.

He opened his hand and gazed down at the tooth in his palm. He sighed, went to their closet, and found the leather travel bag. He unzipped it, took out the tiny jar, unscrewed the top and placed the tooth in it. He returned the jar and bag back to the closet. He still found it a somewhat creepy practice to keep their daughter’s baby teeth but Richie had insisted it was totally normal (“Besides, she can make a necklace out of them when she gets older, Eds!”).

Eddie closed the closet door and turned towards the bed. It looked terribly inviting. He was about halfway to collapsing in it when the door creaked open, and a little face peeked through.

“Tess?” he said softly. He headed to the door and opened it fully. “What are you doing up, sweetheart? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice thin.

“What is it?” he asked, crouching down. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Her mouth fell open, and for a split second, Eddie thought she was about to vomit. Instead, she slumped, as if she was a marionette whose strings had just been cut. She remained standing, but her eyes dimmed and her body appeared boneless.

“Tess? Tess, answer me,” Eddie said firmly, gripping her little arms as cold fear gripped his heart. “Tess, sweetheart, look at me. Answer me.”

A great shuddering gasp escaped her and this time, her legs gave out fully. He gathered her into his arms and stood, repeating her name desperately.

“Daddy,” she repeated, slurring slightly and her head lolling, “Papa’s...get ‘im.”

“Tess, baby, just breathe with me and keep your eyes open, okay?” Eddie hurried to the office and kicked open the door. Richie jumped and immediately paled when he saw Tess languid in his arms.

“Oh, God, Tess, Tess,” he gasped, rushing up to his husband and daughter. “Tess, look at me, please, kiddo.” “Get your car keys, and wake Lydia, we’re taking her back to the hospital,” Eddie said, shifting her in his arms.

Tess turned her bleary gaze to Richie. She reached out for him.

“Papa,” she mumbled.

“I’m right here, baby,” Richie said, his voice thick, taking her little face in his shaking hands.

“You…” she shuddered, blinked, and all at once, was their daughter again, her eyes clear and her voice strong. She burst into tears. “You almost flew away!” she wailed, as she all but launched herself out of Eddie’s arms and threw her own around Richie’s neck. Both men stumbled.

“Tess, I…” Richie looked at Eddie over her head, his own eyes wide and frightened. “I’m right here. It’s okay, kiddo, I’m right here. Are you alright? Does your head hurt or something?”

“Don’t fly away,” she begged through tears.

“Hold her,” Eddie said and maneuvered her into Richie’s arms. “I’m starting the car. We’re going to the hospital.”

“What was that?” Richie demanded over Tess’s sobs. “Another seizure?”

“I don’t know what it was,” Eddie said. “But I’m not waiting for another one.”

Pennywise couldn’t have been all-knowing, Eddie realized, because if It had, It would’ve shown Eddie and Richie this—their daughter sedated and lying, helpless and vulnerable, on the table before the yawning mouth of an MRI machine. This was worse than the leper or Paul Bunyan’s grinning razor-sharp teeth; worse than losing your childhood memories—because now, now they were really fucking helpless.

“It’ll take about ten days before we get the results back,” the neurologist explained. “And she’ll definitely be feeling the effects of the sedation afterwards. She should spend the next twenty-four hours resting.”

“Neither of us are working today,” Eddie muttered, clutching the shitty, cold coffee a nurse had given him earlier. He glanced back at Richie, but he was clearly lost inside his own head and not listening. He was sitting in a seat against the wall as they waited for the procedure to finish. Lydia—poor, patient Lydia who had been woken up in the middle of the night and thrilled by the sight of a dollar bill on her night stand, only to be told to put on her shoes, they were going to the hospital—was curled up, asleep in his lap, his jacket around her protectively.

Eddie sighed and rubbed at his forehead. The MRI technician smiled sympathetically at him.

“I know it seems to take forever,” he said, “but we’re nearly done.”

Eddie nodded. He was familiar with the process, having gone through it when the migraines became too much. Myra had insisted on second and third opinions. Eddie clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. The idea of Tess waking up after an MRI only to have Myra, or worse, his mother, waiting for her turned his stomach.

“How can she sleep through all that banging?” Richie muttered suddenly. Eddie remembered that Richie had never even seen an MRI machine until now.

“It’s loud, I know,” the technician said gently, “but between the earplugs and sedation, she doesn’t notice a thing.”

If he had said that to make them feel better, it only did the opposite. Eddie stood and stepped towards Richie, brushing his husband’s hair off his forehead.

“You need a haircut,” he muttered.

Richie glanced up and somehow, smiled.

“That’s the least of what I need right now,” he sighed.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of his head, uncaring that the technician was less than three feet away. Richie smiled again and for a moment, Eddie thought that if he could keep Richie smiling, then maybe they could get through this.

Recovery rooms had always been Eddie’s least favorite part of a hospital. He hated the waiting, the fact that you were trapped with other patients, that you had virtually no privacy. But now, he especially hated that they were surrounded by other children and their families, all nervous and on-edge.

Tess was one of the lucky ones. She hadn’t gone through surgery, but the doctor still wanted her to sufficiently recoup from the sedation before she went home. Richie and Eddie were miserable.

Eddie sighed and shifted Lydia, still sleeping, in his arms. Richie had needed a break and also desperately wanted to hold Tess’s hand as she slept. Eddie remembered how despondent he had been when he had woken up after surgery in Derry, only to discover he was the one patient in the recovery room without any visitors waiting for him. It was only later that he discovered the doctors had not allowed a single Loser in, seeing as they were not family and not listed as an emergency contact. Luckily, Mike knew one of the nurses, and when Eddie was transferred back to his own room, they were all there, beaming at him—except for Richie,who still looked terrified, as if certain he was gazing at a mirage.

“She looks so tiny,” Richie suddenly whispered.

Eddie blinked and turned his gaze to his youngest daughter, her little chest rising and falling steadily. He nodded.

“Even tinier than when we first got her,” he agreed.

“She was underweight,” Richie continued, his thumb running over her little hand. “Remember how light she was?”

Eddie nodded again and rested his cheek on the top of Lydia’s head. He closed his eyes and immediately saw Tess in their doorway, hours earlier. He sighed.

“She looked like you,” he whispered. Richie turned towards him, confusion on his face. “During her seizure tonight. She looked like you when you were caught…” he lowered his voice, “when you were in the deadlights.”

Richie swallowed.

“Maybe that’s what she saw,” he replied quietly.

“The deadlights?”

“No, me,” Richie said, reaching with his other hand to stroke Tess’s hair. “She said, don’t fly away. Maybe she saw me in the deadlights, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie noticed movement. He glanced over, and spotted a nurse hovering across the room, who quickly looked away. Eddie frowned. He doubted the nurse could overhear them, but he felt nervousness form in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he was a fan of Richie’s, but surely no nurse would dare approach him in a recovery room, right?

“Eddie, that girl Mike told us about,” Richie whispered, his eyes wide, “I think you should read what he sent.”

“Rich, not now, please.”

“It sounds like...like this is real. She’s seeings things from before she was born. How is that possible?”

Eddie spotted the nurse again, who was making quite a show of reading a chart a few beds away. Eddie frowned.

“Can we at least wait for the MRI results before we jump to conclusions?” he begged.

Richie followed his gaze and spotted the hovering nurse, too. He swallowed and looked back down at their sleeping daughter.

“Alright, Eds,” he sighed. “Whatever you say.”

The next ten days went by in a blur of family visits and constant check-ins from the Losers. Apparently when a small child gets her brain scanned, it’s all hands on deck. Richie’s parents and sister babysat, brought food, and distracted the girls while Eddie and Richie walked around in a daze, waiting for the results that could potentially change their lives.

Mike Facetimed everyday, never bringing up any of his research, but simply listening. Bill, stuck in Europe with limited wifi on a movie shoot, sent goofy videos and uplifting emails when he could. Bev called multiple times a day and Ben fucking flew in, because he was just that sort of kind-hearted bastard.

“Bev can’t get away from work until Sunday,” he explained gently. The results were due to come in on Friday. “She wanted to be here.”

“It’s fine,” Richie said, faking a smile. “You guys are acting like this is a wedding. We’re just getting a bunch of paperwork telling us what the fuck is going on in our daughter’s brain. No big deal.”

Ben offered one of his patented You’re making jokes about being sad and that’s sad faces and Richie just shrugged.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Eddie admitted softly. “Besides, Lydia’s thrilled.”

“That’s true,” Richie said, “Lyds loves you, Ben. I think she wants you and Bev to adopt her.”

Ben laughed gently and ran a hand through his hair.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” he said.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” Richie shot back.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“She adores you, Rich,” he said, brewing another pot of coffee. “She even lets you read to her now.”

“Yeah, Berenstain Bears, not Dr. Seuss,” Richie muttered. “I hate the fucking Berenstain Bears.”

Ben laughed and squeezed Richie’s shoulder affectionately.

“Having kids seems a lot more complicated than I thought,” he admitted.

“Trust me, man, you have no idea,” Richie said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Friday came in a blink. Ben and Richie’s sister Sarah watched the girls while Richie and Eddie went to get the results. They drove together in tense silence, waited in the waiting room silently, and when they were finally called into the office, still said very little.

Later, Eddie would realize that for something that caused such overwhelming anxiety for so long, it was all very anticlimactic. The results showed nothing in Tess’s brain. Once again, the doctor insisted there was no physical reason for her apparent seizures. It was good news...right?

As they walked out, stunned and exhausted, both men were lost in their own thoughts. Eddie felt weak with relief but he still couldn’t get the image of his daughter in that MRI machine. Time to make another appointment with his therapist, he figured.

By the time he reached the door, he suddenly realized Richie was not beside him. He turned around and spotted Richie down the hall, hurrying after him.

“Where were you?” Eddie asked tiredly.

“Nowhere, nothing,” Richie said quickly. “Let’s go home.”

“Rich?”

“I wanna see the girls,” Richie continued, rushing through the doors.

Eddie sighed and shook his head, following his husband.

“But that’s good news!” Ben exclaimed when they got home. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, she has nothing physically wrong in her brain so thank God. But we still don’t have clear answers.”

Sarah frowned and shook her head.

“There has to be one,” she insisted. “Did they talk about medication or anything?”

“A bit,” Eddie sighed. “I just...something about it feels wrong. I can’t explain it.”

“What does Richie think?” Ben asked.

“I...I don’t know,” Eddie admitted.

“Where is Richie?” Sarah asked, suddenly looking around her. She peeked into the living room where Lydia was playing with the Wii. “Lyds, did you see where your dad went?”

“I think he’s in Tess’s room,” she answered. “Aunt Sarah, it’s your turn to play. You promised.”

“I know but—”

“Please,” Lydia begged, putting on her best puppy dog eyes.

Sarah sighed but smiled affectionately. “Duty calls,” she said, and walked into the living room.

“I should go check on Richie,” Eddie said tiredly.

“Sure,” Ben said before placing his arm on Eddie’s shoulder. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but is there something else going on? Like, you and Richie don’t seem...yourselves.”

Eddie tried to offer a smile but Ben saw right through it. He looked genuinely concerned and Eddie had to admit, it was nice to have someone else worry, too.

“It’s fine, we’re just...figuring this out,” he admitted softly. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the hall and knocked on Tess’s half-opened door. He peeked in. Richie was sitting on her bed with Tess on his knee, speaking quietly to her.

“You two okay?” he asked.

“Eds, come here,” Richie said quickly. “And close the door.”

Eddie did so with a sense of unease. He stepped towards the bed and gazed down at his husband and daughter expectantly. Richie turned back to Tess.

“Now, kiddo, tell Daddy what you told me,” he said gently. “Just the same.”

“Okay,” Tess said, shrugging as she looked up at Eddie. “‘Member when I fell down?”

Eddie huffed a laugh.

“Yes, I definitely remember that, sweetheart,” he said.

“Well,” Tess began, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, “I fell because Papa fell and it hurted.”

“Papa fell?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Yep, he was flying,” she said. She turned back to Richie. “How come you don’t fly at home?”

Richie shook his head.

“Because I can’t really fly,” he admitted.

“But you did in the cave.”

“I wasn’t flying,” Richie explained gently. “I was floating.”

A wave of nausea rolled in Eddie’s stomach.

“Richie, stop this,” he insisted.

“Wait, listen, go on, Tess. Tell Daddy the rest.”

“Daddy saved you,” she said, shrugging. “And then Daddy got hurted. And you was sad but now it’s okay.”

“Yes, it’s all okay now,” Richie agreed, kissing her on her forehead. “Why did Daddy float?”

“‘Cause of the light. Aunt Bev saw it, too,” she answered nonchalantly. “Can I have a snack?”

“Of course you can,” Richie said happily, hugging her tightly before placing her on her feet. “Go on, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ben are in the kitchen.”

She rushed out. Richie and Eddie stared at one another.

“You can’t deny it, Eds,” Richie said, his voice oddly light. “She sees our past. I don’t know how or why, but she does.”

Eddie swallowed and suddenly realized his hands were shaking. He closed them into fists.

“It?” he whispered.

Richie shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “This is something else. Like something you’re born with.”

“Richie…”

“And earlier, at the hospital, a nurse stopped me,” he said, standing and reaching into his pocket. “He was in the recovery room with us last week. I saw him looking over at us and I thought he was just being a dick but he heard us. He stopped me on our way out today and gave me this.”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out and handed it to Eddie. Eddie looked down at an unfamiliar name.

“What’s this supposed to be?” he asked.

“He said he used to work with this guy, he has what Tess has,” Richie said excitedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie sighed. “This could just be a crazy person. That nurse could be a crazy person.”

“His name is in one of the articles Mike sent us,” Richie insisted. “About that girl.”

“And? What are we supposed to do about it?”

“We can reach out to them.”

“No fucking way,” Eddie said, raisng his voice in shock. “You wanna read articles or look up theories on the Internet, fucking fine, but there is no way we are opening ourselves to some fucking lunatics. Especially when it comes to our daughter.”

“I’m not saying we introduce Tess to them, I’m saying we ask some questions.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie hissed.

“So what do you want to do?” Richie asked angrily. “Wait around until this happens again? Throw some meds at her and hope for the best?”

Eddie threw his hands up and turned away.

“This is crazy, Rich, totally fucking crazy,” he gasped.

“Eds—”

A knock at the door. Ben stuck his head in.

“You guys want lunch or something?” Ben asked gently. “Tess and Lyds are hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be right there.”

He nodded, gave a penetrating look at his two friends, and left. Richie stood and gazed down at Eddie, his eyes soft. He took Eddie’s face in his hands, caressing his cheekbones with this thumbs.

“We need to figure this out,” he whispered, “and I can’t do it alone.”

Eddie sighed, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. He didn’t see Richie smile but he felt it in his kiss.

Life went back to normal—or as normal as it ever was in the Tozier household. Bev still offered to fly out but there wasn’t any point, so after thanking him profusely and offering to visit soon, Richie and Eddie sent Ben back home to his wife. He looked oddly reluctant to leave, but he hugged his two friends tightly and told them he loved them before his flight. Eddie caught Richie blinking rapidly before turning away.

Sarah still visited often, along with Richie’s mother, but they had their own responsibilities, too. And, as far as the medical world as concerned, Tess was physically fine.

Soon, they had less than a week until the new school year, and the Tozier family was busy. Last minute supplies had to be bought, schedules finalized, Tess reassured constantly about the safety and fun of preschool, and teachers informed about her seizures. The preschool took the information well, and assured them that they had plenty of experience with children with epilepsy. Richie and Eddie considered explaining that Tess did not have that, but let it go. Perhaps it was easier to pretend she had an ordinary diagnosis.

Lydia and Tess’s first days started together and, in an effort to make the preschool drop off as easy and meltdown-free as possible, Richie volunteered to take Tess alone. She’d still freak out but it wouldn’t be as violent if Eddie was there, they figured. Eddie agreed reluctantly. He hated the idea of his daughter breaking down at the front steps of the preschool, but he hated the idea of missing her first day even more.

“I’ll film everything,” Richie promised. “It’s only for half a day, anyway.”

Eddie nodded and finished packing her snacks and blanket. Lydia was practically vibrating with excitement, showing off her back to school outfits and re-organizing her Batman backpack. She was, both men had to admit, better at distracting and empowering Tess than they were. She spent their last day of summer vacation going on and on about the excitement of school, of how much fun she has with her friends and the nice teachers, and when Tess starts kindergarten next year, she’ll just love it.

Tess listened carefully and asked many questions. Lydia, always a fan of being in charge and all-knowing, was in her element. Eddie smiled and felt his heart twist as he watched his two daughters. Perhaps everything will be okay, he thought hopefully.

That night, he and Richie helped the girls wash up, change into their pjs, lay out their first day clothes, and climb into bed. Lydia needed very little encouragement and simply kissed them both good night before asking for her copy of Ramona Quimby, Age 8, and promising not to stay up late reading. They left her room, content in the knowledge that Lydia was quite fearless and adept at rolling with the punches.

In their younger daughter’s room, Richie tucked Tess into her bed, her night light on and her eyes heavy. Eddie brushed her hair from her face and she smiled sleepily.

“You’re going to have a great day tomorrow,” he said gently.

“Yeah, you’re going to have so much fun,” Richie agreed. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Tess yawned.

“Yep,” she said, “a good day.”

“And you’re so smart and brave,” Richie continued. “You’re gonna blow everyone away tomorrow.”

“I know,” Tess replied, rubbing at her eye with the back of her hand. “‘M not scared. ‘M not scared of anything anymore.”

“Good,” Eddie said, impressed. Lydia should become a motivational speaker, he thought briefly. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Nope,” Tess replied. “The nice girl showed me.”

Unease, like a blanket, fell over Richie and Eddie. They glanced at one another, both frozen. Richie licked his lips and swallowed before asking, “What girl?”

“The girl who visited me,” she yawned. “She showed me lots.”

“What did she show you?” Eddie whispered, terrified of the answer.

“Magic,” Tess replied, closing her eyes. “She says I’m magic, too.”

“Tess…”

She smiled as her breathing slowly evened out, and they knew she was falling asleep.

“She says I shine like her,” Tess whispered.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

be careful of the curse (that falls on young lovers) [ii/iii]

After a lifetime of being caught between the forces of good and evil, Ben Solo has developed one cardinal rule to maintain control over his own life: stay the fuck away from all things supernatural.

It’s a good strategy, one that works like a charm until the day he bumps into the devil herself.

The fact that she knows exactly who he is and what he’s running from makes things difficult. The fact that he’s ridiculously into her and they might be sort of, kind of dating? That makes things dangerous.

Part I | PART II: Meet Cute - Supernatural Edition | Part III | Epilogue

It’s the Halloween chapter of my Halloween one-shot turned three-shot! (Is that a thing? I’m gonna go ahead and pretend it is.) Today: Ben’s first and only attempt to be a Good Samaritan backfires when he finds himself face-to-face with the devil herself.

Also available on AO3. Bonus backstory content here. Tumblr-only epilogue here.

be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers starts so soft and sweet- - Howl, Florence + the Machine

He manages to avoid destiny for twenty-six blissful years. Twenty-six blissful, quiet, boring as hell years, admittedly, but boring is good, boring means no one comes knocking on his door looking for the Organa boy destined to be the next High Priest or the Vader heir doomed to be the next Dark King.

It’s all ridiculous, of course – his mother still has a solid century ahead of her at the very least, and last he heard the Underworld is perfectly happy with its current leader – but everything about his life, his family, his destiny has always been ridiculous.

Life in Lake Country is the complete opposite. He lives on the very edge of his grandmother’s estate, a small caretaker’s cabin far from the main structure, and goes about his life with little to no human interaction or supernatural interruption. His days are spent gaining knowledge for knowledge’s sake without having to categorize any of it as permitted or forbidden, and once every two weeks he drives his father’s car into town to get whatever he needs to keep himself going.

It’s a peaceful life, one that is shattered into a million pieces the day he hears a plea for help on his way back to his car.

Ben stops in front of a darkened alley, strains his senses until he hears it again – a quiet, pitiful stream of desperate pleas, no I promise it wasn’t me please let me go don’t hurt me I’ll never do it again please please please. The whimpering is interrupted by a second voice, too low for him to pick up on until he hears a laugh, dark and amused and cruel, there’s no other way to describe it, and Ben sets his purchases down against a fire hydrant before he steps into the darkness.

There’s a single flickering streetlight at the end of the alley, behind a brick wall that separates it from the next street. It’s enough to illuminate a man pinned against the wall by a dark figure, slim yet strong enough to dangle her target one foot above the ground. In her other hand – it has to be a she, he can hear her voice now, all low and rich with unspoken threats – he catches a glint of metal, a curved dagger she threads between her fingers like child’s play.

“Please, please,” the man is begging, choking, gurgling on his own spit and who knows what else, “please, I don’t want to die–”

“And how do you think they felt, hmm?” the woman asks, her voice deceptively calm even as her hand moves quick as lighting, darts up to press the side of her dagger against the man’s neck.

Her accent is common enough, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Nothing about her, Ben realizes with a sinking feeling in his stomach, knows with a certainty that burns, is even remotely human.

“No, please, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Mitchell,” she sighs, draws her arm back so that the dagger is held up high, catches the light of the flickering lamp before she brings her hand down to plunge the weapon into the man’s heart–

“Hey!” Ben shouts, and when both victim and assailant turn to look at him he uses one hand to knock the woman off her feet before he hurries towards the man.

“Thank you, oh god, thank you–”

Ben doesn’t spare the man a glance. Across the alley the woman has caught herself before the force of his blast could send her hurtling into the brick wall, and where her hand struck at the wall to steady herself a massive crack has appeared.

Their eyes meet, and Ben knows that his twenty-six year streak has come to an end.

“Get out of here,” he commands, and the man immediately breaks into a run.

The woman – demon, maybe, or witch – eyes her would-be victim’s retreating form with the slightest hint of dissatisfaction, but Ben speaks up before she can think of giving chase. “Why did you attack that man?”

“Man?” she laughs, slides her dagger into a sheath secured around her thigh and dusts off her hands before she saunters towards him, the sharp click of her heeled boots filling the empty alley. “I think you mean murderer.”

She stops five feet away from him, crosses her arms low on her chest and arches one delicate eyebrow at him, almost daring him to react, to question. Ben fears that once he starts, he won’t stop; every single thing about her leaves him with more questions than before, even more so now that she’s stepped into the moonlight and he can take in every detail of her appearance.

A human face, young even, but the ancient look in her eyes and the smirk playing on her dark lips give her away as something else, something more. Metal bands the color of gunpowder coil around her arms like snakes, and upon closer inspection the corset top he’d assumed to be leather is made of scales instead, jagged and rough and so red they’re almost black.

Dragon scales, the kind that’s so rare no amount of money or bartering will get you even a single one.

“Had your fill?” the mystery woman asks, her voice rich with amusement as she steps closer.

Ben doesn’t bother to dignify that with a comment; as if he would even think of checking a woman out after watching her nearly kill someone. “Why did you call him that - murderer?” he asks instead.

“Well, I suppose serial killer would be more accurate,” she shrugs, and suddenly the space between them has dwindled down to two feet. “Four victims, and a fifth originally planned for tonight.”

No paper route delivers to Varykino, much less the hidden cabin, but he has his ways of keeping up with local news. And lately, local news has been dominated by an unknown murderer targeting unsuspecting tourists. “That was him?”

He has absolutely no reason to believe this woman; for all he knows she could be the killer and the man was her fifth target. But the dragon scales wrapped around her body, the crack in the brick wall, the sheer energy he detects now that the world has narrowed down to just the two of them… everything about her tells him otherwise.

The woman hums in affirmation. “And now I’ll have to chase him down all over again,” she sighs, but it’s plain to see that she enjoys the prospect of it, of playing cat and mouse.

“Are you…” It’s a stupid question, but he’s willing to play dumb if it gets her to reveal even the slightest shred of information. “Are you gonna hand him over to the cops?”

She throws her head back, sends a tumble of curls falling over her shoulders as she laughs. “The police? Do I look like someone who bothers with the cops?” Her imitation of his accent is teasing, not mocking, and the question is obviously rhetorical.

“You, meanwhile…” the woman muses, eliminates all distance between them to pluck at the collar of his shirt before she dances her fingers down his chest, hooks her slim pointer finger into the belt loop of his jeans. “You almost look like someone who would call the police… but we both know you don’t need any help, do you?”

So much for playing dumb.

“I’ve always known there are still Force users around, but I never thought I’d find one in this sleepy little town,” she comments, finally drawing her hand away.

“And what brings you here?” Ben asks, evading that line of conversation. The woman shots him a little smirk, a barely-there curl of her lips that tells him she knows exactly what he’s doing.

She steps back. “Our mutual friend the serial killer, of course. Speaking of which, I should really get back to that.” Her eyes flash with a challenge, and Ben stares at her for all of ten seconds before he suppresses a sigh and nods.

“I guess you should.” Obviously the cops haven’t had any luck in tracking the guy down, and it’s not like he’s eager to offer his help to the townspeople. One less killer is one less killer, no matter how it goes down. He wonders again just what she is, what kind of unpleasant end the man will meet. Demon or witch or whatever, it’s clear that she’ll delight in her kill, take her time with it.

The woman acknowledges his words with a nod, gives him a smile that looks almost human. “But first,” she murmurs and, faster than his eyes can track, one manicured finger presses into his neck and breaks his skin to collect a bead of blood.

“What the fu–”

“Now I’ll be able to find you no matter where you go,” she tells him with a pleased little smirk, makes a show of sucking on her bloodied finger.

By the time Ben processes the fact that he’s very, very inappropriately turned on by that, the woman is long gone, leaving only the faintest trace of smoke lingering in the air.

Ben spends the next few days fortifying his little cabin with every protective spell and masking charm he can think of, but he knows it’s a futile effort. Anyone who can blood-track like that will also have the foresight and the ability to use his own blood against him and slip past all of his barriers. 

Sure enough, the woman shows up unannounced in his kitchen five days later, and there isn’t even the slightest ripple of a disturbance in the Force to warn him.

“Hello, Ben Solo,” she smirks, hops up on his kitchen counter and makes herself comfortable.

He freezes, half bent over to pick up the knife he’d dropped upon her arrival. “How–?”

When he looks up, she cocks her head to the side and taps at her left temple. “There’s not that many of us left in the Force. And you, burning brighter than anyone else… you were easy to find, once I knew to look for you.”

Easy, she says, as if he hasn’t been shielding his Force signature since childhood, as if he and Luke didn’t dedicate years to researching the ideal cloaking method. It’s no secret that the Skywalkers, whether by name or by blood, are all Force-gifted, but all Ben wanted as a child was to pass for just another warlock, just an ordinary spell-caster or potion-brewer. For a time, hidden by his father’s name and his uncle’s shields, he’d been able to do just that.

After his uncle’s shields faltered and his mother’s name came to light, after the dust had settled, Ben immediately set to work on forming and putting up shields of his own, a cloak that he’s kept up ever since. For this woman – demon or witch or whatever, it doesn’t matter, for her to say it was easy to find him and slip into his home just like that…

“Who are you?” Ben intends to demand, but finds himself asking in hushed awe instead.

“You could find the answer to that yourself, if you tried,” she shrugs, tapping once again at her temple. “But I could give you a hint, if you’d like.”

He nods, and waits until her pointed look makes him realize– “Please.”

She has the smuggest look when she’s pleased, especially at his expense, and Ben has dreamed of kissing that smirk off her face at least twice in the past five days. Apparently twenty-six years of solitude and celibacy have their consequences.

“There we go,” she grins, and goes on to casually announce, “Your grandfather killed mine.”

Ben ignores the unreasonable stab of guilt he feels at that. She’s clearly over it, if the look on her face is anything to go by, and he is not his uncle, he will not take on the weight of Vader’s sins, will not live in Vader’s shadow. “That…” he says instead, “doesn’t really narrow it down. My grandfather killed a lot of people,” and here he does allow himself the slightest hint of a helpless, apologetic shrug. It’s only polite.

“No need to brag,” she teases him, an actual grin on her lips. “All right, how about this: our grandfathers killed each other.”

Whatever ease Ben felt around her, whatever odd sense of calm he’s let her lull him into – it vanishes into thin air as realization washes over him like a bucket of ice water. “But that would mean… that would make you…”

She nods.

“You’re Palpatine’s granddaughter?”

Another nod, casual as can be with the tiniest hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she watches everything fall into place in his mind.

“Stars,” Ben groans, drags a heavy hand down his face. “You’re Kira Ren. You’re the devil, and you’re sitting on my countertop swinging your legs like– like–” like something out of a dream he can now never, ever admit to having.

“Well,” she – Kira – frowns and crosses her arms. “Devil’s a bit outdated, don’t you think? And a misnomer, too. Everyone always conflates Hell and the Underworld, and they get all of these ideas about me being in charge of the afterlife–”

In that moment, Ben can’t help himself. “You aren’t?” he asks, unable to bite back his curiosity.

Kira rolls her eyes. “I’m the Queen of Darkness, not the Goddess of Death,” she scoffs. “And sure, I suppose you could call some of my subjects demons, and I guess that makes me the devil, but… it just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

He looks at her, this terrifying woman who holds a primordial darkness in her eyes and wears blood on her lips but glows under the sun and swings her legs like a child, and– “Yeah, I get it.”

She beams at him, actually smiles, and Ben knows in that instant that he is screwed.

“But enough about me,” Kira hops off the counter, walks up to him. “What about you, Ben Solo? Blood of Vader, heir to Light and Dark, hiding away in a tiny hut in the ruins of your grandmother’s palace–”

“Cabin,” Ben huffs, crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s a cabin, and Varykino is not in ruins, it’s just a little rundown–” He does his best to fix that, spends at least one day a week trying to restore his grandmother’s home to its former glory, but there’s not much he can do for the exterior if he doesn’t want to alert anyone to his presence.

Kira raises a brow at him. “That’s the part you choose to focus on? Really?” Her voice is dancing with laughter, and it really is like something out of a dream, this odd interaction between them that’s nothing at all like their first meeting–

–so much so that it makes him suspicious.

“So you know who I am,” he says carefully, watches her catch on to the change in atmosphere and adjust immediately as her smile disappears. “Why are you here, Kira Ren?”

The devil considers him with a slight tilt of her head, gnaws on her lower lip for a moment. “Call me Rey,” she murmurs at long last.

It’s not the answer he’d been expecting. She’s been pretty direct so far; why not just come right out with it and give him the same spiel every other Darksider he’s ever met usually does? What a waste of your grandfather’s legacy, what a waste of your destiny, it is your duty, you must finish what Vader started, you must you must you must–

Instead, he’s left with a name.

“Nickname?” he asks casually, leaning back against the sink.

Kira shakes her head, offers him a hesitant smile. It’s… unfamiliar on her, but not wrong, not out of place. “Name.”

His suspicion flares up with a vengeance, but something else – whatever it is that’s kept her in his mind all these days and nights – smothers it and curls in his belly instead, warm and content. “You’re… you’re giving me your real name?”

“Consider it a gesture of good faith,” Rey tells him. “There’s something about you, Ben Solo. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but congratulations, you are now one of only four living individuals in existence to know my real name.”

It’s too much, too fast, too much, his suspicion insists. Nothing in this world is ever free; this Ben knows better than anything else, was practically weaned on Council dealings, on trades and favors and exchanges.

“And what do you want in return?”

Rey smiles, and finally he sees a hint of the woman he first met, something sharp and deadly in the curve of her lips. “All I ask for in return,” she says quietly, closes the distance between them and trails her fingers down his chest in an echo of that night, “is that you help me finish what you so rudely interrupted the other evening.”

It’s hard to think, with her hand moving ever lower, but the cogs in Ben’s suspicious mind start to turn anyway. “The serial killer? You’re telling me you haven’t caught him yet?”

Any ordinary demon could have caught and killed that guy a dozen times by now. The devil herself? She could have tortured him to death fifty different ways in half that time.

“I know where he is,” Rey admits, “but I thought that maybe you and I could make a night of it, take care of business and then see where the evening takes us…”

He catches her hand just as it moves below his belt buckle. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

She turns her hand around in his, rubs the pad of her thumb against the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. “Is it working?”

If he were just a guy, and she were just a girl… But he has the devil in his kitchen, and she’s asking him to commit murder with her. “You know about the curse,” Ben surmises in a flat tone, and tries his best to ignore the little pang of disappointment that accompanies his realization. Even having a demon seduce him just for the bragging rights of having fucked Vader’s grandson would have been better than this. He pulls his hand out of hers and puts some space between them. “You know what the price is.”

“Oh well,” Rey shrugs, follows after him and forces him to retreat until he’s backed up against the wall. “It was worth a shot.”

So this is it, then, this is where she decides to cut her losses and kill him, can’t have someone running around knowing her real name if he’s not going to swear allegiance to her–

Rey spins around on her heel. “So, can I stay for lunch?”

This woman is going to be the goddamn death of him, one way or another. “Wha– what?”

“Lunch,” Rey repeats patiently, gesturing at his abandoned chopping board. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in decades, and I think we’ll get along quite well now that there are no more secrets between us.”

The smart thing to do would be to kick her out, as politely as possible, and then swallow his pride and call his uncle for the first time since the funeral to ask him how one deals with the devil. After all, Luke’s dealt with two in his lifetime.

But Rey picks up the knife he failed to retrieve earlier, rinses it off and starts working on his half-diced tomatoes, and twenty-six years of loneliness suddenly hit him with all the force of a backfired hex.

“No more tricks, right?” Ben finds himself asking, crosses his arms and gives her his sternest look when she turns to him.

Rey smiles, and he can’t find a single trace of Kira Ren in her, sees only the way the sunlight pouring in from the kitchen window turns her eyes hazel and brings out the auburn in her hair.

“No more tricks, I promise.”

So he lets her stay, and a few days later he lets her back, and at some point Ben realizes he’s become friends with the devil.

Rey shows up one day with dark circles around her eyes rather than liner, swimming in a baggy tunic instead of her usual form-fitting outfits. After six months of friendship, Ben likes to think that he would’ve noticed something amiss even without these huge giveaways. 

“Hey,” he calls gently, and holds his arms wide open as Rey makes her way over from the kitchen. She tucks herself into his side immediately, folding her bare legs underneath her as she rests her head on Ben’s shoulder. The devil, as he’s come to discover over these past few months, will take affection wherever and whenever she can get it. After twenty-six years of zero physical contact with another living person, Ben hardly minds indulging her.

“Long day?”

Rey slides her head down to his chest with a sigh. “It’s fucking Mustafar again. They’ve refused to even negotiate a possible return.”

It still makes him uneasy, knowing that Rey is trying to reunify her grandfather’s fractured empire while he stands by and does nothing; worse than nothing, even, since he’s deliberately withholding this information from his family and actively offering her a place to rest and recharge in between diplomatic visits. And now he’s listening to her vent about his grandfather’s former stronghold, where those who remain loyal to Vader have formed a cult-slash-kingdom in his memory.

“But…” Ben scrunches up his features in confusion. “You’re their Queen. The rightful Empress. If they’re so loyal to the old kings, then why won’t they obey you?”

“Rightful?” Rey scoffs. “Not in their eyes. Palpatine never legitimized my mother and chose to declare Vader as his heir instead. These fanatics think that makes you, not me, the rightful ruler of the Underworld.”

Ben can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him. “Me?” he asks incredulously. “But I’m not even a demon!”

Rey shrugs, one sharp shoulder digging into his chest as she does. “Vader didn’t fall to the Dark side until later on in life. I guess they’re hoping history might repeat itself with you.”

Somehow, even with an actual demon popping by his home nearly every other day, Ben’s managed to block out the unpleasant reality that there are those who still hope he’ll give in to the curse. The reminder makes his blood run cold. “Well, I hope they enjoy disappointment then, because that’s never happening,” he vows.

“Right,” Rey murmurs after a beat, tenses in his arms before she wriggles away. Her back is ramrod straight as she fixes her eyes on the TV before them, some mindless sitcom he’d put on for background noise, but he catches sight of one hand fiddling with the hem of her tunic. Ben reaches out, laces their fingers together before he uses his free hand to gently guide her eyes to his.

“Hey, what is it?”

“Nothing,” Rey mumbles, and fights against his loose hold to turn her head back to the TV. Her hand remains in his though, and Ben gives her a gentle squeeze before he tries again, driven by the dullness he’d glimpsed in her usually-twinkling eyes.

“Rey, c’mon,” he coaxes her, turns the TV off with a thought and ignores her indignant hey! as he moves to better face her. “You can tell me anything.” If only his mother could see him now, holding hands with the devil herself while he tries to encourage her to confide in him.

Rey shifts to mirror his position, but fixes her eyes somewhere on his chest rather than meeting his gaze. “It’s stupid,” she mutters, but when Ben just waits patiently and squeezes her hand again, Rey draws in a fortifying breath and slowly looks up at him as she exhales.

“I want to court you.”

There’s a ringing in his ears, as if her revelation is some kind of bomb detonated too close to his head, his heart.

“What?” Ben hears himself asking dumbly, blood rushing in his ears now and making everything else sound so impossibly distant, so impossible period.

“Told you it’s stupid,” Rey huffs, tries to snatch her hand out of his. After her third attempt is met with him tightening his grip on her yet again, a glint of stubbornness worms its way into her eyes and she charges ahead with the kind of bullish determination that could only come from someone trying to single-handedly restore her grandfather’s sprawling empire. “I want to court you, Ben Solo,” she declares firmly, pins him with a look that’s all business. “I’d also like to marry you someday, I think, and possibly start a family with you.” 

The ringing in his ears swells into a roar. “Oh,” Ben whispers. “Oh,” he echoes two seconds later, when he can hear his own heartbeat again and a smile takes over his face.

Rey allows the tension to seep away, and looks up at him with a smile that’s almost… shy.

“Kinda feels like I should be the one courting you,” Ben muses out loud, still lost in her eyes and her smile and her words, words that hint at a possibility he’s only ever allowed himself to entertain in daydreams.

“It’s the twenty-first century, Ben,” Rey reminds him with a roll of her eyes. “A woman can do the courting–”

“No, no, it’s not that,” he hurries to assure her. “It’s just… you’re the Queen, shouldn’t I have to prove myself worthy of you or something?”

She brings one hand up to cup Ben’s cheek, curves her lips into something that makes his heart hurt in the best way possible. “You already are,” Rey murmurs. “Besides,” she adds after a beat, after the moment has settled deep into their bones, “I’m the one who has to convince you to be my consort–”

Her hand falls back down to her side, and Ben’s own grip goes slack.

Consort.

To the Queen of the Underworld.

“Oh,” he whispers in realization, and this is crueler than any dream his foolish heart could ever hope to come up with.

“If you…” Rey says shakily, closes her eyes and centers herself with a deep breath. “I want you with me, Ben, always, but if you’re so adamant that the Underworld could never be your home then…”

Ben knows a little something about conflict, fancies himself something of an expert even. Conflict is being torn in two directions before you’re even old enough to know the cardinal ones, conflict is your uncle vilifying the grandfather you never knew while a voice in your head sings his accolades, conflict is your mother telling you that you’re destined for greatness but no, Ben, not that way–

Conflict is an ever-present condition of his existence, something Ben has learned to deal with the way he deals with all of the most important things in his life: avoidance, ignorance, denial. But this – Rey right in front of him, offering him her heart in one hand and his doom in the other… this cannot be denied.

Rey tips forward, falls into him and pins him against the arm of his sofa. “Think of what we could be together,” she murmurs, nuzzling his neck as her fingers slide into his hair. “My Emperor, our empire…”

He closes his eyes, lets out a shuddery breath. “Rey,” Ben chokes out, “what you’re asking me to do… what you’re planning to do… you’re giving yourself over to the Dark, Rey. And I can’t– I can’t,” don’t be like Vader, don’t ask about Vader, just like Vader, too much Vader in him, all his damn life a trap lying in wait and now this, the sweetest bait, the only reason he would ever have to fall but still– “I can’t follow you down that path.”

She recoils from him, pushes at his chest with a burst of energy as her eyes blaze with fury and disappointment and hurt. “I don’t have to give anything to the Dark, Ben. It’s mine, it’s always been mine to command, mine to control, not the other way around, never the other way around and if you’d just open your eyes and see–”

Years ago, days after the first time he heard his mother fretting about him and Vader and so much anger, Luke, his uncle spirited him away and imparted upon Ben his very first lesson about the Force. He’s slow to recall it now, long-forgotten words clumsy and unfamiliar on his tongue. “The Force is never ours, Rey. Light, Dark, all of it – it’s not ours to control, only ours to channel. It flows through us, its will accomplished using us, controlling us–”

Rey springs to her feet. “You are so scared!” she growls, voice raised in frustration. “You think the only way to stay safe, to honor your father, is to reject all of it, to remove yourself from temptation entirely. But,” and here she softens, comes to kneel next to him and take his hands in her own, “there’s another way, Ben. If you’d just let me show you the in-between, the balance, then you’d see…”

“Balance is a myth, Rey,” he tells her as gently as possible, turns their hands so that he’s the one holding her in place now. “There are those who’ve tried, but it’s arrogance, it’s hubris to think that any of us could ever stand between Light and Dark and command them both without having to give something in return, without succumbing to one side or the other–”

“Do you think I don’t understand that?” Rey hisses, digs her nails into his palms. “Do you think I don’t know the struggle, the pull? Always, always lurking in the dark, waiting for the slightest slip-up, ready to crash over you like a wave and pull you into the inky depths – do you think I don’t know the chill of a dark manacle on my ankle always?”

He has never, ever seen her like this, eyes feverish with a fear, a burden, a nightmare no one has ever been able to put into words for him. “Rey, how–?”

“My grandfather was a demon, just like yours,” she begins evenly. “My grandmother was a healer, just like yours,” and this is news to him but then again she never talks about her family, about anything from before, especially not– “and my father was mortal, just like yours.”

“But that means–” Ben falters, looks at her, really looks, and thinks of Kira Ren the night they met, of the ancient darkness in her eyes and the wild energy hidden just beneath the surface. “You weren’t born a demon?”

Rey, still on her knees, shakes her head and entrusts him with another secret that could jeopardize everything she’s worked so hard to establish over the past few decades. “My mother’s powers never manifested, and my father was human. I was human too, at first.”

Human. Rey, Kira Ren, would-be Empress of all the Dark Realms, was human once, something not even Ben can claim. But here she is now, and there’s only one way–

Ben’s heart aches for her, for the tragedy he knows nothing about but thinks he understands completely. “Rey,” he whispers thickly, looks into her wide eyes and tries to picture her before, tries to picture her if only. “You… you carried it too. The curse–”

“–was the best thing that ever happened to me,” Rey insists, shatters his illusions about her with no hesitation. She’s never tried to hide what she is from him, after all, never claimed to be anything less than the merciless Queen of the Underworld, an army of demons at her beck and call, an endless flood of blood on her hands–

And yet she comes to him when she’s at her most vulnerable, and digs her bare feet into grass with childlike glee, and says heartbreakingly human things like– “Until you. You, Ben… I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you. Maybe I don’t, maybe I never will. But you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

He moves to join her on the floor, slides off the sofa and gets on his knees in front of her, and Rey doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his waist and press their foreheads together.

“Please, Ben,” she murmurs a hair’s breadth away from his lips, so close but not close enough, “please don’t say no, not yet. Just… think about it. Please.”

“I–” a lump rises in his throat, makes it impossible for him to offer her empty promises about finding a way, overcoming it all, to hell with Light and Dark and all of it, I just want you– “I’ll think about it,” Ben says, the best he can do yet not enough. Rey sighs, a tremulous little thing, and separates them.

“That’s all I ask,” she smiles, nothing like the wickedly sharp smirks of Kira or the blindingly bright grins of Rey, just a ghost of what it should be. He watches her stand, watches her smooth down her tunic and gather energy for a portal–

“Wait!” Ben stumbles to his feet, nearly falls as he lurches forward to take Rey’s hand.

“Ben?”

His heart is beating faster than it did the day he realized exactly who she was, faster than it does whenever she leans in a little too close or looks at his lips a little too long. “I… I don’t know what I think about balance,” he tells her slowly, hesitantly. “I don’t know if your way is the right way, or if any of this is even possible. I don’t know if rebuilding the empire is the right thing to do, and I don’t know if I could ever help you with that.”

“Don’t,” Rey whispers, shakes her head. “Don’t do this, you said you’d think about it first, don’t say no–”

He brings their joined hands to his lips, presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I’m not sure about any of this, Rey, but I am sure that I want to be with you.”

The devil lets out a sob, and it’s the most heartbreaking, beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Her eyes shine with tears he knows she won’t let fall, and her smile is nearly a grimace as she tries to contain herself, but she lets him wrap an arm around her waist and tug her closer anyway.

“I want to be with you no matter what,” Ben sighs, leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “Can that be enough, Rey? Just for now?”

Silence stretches on for two seconds, for a lifetime, for a heartbeat, for eternity–

“For now,” Rey whispers against his lips, and kisses him.

So there’s devil!Rey, I hope you guys are as drawn to her as I am.

If she seems all over the place... there’s a reason for that, I promise, and I can’t wait for you guys (and Ben!) to find out what it is. Which you will, soon enough, because the third and final chapter will be posted tomorrow!

Until then, thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it, and Happy Halloween! As always, please don’t hesitate to like/reblog/comment.

[rnarvelboi]

rnarvelboi’s mobile fic rec mp

updated: 07/24/18 this masterpost WILL NOT work on laptops/pcs. i’ve tried but nothing will solve the problem and i refuse to go through and relink every one of these fics because i spent hours putting together this original post and im exhuasted lmao. if you’re NOT on mobile click HERE :))

luke alvez x reader (criminal minds)

by @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars

biting the bullet

take me out

one moment

couples therapy 2

“…falling in love with my best friend”

unshaken

…the proposal

addicted to love

by @nelsonsmurdock

god only knows

claw marks

sugar daddy

good morning

making you jealous headcanon

missed by @writefasttalkevenfaster on my mind by @madamredwrites a kiss that shouldn’t have happened by @merlxn-emrys

spencer reid x reader (criminal minds)

by @wrecklessimagine

dermatillomania

anything

trip

breaking (part one) / and entering (part two)

soft hands

by @mentallydatingspencerreid

because i love you

conflict resolution

dare?

jealous

fearful

by @dontshootmespence

did you hear me?

hands off

a sudden change

by @nelsonsmurdock

not afraid anymore

real life

lolita / real life

by @bookofreid

love in numbers / part two

perfect timing

the doctor & the artist

fortune teller

avoidance

long way down

handle yourself

by @spencerdamnreid

undercover discovery

let me help

by @brywrites

love looks not with the eyes 

model behavior 

the reid effect part one / part two

close to you

model behavior

by @criminaldaddies

closer 

forever

drunken make out? by @make-me-imagine just let me explain by @the-criminal-soldier touchy-feely by @thelovelylittlestorythatcould nerves by @thorne93 for the sake of a kiss by @totalfanfreak four years by @ughthatimagineblog torturous by @irwinsos snowbound by @criminal-minds-fanfiction

matthew gray gubler x reader

by @wrecklessimagine

“i tried my best…”

modeling

sex scene

twelve years younger

by @mentallydatingspencerreid

turnaround

standing out in a crowd

poe dameron x reader (star wars)

by @leiaorga-na

frustration

general ‘matchmaker’ organa

by @kboogie09

galactic soulmates

deal?

crazy in love

something else

by @justauthoring

when youre back

not today

help us out

thoughts betray you

five versus one

help us out

tired of your games

by @warqueenfuriosa

on flying and falling

kissing sweetly

my heart is yours

contact

by @certifiedskywalker

not enough time

snoozing

by @theincredibleultron

putty in your hands

you’re a skywalker?

five times you kissed poe dameron

10 things i hate about you

by @shenanigans-and-imagines

i could kiss you right now

i mean it

by @poedameronstories

motivation

stay

left unsaid / what remains / confrontations by @rqgnarok kissing by @buckyskywalks interrupted day off by @secretlyheatherchandler sarcasm by @x-dudes worth the wait by @fanfic-shiz two pieces of a whole by @we-are-all-obsessed-here black leader, shutting up by @parker-peter-parker trust me by @hairringtonsteve “why are you crying” by @whirlybirbs nothing more than a pretty face by @theonewiththefanfics

kylo ren x reader (star wars)

by @azurakenway

ask me a question (ben solo)

that’s no way to speak to your senator (ben solo)

watch my heart burn

protector of the apprentice

healing hands

‘did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you’

fallen in love

long live the supreme leader

red or black

across the stars (ben solo)

by @kyloholic

royal pains (ben solo)

clumsy (ben solo)

the supreme and his queen

divide and unite

professor ren series

by @justauthoring

come back (ben solo)

just tired (ben solo)

by @bad--bad--man  (masterlist)

pretty baby

ben sorenn, you liar

always

its my destiny

by @theindifferentdroid  

mad sounds pt 2

kiss on a dare

by @itsaconquestofimagination  

sugar, we're going down

killing me softly

keep in the dark

an unlikely hero

classroom ship (ben solo)

jealous kiss (solo triplets! kylo)

bliss by @darth-dre truly special by @chaostheoryy   somnum exterreri by @loverbug1123   slow burn by @tricksters-captain   pickup lines by @kylo-renegade   till the light burns out by @softestsolo nsfw alphabet by @whirlybirbs   red by @the-new-fanfic-order   discovered by @absolutekylotrash in my head (ben solo) by @leiaorga-na bonded / ii / iii / iv by @wandering-at-midnight

han solo x reader (star wars)

a ridiculous idea by @imaginethestarwars   we’ve got problems by @astxrwar   confession by @sincerelysaraahh

armitage hux x reader (star wars)

by @callmewinchester  

fortitude

iunctus

by @whirlybirbs  

nsfw alphabet

hux sex headcanons

by @azurakenway  

little bird

caretaker

open up to me by @the-new-fanfic-order   never again by @chaostheoryy   golden slumbers by @idontgiveahux   adulterer by @rosalynbair   cat and mouse by @silentwanderlustfanfiction never a good time by @silentwanderlustfanfiction  courage by @accio-zara iron by @zerohuxgiven resolution by @belikesnowbeautifulbutcold21 summoned by @natxpat

dylan o’brien x reader

by @cxddlyash  

the gun range

doggie play date

theo raeken x reader (teen wolf)

hey babygirl by @rememberstilinski  

derek hale x reader (teen wolf)

by @helplesslyinlovewithcharacters 

atrocious 

good enough

sorry to my unknown lover

compared to you

patience

by @perterhale

you are good

make this last

skin

by @fvckingbuchanan

my alpha 

always an us

by @thegreatficmaster

dreams come true

love when you smell like me

play with me alpha by @thelittlehalewolf trained to fight by @stilinskiimagines tidal waves by @spxderbarnes how perfect by @urwarriorangel age restriction by @huntersanonymous taking care by @honestly-lahey watch it by @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales

issac lahey x reader (teen wolf)

by @maximoff-pan

dating issac lahey (and being a witch)would include

dating issac lahey (and being a mccall) would include

bucky barnes x reader (marvel)

by @ballyhoobarnes

man’s best friend

study break

by @bbbarneswrites

russian muses

mended hearts

by @leiaorga-na

sparks fly

avoiding

‘best friends’

easy a by @imagine-assembling-the-avengers rooftop confessions by @sebbies   attacked by @theincredibleultron   reward (ft. matt murdock) by @persephone-is-here-omg @irndad ‘s bucky fic masterlist within the smoke by @revengingbarnes fight for you by @revengingbarnes touch by @starrywriting broken by @gaybybirth   two haunted souls by @buckybarnesstar three’s company (ft. steve) by @sugardaddytonystark self defense by @marvelfic   marks by @marvelfic like real people do by @bucketbarneslove

sebastian stan x reader

by @marvel-midtown

private people

bad at love

next door 

no script by @revengingbarnes

matthew murdock x reader (marvel)

warm as the devil by @james-wesleys-sassy-eyebrow  

tony stark x reader (marvel)

press coverage / less coverage by @astxrwar  

steve rogers x reader (marvel)

hands to myself by @leiaorga-na “are you sorry now” by @prettyyoungtragedy coup de foudre by @mattymattymerduck

peter parker x reader (marvel)

by @softboy-holland

badass princess

just a kid

raspberry popsicles

broom closets by @leiaorga-na personal by @peterparker-imagines the mind reader by @strangershield euphemisms by @vinyloider thigh riding by @donttellpeterparker until you fell by @anakin-skywalkers four times by @dej-okay breathe by @something-fanfiction-ie online nemesis by @peterpcrkcr  new light by @marvelellie

tom holland x reader 

by @loserparker 

distance 

messy 

kissing me by @marvel-midtown   wanna taste by @valar--m0rghulis  honest by @theironholland

frank castle x reader (marvel)

by @avengersandlovers

the breakfast table

leather and lace

bad together by @anakin-skywalkers troublemaker by @astxrwar couldn’t take it anymore by @propertyofpoeandbucky tired by @castawaybarnes

jason todd x reader (dc)

by @maruthor  

precious asshole

disbelief

i’m just a monster by @dc-hoe always by @yj-tt-batfam-forlife you’d do that for me? by @maybe-its-5sos jason making is s/o cry by @angstytodd jason fucking todd by @alphaabucky

dick grayson x reader (dc)

by @dc-hoe

i don’t have anyone

i missed you

pleasure and ice

by @maruthor  

they never told you / they never told him

one more chance

play pretend by @sheismental   a quiet night by @dccomicsimagines   love by @angstytodd   electric currents by @dccomicsimagines

bruce wayne x reader (dc)

five am light / ten pm glow by @astxrwar for worse / for better / until death do us part by @soriseerakyra sneaky bastard by @ellana-ravenwood mind the gap by @maybe-its-5sos

clyde logan x reader (logan lucky)

to love a writer by @bad--bad--man room 1604 by @adumbdryer curse the cauliflower by @emmytypes