#when mikes laugh gets insane and squeaky >

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 10: Who Needs You •

    “You!”

    The howl of fury from Sonia Kaspbrak brought a whole new sense of fear to the Losers as they stood on the opposing end of her finger. Having fled the gruesome house on Neibolt, the Losers, in a great panic, had managed to haul their injured friend away from Neibolt and back to his own front lawn. Thanks to Mike, who while thinking quickly, had placed Eddie in his bike’s basket, the two were able to escape on their bikes with the rest of their friends. And though the horrid scene was now blocks away, not a single Loser dared lose a notch of speed. Nor did they stop until they had discarded their bikes on Eddie’s front lawn, panting heavily.

    “You did this!” She hissed, immediately separating Eddie from his friends.

    The seven Losers parted hesitantly as she forced him by the nape of the neck across the lawn towards her car.

    “You know how delicate he is.” She huffed, earning a few heavy eye rolls from a select few.

    Bill stepped forward after them, finding his voice, and powering through his stutter.

    “W-We were attacked, M-Mrs. K,”

    She opened the squeaky passenger door, just about shoving Eddie inside, and turned on the seven friends. She stared each of them down, fiery gaze meeting with each pair of eyes.

    “No! Don’t,” she ordered, slamming the door shut, caging a still frightened Eddie. “Don’t try to blame anyone else.”

    Her hands shake with rage, causing her ring of keys to slip from her fingers and land on the pavement. Seeing this, Beverly bends down after them.

    “Let me help-” She offers, only to be cut off and shooed away by the woman.

   "Get back!“ She bellows.

    She steps forward, retrieving her keys, and straightens enough to lean in close to intimidate Beverly.

    "Oh, I’ve heard of you miss Marsh,” Mrs. Kaspbrak sneered. “And I don’t want a dirty girl like you touching my son.”

    “Mrs. Kaspbrak, please, if we could just explain-” Y/n pleas were soon cut short.

    “Enough!” The woman roared, her puffy face turning red.

    She looked Y/n up and down with a snide look in her eye as if the young girl was nothing more than something she had dragged in on her shoe.

    “Don’t think I haven’t heard of you either, you filthy little thing! Following this harlot around town,” she quickly throws Beverly a hostile look. “begging for scraps like some stray. Wouldn’t be surprised if you picked up on her dirty little habits and I certainly won’t have you lurking around my son any longer!”

    Y/n stood unnaturally still, taking the conjectures she had heard almost her entire life with surprising composure. But that wall she had built up, cracked, just ever so at the mention of Eddie and she glanced past the screaming woman and into the car where Eddie’s small stature was barely visible over the windows in the low seat. This was the first time he had allowed himself to look at one of them, and it was at Y/n.

    Their eyes met, her gaze was distant, and she seemed to be disconnecting from reality as if to spare herself from the pain of saying goodbye. As if she knew his mother would finish her lecture, get in the car, and drive away with Eddie and that would be it. She knew that Eddie wouldn’t stand up for her. Get angry for her, or even for himself, and finally stand up to his mother. But she didn’t blame him, he had barely escaped death, and even still, he had a horribly broken arm.

    But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking as she saw his large doe brown eyes staring back at her. They were frightened and docile as his mother continued shouting abuse at her; The girl who was quickly after his heart.

    “You are not to speak to my Eddie, you are not to set foot within five hundred feet, of my Eddie Bear, nor can you even-” she stopped suddenly, roughly turning the girl’s head to look at her, and lowered her voice. “You are not to even look at my Eddie.”

    She leaned forward into the girl’s face and glared spitefully.

    “I don’t want my son catching fleas.” She spits.

    Everyone had stood silently in shock, not expecting such venomous words from the woman. Nor were they expecting a heated comeback from Richie who stepped forward beside Y/n, fists clenched despite his otherwise cool exterior.

    “With all due respect, Mrs. K, Y/n isn’t the problem,” Her wild glare shifted to the boy. “If you’re worried about fleas, Eddie’s more likely to catch ‘em from living up your v-”

    Richie was suddenly cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth, it was Y/n. Who albeit, very much appreciated the gesture - and would certainly laugh about it in the future - still wanted at least a sliver of a chance of both her and Richie getting to see Eddie again.

    The woman took a long deep breath and glared daggers at the boy. Anyone there would know a million things were running through her head at that moment; several things she would have liked to have said to the no-good heathen that her son always clung to, but she knew she could waste no more time. Her eyes said enough.

    “Don’t start with me young man, this is far from over.” She seethed.

    And with that, she whirled around on her heel and wobbled over to the driver’s side.

    “Thanks, Richie,” Y/n croaked, a silent tear streaking her dirtied cheek.

    “Catching fleas,” Richie grumbled. “Honestly! And you guys actually think my mouth’s the one that outta be sewn shut.”

    The remaining seven Losers watched miserably, and helplessly as the '79 Pacer Wagon containing their friend, disappeared around the block. Y/n felt hopelessly deflated, and her gaze fell to her torn and mucked up shoes. She silently noted they were somehow, even filthier now thanks to her trip to Neibolt. Her slight disappointment with her shoes paled in comparison to what she was really troubled with. It felt as though, even when they had each escaped with their lives, this moment did not feel like a victory.

    Bill turned to face them each, a surprising amount of hope in his eyes and it was enough to pull Y/n from her somber thoughts. That is until she heard what he had to say.

    “I saw the well.” He says, drawing several concerned glances his way. “W-w-we know where it is, and-and next time we’ll be better prepared.”

    “No!” Stan cried incredulously. “No next time, Bill! You’re insane!”

    “Why?” Beverly countered. “We all know no one else is going to do anything.”

    Y/n looked at her best friend with a pained look, shocked and brokenhearted at where this conversation would head. Biting her lip, she steps forward, anger flaring up.

    “And what about Eddie?” Y/n asked heatedly, gesturing down the street before pointing at her other bleeding friend. “or Ben? Does the fact that they, among all of us, nearly died, mean anything to you guys?”

    Bill does not fight hard to stop the wounded expression molding onto his face, but it quickly dissolves in his growing impatience. “Y-You too?”

    “Bill,” Mike eases. “Come on, man, think of what you’re asking.”

    “N-No,” he sputters. “Think of w-what you’re asking.”

    Richie gapes at his friend, a look of wild bewilderment in his eyes and his arms thrown to the sides. “You shittin’ me, Bill? Were you not just in that crack den with us? Did you not see what happened? Fucking Christ, we were this close to being chum!”

    Beverly stepped forward, a hand thrown behind her as she gestured protectively to Bill. “But we’re not! We hurt it - Y/n, you hurt it! Don’t you guys see? The moment we came together is the moment It got weaker.”

    “And look where it got us,” Y/n scoffed, looking around at the broken circle of Losers. “Beverly, this isn’t some make-believe bullshit quest we’re talking about. Hell, I don’t know what the fuck that was, but I do know one thing. That we’re just kids, and we don’t stand a chance against that thing.”

    A sour look crosses Beverly’s face at her friend’s words.

    “Well, we can’t pretend It’s gonna go away,” she argued, suddenly turning to the Hanscom boy. “Ben, you said it yourself, It comes back every twenty-seven years.”

    “Fine! I’ll be forty and far away from here.” He snapped, immediately feeling a small pang of guilt and his demeanor softens just ever so. “I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town, too.”

    “Because I wanna run towards something. Not away,”

    Richie’s eyes rolled behind his thick lenses, and he threw his arm up at the girl with great annoyance.

    “I’m sorry, who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?”

    Beverly merely glared and held up her middle finger to the trashmouth.

    “Richie-” Stan argued.

    “No!” Richie looks around once more, anger flaring up as he gestures to Y/n. “Y/n’s right, we need to face facts. Real world.”

    Richie settled his gaze on Bill, a genuine spark of sympathy in his eyes.

    “Georgie is dead.” He says, and he feels as if the weight he’s carried tiptoeing around his friend has lifted and he begins to walk away. “Stop trying to get us killed, too,”

    Bill jumps in front of Richie, instantly blocking his path, and his face goes beet red in anger.

    “Georgie’s not dead!” Bill roars, squaring his shoulders though he did not feel more powerful.

    Richie looks his friend in the eye and notes his hurt, but cannot ignore his own. “You couldn’t save him, but you can still save yourself.”

    “No!” Bill stops Richie in his tracks once more, his stutter flaring up as every ounce of hurt over his brother resurfaces. “T-ta-t-take it b-back! Y-You’re scared,”

    Bill looks around at his circle of friends, all lost and broken.

    “we all are. But take it back!” He shouts, his heartbreak turning to anger in seconds and he shoves Richie back harshly.

    Richie tenses briefly before charging after Bill and shoving him harshly. Bill can no longer hold back. All his anger, hurt, and loss that had been festering over the past several months. It had all boiled to the top and formed a fist that hooked into Richie’s left jaw that sent him stumbling into the concrete.

    “Bill!”

    Stan and Mike scramble to pick Richie up off the ground, and Ben lunges after Bill to keep him from another attempted swing at Richie.

    “You’re just a bunch of losers!” Richie sputters, fighting against his friends to get a punch in himself.

    “Richie, stop, just take a breath,” Y/n eases, placing herself between the boys.

    Blinded by the betrayal, and the painful welt already forming on his jaw, Richie ignores the girls’ pleas and continues shouting over to Bill. “Fuck off! You’re just a bunch of losers who’ll get yourselves killed-”

    Beverly cuts in, her own anger boiling to the top. “Stop!”

    “-trying to kill a fucking clown!”

    “STOP!” Beverly roars, finally gaining everyone’s attention.

    A look of clarity passes over her and she looks around at her friends. “This is what It wants. It wants to divide us. We were all together when we hurt It. That’s why we’re still alive.”

    “Yeah?” Richie pipes, adjusting his lenses having finally broken free. “Well, I plan to keep it that way.”

    His chest puffed out in his mix of pride and anger, he marches past Bill. Not without a swift but harsh shove of the shoulder, knocking him off balance. One by one the rest of Losers follow his lead, the first being Y/n.

    “Y/n-”

    “No, Beverly,” Y/n states, heartbreak evident in her voice. She turns to look at her two friends, her eyes matching her tone. “No way. That’s three times now I’ve barely gotten out alive. I’m not trying for a fourth.”

    Her mouth parted to speak the parting words that sat on her tongue, but even goodbye was too painful. In a way, she feared if she were to say it, she’d be sealing their very fates. That she’d never see them again, so instead, she settles for picking up her bike, casting one last pained look their way before disappearing down the road.

    Bill shifts his attention to Mike, who is already picking up his bike.

    “Mike-?” His voice is aching, pleading for his friend to stay.

    Mike only stops briefly, throwing back an equally broken and pleading voice. He shrugs, defeated.

    “Guys… I can’t do this,” he shakes his head, his grandfather’s voice ringing in his ears and tugging at his gut. “My granddad was right… I’m an outsider. Gotta stay that way.”

    And just as Y/n had moments earlier, he mounts his bike without another word and starts off down the road. Bill and Bev remain, exchanging sullen looks at a loss for words. And a plan.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

    The town of Derry Maine had never been in more danger with the separation of the Losers Club. And the kids themselves had never felt more broken. In the span of just those few short minutes, their world had shattered. The only Losers to remain in one another’s company was Y/n and Richie, who both carried the heavyweight of Eddie’s absence on their shoulders the most. But even they found themselves alone in times where it counted the most.

    In the weeks that followed, a dark cloud hung threateningly above their heads, watching their every move. While this was by definition, the very concept of Derry itself, they knew now exactly what it was. And yet, after all they had faced, all the pain and horror that would follow them for the rest of their lives, there still lingered the pain of their separation.

    Beverly sat at her desk, head hung over her keyboard as she plucks away a familiar tune. It brought her back to the many times Y/n had been over, the two of them both attempting to play half of a song, laughing hysterically in the process as they screwed each other up. It would go on like this with no end in sight, that is until Beverly’s father came to scold them for being too loud. But when he disappeared they’d just snicker to one another, too amused to care. But all Beverly had now to keep her company was her sullen thoughts and the many photos of herself and her friends - mostly Y/n - scattered across her wall.

    Bill’s house was as lonely as ever. Like Beverly - and the rest of their friends - Bill would wander the halls of his house, desperately hoping for a distraction from the loneliness he felt. Not just from the fight with his friends, but the usual lack of Georgie that taunted him. His picture was everywhere which seemed rather odd to Bill given his parents’ blatant denial of Georgie’s death that went so far as to pretend he had never existed at all. As he sat alone in the dining room now, watching the summer rain patter against the window just has it had that day, he felt the inescapable grip of isolation clutch his heart. He hadn’t been greeted by such a silence since before summer break where he’d face the emptiness of his house with not even his mother’s piano to coat the silence that Georgie left. And to this day, nothing had touched the piano but the thick layer of dust that coated it now.

    Stan had not been fairing so well either. While he usually found himself facing a great deal of frustrations with the combined chaos of Richie, Y/n, and Eddie, he now found he missed them greatly. He missed sharing jokes with Beverly that nobody else understood, and he missed sharing gentle, quiet moments with Mike who always showed interest in Stan’s hobbies like birdwatching. Something the others never really took to. The quick remarks thrown back and forth between Bill and himself from the sidelines when the others got into mischief. And Ben, who often tended to be soft-spoken like himself, was better at creating a space for Stan to talk when he didn’t feel quite as heard. Stan missed the Losers deeply, and more than anything, he missed being one.

    Mike went back to work on his grandparents’ farm. Not that he hadn’t ever stopped, but now he had nothing to look forward to. Normally, his days consisted of farm work until five - sometimes four-thirty if he got his work done early - before he promptly met up with his best friends. Now it was just himself, all alone on the farm again. Aside from Mooriuel, his favorite calf who he had named in secret. She was rather happy to be seeing more of him on the farm. Though like her caretaker, she missed the occasional visits from his friends. But they hardly did, except for Y/n who’d often feed the cows snacks, and even made a daisy chain for Mike that he refused to take off. That had made her smile profusely, and he often thought of that day.

    While Mike had thrown his attention into his work on the farm - including taking up the duty of putting down the sheep, which he greatly despised - Ben spent his time deep within the books at the Derry Public Library. He hadn’t learned much, nothing he hadn’t already yet again he found himself closing another dusty old book. He sighs, looking up at the first thing his eyes find. Coincidentally, though deep in his heart it does not feel right to call it a coincidence, his gaze lands on an old painting framed on the wall that loomed over the entire library.

    It was a woman and her newborn child standing alone on a prairie, looking deep into an old familiar-looking well. Ben knew very well that it was a historical art piece of Derry, the Well House no less and as he looks at it now he can feel the thick layer of ice encircling his heart and chilling him to the very bone. What horrors this town was capable of, horrors he had seen with his own eyes, and yet no one else in Derry had even the slightest clue what lived under their very noses. He wondered if they ever would.

    Eddie Kaspbrak perhaps fared the worst among his friends, he hadn’t realized how suffocating his own home truly was when he didn’t have the simple escapes with the Losers. It was a feeling both metaphorical and literal as he struggled to survive under his mother’s thumb, not to mention he had gone through twice his supply of inhalers with the crushing weight of anxieties his mother gave him. He thought of Richie and Y/n the most. He missed Richie’s teasing and crude humor no matter how crass and disgusting it was. And he longed for the times Y/n would bring out a specific blush in his cheeks when she called him 'shrimp’, or the simple sound of her laughter.

    He knew how sappy he sounded, and a part of him hated himself for it, but it was true. He could picture them now, riffing on one another while still managing to rag on him.

    He hoped they were.

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[geniusgub]

north//chapter five

new chapter time!! let me know if you want to be added onto the taglist. enjoy and don’t forget to leave your feedback!

also this chapter is dedicated to @babybobbybones​ because Ruby is always so supportive of my writing and they are always willing to give me honest opinions on my writing and my moodboards so thank u sm!!!!! love u fishy!! dis is for u!

genre: fluff

pairing: season nine spencer x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 5.6k

AMELIA

I fall onto the floor of my studio, leaning my head against the wall and staring up at the easel, a half-painted canvas propped up on it. I scrunch up my nose, tilting my head back and forth to try and find the beauty in the ugly flowers I’ve just painted. I sit up on my knees and reach my brush forward, adding just a few more strokes to the canvas, but my brush happens to be too saturated with water and the paint just drips down to the bottom of the canvas, ruining the entire painting. Whatever, I didn’t like it anyway.

I throw my brush into the water and sit back down against the wall, letting my eyes wander out the window to my left. My eyes dart between the window and the canvas and I wonder whether I should start over on a new canvas or throw in the towel for the day. Before I can either stand to get my keys and leave or stand to retrieve a new canvas, my phone starts ringing beside me. The name Mike flashes across my screen, so I lunge to answer.

"Hi, there!” I quip, and before Mike can even speak, I hear squeaks and screams of children in the background. The sound makes me grin. 

"Hey, Lia. How's it going over in Virginia?" He nearly has to shout over the kids around him.

"It's-" my eyes wander back out the window and to the Starbucks across the street. A couple walks out the door just at that moment, clutching cups of steaming liquid and giggling with each other. My smile only grows and my mind wanders off to Spencer and what he might be doing right now while I’m trying to work, "it's pretty amazing, actually. I'm, um, yeah, it's great, Mike,"

"That's,” he pauses, “great, but there’s something else in your voice. What's happening in Virginia? Anything I need to know about?" Mike's voice is teasing, as he always is.

"Maybe," I respond in the same mischievous tone he gives me, my cheeks turning pink. I don’t give Mike another chance to question what is going so well in Virginia, and I just keep talking about the guy that has been on my mind every second since I first laid my eyes on him. "I've, um, I met a guy and I really like him and-"

"Whoa, whoa, you've got a boyfriend? Have we entered a parallel universe? Is this even you on the phone? Whoever is talking to me on the phone- who are you and what have you done with Amelia Stark?”

"I know, I know," I giggle, and I start to kick my feet like an excited child. "I met him at this cafe, and I swear, Mike, you'd love him. He's insanely smart and he's so sweet and he's such a gentleman. And get this, if you're not convinced then this will convince you- he’s an FBI agent."

"Amelia Stark. You're dating an FBI agent?"

"More specifically, he works for the BAU," Again, I let out a dramatic sigh and fall onto my back on the floor, letting myself be pulled into another lovesick daydream. I let my mind wander off to Spencer’s smile and his laugh and his warm touch and how utterly beautiful he makes me feel whenever we are together. "I just- I know I don't really date but-"

"Telling me you don't date is the understatement of the century. You’re not a commitment girl, and you’re a one night stand girl. You've never answered my calls and told me that things in Virginia are amazing and great and you've definitely never told me that you have a boyfriend, much less a boyfriend that works for the BAU,"

"There's just something about him! He's so different from any guy I've ever met before. I never wanted him to just be a one night stand or some guy that I hang out with for a few weeks and then forget about. Spencer is just amazing- he's so gentle with me, and he indulges in the things I like instead of always forcing the things he likes on me, and he always makes an effort to see me even though he's insanely busy,"

"Wow," Mike scoffs out a laugh. "I don't even know what to say. I'm glad you found someone who you like this much. I'm not even gonna bring up the capital L word because I know you're scared of it, but I have a nasty feeling that you might be bringing up the scary L word soon. And I'm even more glad that you've found an FBI agent with a gun who can protect you,"

"Oh my gosh," I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes into the back of my head. "I've never seen his gun, actually,"

"Good. You tell him to keep his gun away from you for quite a while, especially since you’re telling me he won’t be one of your one night stands. Both of his guns, if you know what I mean,"

My jaw nearly hits the floor at Mike’s remark, and before I can even respond, he bursts into a fit of laughter. "I- oh my god, you did not just say that,” 

He chokes on his laughs as he keeps talking. "I'm only messing with you, but not really. Form emotional connections before you jump into bed. That’s what I did with Wendy and look at how long we’ve been together,”

I wrack my brain for any kind of number, but I come up empty. “How long have you guys been together?”

“Too long,” he deadpans.

“Hey! I hope Wendy isn’t home right now because she would have your head on a stake if she heard you say that,”

“She’s at work right now but she left me alone with all the little monsters. Listen, just make sure you use-"

"A condom! I got it, Mikey. I’m a responsible adult, contrary to popular belief. Can we stop talking about this? Let me talk to the kids! I’ll tell them to stop screaming,” I sit up again and my grimace from the slightly NSFW conversation turns into a wide smile, the giddiness bubbling in my stomach.

"Hey, kiddos! Gather around! Your favorite grown-up person is on the phone!" Mike shouts over the hoard of children in his house, and their shouts get closer and closer to his phone until their voices are blaring through the speaker of my phone.

"Amelia! Amelia! Amelia!"

"Hi, my loves!" I exclaim, "how's everything with Mike and Wendy?"

"Come home, Lia! We miss you!" Reese cries out, stumbling over her words in a way that makes my heart swell.

"You didn't come home for Christmas and we missed you so much!" Tyler squeaky voice adds.

"I know, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to come home for Christmas, and I missed you guys so much too. But I’m sure Mike and Wendy made Christmas really special for everyone, didn’t they? I'm gonna try to come home soon but I can't promise anything. I have lots of pictures of you all and I think about you every day. I'll draw and I'll paint lots of new things and I'll send them home to you. Does that sound good?" They all shout confirmations back at me, and I manage to pick out a few requests for things like dogs and cats and flowers, and that request makes me remember the failed painting right in front of me. "Great. I'm sitting in my studio right now so I'll get working on those. If y’all have any more requests then tell Mike and he’ll tell me. I love you all, okay? I miss you guys so much,"

The kids all shout goodbyes at me before there's rustling on the other line. "Alright, it's just me now," Mike says. 

"I actually plan on sending you guys art, partly because I want to and partly as an apology for not coming home for the holidays. Let me know if you need anything new for the walls, whether it’s at home or at the police station. Need a new piece for your office, Sheriff?" I tease, pushing myself off the floor for the first time in almost two hours, grabbing a stack of new canvases.

"We could always use more of your artwork, sweetheart, you know that. Call more, okay? I know it's hard, but we clearly all love hearing from you. And I wanna hear more about this profiling boyfriend of yours. Maybe I'll look up his file in the FBI database,"

"You don't have access to that database, you’re not a federal agent. Just google his name. I gotta get started on these paintings. I’ll call soon.”

“Wait! I only know his first name! What’s his-”

“Oops, that sucks. Tough luck. Gotta go,” I finally get the chance to throw his teasing right back in his face, a grin coming to my face as he groans dramatically. “Love you, Mikey!”

"Love you, kid. Stay safe,"

"You too. Don't get shot,"

"I won't."

///

SPENCER

///

My fingers drum against the book on my lap as I listen to dial tones over and over, waiting anxiously for an answer. Maybe today is a bad day and we don’t get to talk today, and that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. But I was just hoping for a nice conversation today, and every time another dial tone rings in my ear, it’s like another stab to the chest.

“Spencer?”

I perk up at the answer, grinning and setting my book onto the coffee table in front of me."Hi, Mom,"

"Spencer, I've been waiting for you to call me for weeks! You can’t ignore me for that long! You can’t leave your poor, old mother in the wind like that!”

I chuckle at her, happy that today seems to be a good day and she’s even capable of joking around. "Sorry, Mom. I've been really busy with work lately, but I wasn’t ignoring you. How was Christmas? I'm sorry I couldn't make it out,"

"It was good, Spencer. I would've preferred to spend it with you, but I enjoyed it," Mom tells me. "We watched movies and made gingerbread houses and some of the nurses got us gifts,"

"That sounds wonderful,"

"So tell me how you've been, honey. You know I hate talking about me and this dreadful place. I'd much rather hear about you,"

My eyes wander over to the coffee table in front of me, or more specifically the scarf that Amelia had left here when stayed over. It must have slipped off of her head when we were sleeping and fell under the couch, and when she rushed out so I could get going, she didn’t realize she wasn’t wearing it anymore. I hadn't gotten a chance to return it because I got whisked away on a case and I haven't been able to see Amelia yet. I reach for it, feeling the soft silk between my fingers. "Um, it's- huh, it's actually pretty great over here,"

"That's wonderful to hear! What's so great about it?" Mom doesn't get much entertainment in her facility and her main contact comes through me. I'm always open to telling her everything and I try to write her at least one letter every day so she can have something to read if I can’t call her, but I was so hell-bent on keeping Amelia a secret. I thought that maybe if I kept her a secret from everyone, then I'd be taking one more precaution at shielding her from my world, but I know that's useless. It's not worth it to keep Amelia a secret and to lie about the source of my happiness, at least not from my mother.

"Well," I look down at the scarf and picture the way Amelia uses the square of fabric to tie back her unruly curls and the way she always seems to look like an angel, "I've met a girl,"

"I’m sure you meet many girls, Spencer. You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.” 

"Her name is Amelia and she's an artist and I swear, Mom, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life. We met at the cafe where I get coffee before work and we got coffee together every day that I was home from a case for two months and we spent Christmas together. I just,” I fully expect my mom to cut me off and start rambling about Amelia and how I should pursue a relationship with her if she is making me this happy, but she doesn’t say anything and it forces me to have to finish a sentence I don’t want to say, “she's the first girl I've liked this much since, you know, since Maeve, and I knew I liked her right away and that’s just- it’s really scary,"

"Spencer, it sounds to me like you might even love her," Mom's voice softens. "I'm not going to try and tell you what you’re feeling, but like I always tell you, a mother knows. I'm happy for you, I really am. You deserve to be happy and have someone in your life to look after you and make sure you're healthy and take care of you. Did you ask her to be your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, last week. But we've known each other for almost three months and every time I look at her, I just feel so, I don’t really know. Whenever I get to see her, I never want to leave when I have to and-" I lay down on the couch and throw my head onto a pillow, the scarf resting right in front of my face. "Maybe I do love her. That's so scary though. I haven't known her for long at all. Can you fall in love with someone after three months?"

"When you first meet someone, you get a first impression, right? Sometimes you can be put off, or you can be instantly intimated by someone, or be intrigued, and so on. Love is a feeling, right? It’s a feeling in the same way that fear and intrigue are. Who’s to say you can’t feel love when you first meet someone? Who's to say you can't fall in love with someone in that same amount of time that someone can scare you? Love is complex and, yes, it’s scary and you've been scorned by it in the past, but don't let that get in the way of this good thing you've got with this Amelia girl,"

"I've never thought of love like that before."

Mom laughs gently. "Like I said. A mother knows," she pauses. "Oh, Spencer, I've gotta go. The nurses need me."

"That's fine," I breathe out a sigh, pushing myself up to a sitting position and pulling the scarf into my lap again. "Thanks for the talk. It was really helpful. I love you, Mom,"

"I love you too, Spencer," Mom says before hanging up, leaving me alone yet again in my apartment.

I push myself to my feet, leaving the scarf on the coffee table, making my way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for myself. I lean over the counter and check my watch, counting down the seconds until Amelia is set to show up at my door. And as if the universe is answering my silent prayer, there's a soft knock on the door just a millisecond later. I leave my coffee on the counter and rush to let her in, throwing the door open. 

Amelia is standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a white dress and her black peacoat, camera hanging around her neck and one strap from her backpack draped over her shoulder. She’s beaming at me, almost emitting rays of sunshine from her body, shuffling her way through the door and throwing her arms around my neck in a tight hug. It nearly takes me by surprise, but if I’ve learned anything about Amelia by now, it’s that she’s affectionate and she loves to hug, and I can’t seem to find a single fault in that. I whisper a greeting in her ear, reaching around Amelia’s waist to shut the door, keeping out the cold air that blows inside from the hallway.

"Hi, dove," she chirps, sinking down on her heels when we pull away from the hug.

I cock my head to the side like a puppy, trying to hide my confusion but I’m positive it’s evident on my face. "Dove?"

"It’s just a pet name. Do you not like it? I could call you something else, or I could just stick to your name if that’s-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Amelia unravels her arms from around my neck and shrugs off her backpack, hanging it right beside my jacket, then crouches down to take off her shoes. “I like it, actually.” 

“Noted,” Amelia jumps back up to her feet, now noticeably shorter without her heels, and gives me a cheesy smile. She opens her mouth to say something else but her mouth snaps shut when her eyes travel downwards just a bit. “Spencer, you’re still in your work clothes.” 

“Oh,” I follow her line of sight and look down at my trousers, button-up, cardigan, and tie, my gun holster on my hip (but my gun is locked away in a hidden place) and my credentials in my pocket, “yeah, sorry about that. After I got home, I was on the phone with my mom for a bit and I just didn’t get a chance to change yet.”

Amelia’s lips settle into a pout as she follows into the kitchen. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you want a cup of tea? Anything to drink or eat or-”

“I do but why don’t you go change? I can handle a cup of tea by myself. Put on something other than a dress shirt and a tie. Be comfortable,” she breezes right past me and reaches into the cupboard for a mug, already grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. I just watch her for a moment, slowly unclipping my watch from my wrist and watching the way her white dress slides across her legs with every tiny movement. But she doesn’t turn around again to check on my location and just looks between the box of Earl Grey tea and camomile tea, mulling over which to indulge in tonight. So I leave Amelia to her seemingly challenging decision and hurry off to my bedroom, ridding myself of the work clothes I’ve been wearing for almost thirty hours. I change into plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt, only glancing in the mirror for a split second to check if my hair is an absolute mess before returning to Amelia.

She’s leaning against the counter with her mug in one hand and her camera in the other, and when I re-enter the room, she looks up at me and grins at the sight of my more relaxed state. “You look cozy. Guess I should have worn my pajamas today.”

I go and lean against the counter beside her, picking up my cup of coffee and looking over her shoulder at the pictures she is flipping through on her camera. At first, most of the pictures are of a redhead I’ve never seen before, posed in a park and modeling for the camera. Then the pictures turn to the sights I see every day and I conclude they must be pictures that Amelia took this morning or on her way here. “These are really good.” 

“Oh, thanks,” Amelia’s cheeks turn pink at the compliment as she tosses the camera aside, clutching her cup of tea instead. 

“I’d love to see more of your art sometime. I haven’t seen that much but the things that I have seen, I really loved.”

“Maybe one day, when you’re available, you can come to my studio. It’s just a couple of blocks away. I’d love for you to come and see some of what I do when you’re gone,” her head falls onto my shoulder and she scoots closer to me, her arm slowly moving around my waist, pulling me even closer to her. “It’s what I did all day. But speaking of all day, how was your day? How was the case?”

We move into the living room and get under a blanket as I give Amelia vague details about the case we solved this past week. She sits just as close to me as she was in the kitchen and tucks her feet under my legs to warm herself up, and once I’ve decided I’ve told her enough about the serial killer that we captured last night, she starts telling me about her last few days and how she went out to see a bad movie with her group of friends. She keeps moving closer and closer as the sun gets lower and lower and soon enough, Amelia is laying over my lap and my hands are in her hair, brushing the strands out of her face. I can confidently say that it’s the most relaxed and the most comfortable I’ve been this past week, and maybe even in the last few months. Every time Amelia is around and we get to just sit and talk, it’s a breath of fresh air. I don’t get to do this enough. I look up at the clock after being on the couch for a long time, seeing that it’s almost midnight. Thank god I don’t have to work tomorrow.

“Hey,” Amelia hums and looks up at me, her head in my lap and the blanket wrapped mostly around her, “it’s late. Do you want anything to eat?”

She hums once more, sitting up and keeping the blanket pulled up to her chest, her eyelids fluttering like a child fighting off sleep. “Yeah. I could really go for some ice cream. Do you have any?”

“I do, actually. But just chocolate, I think,” I stand from the couch and hold my hands out to Amelia, lugging her off the couch when she puts her hands in mine. She follows me one more time into the kitchen and pulls out bowls and spoons while I grab the gallon of ice cream from the freezer. 

“So,” Amelia draws the word out, bumping her hip with mine when she reaches over me for a bowl, “will you tell me about your BAU team? I know their names, but they’re your best friends and basically your second family so I wanna know about them.”

“Oh, really? What do you wanna know?” She grins as I slide the chocolate syrup over to her and she quickly steals it to drizzle it all over her bowl of ice cream. 

“Mm,” she hums, far too concentrated on her ice cream at first to give me a proper answer. But when she finishes with the syrup and hands it back to me, she hastily grabs spoons from the drawer and returns her full attention to the conversation, “just about your history with them. I’m not sure, whatever you wanna tell. Whatever’s important.”

We retake our seats on the couch, both of us now evenly draped in the blanket with our ice cream bowls in our hands. Amelia slings her legs over my lap and scoots as close to me as she can get, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. Despite wearing pajama pants, I can feel Amelia’s thighs, exposed by her dress, pressed against mine and it takes my breath away for a moment. I have to shift my position in the slightest so Amelia isn’t too on top of me, and once I’ve moved and I’m more comfortable, I start to let my mind race over what I could tell her. 

“Well, Morgan is one of my best friends and he was one of the first people I met when I started working at the BAU. He’s loud sometimes and a little overwhelming but he’s always there for me. For example, during a case, I got anthrax poisoning and-”

Amelia nearly drops her bowl at this revelation and she reaches for my arm, squeezing tighter than ever before. “I’m sorry, what? Did I hear you correctly? Anthrax poisoning? And you’re still alive?” She practically throws her bowl onto the coffee table, quicking whipping around and grabbing my cheeks, pulling my face closer to hers until our noses are touching. “Am I speaking to a robot right now?”

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head. “A robot? Amelia, I can’t even use my DVD player. What makes you think I’m a robot, which is essentially a being made completely of technology?”

Amelia narrows her eyes at me, dragging her thumbs down to my jawline. She looks away for just a moment to eye the DVD player and then returns to me, just as close as she was two seconds ago. “Why do you have that thing if you don’t know how to use it?”

“It was a gift from JJ,” my lips brush against Amelia’s as I speak and even though we’ve kissed a million times by now, the feeling of our lips touching still makes the butterflies in my stomach act up. But her lips taste like chocolate and I can’t help it when I pull her closer and into a kiss. Now, it’s almost like it’s second nature to want to be constantly touching Amelia and kissing Amelia and just being around Amelia all the time.

Amelia abruptly pulls away from our kiss and lets out a loud yawn, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. It’s impossible to hold back a yawn while kissing.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” I wave my hand at her casually, and when she rubs her hands over her eyes and then pushes her hair back, my heart seems to pound just a little bit faster. She’s a little bit bleary as she inhales sharply, falling forward and pressing her temple against my shoulder. “Hey, it’s really late. I can tell you about my coworkers another day. Do you wanna get to sleep?”

“No,” she shakes her head but her body language strongly contrasts her words as she lets herself melt further into my embrace, “I don’t wanna leave you. I missed you a lot today.”

Okay, Spencer. Being bold with Amelia has yet to fail me so why should it now? Just ask her if she wants to spend the night for the first time. It’s with innocent intentions, anyway. No funny business. Just a couple sleeping in the same bed- what’s wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So just ask. Ask! It’s one night and I’ve recently cleaned my bedroom and washed the sheets so everything should be fine for a girl to sleep over. Sleep over? You’re not a ten year old, Spencer. Don’t ask her if she wants to sleep over like you’re a group of girls planning on eating candy and watching movies until three in the morning on the living room floor. Is that what girls do at sleepovers? I don’t even know. Nope, don’t get sidetracked. Just ask. 

“Lia?” She hums in response, not even lifting her head from its spot on my shoulder. I’m used to her being boisterous and loud and positive when I’m anxious so I guess I’ll have to muster up enough courage to ask without her encouragement. “It’s really late already and, well, I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow but would you wanna stay the night? It’s just- it’s past midnight and, you know, 40% of all fatal car accidents happen at night. 60% of adults have driven while drowsy and 37% of adults have fallen asleep at the wheel. I-“ I let out a breath, my chest deflating at her overall silence. “You don’t have to stay over and I could drive you home so you don’t have to drive but, you know, I would just like to know you’re safe.” 

I pause once more and wait for some confirmation or rejection from Amelia, but all I’m met with is quiet breaths across my chest. I duck my head down and find Amelia fast asleep on my shoulder and one of the straps of her dress falling down her arm from the odd angle she’s laying at. Of course, what else would happen? I go on a nervous rant and Amelia sleeps through it. 

“Hey, hey, Amelia?” I card my fingers through her hair and luckily, it’s enough to rouse her from her quick nap, and she lifts her head from my shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was talking about. Do you want to stay the night? I gave you a bunch of statistics on car accidents at night but I’m sure you’ll fall asleep again if I repeat them.”

Amelia lets out a small laugh, pushing herself to a sitting position and rubbing her eyes yet again. “Could you lend me some clothes? Sleeping in a dress is not really my vibe.”

“Sure, I can give you some clothes. But let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again,” I grab onto Amelia’s hands and pull her off the couch, leading my half-asleep girlfriend to my bedroom. She waits patiently as I open my closet and reach for a pair of sweats, handing her sweatpants and a hoodie from Caltech. “Here. I’m gonna go clean up the ice cream while you change.”

“Thank you,” Amelia lays a kiss on my cheek before I can leave, and the tingling on my skin persists even when I get into the living room and clean up our ice cream bowls, putting them into the dishwasher. 

I suppose that after tonight, there will be plenty of nights spent together. I won’t lie and say that sleeping in the same bed as Amelia isn’t a bit scary. I don’t know what kind of sleeper I am. Will I steal all the blankets and leave her freezing all night? Will I kick her relentlessly and leave dark bruises all over her pale skin? Will she just plainly hate sleeping with me and thus would begin the end of our relationship? 

“Spencer,” Amelia’s voice rips me out of my anxious spiral, and when I turn to look at her, my breath is knocked completely out of my chest. Amelia wearing my clothes is quite a gorgeous sight, even if they’re hanging off her body and pooling around her feet. Her hair is up and her face is washed of any makeup and she just looks wildly beautiful. She pops her head into the kitchen and gives me a tired smile, maybe the millionth of the night. “Do you need help with anything?”

I shove my bowl into the dishwasher and then slam it closed, shaking my head at her. “No, I’m good. Let’s just go to bed.” I shut off the kitchen light and swing my arm around Amelia’s waist, bringing her back towards my bedroom and shutting the door behind us. 

I watch with wide eyes and a stupid smile as Amelia crawls onto the bed, but right when she gets onto her knees, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at me. “Is there a side of the bed that you prefer?”

My eyes dart between Amelia and the pillows on the bed. Is there a side I prefer? I wouldn’t know. “I don’t think so. I mean, honestly, I’ve never slept in the same bed as anyone before,”

“Me either,” Amelia pouts, her eyes locked on mine as she debates which side to choose. “Well, we’re technically already on different sides of the bed.” She gestures to her place on the right side and me on the left side. I just shrug in response to her suggestion. It’s not a big deal to me whatsoever, just as long as Amelia is comfortable and she doesn’t wind up hating me after tonight. 

Amelia, completely exhausted, flops onto her stomach on top of the duvet, wiggling up just a little bit further until she can rest her head on the pillow. I shut off the lights and then crawl into the bed, on my predetermined side, tugging the duvet from under Amelia so she can join me under it. And as soon as she’s under the duvet, Amelia rolls over and curls up beside me, laying her head on my chest and slinging her arm over my stomach. “Thank you for letting me stay over,” she whispers, craning her head to kiss my cheek. “Goodnight.”

The feeling of laying in a bed with another person, especially a person who I feel so strongly about, is such a warm feeling. I’m sure I’ll literally be warm soon, what with Amelia on top of me and a duvet covering my legs. But my chest feels tight and I can’t wipe off the smile on my face, no matter how hard I try. I just beam, knowing that Amelia will be beside me all night. 

So I sink further into the duvet and tug Amelia as close as I possibly can, receiving a small snicker from her. But she doesn’t seem to mind the closeness since she curls into me even more and then presses another kiss to the center of my chest. Maybe she can feel my pounding heart under her lips. Her affection comforts me enough to allow me to close my eyes and force out a goodnight, drifting off to sleep with Amelia in my arms.

TAGLIST

@babybobbybones​ @thematthewgraygube​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @rxseinbloom​ @penelopecult​ @nastyhar @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @matthewreid​ @shrimpyblog​ @garcias-batcave​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @gublergirls​ @wonderlandhatter​ @matthewgublerswife​ 

(I’m pretty sure I messed up this taglist so if you weren’t tagged and you should be OR you’re tagged and you don’t want to be, then lmk and I’ll make the appropriate change)

[clericbyers]

you know whats an underrated trope? mike deciding to teach will how to kiss

“Have you ever kissed someone before?”

Will sputters around his juice and spends about a minute recovering from the shock of the question. He turns to Mike, who is flipping through a book nonchalantly as if the question is as simple as asking what color is the sky. “Uh, why are you asking this?”

“I’m just curious.” Mike looks up with innocence in his eyes. “You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“I don’t kiss and tell unlike someone I know.”

Mike rolls his eyes and closes the book with a resounding clap. “More like you don’t kiss so there’s nothing to tell.”

“Hey! Sorry I don’t stick my tongue in everyone’s mouth willy nilly.”

“Neither do I,” Mike retorts with a huff. Will begs to differ; since Mike and El broke up for the final time freshman year, Mike sort of turned into some kind of hot shot around school. Will could understand; hell, he’s been crushing on Mike since they were gangly kids with squeaky voices and Mike was definitely not high on the general hotness totem pole in school, and now that Mike grew stupid tall and insanely handsome and lets his hair fall in curls more, Will can understand the school body obsession even though some part of him is like, hey, I was here first, back off, he’s mine.

“Anyway, you didn’t really answer my question and pure curiosity doesn’t make you ask your friend if he’s kissed someone.”

Mike shrugs. “You know I really haven’t kissed that many people. The rumors are nice though. Makes me feel like I’m doing more with my time than I actually am.”

“I specifically remember you saying you made out with Betty during lunch three months ago.”

“Dustin said I did because he watched us go into the broom closet together but I promise you, we did nothing.” Mike crosses his fingers with a pout. “You know I spend, like, 80% of my day with you.”

“And in the remaining 20% you go off making out with girls.”

“Not girls.”

And wow, what the–. Will blinks twice, opens his mouth to say something, shuts it, hums, opens his mouth again, and still doesn’t know what to say. Mike laughs though. “Dude, I thought you knew.”

“You’ve literally never stated you had any interest in guys and all the rumors are about girls!”

“When a girl pushes a gay guy into a broom closet and tries to make out only for him to say he has no interest, she’ll make up a rumor so she’s not the ‘one girl he wouldn’t kiss’.” Mike leans back with a sigh. “The guys stay real quiet about it, though. Don’t want any rumors around school about them kissing boys.”

Will really cannot understand the direction this conversation has gone but there’s a good portion of his thoughts lingering on the fact that Mike likes boys and who likes boys, too? Will. Will likes boys. Will is extremely gay and in love with Mike and the only reason why he never thought they could be a thing was because he thought Mike liked girls. But now, Will knows Mike is gay and oh, wow Mike really doesn’t see him that way since he’s known Will’s gay for years now and never did anything.

Fuck.

“So, you kiss boys.” Will mumbles as he stares into his cup.

Mike hums. “Yeah. And, uh, I only bring that up though because you said you haven’t kissed anyone.”

Will’s a little confused. “And?”

“I kiss boys, you wanna kiss boys. I know how to kiss, you don’t know how to kiss. Does it add up for you?”

Will counts to four and then chugs down his juice as his throat dries up from Mike’s implications. “You want to teach me how to kiss.”

“Yeah, so you know how to kiss your ideal boyfriend.”

Mike, you oblivious nut, my ideal boyfriend is you. “Okay.”

Mike blinks. “Oh. Oh, I, uh. I didn’t expect to get this far.” He wipes the palm of his hands on his jeans and then pats the couch cushion next to him. “Alright. C’mere.”

Will is frozen in his seat, eyes wide as he stares at the cushion next to Mike. “Now?”

“No, in fifty years when my teachings become irrelevant. Yes, now.”

“Now now or now in like a minute?”

“Will,” Mike groans, “if you don’t want me to teach you, you can say no. I understand it might be a little weird to kiss your best friend but, really it’s fine. No worries. It’s just me.”

Yeah, it’s you and that’s the problem. But Will just nods and sets his cup on the table before making his way to Mike’s side. He tries his best not to make eye contact like an idiot, but is forced to when Mike pinches his side and says, “Hey, look up here.”

Will should have said no. He really should have, because now he’s so close to Mike and he can see the dark flecks of brown in his already rich brown eyes, and he can count the freckles on his face and see the pink blush coating the other boy’s pale cheeks. “First off,” he says, taking a hand to Will’s face and positioning him a little straighter, “you need to know that noses are a thing and you’re gonna have to tilt your head to avoid the worst of the collision.”

“Like this?” Will tilts his head left a little and Mike nods.

“Yeah. I’ll go to my left, too, so we’re tilted at opposite sides.” Mike does as he says he would. “Kissing is like slotting your lips together so you gotta be at the corresponding angles for it to work best.” He smiles and Will’s heart leaps. “Now, height is another thing. You’re still on the shorter side when it comes to guys so you’ll most likely be kissing someone taller than you. Good thing I’m your teacher, huh?”

Mike, who had another stupid growth spurt and now surpasses 6 feet in height. Will can only nod and squeak out a small, “Yes.”

“Okay, so, make eye contact, tilt your head to the side, and now height difference. Since you’re shorter, you’ll have to tilt your chin up to reach the other guy.” Mike takes one of his hands to Will’s chin and gently tilts his face up. Will is going to die right here and now. “It’s kind of a romantic thing for the taller person to tilt the other person’s head up, but it’s also equally as romantic for the shorter person to tug the taller person down by either the back of their head,” Mike takes one of Will’s hands and curls it around the back of his head and oh god, his hair is so soft and curly, “or the back of the neck.” Mike brings Will’s hand down to the back of his neck and Will can feel the goosebumps there. It kind of makes him a little less nervous to know Mike is nervous, too.

“Eye contact, tilting my head sideways, slotting our lips together, and understanding our height difference,” Will parrots back in a voice he’s never really heard himself use before. It’s a little rough and husky and Mike blinks a few times before turning bright red.

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes sliding toward Will’s lips before he subconsciously licks his own. He brings his eyes back up and then smiles. “Ah, wow. Okay. Um, then you just lean in and press your lips together.”

“That’s it?”

“I mean there’s different ways but for starters, it’s just lip touching.” Mike shrugs and then takes his hand to Will’s chin. “I’m going to tilt your face up. You can tangle your fingers in my hair, too if you like, I don’t care.”

Will drags his hand back up into Mike’s luscious locks, his other resting on Mike’s thigh, and then smirks. “Didn’t know you were into hair pulling.”

“There’s still a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Mike whispers huskily before covering Will’s hand with his own, leaning in, and closing the gap between them in a single breath.

Will’s eyes flutter shut even though he’d really like to keep them open and see Mike’s face as he kisses him. It’s instinct, he supposes, to close off one sensory input to focus directly on the way Mike’s lips feel against his own. It’s just lips touching lips, nothing more than that, but Will feels like his heart is soaring. He’s heard all these rumors from girls whispering to each other about kissing Mike Wheeler when in fact, they haven’t. Will has. Will has kissed Mike Wheeler and yeah, it’s just Mike teaching Will how to kiss his ideal boyfriend, which is funnily enough Mike so this entire teaching session is apropos, but still. Will is kissing Mike and it’s the best thing ever.

Mike starts to pull away after a few seconds of contact but Will doesn’t want to let go and leans up into it a bit more. The other boy huffs a laugh against Will’s lips, parting his in the process, and then presses in again, taking Will’s upper lip between his own. The grip on Will’s chin slides into a caress of his cheek and the hand atop his on Mike’s thigh twines fingers with Will’s. Oh, oh. Will can feel a little nibble of teeth against his lip and he parts his a little more to take Mike’s bottom lip between his in turn. Mike hums and kisses him again, harder, a little more open mouthed and more movement of his lips capturing Will’s own. Will can feel Mike’s nose pressing into his cheek, his hot breath against his face and mouth, smell the scent of his cologne and natural musk, and god, Will is really going to die right here and now.

Will tightens his grip on Mike’s hair, pulling just a little as he feels his sense of reality slipping away from him, and Mike…Mike moans against his lips and Will can feel his entire soul escape his body in the process. He doesn’t even really know what he’s doing anymore, but he needs more Mike, he needs more of his mouth, more of his moans, more of everything. He presses in harder, using his hand on Mike’s thigh to position himself a little closer and basically clambers into Mike’s lap. Mike releases Will’s face from his grip and settles his hands on either side of Will’s waist, gripping him tightly as he continues the kiss. Now, Will is a little taller and Mike has to tilt up so Will tilts his head by pulling at his hair. Mike moans again, and fuck, Will’s spine is tingling and his face is burning and his chest is singing for air that he refuses to breathe in because he doesn’t want to detach himself from Mike’s lips.

The hot, wet sounds of their kissing permeates the room and fuels Will’s energy far more than anything else could. He groans into Mike’s mouth when the boy nips at his bottom lip, finds he kinda likes it when he can feel the trace of Mike’s teeth against his mouth, and then nearly gasps when Mike’s tongue dances against his lips. Oh, fuck. Will breaks the kiss with a gasp because he really needs air now before he passes out and Mike blinks out of his stupor, probably confused about why things have stopped now but his lips are so plump and wet from kissing and wow, Will did this to him. Will made him look so rumpled and taken apart.

Will can’t help himself when he goes back in for another kiss, making some strangled noise when Mike melts under him and deepens the kiss into heavy territory. He can taste Mike now when the boy has his tongue in his mouth, taste the lingering spice from the chips he was eating earlier, taste the underlying flavor of Mike Wheeler that’s consuming all his senses at the moment. Will is so screwed, so screwed but he can’t care at the moment as he makes out with his best friend, the one guy he’s wanted for so much of his life he can’t imagine wanting anyone else.

Mike starts pressing back a little firmer, taking a hand to Will’s back before he breaks off the kiss and pushes him backwards until Will falls onto his back with an oof. Will’s a little dazed, trying to figure out why exactly he’s on his back now but Mike hovers over him, hands on either side of his head with a knee between Will’s legs and his other framing Will’s left leg and fuck, this is so hot. Mike looks so goddamn good leaning over Will with his tangled mess of hair draped over his face and his eyes half-hooded and lips still so plush and face pink with excitement and exertion. Will loves him so desperately in this moment.

Mike closes the gap between them with a lingering kiss, just taking Will’s bottom lip between his before turning to kiss his cheek. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” Will breathes out because he’s so whipped.

“I lied.” Mike kisses his lips again, his breath dancing over Will’s mouth. “I didn’t want to teach you how to kiss just any ideal boyfriend.”

Will is way too kiss drunk to be thinking right now. “You…what?”

“Do you know that you’re absolutely gorgeous?” Mike presses a series of kisses against the corner of Will’s lips and then hums. “You’ve been driving me up the wall for years now.”

“I–what?” Will tries to speak again but Mike kisses him and Will kinda just falls into the motions. It’s addicting, kissing Mike. He doesn’t want to stop but this conversation sounds kind of serious. “Wait, Mike, hold up. What are you talking about?”

“I like you, Will. Like a lot. A fuckton.” Mike smiles and it makes the whole world light up like a fire. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you since at least the 7th grade so when you said you haven’t kissed anyone I kinda just,” he shrugs and then smiles shyly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Will is going to scream. “You like me? You like me?”

“Yeah.”

“And you never said anything?”

“You never seemed like you had an interest and you kept trying to push me with El and other girls.”

“Because I thought you were straight and could never like me.” Will breathes out a heavy sigh. “So, you’re telling me the 80% of your day you spend with me could have been spent doing this all this time?”

“I guess I am.”

Will smiles and pulls Mike down to him with a hand at the nape of his neck. “Well, get back to teaching me how to kiss my boyfriend then.”

Mike grins, nuzzling his nose against Will’s and Will is so lucky, oh so fucking lucky. Eat that, Hawkins High student body. “It would be my pleasure.”

[benji-deeds]

Chapter 6

Richie sat with his new group of friends in the very back corner of the cafeteria.

Throughout lunch, throughout the rest of his class period with Stan, throughout the entire day, really, he contemplated more on how he’d do as Eddie requested of him.

How would he tell them that their friend is somehow talking to him, somehow existing, somehow among the living.

From what Eddie told him, from the look in the boy’s eyes, he’d been close with these people. Probably closer than he’d ever been with anybody else.

Richie just didn’t know how to start a conversation like this without sounding completely insane. He knew if Jane or Will or any of his back in Indiana heard him talking about this stuff, they’d believe him immediately, because frankly, it wasn’t in his nature to make claims about the supernatural. He didn’t believe in witches, or goblins, or ghosts , or anything else other kids seemed to believe in. For the longest time, that is.

Until he moved here, that is.

But, these kids, these people, didn’t know him that well.

However, another voice said in his mind, a much more logical voice, if Eddie remembers correctly all that he was saying, these guys have seen that thing that attacked him in front of that cr-ckhouse. They wouldn’t have any problem believing him if that were the case.

The second voice’s argument eventually won.

After school let out, once Mike and Bev had met up with the rest of them, Richie started fulfilling his promise to Eddie.

“So,” he began somewhat carefully, not sure how to word such a weird statement, then his ever-traitorous tongue betrayed him once more, “so, I heard your friend, Eddie, died.”

If looks could kill, Richie would be a pile of ashes some poor janitor had to clean off the sidewalk.

Beverly’s bright eyes went from lidded to narrowed, “What?”

Bill frowned, “Wh-Wh-Who told y-y-you th-that?”

This time, he made sure to make eye contact with each and every one of them, so that they knew he wasn’t lying, “Eddie did.”

Their faces ranged from Ben and Mike’s soft, sad expressions, to Bill and Bev’s confused and somewhat believing ones, to Stanley’s deadpan, hurt one.

“He’s lying,” Stan said in his hoarse, cracking voice, “He probably heard that from someone around the school. Making fun of us, or trying to find out what happened to him.” He sucked in a breath, “I’m not reliving that.”

Bill frowned, looking straight into Richie’s eyes in a way that could unnerve any adult. “A-Are you t-telling the t-tr-tru…” He set his jaw, “The truth?”

Richie had difficulty maintaining eye contact with the boy who had the eyes of someone much older. Someone who’d seen things that others wouldn’t even begin to see in their lifetime. “It is. I swear.”

He expected more of a surprised gasp, some sort of suspicion that that couldn’t possibly be true, because, hellooo, ghosts don’t exist. He didn’t get that, at all.

Eventually, Bev asked, “What’d he look like? Was...was there blood? Was his arm missing?”

Richie felt incredibly small as he was being stared down by the five of them. “No, nothing like that. More l-”

“Were there any...any orange pompoms?” Stan croaked out, his eyes fluttering back and forth wildly.

Rich furrowed his brow, wanting to somehow alleiviate this conversation with humour, but wasn’t able to find the words. “No? That’s weird. No. He was just your regular run-of-the-mill ghost, y’know? He was transparent and-and,” Richie tried to find the right words, “-and he floated.”

Stan let out a low, scared-sounding groan.

Bill hushed him in a way that definitely enforced the idea in Richie’s mind that Bill was the leader. Bill turned back to Richie, “Can we talk to him, too?”

Richie swallowed the lump in his throat, “I mean, we’ll see, I guess.” He tried to smile, but the heaviness of the situation forced him to just go on and lead them to his house without  much joking around.

Richie purposefully avoided Neibolt street, instead taking a path he’d found out was considered much safer by most of the Losers.

Richie quickly called to his mom in the living room that he had friends over. She just responded with a quick and curt, “Okay.”

They went upstairs. On their faces was a mixture of anticipation and confusion.

“Guys,” Richie heard Mike say, “This was Eddie’s old place. His mom just sold it?”

Bill nodded, “Y-Yeah. Sh-She left after Eh-Eddie d-d-d-..”

“After Eddie died,” Beverly whispered.

Richie frowned. He hoped they wouldn’t see this as too sad, rather something more joyful. They’d get to see their friend again after so long. Shouldn’t they be happy? Richie wasn’t sure.

Richie held the door open for them, closing it carefully after they were all in his room. To be sure his parents wouldn’t barge in, (though he knew they wouldn’t), he locked it.

Rich looked up to see the five of them looking at him expectantly.

He felt awkward, and kind of stupid for doing this.

Rich held up a finger, then opened the door to his closet, and peaked inside. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Eddie sitting inside, his knees pulled to his chest. He wasn’t crazy, at least. This kid was real. Although, this would truly be proven when the others saw him. Spoke to him.

“Rich, what’s going on?”

Richie heard a short gasp from one of the people behind him. Apparently Eddie heard it too, because his dark eyes, (Richie decided that if life they had to be either a dark brown or grey, had to be because they’re just so dark now), widened, “You brought them here?”

Richie wasn’t sure whether Eddie was hurt or happy until a smile broke out on Eddie’s face.

The ghost crept out of his hiding space, and immediately locked eyes with Bill, whom he still worshipped like the hero Eddie believed he was.

Richie was amazed Bill was able to hold that powerful eye contact.

Beverly was the first one able to break the strange hold on them to stand still. She rushed up to Eddie, putting her arms around his back, and squeezing tightly.

Richie had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t crazy. For a split second, he saw a trace of colour in Eddie’s skintone. His hair, for only an instant, was a dark brown. Then, it faded-no, not faded-it snapped back into the colourless transparency that it was before.

Another more important realization hit Richie right between the eyes. Beverly was actually holding onto Eddie; she was actually touching him.  And, Eddie could touch her.

Why hadn’t he been able to, but she was?

It didn’t make any sense.

Richie watched as the other four gathered around and placed a hand on Eddie in some way. They looked whole, in an odd way.

Richie felt a bit awkward standing off to the side as the scene unfolded. He saw the Losers let go of each other one by one. Beverly was the last to let go.

Eddie smiled at his friends, then turned back to Richie. Rich noticed his feet were firmly planted on the ground, rather than hovering above it. That seemed somehow important, but for what reason, Rich wasn’t sure.

Stan sat down, complaining that his legs hurt from all the walking from the school to Rich’s house, (he had almost called it Eddie’s house, but caught himself mid-sentence).

They all followed suit. Bill sat beside Stan and Beverly, who had Ben on her other side. Beside Ben was Richie, beside Richie was Eddie, beside him was Mike, who completed the circle of seven.

Richie felt that in a weird way, this was right. Seven was a powerful number, he’d read somewhere. Seven is strong.

Eddie looked at him, then at the bandages on his hand, “Shit!”

Mike looked at Eddie, “What’s wrong?”

“Did Richie tell you? He was hurt by It!” Eddie blurted it out without much thought.

Stan’s eyes did that wild, strange look again. He groaned.

Bill’s expression hardened, “I-It h-hurt you, too?”

Richie couldn’t find words. He just nodded dumbly.

Beverly’s gaze was transfixed on something over his shoulder, “What was It for you?”

Richie swallowed the lump in his throat that had been put there by Bill. He used a Voice that he’d never used before. It just slipped out sounding high-pitched and a bit squeaky, almost like the sounds a train makes when it slams to a sudden halt at finding its tracks weren’t there. Screeching. “A big ‘ol werewolf. Looked like the one from that old movie down at the Aladdin, I Was A Teenage Werewolf.” Richie’s laugh sounded bitingly cold, despite himself. He felt the weird Voice leave him, being replaced by a hoarser version of his own, “It was scarier.” He paused, trying to find the right words, “More real." They shared what It was for them. For Stan, It took the shape of dead, drowned boys; for Mike, It was a giant bird that seemed to be from an old Japanese horror movie; for Ben, It was a mummy, old and dried out; for Beverly, she said with a fleeting look, It was her father...only different somehow; for Bill, It was his brother, shouting at him that it was Bill’s fault that he died. That Bill was the one that caught that cold; the one that sent him out by himself in the first place. And, of course, Eddie had told Richie that It was a leper for him. “It, uh, It said weird things to me as the leper. Told me that if I gave It a dime, it’d…” He trailed off, made an odd squeezing motion with his hand that, to Richie, looked like he was pressing the button on the top of a small device he was probably dependent on when he was alive. “It asked me if I wanted a, um, a blowjob.” Richie let out a laugh involuntarily, and his tongue betrayed him as he said, “Well, why didn’t you take it?” Eddie opened his mouth, before shutting it again, “I’d rather not talk about it.” Neither Stan nor the others pressed the subject, but the question was an interesting one to Richie. It circled around in his mind for a while, and he decided that he’d have to ask Eddie this another time. Soon enough after this, as if some odd force of nature planned for it, the five guests all had to leave for one reason or another. Beverly’s father wanted her to make supper for him, Ben’s mother wanted him home, Stan’s dad apparently called every house phone in the town to see where he was at-he’s supposed to be practicing his Torah reading. Richie was left alone with Eddie again. Not exactly a bad thing, Richie thought as he smiled at the ghost, not a bad thing at all.

[glenngaylord]

THANKS FOR SHARON - My Review of ONCE UPON A TIME...IN HOLLYWOOD (4 Stars)

[Excerpted from https://thequeerreview.com/ ]

As a movie lover, I’ve always been a little averse to writer/directors who only seem to reference other films in their work.  I prefer to learn how they view things through the prism of their life experiences, not cinematic ones. Quentin Tarantino has certainly come across as a movie encyclopedia throughout his career, yet in his case, films so clearly ARE his life.  He finds joy from a breathtaking set piece, a surprising turn of phrase, or that perfect marriage of visuals and music. I can easily imagine how thrilled he must have been when watching the kinetic opening sequence to Trainspotting.  You can almost see him filing away a great line like, “All I want out of life is a 30 share and a 20 rating” from Network and desperately wanting to make his own mark some day.  He obviously has done so, but time marches on, and while he still has a singular voice, he has publicly questioned his own desires to continue making films.  With that in mind, he seems to have poured all of his angst into Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood, one of the most problematic yet entertaining films I’ve seen in a long time on the topics of aging and relevancy.  

Set gloriously in 1969 Los Angeles, the film follows alcoholic, fading star, Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), as they try to stay afloat in an industry that has discarded them to make room for the new shiny pennies. As embodied by rising stars Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) and Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha) who move in next door, Rick knows he’s just one small fence and a pool party away from scoring a role in the hot director’s next film.  His reality, however, sees him relegated to playing bad guys in TV Westerns.  Cliff, even lower on the totem pole, acts more like Rick’s personal assistant than as a stuntman these days.  An early scene with an old school agent (Al Pacino, overdoing the Jewish stereotype to cartoonish effect) leaves him with the option of escaping to Italy to make Spaghetti Westerns. Pacino calls them “pictures” and I’d like to propose we resuscitate that amazing term!  Rick will do anything to stay in the game.  Simultaneously, we intercut Rick and Cliff’s adventures with that of their neighbors as Sharon and Roman drive fast, dance at parties, and generally live that charmed life where everything is still possible.  I mean, wouldn’t you have loved to have gone to the Playboy Mansion and get whisked away by Mama Cass or get ogled by Steve McQueen?  Also, lurking in the background, we see the Manson Family ambling through the fringes of society. History, of course, tells us where all of this is headed, but Tarantino is less interested in that, staying focused on his fictional characters’ dying hopes and dreams.  

The story takes its good, sweet time getting anywhere.  Shaggy and rambling, it reminded me of Inherent Vice in that stoner/hangout way, but Tarantino knows film structure, and what seemed random feels intentional and necessary in retrospect.  Yes, had he cut out half of the shots of characters driving around to an endless array of 60s pop songs, the film would have been 30 minutes shorter, but Tarantino has gone for a fully immersive experience here.  He wants you to know exactly what Los Angeles felt like at the time.  We get the inky blacks of the Ventura freeway, the neon overkill of Hollywood Boulevard, and the sunny casualness of Westwood Village, and I wanted to live inside legendary cinematographer Robert Richardson’s beautiful frames.  Besides, we would have been robbed of a great sequence in which Cliff speeds from Rick’s house to his trailer behind a drive-in theatre.  He greets his precious pitbull Brandy for a long, slow, viscerally engaging dinner scene. Brandy waits patiently as Cliff plops kibble and canned food into a giant bowl.  It’s all so casual until you later realize everything has a purpose.  

Same goes for a fantastic set piece in which Cliff picks a fight with Bruce Lee (scene stealer Mike Moh) or an extended sequence on the set of a pilot where Rick meets his match in the body of an 8-year-old co-star (the wonderfully self-possessed Julia Butters).  Fosse/Verdon Emmy nominee Margaret Qualley as one of Manson’s followers also makes a great impression as she continually crosses paths with Pitt’s character.  The highlight for me, though, gave us Sharon Tate talking her way into the Bruin Theatre in Westwood to watch herself on screen in The Wrecking Crew. I loved her innocence and pride as the audience laughed and applauded her performance.  When entering the theatre, she poses for a picture with all of the goofy charm our current selfie culture lacks. In fact, I found it so refreshing that the photographer snapped the pic of Sharon alone instead of posing with her.  Tarantino, in this moment, gives Sharon back to us, reframing her as a promising talent instead of as a murder victim.  Robbie, despite having very little dialogue, brings a magical presence to the film. It feels like an unexpected gift.

Tarantino overstuffs the movie with tons of cameos.  Some work better than others.  Kurt Russell gets some laughs as a Stunt Coordinator who absolutely does not want to hire Cliff, and Dakota Fanning creeped me out as Squeaky Fromme.  Many of the lesser known cast members, however, made a much bigger impression.  Austin Butler gives Manson’s henchman, Tex, a chilling edge, while Nicholas Hammond (Friedrich from The Sound Of Music, you guys!) perfectly captures the phoniness and transparent negotiation skills a director needs in order to get what he wants out of his actors. Talented actors like Lena Dunham, Damian Lewis and the late Luke Perry feel plopped in simply because they wanted to be in a Tarantino film.  It’s a lot to absorb but doesn’t ruin it.  

None of this would work quite as well as it does, however, without DiCaprio and Pitt’s great chemistry and committed performances.  DiCaprio proved in The Wolf Of Wall Street he had a gift for an over-the-top style of acting, but he outdoes himself here.  Insecure and short-fused, he taps into Rick’s rage and despondency yet never forgets to entertain the audience.  It’s a very showy piece of acting, but also surprisingly moving.  Pitt adopts a more laconic style, the better to conceal his astute observations, whether it be of Rick himself or of the dangerous cult which grows insidiously closer to him.  Moreover, he knows exactly how to make his scenes with his dog sing.  Both DiCaprio and Pitt walk that fine line between broad comedy and genuine pathos, and do so to perfection.  

With its extended length, there’s plenty of time to reflect on where Tarantino’s headed.  The cumulative effect of all this casualness slowly reveals his central thesis, which I found disturbingly conservative yet intensely relevant. Those in power won’t give up so easily.  Rick and Cliff aren’t going to let the young upstarts and the hippies get in their way.  They intend to fight for old Hollywood, for a time when films had a classic sheen, before the 70s gave us antiheroes and grittiness, before life got messy with Vietnam, Watergate, assassinations, and yes, the Manson murders.  They want to make America great again.  God help us all.  He may employ an overused method of his to make his point in the shockingly graphic, insane final half hour, but it still works like gangbusters and all comes together in the end.  The final shot of the movie packs a quiet, lovely, heartbreakingly emotional punch.  

Tarantino takes a flamethrower to the influx of the counterculture yet disguises it with a wistful nostalgia.  He’s tapping into a similar feeling which gave rise to our current political “leadership”, yet finds something sweet at its center.  Problematic messaging?  Sure, but not as pointless as it first appears.  Once Upon A Time…In Hollywood, like its title suggests, embraces a fairytale quality to make some scabrous observations about ego, about aging, and about the thirst for a seat at the table with all the newbies out there ready to take your place.  

[mrmichaelchadler]

The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part

Here’s the thing: No sequel could ever match the ingenuity and infectious energy of “The LEGO Movie.” The 2014 animated extravaganza exceeded all of its aesthetic and narrative ambitions. It was full of big ideas and minute details. It made you laugh and cry. It was, in a word, awesome.

Five years later – with a couple of spin-offs in between - we have “The LEGO Movie 2: The Second Part.” And while it’s a lot of fun, it isn’t as consistently clever or thrilling as its predecessor. All the components are certainly there: Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, the masterminds behind the original movie, are back this time as screenwriters, while Mike Mitchell (“Shrek Ever After,” “Trolls”) has taken over directing duties. There are more wildly entertaining and insanely catchy songs than ever, including the aptly titled “Catchy Song,” which will indeed get stuck inside your head. And most of the lively voice cast from first film has returned -- led by Chris Pratt, Elizabeth Banks, Will Arnett and Alison Brie – alongside some welcome new additions, most notably the scene-grabbing Tiffany Haddish.

But something’s just missing here – a crucial piece, if you will, that keeps the whole set from snapping together. Maybe it’s a lack of novelty, pure and simple. But more fundamentally, the revelation at the end of the first “LEGO Movie” – that the entire story was the manifestation of a little boy’s imagination in his basement – is a given here from the beginning. That culminating twist was downright profound back then. This time, we know from the start that certain LEGO creations are the work of that slightly older boy, Finn (played once again by Jadon Sand), and others are the creations of his pesky little sister (“The Florida Project” star Brooklynn Prince). The conflict between them is rendered in animated form, but live-action reality creeps in from time to time.

It’s still amusing. It’s just not dazzling.

Still, “The LEGO Movie 2” quickly grabs you with its startling depiction of what’s happened in the five years since we last visited Bricksburg, the sunny, colorful place that industrious everyman Emmet (Pratt), rebellious Lucy/Wyldstyle (Banks), high-strung Unikitty (Brie) and the rest of the characters called home. It literally has devolved into a dystopian wasteland, now known as Apocalypseburg, with a healthy wink and nod to the bleak look and feel of “Mad Max: Fury Road.” (As in the first “LEGO Movie,” much of the fun here comes from catching all the fast and furious pop culture references. Arnett’s LEGO Batman is at the center of an entire hilarious song that analyzes the many cinematic incarnations of the Caped Crusader, for example. Once again, you could not possibly catch all the meta gags in one sitting, but you also probably won’t mind repeated viewings.)

Emmet, however, remains his perky, optimistic self. Efforts to be edgy and moody to impress the badass Lucy are adorably futile. But he finds a real opportunity to prove his worth when Apocalypseburg becomes the target of an invasion by seemingly benign but secretly evil LEGO Duplo creatures from outer space. (We caught a glimpse of these shiny, squeaky characters at the very end of the first “LEGO Movie.”) It’s clear what these larger, simpler blocks represent in the real world; the challenge is finding novel ways to reflect that sibling rivalry in inspired, animated fashion as the action shifts to a glittery, rainbow-hued locale known as the Systar System.

Bits of dialogue are mostly zippy, but Mitchell’s overall pacing drags at times and there’s a repetitious nature to the adventures. And some of the bits just do not land, such as the one involving a LEGO banana that keeps tripping over its own peel. It’s not all that funny the first time, much less several times. Meanwhile, other self-aware jokes are good for big, consistent laughs; besides Arnett’s Batman song, the movie features an extended riff on Pratt’s various other blockbuster performances in the form of a swaggering character named Rex Dangervest. (Rex’s army of velociraptors, who communicate through subtitles, are giddy fun.)

And the film’s feminist streak is certainly welcome, especially given the propensity for big-studio franchises like this to focus on the heroism of their male characters. “The LEGO Movie 2” features a biting exchange in which Lucy acknowledges that she did all the real work in the first film, while Emmet got to bask in all the glory as “The Special.” And Haddish’s character, the shapeshifting Duplo Queen Watevra Wa’Nabi, exists to upend expectations of what villains typically look like and seek.

While these pleasures and insights may not be as overwhelming as they were the first time around, the songs remain a total treat. “The LEGO Movie 2” is actually more of a musical than the original – knowingly so, of course – and it saves the best for last. Once again, you’re going to want to stay through the closing credits to experience a joyous and playful tune about … the greatness of the closing credits. “Super Cool,” featuring Beck, Robyn and the Lonely Island guys, is a genuine expression of appreciation for the hard work that goes into putting all the pieces into place. And it is awesomely catchy.

from All Content http://bit.ly/2TuP3XM

[gossipnetwork-blog]

Charles Manson Dead at 83

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/charles-manson-dead-at-83/

Charles Manson Dead at 83

Charles Manson, the cult leader of the Manson family who masterminded the Tate-LaBianca killings of 1969 and one of the most reviled and fascinating figures in American pop culture, died Sunday night, CBS Los Angeles reports. He was 83. Manson had been rushed to a Bakersfield, California hospital from Corcoran State Prison earlier this month for an undisclosed medical issue.

Manson died of natural causes at Kern County hospital, according to a California Department of Corrections statement.

A career criminal, amateur musician, enigmatic cult leader and unrepentant racist, Manson became synonymous with the dark underbelly and ominous end of the Sixties. The two-day killing spree he orchestrated in August 1969 left seven people dead and, as legend has it, sprang from his mad interpretation of the Beatles’ White Album – specifically the song “Helter Skelter” – which he believed foretold a coming apocalyptic race war.

On August 9th, 1969, tired of waiting for that war to break out, Manson sent four members of his so-called Family to a house on Cielo Drive in Los Angeles with the order to “totally destroy everyone in [it], as gruesome as you can.” They killed the eight-and-a-half-month pregnant actress Sharon Tate, 26, wife of director Roman Polanski; celebrity hairstylist Jay Sebring, 35; screenwriter Voytek Frykowski, 32; heiress to the Folger’s coffee fortune Abigail Folger, 25; and 18-year-old bystander Steven Earl Parent. The next night, Manson ordered the crew, with one additional member, to a different home on Waverly Drive, where grocery-store-chain owner Leno LaBianca, 44, and his wife, Rosemary, 38, were stabbed to death. At both houses, the culprits left words like “rise,” “piggies” and “helter skelter” scrawled in blood.

Manson and three other members of his Family – Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel and Leslie Van Houten – were found guilty of the murders and received death sentences, which were later commuted to life in prison. The trial became a spectacle in and of itself and Manson’s notorious legacy was cemented when he carved an X (later changed to a swastika) onto his forehead in protest of what he saw as unfair treatment by the law. Manson’s absence during the murders and the grip he maintained over his Family underscored one of the case’s most chilling aspects: Atkins, Krenwinkel and Van Houten also carving Xs into their foreheads.

Three days before he ran away from Boy’s Town, Charles Manson poses in a suit and tie. Bettman/Getty

Manson was born in 1934 to a 16-year-old girl in Cincinnati. He never knew his father, and his mother was an alcoholic. He was raised in juvenile halls, reform schools and prisons, ultimately spending approximately 60 of his 82 years incarcerated. Prior to the Tate-LaBianca killings, he was an easy target for cops, bungling burglaries and carjackings, and failing as a pimp. He divorced twice, fathered and abandoned two sons and ultimately earned himself a stay in McNeil Island Prison in Washington for forging checks and transferring women across state lines for the purpose of prostitution.

On March 21st, 1967, Manson was released on parole after seven years. He was 32, it was the Summer of Love and he headed to San Francisco. As Rolling Stone wrote in a 2013 profile, Manson “had the mystique of the ex-con, he had a good you-can-be-free metaphysical rap” — and he played the guitar. Within months, Manson had corralled several young women into his orbit, starting with the Berkeley librarian Mary Brunner, and soon after 18-year-old Lynette Fromme (later known as “Squeaky”), Ruth Anne Moorhouse, Sandra Good, Krenwinkel and Atkins.

That fall, Manson relocated his growing Family – both Atkins and Brunner would become pregnant – to Los Angeles, in part to chase a dream of rock and roll stardom. During this time, Manson recorded a handful of demos that producer (and one-time Manson Family roommate) Phil Kaufman released in 1970 as Lie: The Love and Terror Cult. Decades later, his songs would be covered by an array of artists including Guns N’ Roses, the Lemonheads, Devendra Banhart, Brian Jonestown Massacre and Rob Zombie, but at the time he was unable to score a record deal. 

Nevertheless, Manson managed to infiltrate the late Sixties Los Angeles music scene through a haphazard connection to the Beach Boys after Dennis Wilson picked up several Family members hitchhiking on Sunset Strip. Manson and the girls eventually moved in with Wilson where they mingled with other members of the Los Angeles scene, like producer and Beach Boys associate Terry Melcher. While Manson was never able to impress Beach Boys mastermind Brian Wilson, the group did record one of his songs, “Cease to Exist,” which they reworked heavily, renamed “Never Learn Not to Love” and released on their 1969 album, 20/20, and as the B-side to “Bluebirds Over the Mountain.” Manson did not get a writing credit.

In an extensive 1970 interview with Rolling Stone, Manson spoke with David Felton and David Dalton about his music career (their notes from the interview are in italics). “I never really dug recording, you know, all those things pointing at you,” Manson said. “Greg would say. ‘Come down to the studio, and we’ll tape some things,’ so I went. You get into the studio, you know, and it’s hard to sing into microphones. [He clutches his pencil rigidly, like a mike.] Giant phallic symbols pointing at you. All my latent tendencies … [He starts laughing and making sucking sounds. He is actually blowing the pencil!] My relationship to music is completely subliminal, it just flows through me.”

In March 1969, after failing to get a record deal with the Beach Boys’ label, Brother Records, Manson decided to take his anger out on Terry Melcher. He went to the producer’s house on Cielo Drive, but discovered Melcher had moved out. Instead, new resident Sharon Tate was throwing a party.

In July of that same year, Manson and his Family perpetrated two other murders. First, they killed a drug dealer named Bernard “Lotsapoppa” Crowe, whom Manson associate Tex Watson burned in a deal. Not long after, Manson joined his friend Bobby Beausoleil as he sought revenge on Gary Hinman, a member of the Straight Satans biker gang, over another bad drug deal. Several weeks later, Manson ordered the Tate and LaBianca murders.

For months, the Los Angeles Police Department treated the two killings as unrelated. In October, 27 people were arrested at the Manson Family’s home base, Spahn Ranch, for car theft, but it wasn’t until a month later that authorities got their first big break when Susan Atkins bragged to fellow inmates about the murders.

Charles Manson sits in the courtroom during his murder trial in 1970 in Los Angeles, California. Michael Ochs Archives/Getty

Manson entered prison on April 22nd, 1971, for seven counts of first-degree murder and one count of conspiracy to commit murder. He was convicted of first-degree murder in 1971 and was originally sentence to death. However, in 1977, Superior Court of California in the County of Los Angeles commuted Manson’s sentence to life in prison.

Even after his conviction and sentence, Manson remained a prominent figure in American pop culture. Los Angeles deputy district attorney Vincent Bugliosi chronicled the case in his 1974 book Helter Skelter, which became the biggest selling true-crime book of all time. A year later, Manson acolyte Squeaky Fromme attempted, and failed, to assassinate President Gerald Ford. Meanwhile, Manson maintained a high profile from prison, granting interviews throughout the Eighties and Nineties. During one infamous chat with Diane Sawyer, he roared, “I’m a gangster, woman. I take money!”

When Hedegaard visited Manson in prison in 2013, he painted a picture of an old man with gray hair, bad hearing and bad lungs who walked with a cane. Throughout the interview, Manson maintained his innocence, saying he never killed anyone nor gave orders to kill anyone. He also denied the Helter Skelter race-war theory presented in Bugliosi’s book (“Man, that doesn’t even make insane sense!”) and downplayed the idea that he was any sort of leader: “Go for what you know, baby; we’re all free here. I’m nobody’s boss!”

Yet Manson was also frequently joined by a new companion, Star (real name Afton Elaine Burton), a young woman who moved to Corcoran, California for Manson, drawn by his stances on environmental issues. In 2015, Manson and Star were granted a marriage license, but it expired before they could marry. Nevertheless, Star devoted several years caring for Manson and attempting to rehabilitate his public image. She too carved an X onto her forehead.

In January, Manson was taken from Corcoran State Prison, where he was serving a life sentence, to a nearby hospital in California’s Central Valley for an undisclosed medical issue, per the Los Angeles Times. According to a source, Manson was seriously ill, but could not provide details. Officials from the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation declined comment, saying inmates’ medical information must remain private.

Manson spent the majority of his life behind bars, but even he seemed to recognize it was where he belonged. In 1970, he told Rolling Stone, “Being in jail protected me in a way from society. I was inside, so I couldn’t take part, play the games that society expects you to play.” He even espoused his love of solitary confinement: “I began to hear music inside my head. I had concerts inside my cell. When the time came for my release, I didn’t want to go. Yeah, man, solitary was beautiful.”

Over forty years later, his opinion had not changed. During his interview with Hedegaard, he reiterated his love of prison, as well as his false claim that the Beach Boys’ song “In My Room” was based on his own tune, “In My Cell.” “Like all my songs, it’s about how my heaven is right here on Earth,” Manson said. “See, my best friend is in that cell. I’m in there. I like it.”

Listen to audio of Charles Manson from our December 2013 story on one of the darkest criminals in American history.

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