#but the colors of the whole box still seem closer to the live action version than the animated one

[riddlerosehearts]

TWST JUMPSCARE ON THE DISNEY WIKI????

yes this is the page for the box that the evil queen wanted to put snow white's heart in 😭 i needed to refresh my memory on how it looked because people were saying something about rook's box in his new groovy being the heart box, but i'm not sure about that because it kind of doesn't look anything like it. i guess the shape is the same and the green accent color is similar so it could be meant as a more subtle reference! though the one from tapis rouge looks exactly like the one in the movie, which is super cool and i haven't read that event so i had no idea that was a thing until just now.

edit: WAIT I'M SO STUPID HOLD ON... THE LAST IMAGE IN THIS SCREENSHOT IS FROM THE LIVE ACTION REMAKE... WE DON'T SEE THE FRONT OF THE BOX SO IT'S ACTUALLY PLAUSIBLE AS A REFERENCE TO THAT ONE??

[s1i9d]

AMPHIBIA: Season 2 Descriptors, Part 2

So Disney TVA decides to drop the full episode descriptors for the remaining five episodes of Season 2 of Amphibia dropping in April and the first of May. It’s absolutely wild to have this information before the March drop has reached halfway! More exciting news, and new cryptic messages! But what else would you expect from this frog show? Happiness?? 

Anyways, I’ll be breaking the episodes down by the episode descriptors. I will be referencing the Season 2B trailer, and my previous speculation posts. So if you haven’t checked those out, I’d recommend you do!

SPOILERS FOR AMPHIBIA SEASON 2B

216 - Toad to Redemption/Maddie and Marcy

216A - Toad to Redemption: “Mayor Toadstool is offered his dream job but realises he doesn’t want to leave Wartwood.” Okay, I thought this was gonna be a Sasha/Grimes episode, or Marcy and Anne help a veteran Toad work through some traumatic responses. But who would have guessed Wild Card, Mayor Toadstool! I personally don’t want to empathise with him because, y’know... he’s a crook. But I wonder if Anne, Marcy and the Plantars are going to help him or not, and if he will be redeemed and not embezzle the people of Wartwood anymore.

216B - Maddie and Marcy: “Maddie is working on an important spell but her three baby sisters keep getting in her way.” So the three sisters of Maddie are the ones in the far right side of the intro when we see everyone together at the end. In “Return to Wartwood” we see Maddie’s dad The Baker, holding them in a pouch. Interesting to see how Marcy will interact with babies since we know she’s not great at making connections. I think she will make her own connections with Maddie and the kids after some shenanigans! I also think we’ll see her throw the magic spell as we saw in the trailer, but I’m not sure what the spell could be! 

Something I am slightly worried about by this point is Andrias’ proposition to Marcy in “A Day at the Aquarium”. We see in “The First Temple” that Marcy is typically herself as we saw in the Newtopia arc, so there seems to be no change to anything, and by this I’m saying that Marcy probably agreed to (or at the very least is thinking about) Andrias’ plan, and yet we still don’t know what he was offering her. And it’s frightening that Marcy most likely doesn’t know about Andrias being a servant for the giant Amphibian in the Castle’s basement.

Also, I find “New Wartwood” to set up these segments! Toadstool and Marcy had a partnership and that leads to him relying on Anne and Marcy! What I want from these episodes is to see a bit more of Frobo! He’s one of the best things this season! And I love him.

217 - The Second Temple/Barrel’s Warhammer

217A - The Second Temple: “Anne and Marcy’s quest to get home takes them to an icy mountain temple, but they’ll need help to find it.” With the first gem restored, Anne and Marcy search for the second temple. As Andrias said in “A Day at the Aquarium”, they only know the location of one temple: the first one they already found!

From the trailer, they’re gonna use the first recharged gem to find it, and Anne is going to travel to a land high above the clouds to recharge it with Valariana, the Newt woman who knew secrets about the Box from “Bizarre Bazaar”. Yet, we see Valaria revealing information of the Calamity Box to Anne, Marcy, and the Plantars. But the atmosphere feels very much of my interpretation of 219A - “The Dinner”.

Since the First Temple tested Marcy on her Wit and Humility (referencing to her own Heart) perhaps the Second Temple will test Anne on her Heart and the emotional side of what is blocking her, since that’s the next Temple.

217B - Barrel’s Warhammer: “Sasha and Grimes go on a legendary quest to retrieve a legendary Warhammer.” I had no idea what this could have meant. But now it makes some sense! In “The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers”, we see a painting in the palace’s basement: of young King Andrias, a pink frog on his shoulder theorised to be Sprig and Polly’s mom, and a green toad guy. Barrel might just be the Toad in the painting, and the power that Sasha fills with her pink colour could be what Barrel did with his green power. So I think this is going to push the envelope on the Painting and Barrel’s fate, maybe revealing more on King Andrias, and Sprig and Polly’s mom. Maybe Sasha activates a sort of flashback when she activated her Calamity Powers, and sees through the lens of Barrel as she floods the Warhammer with it.

218 - Bessie and MicroAngelo/The Third Temple

218A - Bessie and MicroAngelo: “Bessie has her work cut out for her when she’s tasked with showing MicroAngelo the ropes.” Okay, this is gonna be the cutest episode ever and no one can tell me otherwise. Bessie is such a hardworking snail and we all stan her, and MicroAngelo development?? Of course it’s gonna be amazing! I’m still not over and will never be over Polly kissing him, and then yeeting him back to Newtopia in “Return to Wartwood.” I’m interested to see if Joe the Sparrow will return and Bessie is all flustered again. I loved that from “The First Temple” and I kinda wanna see more.

I also think this will be the main narrative of the segment, while the B plot is finding Sasha for the Third Temple, since we see her in the previous segment with “Barrel’s Warhammer”. I’m hopeful, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen.

I feel like Polly and Frobo would have to parallel Bessie and MicroAngelo with teaching young’uns how to work and live on the farm. Honestly, Frobo is one of my favourite characters and I love him, so any Frobo action is incredible.

218B - The Third Temple: “Anne and Marcy need help from an old friend to survive a volcanic temple that holds the final key to returning home.” Sasha. There is no question about it. This is Sasha. We see her in the trailer fighting off that giant Golem with Anne. I’m not sure where Marcy and the Plantars are, but drama ensues, and some old friends meet again. I feel like this will be the most painful since we have such a happy segment with Bessie and MicroAngelo, that all angst in put into this one. And I am into it!

Also a bit more on the whole test thing the Temples present: since the First Temple tested wit and humility, and say the Second Temple tests heart and strength... perhaps this Temple will test Sasha in her strength and wit. But I think that the Heart is the “core” of the aspects we see. So perhaps the Third Temple will test Sasha’s strength and heart, since we know empathy is something she seems to struggle with it makes sense for the temple to test her. Similar to how the First Temple challenged Marcy with her Heart.

219 - The Dinner/Battle of the Bands

219A - The Dinner: “Anne and the Plantars invite some old adversaries for dinner to try to bury the hatchet.” By the looks of this episode, I honestly think it might be Sasha and Grimes. I’m hopeful, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. Season 3 is still there, and I’m not sure if the drama is gonna continue. I’ve seen She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: sometimes people get “redeemed” in the final season. I’m hoping Sasha and Grimes will bury the hatchet, but I’m not sure. But I have a feeling that this episode, or by this episode Valaria reveals the dangers of the Calamity Box that Hop Pop was warned about. I mention it’s either this or “The Second Temple”.

219B - Battle of the Bands: “Anne and her friends team up to enter the Wartwood Battle of the Bands contest.” Absolutely wild! Just like last season, I think this episode will be more fun shenanigans, but it will wrap up the character arcs presented, probably with Anne, Marcy and the Plantars. I’m hoping for a song Anne or Sprig would sing. Amphibia has done several songs with Sprig, and I’m hoping for so much more! The main character dramas I think this will resolve will be Anne and Hop Pop’s issues with him burying the Music Box, and Marcy and Anne’s relationship will be solidified before ANGST! in the finale.

220 - FINALE: True Colors

220 - True Colors: “??? ???? ??????? ?? ???????? ?? ??? ????? ???????? ??? ??????? ???? ??? ????? ????? ????. ???????, ??????? ??? ????? ?????!”

Okay, so I’m going crazy, but even though this episode descriptor is just question marks, I think the episode descriptor is there! Just each letter replaced with question marks. There’s a full stop (or a period), a comma and an exclamation mark in that order! I don’t have the any idea what the words could mean, but I think the first few words I’m thinking is “The team returned to Newtopia to see toads storming the Kingdom...” with five words remaining that I can’t decode, and the last line (which was confirmed by Matt Braly himself) is “However, someone has other plans!” Or my other sentence was “The King Andrias is delighted to see ...” and that’s it.

So what I have is, “The team returned to Newtopia to see toads storming the Kingdom ???? ??? ????? ????? ????. However, someone has other plans!” And even that might be wrong except for the first line.

We know that the finale takes place in Newtopia. With the Season 2B trailer showing Anne and Sasha facing off at the top of the walls of Newtopia, similar to the ones they fight on in the new intro sequence. I think this is also where General Yunnan fights off those toads in the trailer, and where we see the childhood versions of Anne, Sasha, and Marcy.

Similar to “After the Rain” cryptic descriptor, we have no idea what’s coming, and we don’t have enough information to find out! But they did leave some breadcrumbs with making the sentence there, we just have to find it! 

But these are my thoughts!! Lots of excitement for the next five weeks!! Let me know your thoughts and theories, and also what you think the episode descriptor for “True Colors” is! I’ll make another post for Finale predictions closer to when the episode airs.

[eeveevie]

indecent promposal

From this prompt list: basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss

Introducing: Rosemary “Rosie” Sheridan! She’s baby. Also has a super suppressed crush on Butch. It’s complicated. Thank you @dreamxng-forever​ for prompting and letting me write for her! I went overboard!

Butch Deloria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer) 

2473 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie thrived on scavenging—she loved discovering new wasteland objects or pre-war oddities that reminded her of home—Vault 101. She supposed the real reason she enjoyed surrounding herself with so much junk was because she was still trying to figure out her place in the Capital Wasteland, still forging her own path now that she was on her own.

Well, mostly alone.

Butch—she could hear him rummaging though boxes in a different part of the store, shouting little exclamations over to her when he’d find something of interest. He was something else that reminded her of home—she liked to think that was the only reason why she had agreed to string him along after finding him in Rivet City. Weeks of bickering had turned into months of amicable companionship, bordering on friendship. Rosie slowly found she disliked him less but was unable to formulate rational explanations in her mind as to why. Her childhood bully deserved civility, sure, but niceties? A second chance? Preposterous. Anything more than that made her head spin.

The light of his Pip-Boy illuminated his face as he unearthed an intact box, letting out a low whistle as he inspected the contents. “Hey Stitches, get a load of this!”

Butch had been calling her that since adolescence, as soon as she was old enough to begin assisting her father in the Vault clinic. About that time, the youngest Deloria would find himself needing Doctor James Sheridan for a myriad of reason, including stitches. It wasn’t uncommon that Rosie would perform these duties, and after so many visits, the moniker stuck. She would’ve preferred her actual name, but anything was better than Doc, or Nosebleed—both of which he still called her.

In the stretch of silence, Butch had brought the box over to her to see for herself. It wasn’t full of the usual wasteland garbage but instead contained what appeared to be pristine articles of pre-war clothing. Hesitantly she reached inside, gently touching at the soft fabric of the pink dress before removing it completely. She was careful as she unfolded it, holding it fall against her vault suit as she imagined briefly what it would be like to wear such a delicate piece of clothing.

Butch peered inside the box, tugging out a dark suit blazer from beneath another dress. He chuckled, eyebrows quirked up as he waved the arms of the jacket sleeves around. “Kinda reminds you of the gettup we wore to prom, huh?”

Rosie remained silent, sucking up her bottom lip between her teeth. She didn’t have fond memories of their time leading up to graduation, including the small dance the Overseer and adults had organized to celebrate the teenagers’ successes. She clung to the dress for a moment longer, before allowing the fabric to fold over her arms.

Butch’s expression faltered, but instead of becoming annoyed like he would’ve in the past he awkwardly shifted. “What?”

She decided that maybe an explanation was owed. “I didn’t go to the vault prom.”

“Whadd’ya mean?” he asked in return, brows furrowed. “You were there! With Amata!”

Rosie had to give it up to Butch’s memory and wondered how much more of their childhood he remembered. Though, this was only a few years ago, and they had known each other their whole lives. She sighed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “Fine. I was there for all of thirty minutes before you spilt punch on my dress, and I had to go home.”

She expected him to argue or to deny it even happened. What Rosie didn’t expect was the frown and glimmer of guilt that flashed through his expression when she glanced his way. She continued looking at the pink, satin dress in her hands, wondering why this civilized version of Butch unnerved her. Not that she wanted him to taunt and torment her, but at least that would be relatively normal—but after all this time, would it?

“It’s not like I had a date, anyways,” she added, resentfully. Not that she had very many boys her age to choose from anyways. “I’m sure you did.”

“Ya’ don’t have to guilt trip me, Stitches,” Butch finally spoke, his laughter indicating a teasing tone. “Let ol’ Butch make it up to you.”

Rosie groaned, detesting the third-person speak for two reasons—it was corny, and usually mean that ol’ Butch had an incredibly bad plan. She didn’t even want to ask, but he was already gesturing to the dress in her hands and waving the tailored coat he held around.

“We could get dressed up, the two of us—”

She cut him off immediately. “Absolutely not.”

He stumbled, not anticipating her strong refusal. “Whoa, whoa! Let a man finish! Some fancy clothes, some good drink from the bar, some music on your fancy jukebox?”

“What?” she questioned. “A prom do-over?”

Butch grinned. “Exactly!”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard the best part yet!” he argued.

She didn’t have to—did she even want to?. “No.”

“Come on, Rosie. Give a guy a chance why don’t cha?”

Sure, he was pouting a little too much for her tastes, but he had also done something so incredibly rare in speaking her name that her interest was piqued. She wished it wasn’t that easy for him to get under her skin, but something told her he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about what it would be like to be the center of attention for once—to be the center of his attention. Her skin crawled—and she couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

She relented. “Okay.”

Butch clenched his fist with a grin. “Alright! You won’t regret it.”

The mirror in Rosie’s bedroom was cracked and dusty but served its purpose as she examined her appearance. She had pinned back her long dark hair, applied what little makeup she owned and had left her glasses atop her nightstand—for the first time she looked more like the maturing woman she was supposed to be and not a scrawny teenager chasing her father’s shadow. An enduring thought reminded her that she was still young, she had time to grow into her womanhood.

When she took a step back, she felt a rush of anxiety flood her senses. The dusty pink dress was very flattering and fit her in all the right places—Rosie was materialistically a girl’s girl and loved the color and fabric—but overall, the very fact she was dressed up while the rest of her surroundings were in shambles seemed foolish. Why had she allowed Butch to talk her into this? They had countless of important matters to attend to—no time to be reliving the past just because he wanted to make amends. As she adjusted the tie around her waist, she reminded herself that maybe it was more than that—thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on.

Rosie could already hear the Ink Spots playing when she emerged from her room, glancing to the fuzzy outline that was the jukebox and determined that Wadsworth was floating nearby. With a steady breath she approached the stairs and gripped the railing tightly as she began her descent. Butch was leaning against the back of the downstairs sofa, arms crossed as he stared up at her. Or at least, that’s what she thought, suddenly wishing she had opted for practicality instead of vanity when forgoing her glasses.

Halfway down the stairs, he whistled at her and the cat-call made her flush in a foreign way. Butch chuckled, catching the way she nearly stumbled. “Where’re your frames?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

She didn’t dare to let go of the handrail until her heels were planted firmly on the first-floor ground. He was more reminiscent of a blob until she approached, features clearing up as she stood before him. He was wearing the black, styled suit he had found—sans the tie—with the first few buttons of his collared shirt left open. Rosie figured that had been on purpose—she could teach him how to fix a tie later. He pointed to her face, reminding her he had asked a question.

Still blushing from the way he had whistled at her, she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. She wasn’t entirely comfortable indulging her childhood insecurities. “Pretty girls don’t wear glasses to prom.”

“You’re such a dork, Stitches,” Butch softly laughed, but there was no insult to his words. Instead, he nodded at her, a hint of red peeking at his ears. “Ya’ look good,” he added. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Rosie smiled, still feeling flustered by the entire situation. She wondered if it was too late to back out and suggest dinner at the Brass Lantern instead. As if Butch could see the excuses formulating in her mind, he jumped into action, raising his hand up between them in offering.

“Does my best gal want a dance?”

She desperately wanted a respite from how flushed her cheeks felt, wondering if they were as pink as her dress. She was mortified by her own embarrassment, confused by her own emotions—it would be so much easier if she had somebody else to talk to about all this. Like her father. A second thought made her realize her dad would be overly clinical, blaming it all on teenaged hormones. But she did want a dance—what else did she want?

“No dirty dancing!” she said, in her own way of acceptance. She grasped his hand, biting back the sensation of warmth that radiated up her arm. That hand was usually pushing her away—she hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. Butch smirked as he carefully placed his other hand along her waist, prompting her to rest her palm against his shoulder.

“Do we need a ruler?” he joked, eyeing the space between them. Rosie rolled her eyes, shifting a little closer as he led them in a little square-step, all the space her home allowed. Butch was surprisingly a natural and predictably, she was awful.

“I’m bad at this,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet as she very nearly stepped on his toe for the third time.

Butch paused, nudging his hand against her chin to catch her attention. The action was so bizarrely intimate that Rosie stared at him bewildered, her skin aflame—but he didn’t seem to notice that he had shocked her senseless, gripping her fingers to lead them back into another step. It had to be intentional—no way he was that clueless—the way he touched her. He had to know exactly what he was doing to her, and she wondered if it was all some kind of big joke.

“Better than most,” he assured, bringing her back to her senses. He winked. “So you’re a good date after all.”

Rosie wasn’t good at matching his wit or his teasing, but she wanted to try. She couldn’t just stand there and be undone by some nice words. She thought about asking about the full prom package—reminiscing about the day after in the vault when a few lucky girls walked around the halls wearing hickies like badges of pride. Forming the right way to ask such a thing didn’t sound right in her head—she wasn’t a natural flirt, didn’t have the experience and after so many pretend conversations floating in her mind she had to stop and ask herself why she was thinking about Butch Deloria kissing her neck.

Her heart was racing as she found herself staring at him, wondering when he had sprouted up and became so tall. Years ago, when they were fifteen. She had stayed tiny while he filled out, muscles more defined now that he was her companion out in the wasteland. Of course, he still cared about his hair—thick black strands quaffed to the front like the gangster-type he aspired to be—too bad he was the only Tunnel Snake left. When she met his baby-blue eyes, she was done for, cursing the day she found him in the Muddy Rudder. But maybe it was a forgone conclusion since their paths crossed that fateful evening—she’d forgive him, and eventually, gradually, perhaps begrudgingly fall in love with the boy.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Rosie thought, as Butch gradually scooted her closer despite her earlier warning. Nat King Cole was crooning a slow song, and they had slowed in their movements. He squeezed her hand in his, raising an eyebrow. “More quiet than usual, Stitches.”

She didn’t want to admit how annoyed she was with herself, and certainly wasn’t about to divulge how in that moment with Unforgettable playing from the balcony she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want a calling card on her neck—no, that could come later—what she wanted was something sweet and demure and chaste. What she wanted was something she had missed out on in her youth—her first real kiss. Ridiculous didn’t even cut it, feeling incredibly absurd for thinking she could ever get it from Butch—that she even wanted it from Butch.

“Um,” she hesitated, thinking he must’ve been able to feel her pulse racing along her wrist. She tried not to stare at his mouth, darting back up to his eyes—but that was worse. The heat radiating off her face could cook a brahmin steak.

He smirked, lips quirking up to the side. At first she assumed he was all too entertained by the sight of her aflutter but when she studied him carefully, she realized it was an endearing look and beneath the surface, he was perhaps just as nervous as she.

“Come’ere,” he tugged her right into his chest, and before she could protest he had wrapped his arms around her waist and back, one hand resting against the back of her head. “Dance like this for a lil’ bit.”

Not a question, but a statement. After a few sways, Rosie adjusted, tucking her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his shirt.

The longer she stayed there, swaying to the songs that continued to play, the more she understood that they both needed this distraction that evening. Butch wanted to apologize, make up for the past in his own way, sure, but what they really needed was one night where the wasteland wasn’t demanding their attention. She was just as confused as ever, heart and mind filled with endless questions about life and love and everything in between, but for the first time in months, Rosie felt calm. Kissing Butch could wait, if only it meant she could dance with him for a little while longer.

[ruthoakenshield]

The Call (part 2)

The Call (part 1)

Richard, Shannon and a couple others quickly rushed to their dressing rooms to get changed out of costume and makeup. They decided that they were going to make you supper & dessert and spend time with you tonight.

They all piled in Shannon’s SUV and stopped at the local grocery store. Richard went to get you flowers, Shannon went to get your favourite dessert, Stacey and another costar went to get stuff for supper. On his way back to the cash register, Richard saw some wine that would go great with the supper they had planned for you. He grabbed a couple bottles and placed them on the counter with the flowers.

The cashier rang them up and he paid for them then stood by the doors waiting for the rest of the group. Once they all had their purchases they went to your apartment. Stacey pulled out a sympathy card and had everyone write in it before they got out of the SUV, then she tucked it in with the flowers Richard was holding.

They went up to the door and rang the buzzer. Shannon pushed Rich forward telling him he got to be the spokesperson. He gave her a look and she giggled. You answer the buzzer wondering who it is. “It’s Rich, Shannon, Stacey and Gabe. We’re here to make you supper and we brought food, dessert and a gift.” Richard tells you. “What did you bring for supper & dessert?” You ask, not really in the mood for company.

Stacey shouts out chicken & broccoli Alfredo, breadsticks, and chocolate marshmallow ice cream and strawberry cheesecake ice cream!!!!” They hear you laugh and you buz them in.

You hear them laughing and stomping up the three flights of steps to your apartment. Stacey & Shannon are huffing and puffing when you open the door and look out as they come up the last steps. You shake your head at them and can’t help but grin.

You stand there in your college’s sweatpants (cuz they were SO comfortable but WAY too long for you), and a worn out college sweatshirt with the stretched out neckline. You blush bright red when you realize you forgot to go put a bra on and that Gabe is also with the group as is Richard. Richard grins when he sees what you’re wearing, making you blush even more red.

“Why on God’s green earth did you choose the top floor in an apartment with NO elevator ?!?!?” Stacey asks you.

You laugh, “Cuz it FORCES me and my guests to get SOME exercise!!!” You say grinning. Richard and Gabe just chuckle and Gabe messes your hair as he passes through the door. Richard grins when he sees you and boops you on the nose gently with the flowers.

Both Richard and Gabe stand in the entry looking around. They notice you have very little in your apartment. “So, y/n how long have you lived here?” Gabe asks as Richard hands you the flowers, card and wine bottles. You motion for them to follow you to the kitchen.

“I moved here about 8 months ago. I know it’s not much. I just never got around to decorating it I guess. My finances have been tight since I moved here. It’s SO much more expensive here than back home.” You explain. I just got the bare basics for now.” You sigh. “It’ll fill up now that I have to go through Mom & Dad’s house and decide what to keep and what to sell.” You say quietly as a tear runs down your cheek and you brush it away.

You busy yourself with the flowers. Arranging them in a water pitcher since you don’t own a vase. He had bought you a bunch of brightly colored daisies and Fuji mums, which were your favourites, unbeknownst to him.

Richard notices that you don’t seem to own a vase and makes a mental note for the next time. You place them on the dining table off to the side of the kitchen, and sit to open the card. Richard comes and stands near you and leans on one of the counters as Gabe, Stacey & Shannon start making supper.

You open the card and see three gift cards for $200 each. One is a general Visa card, one is for the grocery store near your apartment, and the other is for a fancier restaurant. The four people in your apartment all signed it and wrote condolences & well wishes to you.

You look up at them with glassy eyes, blown away by their generosity and friendship. You look up at Richard & he is smiling at you warmly. His eyes crinkling at the corners and twinkling with happiness knowing that you won’t be alone tonight.

He comes over and stands behind you and rubs your shoulders absentmindedly as you both watch your friends make a mess of your kitchen. You look down at the card in your hand and sniffle. Then you set it next to the pitcher of flowers. You pull out your phone case and put the three gift cards into the phone case.

You flip your phone to photo mode and take a few pictures of Shannon, Gabe & Stacey all making you supper, then take a few selfies of you and Richard watching them now that he pulled up a chair behind you and has his chin on your shoulder.

“You guys didn’t have to do this. I was just going to have pizza, my Jameson, and watch Guys & Dolls.” You inform them.

“Nonsense! Shannon says! You can still watch your movie! We are crashing your party tho and providing MUCH better food and drink than pizza and whiskey!”

You clench you’re chest and gasp. “How dare you belittle my Jameson!” You tease with mock offense. Then you get up, open the freezer and to Richard’s surprise pull out a big bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey, open it and take a couple swigs. Then close the bottle and put it back in the freezer. You grin and walk back and plop back down on your chair.

Stacey laughs and shakes her head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a hard liquor girl!” She laughs.

You grin. “It’s in my blood. You can blame my mom’s side of the family! Scotch, Irish, English, Russian, Finnish, French-Canadian.” You grin. Richard chuckles. You look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That bottle looked like it was half gone. How long has it been in the freezer?” He asks you with his own raised eyebrow. You grin. Since I got off of work.” You say deadpanned to see what kind of reaction you get.

They ALL stop and stare at you. You start guffawing. “Relax. It’s been in there for about two months now! It was a gift from my dad when I finally told him I got this job!” You tell them laughing. They all chuckle and Shannon throws a wet washcloth at you hitting you on the arm. “Brat!” She says then laughs as you throw it back at her. Richard is chuckling behind you.

They get supper going and you get up and go into the living room and open the entertainment center. Richard follows you and plops down on the oversized U-shaped couch. He looks around at the room. There’s a bookcase filled with books and literature, another bookcase is filled with DVD’s. He gets up and goes to see what kind of taste you have for movies and books.

He is surprised at the variety. Old musicals like “Singin’ in the Rain”, “Guys and Dolls”, “The Court Jester”, a lot of Disney animated and also live action movies, BBC sets of Downton Abbey, Robin Hood, Are You Being Served, and several versions of Jane Eyre. He sees Marvel & DC movies, The Hobbit, The Lord of The Rings, but also nearly all of the Indiana Jones movies, Almost all of the Star Wars movies, Star Trek, and lots of chick flicks like Pretty Woman, Never Been Kissed, Mamma Mia, Grease, miss Congeniality, The Princess Bride. He grins when he sees Into the Storm and all of the X-men movies, and the newest version of Phantom of the Opera as well as many many more.

He walks over to your bookcase and looks at your books. Wurthering Heights, Jane Eyre, The Odyssey, Little Women, 66 Love Letters, history books on Egypt, Greece and Rome. Books and magazines on archaeology, a whole shelf of J.R.R. Tolkien books and related books, another entire shelf of C.S. Lewis’ works including a VERY worn out OLD boxed set of the Narnia books. You had a set of the Earth’s Children series by Jane Auel as well, along with a bunch of classic literature books like Sherlock Holmes, Frankenstein, Dr Jeckyl & Mr. Hyde, Moby Dick, Grimms’ Fairytales, and a whole bunch more.

You watch him as her peruses your movies and books. You study his face as he explores your two collections. He smiles at some, grins when he sees others, and after a bit you come over and say, “Well?”

He looks at you confused. “Well what?” He asks as he wraps an arm around your waist and looks down at you as he glanced from the bookcase to you. You shiver as his thumb finds bare skin at your waist and you reach up to put a book back into the bookcase that you had finished earlier. He notices the bare skin immediately and slides his hand up so his whole hand is on your bare ribs. His thumb grazing the underside of your breast. You grin, realizing the shirt had pulled up on one side revealing you weren’t wearing a bra. His hand feels warm against your bare skin.

You chuckle and turn to face him as he swallows hard. Your faces are mere inches apart & you feel his breath on your shoulder. His dreamy blue eyes are very dilated and he holds you closer. “Thank you for the flowers, Richard.” You say. He smiles. “I hope you like them. They were so bright and colorful, I thought they might help cheer you up a bit.” He explains. You smile. “They will. They are my favourite flowers. Especially those huge fugi mums!” You grin and give him a kiss on the nose. Making him grin.

He smiles and traces the side of your face. “I’m glad you like them. What were you going to put in now that we are all here?” He asks. You grin and walk back to your movie case.

You pull out “Guys and Dolls” and shake the case. He chuckles, “a musical huh?” He says. You give him a cheesy grin and nod. He walks back over to the couch and plops down on the shorter U section in the middle.

You walk over to the DVD player and pop in the DVD. Then ask him if he wants anything to drink while the two of you wait. He thinks for a minute then asks for a soda. You head for the kitchen and he hears Shannon and Stacey talking and Gabe laughing at something they said. You come walking out with two Cokes and a smirk on your face.

“What’s so funny?” He asks as you sit next to him and hand him his coke. “They were giving me shit for putting a shot of Jameson in mine.”

He chuckles. You take a swig and groan. He goes to take a swig of his but you stop him. “Hang on... they switched them on me... here.” You say as you take the one in his hands and hands him yours. He frowns for a minute then chuckles. You take a swig of the one in your hand and say “Ahhhh, that’s better!”

Richard looks at you and laughs. “I never would’ve pegged you for a whiskey drinker.” He tells you. You look at him puzzled for a moment. “What would’ve you pictured me drinking?” You ask curious. He thinks for a moment. “Screwdrivers.” He says. You grin. “I like those too.” You confess. “Especially in the hands of a sexy handyman.” You say and wiggle your eyebrows, earning a hearty laugh from Richard. “I’ll have to remember that.” He tells you grinning.

Just then Stacie hollers that supper is almost ready. Bring it out here Stace! You holler back. We can eat and watch the movie!

They bring the plates of food, then the basket of breadsticks, the chilled wine, glasses, silverware, napkins and the flowers and card. Shannon puts the flowers on the side table by you along with the card. They pour the wine and you all toast to your parents and to new family and friends, then you hit play on the remote and you all dig in to the food.

Once everyone finished eating Shannon gets up and collects all the plates. She brings them to the kitchen and comes back with bowls of ice cream for everyone. You eat ice cream and laugh at the movie.

You’re snuggled against Richard after eating your ice cream. “Geez, you’re like a blazing heater!” You tease him. He just grins and wraps his arm around you. “Is someone cold?” He asks. You nod. “I blame the ice cream.” You say giggling. He chuckles and grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch and drapes it over you.

A little while later, he feels you get heavy against his chest. He glances down and you’re sound asleep. He chuckles and pets your head while he watches the movie. By the time it’s done, you’re in a deep sleep.

Stacey looks over and quietly says, “Awwwwe! Is she asleep?” Richard nods and holds up a finger to his lip. “You guys go ahead and clean up then head home. I’m gonna stay here and sleep on the couch so she isn’t alone.” They look at him and nod. “Thanks for the food, ladies and Gabe, make sure they get home in one piece.” He says quietly. Gabe nods and gives Richard a wink.

They clean up the kitchen and dishes and then head out after saying bye to Richard.

He looks down at you and kisses your forehead. He gently slides an arm under your knees and wraps the other back around your waist. He shifts you onto his lap and then carefully stands and looks around trying to figure out where your room is. He sees a door off in the corner and walks over to it. It isn’t quite pulled shut, so he toes it open to see a beautifully decorated bedroom. The lamps on either side of the bed flip on with a dim night light bulb in them when they sense movement and provide a better view. He sits you in the chair in the corner of your room and props you against the side.

Then he goes to your bed and pulls back the dark blue comforter revealing silver silk sheets. He grins and runs his hand over them imagining making love to you in that bed. He grins, “not now though.” He tells himself. He walks back over to you and looks at you in the chair. Your hair has fallen out of the loose braid you had it in and you’re snuggled into the blanket from the couch.

Richard walks over and carefully unwraps you from the blanket. Then he picks you up again bridal style and carries you to the queen size bed. He chuckles as he sees your pants hanging almost a foot down past your feet.

He kneels down on the bed and carefully lays you down in the middle of the bed. He covers you up and brushes the loose hair from your face. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. I’ll be out in the living room on the couch when you wake up.” He whispers, then kisses your cheek. Unable to resist that little splurge.” Then he walks to the chair, grabs the blanket from the couch that you were wrapped in, walks to the door and looks back at you again.

He sighs contentedly and pulls the door closed a little. He lays down on the couch and covers up with the blanket. Enjoying the fact that it smells like you, he drifts off to sleep thinking of you and silver silk sheets.

[11likeswritingfanfiction]

Haunt, chapter three: Pennywise The Dancing Clown

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

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

Warnings: Mentions of violence.

Word Count: 4,866

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

Ch.1 | Ch. 2

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

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

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

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

“So what, this town is cursed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mike and Shanice make it home, black and blue.

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

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

“What in God’s name--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richie frowns.

“Clowns.”

....

....

Shanice yawns.

It was a Thursday, ten in the morning.

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

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

“The wheelhouse,” Ben notes.

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

“Neibolt Street?”

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

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

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

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

“No...put the map back, Eddie--”

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

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

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

The projector keeps going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Georgie!” Bill screams.

Almost immediately, Georgie ran out of the frame.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit...”

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

Its face grows more fluid, closer and closer--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“--at least It’s gone now.”

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

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

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

“Guys?”

Silence befell them, only Bev’s voice remains.

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

It.

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

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

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

For now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Then don’t.”

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

“Wait, Bill--”  

His words don’t reach him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow...”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tastes like battery acid.”

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

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

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

Everyone scatters, looking for anything to use as a weapon

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

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

She rolls her eyes.

‘Idiot. ’

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

“I’ll just stand behind you.”

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

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

....

....

A dump.

The Neibolt house was an absolute fucking dump.

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

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

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

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

Shanice punches him in the arm.

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

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

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

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

“Does this place even have a basement?”

“I hope not.” Eddie chimes in.

“L-let’s find out.”

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

“Hello? Is someone here?”

A child’s voice--coming from upstairs.

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

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

“HELLO?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys hear that?”

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

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

Squeaking, almost like--a clown horn.

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

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

Bill braces, angry flooding his haunted features.

“WHERE’S G-G-GEORGIE?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They all reek so good.”

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

Nothing.

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

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

She shakes her head.

“Go, Stanley. You too Mike.”

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

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

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

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

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

....

....

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

What happened?

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

Her falling, passing out.

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

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

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

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

Her slurred holler echos through the old, decaying room

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

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

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

Her fellow ‘Losers’.

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

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

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

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

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

She’d die, just like that.

“Hey! Get away from my sister!”

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

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

....

....

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

Shanice lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

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

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

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

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

It was troubling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a beat.

And another.

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

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

“I didn’t get my brother killed--”

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

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

“I didn’t get my brother killed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-But, we’re all outsiders.”

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

“No, you’re not. None of you are.”

[ryewi]

Trip Down Our Memory Lane - pjm

Summary: As if compiling clips from different points of your friendship in a short video wasn’t a good enough rollercoaster of emotions, you decided that after leading the man of your dreams through nearly twenty years of footage, a confession seemed like a perfect way to end it.

Genre: Best friends to lovers!au , F L U F F

Words: 3k

Warnings: none!

Early A/N: The summary bloody sucks but I don’t even know how to summarize this,,, help

Planning and implementation of amazing and innovative surprises, were always considered as your specialties. Although your friend circle and family tree weren’t huge, you took that as a chance to put additional effort and work harder to make each surprise better than the last one. Whoever was blessed to get a present from you, would turn into a gasping and astonished mess in a matter of seconds. Sometimes, they were extremely emotional, causing a few tears to fall here and there, but usually, that kind was intended only for those who you’ve known for a long time.

Today marked the 13th of October, also known as one of the most important dates throughout the whole year. It was Jimin’s day, the day of your best friend of nearly two decades. The only problem was, Jimin knew you inside and out, knew how observant you were and was often next to you during creative times. That usually led to his surprisingly accurate predictions of gifts/surprises, which frequently caused trouble with planning Jimin’s own present without being found out.

This year, you decided to do something special and amongst two other beautifully wrapped boxes, prepared a twenty-minute video. Jimin mentioned a thousand times how your regular midnight birthday texts were his most favorite part of the day. Deciding that it was time to step up your game, you created a more powerful version of a birthday, recalling-the-history-of-our-friendship, message.

“Now, miss excuse me, who are you and what did you do to my best friend?” As if on que, Jimin carelessly walked through the door, knocking a long-forgotten act between the two of you. For a quick moment, you pondered what his statement was about, when Jimin decided to bring up the answer himself. Holding up his new iPhone, he let you read a painfully short dialogue of four sentences that were exchanged between him and a person nicknamed “no.1 hypewoman ✌”.

no.1 hypewoman ✌ - 09:42

⇢ Happy birthday! You free today?

You – 09:55

⇢ Hey, thanks, and uh, depends when

no.1 hypewoman ✌ - 09:57

⇢ 5pm? I’d like you to come over?

You – 10:06

⇢ Sure

Jimin was slightly taken aback to say at least, you acted distant the last few days, the last two texts that you sent were three days ago. Quick and short ‘good night xxx’ and ‘ew I’m never using x’s again’ delivered a few minutes before midnight. But it was okay, Jimin was an extremely considerate person, yet, he couldn’t help feeling slightly annoyed at the lack of communication on such a special date. Of course, you hadn’t forgotten, but such a vague message when all he was used to were paragraphs and paragraphs of adoration sent the moment the clock ticked twelve.

Surely, he could only be overreacting, but there was also a certain amount of interest lacking from your side. Or was there?

“Your best friend is right here, flesh and bones, Mr. Park” your hands ran over your body, as to emphasize the words and their effect. “Now I’d please you to move to the living room, I have something to show you”. You disappeared into your room, letting the boy seat himself on a white sofa, placed right before your television. Jimin’s eyes lit up at the indirect mention of a present, you actually had something for him, therefore your apparent lack of attentiveness was only an act. Gosh, of course that it was, you’re so naïve to your own deceiving Jimin.  

Once you came back, and the USB was safely connected with the huge screen of your new TV, you switched a couple of channels, finally finding the one connected to the detachable object. Jimin’s eyes were firmly fixed on all the colors flashing before them as your fingers fumbled with black buttons on a small television remote. He wasn’t aware of what you were doing, nor what kind of present you had for him, but he let you be, nervously anticipating whatever was to come. Finally locating the video amongst thousands of others, you pressed play and watched as all shades faded away.

Suddenly, an extremely old picture of the two of you appeared, making you smile. Just like now, Jimin’s eyes were transforming into thin lines while laughing at the sight of your beautiful face and soft, tiny hands covered in mud. You were wearing a thin summer dress that was thoroughly covered in dirt, while Jimin seemed to be entirely clean, not even a drop of mud decorating the expanse of his fancy summer set.

“I’m pretty sure that the both of us wouldn’t be able to describe what was happening if it wasn’t for our mothers that would repeat it on every single family gathering”, your voice suddenly rang throughout the room, slightly scaring Jimin. He turned to face you, still unaware that the sound wasn’t live, it was pre-recorded and put in as a continuous part of this beautiful video. Motioning for him to avert his gaze back to the TV, you smiled, noticing that he was vaguely mouthing each and every word.

“This was nearly two decades ago, when we were little kids, as obviously shown on the picture. I used to have a special hiding place in one of the playgrounds in our city, that no one really bothered to explore, hence I took it as my own prized piece of land. Until you, Park Jimin, didn’t walk in through the bushes and began arguing that it was your own space. Frankly, our argument was a casual exchange of “I’m going to tell this to my mom!” and “I got here first!”, without any action actually taking place. That’s when I decided to sit down on the ground, refusing to move from my territory and completely ignoring the fact that my bottom was positioned deep inside a puddle of mud. I tried to scratch the itchy spot on my nose, which resulted in my face becoming a muddy canvas. You were such a snake and began laughing, loud enough to draw the attention of your mother that was apparently nearby and always carried a camera around. Shortened, this is our first picture and place in which we met”

Jimin’s wasn’t blinking, eyes wide open and fixed on to the disappearing pictures. You moved closer to hug him, watching as the screen faded away into pitch black, only to reveal the next part.

Once again, it was a video, although this time, you were nowhere to be seen, while Jimin was in full shot. It was a recording taken the night of your graduation. Being best friends for the longest time ever, both of you were obviously each other’s choice for prom. That night, Jimin looked like the most beautiful angel, which could be an ironic statement because of his fully black attire. Jimin wore a black button-up shirt that was neatly tucked in his black dress pants. Equally as dark, but shinier than the rest, Jimin’s shoes were polished to true perfection – you could swear it was possible to see one’s reflection in them. His hair was side parted and freshly dyed, an ashy-silver shade now covering his previously dark strands.

Through the beginning of the recording, it wasn’t possible to see the way you were dressed, but you could still remember being the most flattering female on the whole party. Your dress was perfect for your figure; a pitch black, floor length piece, lace decorating the top of it, while also creating thin, but long sleeves. The patterns on those sleeves were beautifully detailed roses, which were always one of your favorite flowers.  

“Jimin”, your voice once again sounded through the speakers, “are you ready?”. The man had his back turned in your direction, slightly bending over and fixing something on his shirt. Upon not receiving an answer, you let yourself walk further in, peeking around to see what he was up to. Jimin noticed you approaching, and after realizing that he will need some help, decided to ask you for it (in the end really, who else was there to ask?).

“I need help with my tie” Jimin replied, turning around and audibly making you gasp. The sensitive microphone attached to the top of your DSLR, caught even the smallest of shallow breaths that left your lips. He looked like God and Devil combined. So pure, but so sinful at the same time.  

Setting the camera on your bed-side table, you turned it around, still letting it record the small pre-prom interaction that was promised to have much meaning in the future. At least to show your kids how nice it was to have someone like Jimin in your life.  

“You’ll never learn how to tie them, will you?” You asked, laughing while untying the tight knot Jimin somehow managed to create.  

“Well then, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of you doing it for me, would I?” He bit back in a cocky manner, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow. Just in that moment, through the sudden glint of your eyes, when they found Jimin’s, it was possible to note the moment in which you fell into an abyss. The exact second when your brain connected the dots in a quick impulse, sounding an alarm that screamed danger obnoxiously loud.  

Although red lights were going off before your eyes, demanding immediate action and distancing from the Devil himself, you smiled and with shaky hands, continued to tighten the material around Jimin’s neck.  

And although it was supposed to be wrong, it didn’t feel like it.

You could swear that there was a thin layer of tears painting Jimin’s eyes, but to be honest, you were holding back from letting your own tears fall. Even though you were the one who hand-picked these clips and put them together, they always managed to bring back the feeling of nostalgia. That kind of emptiness that makes you miss every second from the past, that makes you realize how old you’re actually getting, how all those moments you’re looking back as memories now, were taken for granted.  

You wanted to reach out and wipe his tears, to kiss his cheeks and tell him it’s not supposed to make him cry. You wanted to hold his small hand in yours, to trace calming circles and assure him that the video was only meant to be throwback material. But way too soon, the screen was fading to black and then fading in to another clip once again. A series of short videos that were taken through snapchat played one after another, showing different scenarios with random and “quirky” captions.  

“He believed me this was an exotic and special cocktail, when it’s ketchup mixed with tequila,,, someone pick this drunk man up” The shot was shaky, your laughter barely audible in the background, muffled by exceptionally loud music. Jimin was drinking some thick red substance from a transparent plastic cup - how convenient for an after-prom party.

“One devastatingly sad and one extremely attractive skeleton” In this one, Jimin was leaning on your shoulder, smiling into the camera as both of you showed off the messy but special Halloween makeup. Honestly, being so last-minute, Jimin had to come up with a very original “couple” costume, aka usual skeleton makeup and black attire that was spray painted in shapes of bones (more like stick figures). Somehow, your best friend managed to wear your own artistic creature way better than expected, while on the other side, he kind of failed paying you back. You had a lot of fun, that’s what mattered the most.

“She helped an elderly woman pass the street, then came running back and asked “will God accept me now?”” Jimin was holding you so tight and recording from a weird upper angle (that somehow worked out for his handsome face), while you were laughing quietly, face buried into his chest, enjoying the fluffy fabric of his hoodie.

“Someone audition him up, because this man is such a pussy” The recording angle was once again, strange, your body comfortably positioned on the sofa, while holding your small device way too low. Jimin was playing Just dance 2017, chasing the unobtainable megastar in Scream & Shout. Although every time, Jimin rocked your ass, you still challenged him often. Being competitive didn’t help neither of you in this situation.

Many more videos rolled in quick, reaching the last one relatively fast. Now, the doubts about it arose again, anxiety bubbling up and second thoughts pilling inside of your mind. It seemed like a great idea a few days ago, but is it really?  

The video didn’t have any caption, plus whatever was on the screen was barely visible. It was 2am, if to believe the analog clock that was caught in the shot for a short moment. Obviously, it was from your point of view, and soon enough it was clear why. Jimin was snuggling close to you, under the covers, hugging your waist tight, eyes closed. Just then, as if reserved, slight peek of the moon through thick clouds allowed its shine to light up a small portion of your room. Jimin’s hair was all over the place, cheeks puffy while nose red. It was the night of his extremely hard breakup. He remembered now.

“She might’ve not loved you, but believe me, my angelic boy, I always will” you whispered quietly, turning around and kissing his forehead; taking a second to stare at such a divine prescience next to you. Gosh, you loved him with your everything.

“And whenever someone crushes your heart, mine will always be there to mend it”

At that line, Jimin’s tears fell, quiet and unnoticeable, for some unidentified reason. Was it because of the flashbacks to the most heartbreaking moment of his life? Was it because he knew your love was platonic, and that whatever was about to happen will only hurt you? You couldn’t tell and the suspension was holding your heart in a choking hold. It was only a good idea to let him know you’ll always be there, always next to him if needed, but also how much you cared while doing so. On the other hand, it wasn’t a good idea to confess if all that you’ll get in return are empty words of pitiful comfort.

Yet, Jimin’s hand found yours and without any hesitation, held it tight. Then, he turned around, locking his teary eyes with your lost ones, letting the clip, and with it the whole presentation end. He bit his lip, uncertain which words to use in his expressions, hell, he was even uncertain about his feelings right now.

“Why?” He asked, scared that one wrong word could ruin everything, when he really didn’t want to. “Why me? I’m not someone you deserve, I-”

That was your yellow light, the one that you’ll rush through before it turned red.

“I got so used to having you next to me, it just felt so right to not want anyone else but you”, starting, your words began to jump over each other, creating the slightest bit of trouble for your tongue that tried to emphasize each of them perfectly. His eyes, although glassy, provided so much comfort, even in crucial or important happenings like this; they once again served as a remind as to why your heart beats only for him.

“Holding your hand is an extremely familiar feeling that’s always somehow new each time it happens” shrugging with your shoulders, you smiled, motioning towards his hand. “Much like now, your hand has been in mine hundreds of times, but has it ever been like this? No”. Jimin smiled, tightening his hold and nodding along. That actions once again gave you a slight rush of confidence, the previously yellow, now green on the next street light.

“I’ve always thought that you were the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know? It’s a really cliché thing to say, but where would I be if I hadn’t met you?” Truly, this was a serious statement, there were so many things that have happened in your life in which you just felt so, lost. Lost and afraid. Yet, Jimin was there, to redirect you to the right path and always bring up the “you’re not alone” mindset. “Who knows when I would’ve given up trying to stand up, if you weren’t there to pick me up and remind me it’s okay to fall, that bruises will heal?”

“For all these years, I was nothing else but content with being in love with you”, you stated, immense amount of courage washing over your body in a matter of moments. With the way Jimin attentively listened to every vowel and consonant that rolled off your tongue, you chose to pick words carefully, taking time to find perfect terms for description.

“I fell in love with the special way you sing when you think no one is listening, or the foolish way you drag vowels when we sing together. How your eyes turn into thin lines while truthfully laughing, or how you take into account every little detail before creating an opinion of something. How considerate and understanding you are, wanting to hear everyone’s thoughts before making a decision. Your 6th sense of identifying what’s wrong in a of a quick snap of fingers. Gosh I-”

There were so many little, but also big things that made Jimin this whole lovable and divine creature. And really, you were about to continue on for days, only if the speech wasn’t rudely interrupted by -

Jimin’s lips on yours.

“As much as I’d like to hear more of my great qualities, kissing you seems so much more attractive to me”

“Yeah? But I was spilling my heart out to you and you interrupted me, that’s rude-”  

“But you love this rude boy”

“Yeah I do”

“That’s cute”

“Say it back you coward”

“I love you, I always have and I always will”

AN: So I was supposed to release this for Jimins birthday but wasn’t satisfied with it so I edited it and released it today (way too late fk),,,,,, anyway I had something else in preparation but that kind of flopped so,,,, we aint releasing that lol,,, see you guys next time, ily!

[theseaver]

Adventures with GSC’s Nendoroid Face Maker, Part 2

Part 1

Ordering Costs and Shipping Times

I know if I was reading this, I’d want to know the logistics of ordering right about now.  So here we go!

The faceplates themselves cost 1480 JPY = 13.15 USD.  As far as I could tell, there wasn’t a shipping cost to ship them within Japan, or the shipping cost was built into the price.

Once the faceplates arrived at the DeJapan warehouse, I paid 2100 JPY = 18.66 USD.  I used EMS shipping, which was pretty middle of the road when it came to costs.  There were both more and less expensive options, but only a few hundred yen in either direction.  No real reason why I chose EMS, I just know I’ve had good experiences before.  I appreciated DeJapan’s transparency here, because using AmiAmi or GSC, they never estimate all the different shipping options for you.  The cost is always a surprise when they demand the payment.

What I didn’t appreciate is they tacked on a 100 yen “consolidation fee” when I submitted the form for the faceplates.  Supposedly, there was an option to opt out of this, but I didn’t know and the consolidate option is the default.  Basically, if you’re expecting multiple items, they will pack it all up in one box to save you shipping costs.  It’s very nice, but I only had the one order and still had to pay the fee anyway because I checked a box incorrectly.  Oh, well.  I’ll be more careful next time.

So you’ve ordered your faceplates and you’ve paid!  How long can you expect to sit next to the mailbox, eagerly awaiting your delivery?  I ordered my faceplates on October 11th.  The DeJapan blog had estimated 2 weeks for the NFM to make the faceplates and ship them, so imagine my surprise when the NFM emailed me on October 15th to say (I can only assume, since it was in Japanese) that my faceplates shipped!  DeJapan emailed on the 16th (LATE at night, so for this and the next few emails, it was the next day in Japan) that my items had made it to their warehouse.  This was when I had to confirm that I didn’t want to consolidate my order.  On the 17th they requested my payment to ship, and on the 18th they confirmed that my package was on its way.  (During this three day span, I took the requested actions within 15 minutes of them emailing me every time, but it still took another 24 hours for them to move to the next step. Not complaining, just giving you a clear idea of the timeline.) I received the package October 23.

So, to sum up, if you didn’t want to read that long-winded explanation:

I spent a total of 3580 JPY, or 31.81 USD, on the two faceplates. The faceplates took about 12 days to be delivered to my house.

Maybe $31.81 seems like a lot of money for two faceplates.  Heck, it’s like half the price of a whole new Nendoroid, depending which one you’re looking at.  But... I take pictures of my Nendos and update my Tumblr almost weekly.  I figured I’d get some good use out of them.  Or maybe they would look horrible and this was a waste of time.  But at least I could help educate some other people out there.  

But you’ve waited long enough.  Let’s get into...

The Faceplates’ Arrival

Alright, the moment we’ve all been waiting for!  I grabbed some scissors, opened my package, and...!

Okay!  I’m not going to lie, the first time I opened that box, it was pretty exciting.  After staring at an animated version of my product for almost two weeks, it was super cool to see it in 3D laid out in front of me.  My first impression of the faces was really positive, especially Victor’s face, which I expected to look super weird with that light blue pupil.  I was so happy the actual face didn’t turn out that way!  Alas, though, my excitement was to be short lived.  Let’s compare.

So that’s NFM Yuuri on the left and Real Yuuri on the right.  I don’t know how well it comes across on the pictures, but the eye color is way off.  Real Yuuri has these reddish-brown eyes, and NFM Yuuri’s are definitely more brown-brown.  Also, the skin color is pretty different, too.  NFM Yuuri (and Victor) have a pinker shade of skin than their genuine counterparts.  Next time, I’d scale the eyes up a little bigger, too.  And... idk, the eye shape still gets me.  It’s pretty close, but... something’s still off.  Let’s look at Victor.

NFM Victor on the left and Real Victor on the right.  Again, you’re going to have to take my word for it here... those eyes look suuuuper aqua in real life.  Like, way, way more green than this picture shows.  The eyebrows, which I could not get thick enough no matter how hard I tried, are this weird brown-grey in real life.  And, again, the skin color isn’t quite right.  The eye shape is pretty spot on, though.  I can look at this face and tell it’s supposed to be Victor.

Quality

Both faceplates came with head bases and neck joints, pretty much everything that you need besides hair.  Of course, I have enough head bases and neck joints already attached to my Nendos, but it’s always nice to have extras.  Here’s a view of that noselessness I was talking about before.

(Real Yuuri on the left, NFM Yuuri on the right)  You can see the skin difference a little better there, too.

It’s pretty clear that these eyes were printed on.  They have a grainy, almost pixel-y look to them when you get up close.  They’re definitely lesser quality than official GSC stuff.  But you have to get pretty darn close to notice.  From a normal distance, it looks fine.  You can also see the weird brown-grey of the eyebrows better in that picture.

Both faceplates fit pretty well into the existing Nendos.  Let’s take a look, maybe they’ll look better with hair.

The Finished Product

NFM Yuuri on left, Real Yuuri on right.  With the glasses on, it’s becomes clear that the eyebrows needed to be raised a bit, because right now they’re hiding behind his glasses.

NFM Victor on left, Real Victor on right.  He’s a lot closer to looking real than Yuuri is, I think.

Final Thoughts

I dunno, guys.  I think they look like bad bootlegs, personally.  I don’t really know how to salvage these.  I don’t think I’d use them on my blog.  They look too weird and they’re squicking me out.  I might have to call this one a wash.  At least I got a good blog post out of it, and it was really fun.

How I wish the NFM would just let you use the eyes of characters that are already designed!  I wish I could just take Yuuri’s face and change the expression.  I’m sure that would violate all GSC’s licensing agreements, so legally they couldn’t do it that way.  But it would have turned out so much better for me.

Now, does this mean I wouldn’t recommend the NFM to Nendo fans?  Actually, I fully intend to use it again.  I have a face saved already that I plan on ordering.  But here’s the thing: it’s useful for crazy faces only.  Weird ones.  Sleeping ones.  Blushing ones.  Face tattoos.

But if you’re like me, and you’re trying to make a serious face to replace an existing expression, you’re better off going in a different direction.  Personally, I may try to find extra official faceplates and repaint the smile.  I think I’d have better luck.  We’ll see.

Part 1

What do you think?  Are these faces passable or creepy?  Have you used the Nendoroid Face Maker yourself?  If so, please send me a picture, because I love seeing Nendoroid customization.

[talesofhorrorofficial]

A Shattered Life

I don't know when you're going to read this, but I can tell you when it started: I was out for a walk alone in the woods when the entity came for me. It was beyond a blur. It was, for lack of a better term, absence of meaning. Where it hid, there were no trees; where it crept closer, there was no grass; through the arc it leapt at me, there was no breeze of motion. There was no air at all.

As it struck, I felt the distinct sensation of claws puncturing me somewhere unseen; somewhere I'd never felt before. My hands and arms and legs and torso seemed fine and I wasn't bleeding, but I knew I'd been injured somehow. As I fearfully ran back home, I could tell that I was less. I was vaguely tired, and it was hard to focus at times.

The solution at that early stage was easy: a big cup of coffee helped me feel normal again.

For a while, that subtle drain on my spirit became lost in the ebb and flow of caffeine in my system. You could say my life began that week, actually, because that was when I met Mar. She and I got along great, though, to be honest, I'm pretty sure I fell in love with her over the phone before we even met.

It was almost as if the strong emotions of that first week made the entity fight back—it was still with me, latched on to some invisible part of my being.

The first few incidents were minor, and I hardly worried about them. The color of a neighbor's car changed from dark blue to black one morning, and I stared at it before shaking my head and shrugging off the difference. Two days later, at work, a coworker's name changed from Fred to Dan. I carefully asked around, but everyone said his name had always been Dan. I figured I'd just been mistaken.

Then, as ridiculous as this sounds, I was peeing in my bathroom at home when I suddenly found myself on a random street. I was still in my pajamas, pants down, and urinating—but now in full view of a dozen people at a bus stop. Horrified, I pulled up my clothes and ran before someone called the cops. I did manage to get home, but the experience forced me to admit that I was still in danger. The entity was doing something to me, and I didn't understand how to fight back.

Mar showed up that evening, but she had her own key.

"Hey," I asked her with confusion. "How'd you get a key?"

She just laughed. "You're cute. Are you sure you're okay with this?" She opened a door and entered a room full of boxes. "I know living together is a big step, especially when we've only been dating three months."

Living together? I'd literally just met her the week before. Thing was, my mother had always called me a smart cookie for a reason. I knew when to shut my yap. Instead of causing a scene, I told her everything was fine—and then I went straight to my room and began investigating.

My things were just as I had left them with no sign of a three month gap in habitation, but I did find something out of the ordinary: the date. I shivered angrily as I processed the truth.

The entity had eaten three months of my life.

What the hell was I facing? What kind of creature could consume pieces of one's soul like that? I'd missed the most exciting part of a new relationship, and I would never understand any shared stories or in-jokes from that period. Something absurdly precious had been taken from me, and I was furious.

That fury helped suppress the entity. I never imbibed alcohol. I drank coffee religiously. I checked the date every time I woke up. For three years, I managed to live each day while observing nothing more than minor alterations. A social fact here and there—someone's job, how many kids they had, that sort of thing—the layout of nearby streets, the time my favorite television show aired, that kind of thing. Always, those changes reminded me the creature still had its claws sunk into my spirit. Not once in three years did I ever let myself zone out.

One day, I grew careless. I let myself get really into the season finale of my favorite show. It was gripping; a fantastic story. Right at the height of the action, a young boy came up to my lounger and shook my arm.

Surprised, I asked, "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

He laughed and smiled brightly. "Silly Daddy!"

My heart sank in my chest. I knew immediately what had happened. After a few masked questions, I discovered that he was two years old—and that he was my son.

The agony and heartache filling my chest was nearly unbearable. Not only had I missed the birth of my son, I would never see or know the first years of his life. Mar and I had obviously gotten married and started a family in the time I'd lost, and I had no idea what joys or pains those years contained.

It was snowing outside. Holding my sudden son in my lap, I sat and watched the flakes fall outside. What kind of life was this going to be if slips in concentration could cost me years? I had to get help.

The church had no idea what to do. The priests didn't believe me, and told me I had a health issue rather than some sort of possession.

The doctors didn't have any clue. Nothing showed up on all their scans and tests, but they happily took my money in return for nothing.

By the time I ran out of options, I'd decided to tell Mar. There was no way to know what this all looked like from her side. What was I like when I wasn't there? Did I still take our son to school? Did I still do my job? Clearly, I did, because she seemed to be none the wiser, but I still had a horrible feeling that something must have been missing in her life when I wasn't actually home inside my own head.

But the night I set up a nice dinner in preparation, she arrived not by unlocking the front door, but by knocking on it. I answered, and found that she was in a nice dress.

She was happily surprised by the settings on the table. "A fancy dinner for a second date? I knew you were sweet on me!"

Thank the Lord I knew when to keep my mouth shut. If I'd gone on about being married and having a son, she might have run for the hills. Instead, I took her coat and sat down for our second date.

Through carefully crafted questions, I managed to deduce the truth. This really was our second date. She saw relief and happiness in me, but interpreted that as dating jitters. I was just excited to realize that the entity wasn't necessarily eating whole portions of my life. The symptoms, as I was beginning to understand them, were more like the consequences of a shattered soul. The creature had wounded me; broken me into pieces. Perhaps I was to live my life out of order, but at least I would actually get to live it.

And so it went for a few years—from my perspective. While minor changes in politics or geography would happen daily, major shifts in my mental location only happened every couple months. When I found myself in a new place and time in my life, I just shut up and listened, making sure to get the lay of the land before doing anything to avoid making mistakes. On the farthest-flung leap yet, I met my six-year-old grandson, and I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, "Writer." I told him that was a fine idea.

Then, I was back in month two of my relationship with Mar, and I had the best night with her on the riverfront. When I say the best, I mean the best. Knowing how special she would become to me, I asked her to move in. I got to live through what I'd missed the first go-around, and I came to understand that I was never mentally absent. I would always be there—eventually. When we were moving her boxes in, she stopped for a moment and said she marveled at my great love, as if I'd known her for a lifetime and never once doubted she was the one.

That was the first time I'd truly laughed freely and wholeheartedly since the entity had wounded me. She was right about my love for her, but for exactly the reason she'd considered a silly romantic analogy. I had known her my whole life, and I'd come to terms with my situation and found peace with it. It wasn't so bad to have sneak peeks at all the best parts ahead.

But of course I wouldn't be writing this if hadn't gotten worse. The entity was still with me. It had not wounded me and departed like I'd wanted to believe. The closest I can describe my growing understanding was that the creature was burrowing deeper into my psyche, fracturing it into smaller pieces. Instead of months between major shifts, I began having only weeks. Once I noticed that trend, I feared my ultimate fate would be to jump between times in my life heartbeat by heartbeat, forever confused, forever lost. Only an instant in each time meant I would never be able to speak with anyone else, never be able to hold a conversation, never express or receive love.

As the true depth of that fear came upon me, I sat in an older version of me and watched the snow falling outside. That was the one constant in my life: the weather didn't care who I was or what pains I had to face. Nature was always there. The falling snow was always like a little hook that kept me in a place; the pure emotional peace it brought was like a panacea on my mental wounds, and I'd never yet shifted while watching the pattern of falling white and thinking of the times I'd gone sledding or built a snow fort as a child.

A teenager touched my arm. "Grandpa?"

"Eh?" He'd startled me out of my thoughts, so I was less careful than usual. "Who are you?"

He half-grinned, as if not sure whether I was joking. Handing me a stack of papers, he said, "It's my first attempt at a novel. Would you read it and tell me what you think?"

Ahh, of course. "Pursuing that dream of being a writer, I see."

He burned bright red. "Trying to, anyway."

"All right. Run off, I'll read this right now." The words were blurry, and, annoyed, I looked for glasses I probably had for reading. Being old was terrible, and I wanted to leap back into a younger year—but not before I read his book. I found my glasses in a sweater pocket, and began leafing through. Mar puttered in and out of the living room, still beautiful, but I had to focus. I didn't know how much time I would have there.

It seemed that we had relatives over. Was it Christmas? A pair of adults and a couple kids I didn't recognize tromped through the hallway, and I saw my son, now adult, walk by with his wife on the way out the door. As a group, the extended family began sledding outside.

Finally, I finished reading the story, and I called out for my grandson. He rushed down the stairs and into the living room. "How was it?”

"Well, it's terrible," I told him truthfully. "But it's terrible for all the right reasons. You're still a young man, so your characters behave like young people, but the structure of the story itself is very solid." I paused. "I didn't expect it to turn out to be a horror story."

He nodded. "It's a reflection of the times. Expectations for the future are dismal, not hopeful like they used to be."

"You're far too young to be aware like that," I told him. An idea occurred to me. "If you're into horror, do you know anything about strange creatures?"

"Sure. I read everything I can. I love it."

Warily, I scanned the entrances to the living room. Everyone was busy outside. For the first time, I opened up to someone in my life about what I was experiencing. In hushed tones, I told him about my fragmented consciousness.

For a teenager, he took it well. "You're serious?"

"Yes."

He donned the determined look of a grown man accepting a quest. "I'll look into it, see what I can find out. You should start writing down everything you experience. Build some data. Maybe we can map your psychic wound."

Wow. "Sounds like a plan." I was surprised. That made sense, and I hadn't expected him to have a serious response. "But how will I get all the notes in one place?"

"Let's come up with somewhere for you to leave them," he said, frowning with thought. "Then I'll get them, and we can trace the path you're taking through your own life, see if there's a pattern."

For the first time since the situation had gotten worse, I felt hope again. "How about under the stairs? Nobody ever goes under there."

"Sure." He turned and left the living room.

I peered after him. I heard him banging around near the stairs.

Finally, he returned with a box, laid it on the carpet, and opened it to reveal a bursting stack of papers. He exclaimed, "Holy crap!"—but of course, being a teenager, he didn't really say crap.

Taken aback, I blinked rapidly, forgiving his cussing because of the shock. "Did I write those?"

He looked up at me with wonder. "Yeah. Or, you will. You still have to write them and put them under the stairs after this." He gazed back down at the papers—then covered the box. "So you probably shouldn't see what they say. That could get weird."

That much I understood. "Right."

He gulped. "There are like fifty boxes under there, all filled up like this. Deciphering these will take a very long time." His tone dropped to deadly seriousness. "But I will save you, grandpa. Because I don't think anyone else can."

Tears flowed down my cheeks then, and I couldn't help but sob once or twice. I hadn't realized how lonely I'd become in my shifting prison of awareness until I finally had someone who understood. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

And then I was young again, and at work on a random Tuesday. Once the sadness and relief faded, anger and determination replaced them. After I finished my work, I grabbed some paper and began writing. While the weeks shifted around me, while those weeks became days, and then hours, I wrote every single spare moment about when and where I thought I was. I put them under the stairs out of order; my first box was actually the thirtieth, and my last box was the first. Once I had over fifty boxes written from my perspective—and once my shifting became a matter of minutes—I knew it was up to my grandson to take it from there.

I put my head down and stopped looking. I couldn't stand the river of changing awareness any longer. Names and places and dates and jobs and colors and people were all wrong and different.

I'd never been older. I sat watching the snow fall. A man of at least thirty that I vaguely recognized entered the room. "Come on, I think I finally figured it out."

I was so frail that moving was painful. "Are you him? Are you my grandson?"

"Yes." He took me to a room filled with strange equipment and sat me in a rubber chair facing a large mirror twice the height of a man. "The pattern finally revealed itself."

"How long have you worked on this?" I asked him, aghast. "Tell me you didn't miss your life like I'm missing mine!"

His expression was both stone cold and furiously resolute. "It'll be worth it." He brought two thin metal rods close to my arm and then nodded at the mirror. "Look. This shock is carefully calibrated."

The electric zap from his device was startling, but not painful. In the mirror, I saw a rapid arcing light-silhouette appear above my head and shoulder. The electricity moved through the creature like a wave, briefly revealing the terrible nature of what was happening to me. A bulging leech-like mouth was wrapped around the back of my head, coming down to my eyebrows and touching each ear, and its slug-like body ran over my shoulder and into my very soul.

It was a parasite.

And it was feeding on my mind.

My now-adult grandson held my hand as I took in the horror. After a moment, he asked, "Removing it is going to hurt very badly. Are you up for this?"

Fearful, I asked, "Is Mar here?"

His face softened. "No. Not for a few years now."

I could tell from his reaction what had happened, but I didn't want it to be true. "How?"

"We have this conversation a lot," he responded. "Are you sure you want to know? It never makes you feel better."

Tears brimmed in my eyes. "Then I don't care if it hurts, or if I die. I don't want to stay in a time where she's not alive."

He made a sympathetic noise of understanding and then returned to his machines to hook several wires, diodes, and other bits of technology to my limbs and forehead. While he did so, he talked. "I've worked for two decades to figure this out, and I've had a ton of help from other researchers of the occult. This parasite doesn't technically exist in our plane. It's one of the lesser spawns of µ¬ßµ, and it feeds on the plexus of mind, soul, and quantum consciousness/reality. When details like names and colors of objects changed, you weren't going crazy. The web of your existence was merely losing strands as the creature ate its way through you."

I didn't fully understand. I looked up in confusion as he placed a circlet of electronics like a crown on my head in exact line with where the parasite's mouth had ringed me. "What's µ¬ßµ?"

He paused his work and grew pale. "I forgot that you wouldn't know. You're lucky, believe me." After a deep breath, he began moving again, and placed his fingers near a few switches. "Ready? This is carefully tuned to make your nervous system extremely unappetizing to the parasite, but it's basically electro-shock therapy."

I could still see Mar's smile. Even though she was dead, I'd just been with her moments ago. "Do it."

The click of a switch echoed in my ears, and I almost laughed at how mild the electricity was. It didn't feel like anything—at least at first. Then, I saw the mirror shaking, and my body within that image convulsing. Oh. No. It did hurt. Nothing had ever been more painful. It was just so excruciating that my mind hadn't been able to immediately process it.

As my vision shook and fire burned in every nerve in my body, I could see the reflected trembling light-silhouette of the parasite on my head as it writhed in agony equal to mine. It had claws—six clawed lizard-like limbs under its leech-like body—and it cut into me in an attempt to stay latched on.

The electricity made my memories flare.

Mar's smile was foremost, lit brightly in front of a warm fire as the snow fell past the window behind her. The edges of that memory began lighting up, and I realized that my life was one continuous stretch of experience—it was only the awareness of it that had been fragmented by that feasting evil on my back.

I'd never managed to be there for the birth of my son. I'd jumped around it a dozen times, but never actually lived it. For the first time, I got to hold Mar's hand and be there for her.

No. No! That moment had shifted seamlessly into holding her hand as she lay in a hospital bed for a very different reason. Not this! God, why? It was so merciless to make me remember this. I broke down in tears as nurses rushed into the room. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to experience it. I'd seen all the good parts, but I hadn't wanted the worst part—the inevitable end that all would one day face.

It wasn't worth it. It was tainted. All that joy was given back ten thousand fold as pain.

The fire in my body and in my brain surged to sheer white torture, and I screamed.

My scream faded into a surprised shout as the machines and electricity and chair faded away. Snow was no longer falling around my life; I was out in the woods on a bright summer day.

Oh God.

I turned to see the creature approaching me. It was the same absence of meaning; the same blank on reality. It crept forward, just like before—but, this time, it hissed and turned away. I stood, astounded at being young again and freed from the parasite. My grandson had actually done it! He'd made me an unappetizing meal, so the predator of mind and soul had moved on in search of a different snack.

I returned home in a daze.

And while I was sitting there processing all that had happened, the phone rang. I looked at in awe and sadness. I knew who it was. It was Marjorie, calling for the first time for some trivial reason she'd admit thirty years later was made up just to talk to me.

But all I could see was her lying in that hospital bed dying. It was going to end in unspeakable pain and loneliness. I would become an old man, left to sit by myself in an empty house, his soulmate gone long before him. At the end of it all, the only thing I would have left: sitting and watching the falling snow.

But now, thanks to my grandson, I would also have my memories. It would be a wild ride, no matter how it ended.

On a sudden impulse, I picked up the phone. With a smile, I asked, "Hey, who's this?"

Even though I already knew.

Author's note: Together, my grandfather and I did set out to write the tale of his life. Unfortunately, his Alzheimer's disease progressed rapidly, and we were never able to finish. He's still alive, but I imagine that, mentally, he is in a better place than the nursing home. I like to think he's back in his younger days, living life and being happy, because the reality is much colder. It's snowing today; he loves the snow. When I visited him, he didn't recognize me, but he did smile as he sat looking out the window.